A/N: Well, I got it, folks! After about 3 months, I managed to get in the next chapter! And its all thanks to my SAVIOR, tutstemplar, who wrote the chapter herself! And so, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I present the dramatic, thrilling new chapter, written by Tutstemplar!
I try to scream. I try, so very, very hard. But my throat is immobile, frozen and useless, yet still I try to scream.
No warning passes my lips. Instead, merely air, the slightest of gasps, one that fails to emit any sound whatsoever, is what I manage.
My limbs are heavy and useless, feeling like they are wrapped in lead.
The woman - who she is, I cannot tell - lunges. She is pale, and fair. She is beautiful and ferocious all at once, over-powering and domineering.
I can see her lunge, springing forwards to attack him. To attack Kartik.
I want to scream. God, how I want to scream! My need to create some sound, any sound, is autocratic, the need matching the pace of my erratically beating pulse.
I stand in the midst of Sporks forest, the greenery an oppressive canopy, the air hot and heavy.
And as this ferocious woman lunges for Kartik, he spins, but is too late, caught of guard, and this woman, eyes alight, her teeth bared, bites into Kartik's shoulder, and now, now I scream.
I run towards him, whatever spell that had kept me immobile broken- but another spell has taken hold.
No matter how far I run, I never get closer, always running, always too far away.
The woman's teeth tear straight through his shoulder, as Kartik's screams, the sound clear and sharp as broken glass, ripping through the blackened air of darkest night- yet still I see, and it is because of the ripples of light cascading from Kartik's very soul. It is almost as though he.... sparkles.
His arm falls to the ground, and my hands fly to my mouth, bile rising in a tidal wave of burning acid, tears springing hot to my eyes, with a ringing sound in my ears that is so loud that my mind feels as though it shall spilt in twain.
The woman steps back with fiendish delight, a laugh cascading from her perfect lips. Kartik's face is a twisted grimace of agony, and he stumbles backwards, catching himself with his one arm.
But there is no blood. No blood at all. I can see the bone, protruding from the torn flesh and nerves, white as flour. The tissue surrounding it is not red- in the faded, almost approaching a shade of grey, like the flesh of a dead man.
"Kartik!" Never has such a sound been made by me- of such pain, such suffering and misery.
Yet he does not hear me, and instead, pushes himself off of the tree, and stumbling to his knees, still wracked with unbearable pain, he reaches for his arm with his one attached hand.
His fingers close around the unmoving limb, and he lifts the unattached limb to its socket, pushing the two pieces together like they were part of a macabre puzzle.
His gaze leaves the woman, who watches, her head at an angle, her gaze watching him warily, her foot half turned, as though prepared to pivot at a moment's notice.
Kartik lowers his mouth to his shoulder, and his tongue, pink and triangular, juts from between his lips. He drags his tongue along the red line showing were his detached arm had been.
And when he stops licking his wound, and lets go of his arm, it stays in place.
He rotates his shoulder, as though testing its capabilities.
The bile in my throat is returning, and I can feel my head spinning at the sight before me.
Impossible.
But Kartik is fine.
He half-smiles at the woman, the motion cruel and taunting.
I have never seen his face so feral.
The woman's eyes widen, and she swivels, beginning to flee- but Kartik is upon her in a flash, his arms encasing her waist, drawing into death's embrace, as his lips brush against her jugular.
And then his is nipping and sucking, his throat working, his body convulsing in time with the woman's, although for different reasons. His expression is one of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his eyelids fluttering, small moans rolling out from the depths of his throat.
She writhes in agony.
The scarlet of her blood is all too noticeable against the white of her skin.
For the first time, she makes a noise, and screams, beating her fists against his imprisoning arms.
And then she is still.
Kartik drops her, his fingers lifting to his lips, feeling the red liquid still remaining on his skin.
I gasp, my hands clutching my heart, as it leaps from my chest at the sight before me.
Now, now of all times, he notices me. And his eyes are those of an animal, the pupils dilated, the irises crimson red.
