Delia

Chapter 8: Think Me Wicked

I grasped her to me. She tried to push me away, it was an admirable effort. My sweet, sweet Delia. She clawed, she screamed, and tried to escape me like a crazed animal. I suppose that is what she reduced herself to.

I tangled my fingers in her brunette curls and forced her to face what is before her or rather who. On the floor lay a sniveling mortal leaking his life's blood onto my Persian carpet. The stain will never come out, I suppose I'll have to buy another.

"Why!" She shrieked.

"Why, what ma petite?" I asked softly, calmly, and it was quite a feat with how angry I felt at the angel in my arms.

"Why did you kill him? Why can I not have a single ounce of happiness without your ruining it?" She screamed.

Tears were running down her cheeks. I believe my Delia is being self righteous again. Refusing her nature. Refuting her existence. Telling me to go to hell. I ruined her life. It's quite tiring to listen to her drivel, no matter how lovely any words sound coming from that pretty mouth.

"I have not killed him, ma petite." I whispered in her ear, rubbing my cheek against hers even as she tried to wrench away and nuzzled the exposed flesh of her throat.

"Then what have you done? He won't heal from this. He'll die. Why did you do this? Why?"

"You haven't eaten properly in months Delia darling. You can not love them, unless you wish to turn them." I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "That is not an option."

"Then what is the purpose of this?" She tried to look away once more. I gripped her chin between my slender fingers and kept her looking at the boy with dark disheveled curls, his shirt ripped and vest lying open.

"Finish it."

"What?" She squeaked.

"You've made a mess of things Delia. It's time that you fix them. He knows what you are, you've let your guard down, and he would lead us to our deaths. Like I was taught long ago, I'm teaching you now. You must clean this up…I will not finish this." I growled pushing her to her knees before the boy and her dress pooling around her.

"I only watched him from afar. I played the piano and…" She whispered beseechingly.

"He saw that unnatural gleam. He's followed you because of his infatuation with you. He saw you take the life a pretty little animal. I suppose he does the same, but not with his teeth, ma petite. Pretty girls at parties are not supposed to have fangs. But you do. Now you must remedy your mistake. No more animals. You are weak. He will give you strength."

"He has not done anything wrong!" She begged.

"No matter, he will. They are all the same. They come in different packages, have different faces, but they react the same. They will bring torches and a mob. You must do this for all our sakes."

"I hate you." She whispered before she brushed the boys curls from his moist forehead.

"I believe I remember those sweet words, you tell me them everyday and everyday they make my fondness for you grow." I always did love a challenge.

"He reminds me of Freddy. I loved him too." She murmured.

"Get on with it, now."

She glared up at me. Then she leaned down gently and sank her teeth into the boy's neck. He whimpered. He was already in pain and scared out of his wits. Despite herself, Delia moaned as she took his blood. She enjoyed it I knew and when she was fed properly she was a completely different. Much like my Louis in that respect.

I pulled her back before she could drink too much. When I did so she snuggled into me. I quite liked he afterglow after feeding. She was always deliriously happy for several hours before her depression set in once again.

But as I held her in my arms and she peppered me with blood flavored kisses. I could not help but savor these moments. Even if the boy never suspected a thing…his life was worth these lovely hours with my sweet, sweet Delia.

She thinks me wicked, but that is only because I am.