I opened my eyes. That was a quarter past three in the morning. I was sleeping for too long.
I felt him near.
"Do you pray?' – was his question.
"For what?" - I answered him.
"To be…" – Long silence. Very hard, very long, impossibly long silence. – "To pray f o r me. To pray for your eternal soul."
- Too late, - said I by words. All before was in our thoughts.
I glanced at him. His dark hair was too long and too glossy to be live. I know what he was waiting for. It was not so hard to guess. He stared at me.
His bloody-red eyes were full of bloody tears. That was unusual to see him – HIM! – crying like a little boy.
I crave for blood, - he said in his iron voice.
You want it? My blood? – I asked. I knew his answer.
He was standing near the window – that big French window from eighteenth century – moon was shining brightly – it light gave his skin so beautiful… sins.
He was the sinner saint. I was just a sinner. And he could have tried the taste of my blood. I've seen it before – him killing. But I never thought it could happen to me.
He never told me everything.
He never gave me choices.
He just… was around.
The last thing I've heard was a silent-said word…
Love.
The sun was already high.