A snarl the likes of which I have never heard, from man nor beast, from neither England nor India, crosses his face, and he is upon me before I blink, his teeth sinking straight through my skin, like a hot knife through butter. I can smell my own blood, metallic and heavy. See the hunger in Kartik's hooded eyes, as his nails scrape the skin of my waist and stomach open in ten gashes.
And that is when I shoot upwards in my bed, gasping and sobbing, chest heaving, sweat covering every inch of my body, making my shift cling uncomfortably damp to my body.
The sheets are twisted between my legs, no doubt from erratic movements from myself.
But still I can smell the coppery scent of blood, and can still feel the dull throb of pain on my abdomen.
I look downwards, and see the red stain spreading across the sheets.
I have begun to menstruate.
Bugger.
I heave myself from my bed, and bend down without any thought to the drawer of my bedside table.
Before her death, mother had warned me that this would occur one day. And she gave me an interesting invention by the name of a 'pad', that catches the flow of menstrual blood for several hours, before one disposes of it.
I.... utilize it.
Ann is not in my room tonight- she had informed me, before I slipped into my bed, that she, Felicity, and Pippa were going to visit the Gypsy camp.
She had extended an invitation, but I had respectfully declined. Feeling irritable and tired, it is unlikely that I would have been pleasant company.
I sit at the chair of my vanity table, not yet removing the soiled chemise.
Ann and I each have our own, and while her's is prim and proper, with nothing but bobby pins, a pin cushion and scent, mine is scattered with nostalgia from India, spare scraps of paper with unreadable words scrawled across them, and spare buttons from broken overcoats.
I begin to ponder my dream, so as to distract myself from the incessant ache deep in my belly.
What was the meaning behind it? There must be something.
Back in India, we had a housekeeper, and whenever I had a dream, good or bad, she told me "Yes'm, you will hold it close, now, wun't yeh? Yous hold it good and close-like, and keep it in mind. Dreams tell da future, girl, and don' cha be forgetting that. When our mind can't see da truth, our heart sends us minds da message it oughtta know, yes'm, it does, it does."
I never doubted her.
Which means that there is reason to this rhyme.
In my dream.... I shudder, my body wracked with shivers. In my dream, Kartik had been pure beast, driven by impossible hunger. He had not bled. He had reattached his arm. His had drunk a woman's blood.
Like a parasite.
A leech.
I am struck with yet another memory from India, words from our housekeeper yet again. "Der be the greatest ah evils in dis here world, child, yes'm there be. Yous best keep an eye outs for them, child, yes'm indeed. Like da spider and da fly, da wolf and da deer. Da lion and da lamb. Yes'm, weave a web dey will, and then, dey will trap you in der deceit, and devour yous whole. Yes'm girl, yous best be a-watching for de evils of dis here world. For deys are ever'where, and dey do not rest, no'm."
And it clicks.
Oh, God, everything falls into piece, falling together like a long-lost enigma.
It all make so much sense now.
How often have I read of such creatures? Creatures of the night, prone to decidedly behavior....
I look at myself in the mirror- I have no color in my skin, the brown of my freckles almost black in contrast, and my hair is frizzy and wild, a rat's nest of tangles. My eyes- good God, my eyes, they are so wide, so frightened by my epiphany, that is as though they have seen all the horrors this world offers.
I speak the word I know now to be true, to be what Kartik is, with utmost trepidation.
"Vampire."
The responding voice is hoarse, rough and cracking with emotion; misery and defeat and pain. "So you know."
I stand and spin at the same time, which creates disaster, as I twist my ankle, tripping in the chair leg, reaching for my housecoat on the chair arm at the same time.
I fall, and pain ricochets up my body.
Kartik stands by the window his hand clenching the frame, the knuckles straining at the skin.
The hollows under his eyes are a deep purple hue, his eyes the pitch of night. His full mouth is turned downwards in melancholia.
I immediately begin to move backwards, my body in an inverted crawl. My back hits the vanity table, and I stop, immediately wrapping myself if my housecoat. My heart pounds, and although it does so with fear, that is not the only component.
He is the one to break the silence. "I had so hoped you would never find out." He swallows, looking away from me.
