Deacon broke the kiss slightly, pulling Sarah away from him. She stared at him, a look of aggravation surfacing on her face. He ran a shaky hand through his locks and backed away from her.
"Well, well, well. This is an interesting situation, isn't it? What am I supposed to do when Whistler finds out about his precious little jewel?" Deacon voiced, his eyes tranquil. Sarah laughed, her hands moving to her hips.
"Whistler isn't my problem now. I have left the old me behind. That life's gone. Poof. And you took it from me. I am yours now. I know you've wanted it this way ever since you set your eyes on me." Deacon stared at her, shaking his head.
"I hate to break this to you sweetheart, but all you were was food. That was it. A plan that turned tainted. Find someone else to attach yourself to. " He turned his gaze from her, his voice trailing off. The passion, the heat, had fled. She felt cold and a little sick to her stomach. Dull resentment boiled to her face. She grabbed his jaw roughly, turning his face to hers. Her voice rose to a thunderous pitch.
"Look at me! Don't turn your fucking head and pretend you don't know what Im doing, what Im saying! How can I find anyone else when you've been bred into my bones and are at times part of my flesh! Your blood runs fast when mine does, your eyes burn when mine do, don't deny it!" Deacon grabbed her hand roughly, his nail digging into the fleshy part between her thumb and index finger. A runner of blood began to drip into her palm, and he brought her hand to his mouth, licking it slightly.
"You want me so bad? Then you had better be able to be at my beckon call. When I say and where the fuck I say. I told you baby, no one can resist a deity." The doors of the elevator stood open, and Deacon tugged Sarah forward to his bedchamber.
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The next night, Deacon pulled Sarah from her slumber. His hand clamped tightly around her arm and shook her roughly. Sarah awoke, her mind struggling sluggishly to find out where she was. She made out that Quinn was standing by Deacon's side, a smile on his face.
"Wake up, Sarah Darling. You have someone here to see you." Deacon whispered into her ear. She sat up, the white silk nightgown clinging beautifully to her curves. Her hair spread over her shoulders like a wave of dark chocolate. Sarah uttered a shaky, semi-hysterical laugh. She moved from the bed, Deacon's arm guiding her lightly down the carpeted hallway. They emerged into a sort of glass room, her eyes widening.
A man lay on the floor, his face bloody and bruised. His hands were tied behind his back, small moans erupting through his mouth.
"C-cordell?" Sarah said, her voice wavering. Deacon brought her to the doors and let her in slowly. She stood for one moment, her eyes transfixed on the dying man on the floor.
"This is a present for you, my China Doll. You said you were hungry…so there's your meal. Eat up." Deacon pressed his hand to the glass and began to walk off. Sarah watched the two men exit the hallway and then slid to her knees. The man on the floor wriggled slightly, his eyes going to hers. For a moment she seemed as milky and translucent as clouded glass. Sarah growled slightly and then advanced, the smell of blood cloying in the glass chamber. The rest took on the maroon tones of a nightmare.
What seemed like an eternity later, Sarah sat back against the glass, her lips and chin slicked with blood that was black under the fluorescent bulbs. Her mind was still flying with that same unnatural, exhilarating speed after she had drained the man on the floor. A papery little chuckle escaped her mouth as she opened her eyes, her head spinning. Blood streaked the floor from where she had drug the body. There was a transfixed look in the dead man's gaze that made her head spin. She felt her stomach slosh around dejectedly and turned to the glass walls.
Sarah tried remembering why she had attacked the body so savagely, her mouth snapping open and closed like an uncontrolled monster. But, it was all gone, dissolved into a sticky mess like a wet bundle of paper, the memory unreadable. Here she was, stuck in a glass torture chamber with one of her victims laying across the room from her. Her jaws clamped together, the muscles on her cheeks standing out. It was all like a crazy picture drawn in blood, a surrealistic etching of a person's face drawn back in terror and pain.
An iron scream came to her lips as she opened the glass doors, making her way into the darkened hallway. Sarah felt the human in her cry out, beg for her to get out, get out now. Obedience was so strongly ingrained in her that she began half-running, half-walking to the elevator. She heard voices to her left and began shuffling faster, her stomach flip flopping grotesquely. Deacon made his way around the corner, a loud scream echoing to Sarah. She let out a yelp of surprise and ran into the elevator, punching buttons. Deacon sprinted to the doors in time, jumping in with her. The doors closed.
"Where in fuck's sake do you think you're going, Sarah Darling? You're not thinking of leaving…are you?" Sarah cowered in one corner, her hands on either side of the silver hand rests. His fist suddenly buried itself in her soft stomach. She screamed, suddenly submerged in an ocean of pain. Unexpectedly, the elevator's doors came sliding open, Sarah darting out into the open hallway. A few feet away, a word glowed above her head like a sign from above, EXIT. Sarah laughed hoarsely, shambling toward the doorway. Deacon roared at her, tackling her to the rug. Her fury and terror all began to bubble up inside of her, finally exploding, her knee hiking up quickly and connecting squarely into his balls. He rolled over, a grunt coming from him as he went.
Their eyes locked, and Deacon saw something in the dead girl's gaze that scared the hell out of him. Absurdly, the words I take it back! trembled behind his lips. Except that was nothing you said to something weaker than you. Sarah managed two more tottery steps and then began running for the exit. She made her way into the dark night, the stars twinkling over her head. He bawled her name twice more, and each time she flinched away from the sound.
Five blocks away from the building, Sarah walked with no sense of where she was going, when she realized that her feet were still bare and she still had her blood soaked nightgown on. And suddenly, she began to laugh. The stars were out, and how bright they were! She tilted her head back and laughed up to them, a wild exhilaration washing through her like a tidal wave that lifted and carried and cleaned. A powerful voice spoke to her in some inarticulate way of desire, although what it was it desired she neither knew nor cared.
It was enough to fill her wonderfully with her inexistence. Desire, she thought, and inside her that tidal wave of exhilaration seemed to gather speed, rushing her onward toward some inevitable crash. She laughed up to the stars, frightened but free and alone, her terror and happiness and animation as sharp as pain and as sweet as a ripe fruit, and when a light came on in an apartment on the block she was walking down, she smiled softly, her white fangs glistening in the moonlight, and fled off into the night, still laughing.