Vampires and werewolves. Two different mythological creatures, their hatred well known to any wannabe teenage Goth. Different worlds, different lives, different levels of hatred and resent held toward each other, varying from certain relationships involving a mixture of the two.
His detest had waned by the third night, letting my skin ive over his in comfort by the only enemy he had.
White on brown, my skin like the clean outfit of a businessman, his like the dirty construction workers'. Yet the strong scent of the forest that came with his skin was anything but unenjoyable, even though I knew the sickly sweet smell of me was torture.
Arrogance. The feeling came with the scent of my brother, well known after years of existing with him. I sucked in a breath, knowing he was sending me this feeling for a reason.
He knew.
"Oh, God."
He knew.
"Where are you going, Jasper?"
"Home?"
"But--"
"This can't go on! I have to go!"
I crashed through the forest to find him waiting for me, calm, collected, and smirking. "I know."'
I nodded.
"You're pathetic." He sneered, slapping me across the face, and I knew I deserved it. He left me with my dry dark eyes, wishing I had some vestiges of human left in me to cry.
"I know."