I whisper, not quite able to be infuriated, "You had hoped to keep this from me? After the kisses we've shared? Am I a toy?"
"Never," he vows.
I lurch to my feet, my temper finally catching pace with the rest of me. "Then what is it, then? What would ever drive you to keep yourself from telling me the truth?"
"Your safety." He fires back. "That I value above all else." His eyes are sharp.
"Well," my cheeks are aflame with conviction. "Perhaps I am tired of the safe."
I do now what it is within me that has started the passion deep within my belly. My anger, my fear, my feelings for him, my desire to show him that I refuse to be sheltered?
Whatever it may be, lust, raw and primal, claws its way through me. I want to crawl into his skin, and never leave. "Kiss me," I demand.
I can see that a part of him wants to, but I see that a greater part of him still refuses to.
I step towards him, and as I step towards him, he steps back, until he is at the farthest end of the room, and I in front of the open window, through which I assume he came.
At this moment, the breeze blows through, whipping my hair about me.
Kartik freezes, and I can see the hunger begin to leer through his eyes.
His voice is so low I almost cannot catch his words. "You are bleeding."
Now it is my turn to freeze- he can smell my blood, and wants it. Most ardently.
More pieces fall into place still, like why on that one day, he had glared at me with all the ardor in Hell.
Perhaps I am insane, perhaps I am unwomanly. But this stimulates me further, and makes we want him more.
"Kiss me," I dictate again, stepping forwards. He is trapped, in a sense.
He shakes his head desperately, his curls gleaming in the moon's light. "I can't," he croaks. "I will... I will..."
"I do not care." I tell him fiercely, and close the remaining distance between us.
My lips crash against his, my hands fisting in his hair, trying oh so very desperately against me, as I need to feel every inch of him, hard as rock and cold as ice, against my yielding flesh.
He shakes his head again, trying to remove me, but I clutch him tighter still, one hand moving downwards to grasp the collar of his shirt tightly, the cadence of my breath heavy and staccato, as my mouth moves demandingly over his, trying to elicit a response.
Finally, I find one, as he snaps.
His arms ensnare my waist, and he twirls us about with inhuman speed and grace, pressing me into the wall, stepping between my legs, forcing my mouth open. His tongue darts between my lips, making small explorations. He tastes so very sweet.
I gasp, my hand running down his spine, stopping at the small of his back, pressing him towards me.
His hand trails up the expanse of my torso, and stops at my chest.
I gasp again, against his lips, pressing my hips into his. His growl is low, and his mouth drops to my jaw, trailing along its length, before lowering still to my neck.
I pant heavily, trying to catch my breath.
And then, I feel his teeth press against the skin of my throat, poised to cut through, straight to the jugular.
Every part of me freezes, and finally, true and unadulterated fear courses through me.
What have I done?
One of Kartik's hands still presses against my waist, holding me still, while the other yanks on my hair, tugging me head back, and I can sense death, extending his skeletal hand towards my soul, welcoming me into the after life.
"Kartik..." I do not know how I manage to form any words, but form them I do.
My heart is skipping, and even now I brace myself for the pain.
But it does not come.
Kartik tears himself away, and is at the window again, not looking at me- but I can see the agony, the hatred in his eyes.
Does he hate me?
"When... when your... condition..." He waves uncomfortably at my lower half, causing embarresment to flood through me, "Is done.... come see... come see me at the boat house. There are.... there are things we must discuss."
And he is gone, without another word, down ivy on the wall.
I run to the window, my knees as weak as a kitten's. A rope sways, cleverly hidden amongst the ivy.
But there is no sight of Kartik.
I slide to the floor, and wrap my arms about my legs, my breath coming in shuddering half-sobs, my eyes partially closed.
God help me, what have I gotten myself into?
A/N: and thats it, folks, the new chapter written by, as I had mentioned before, tutstemplar!!!! check her out, shes amazing, and REVIEW!!!
Oh and I don't think I'll be having any more guest chapters... thank you so much though, tutstemplar! Haha I think I'll write the rest, though.