A/N: I am back for another round! I hope I didn't keep you all waiting for too long. Thanks so much to everyone who has put this story on alert, and even more so to those who have left me a review in the first couple of chapters: Benigma, Halcyon Impulsion, MontyPythonFan, deangirl1, Naed, alexithymia, heather03nmg, Kaimi Hoshi, Silvertayl. Your feedback is inspiring and it excites me into writing more, so please continue to review!
Warnings: Although still currently rated T, some of the following events may border the rating of M. I'm not entirely sure, so please contact me if you feel that my story needs to be upped in rating; I will not hesitate to do so. Warnings include some violence and gore, a tad bit of swearing and a bit of what some may or may not find sexually-oriented. I don't, but I'm just playing it safe. You've been warned!
Drip.
Drip.
.
.
Drip.
The two people in the cold, stone room stared at each other, one on his knees, the other towering over him.
On the side of the man's face trickled a young and bright spring of blood from his cheek, while the sticky wetness from his hairline was becoming old and dark. His hair was messy, his eyes wary, his chest bare.
The woman sported flawless pale skin. Her lips, shaped in a sinister smile, never seemed to lack a cherry-coated shine. Her clothing was glossy and looked brand new and her hair fell so that not a single strand stood out of place.
They were exact opposites in this moment of time.
For all Dean knew, they were exact opposites all the time.
He choked back fear in a manner that he always did - with a little bit of humor, a little bit of hope and plenty of ignoring the inner pessimist. He grasped at the facts likes straws in his brother's hand when they were young, and the facts were these - although he was strung up and at a loss of advantage, he had a lot of experience at overcoming these sort of odds. Also, there was only one of her. He had overtaken many enemies at once, alone, before.
Dean was hopeful that he would get out of this one unscathed.
And he clung to that hope even more so than his shackles, because deep down inside he had a dreadful feeling that things just were not going to be that easy.
He had been taught all of his life to trust his instincts, to never ignore that feeling radiating from his stomach that always told the truth.
He was desperately trying to ignore that feeling now.
Because he was going to get out of here. He was.
He glared at his captor, impatient and expectant. She grinned back.
Then without warning, she sprung at him with a hiss, barely giving the hunter enough time to flinch and give in to the natural instinct of shutting his eyes. Silence ensued. No pain, no unconscious sea of concussion. She hadn't touched him. Against the red-tinted black of his closed irises, Dean could feel the hot breath of her mouth. Slow and steady, unlike the erratic panting of his own lungs.
He reopened his eyes.
Merely inches from his face he was met with the hot, molten blue eyes of Myah. Her nose was almost touching his, but her body radiated no warmth. Dean blinked, confused and ill at ease. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, he held completely still, waiting for the killing strike.
It didn't come.
Myah smiled at him, a smile so wide that it showed her teeth all the way to the edge of her gums. It was then that he noticed the odd grooves in the pink above her pearly whites. It was something that took him a small moment to grasp, something that just wouldn't be there unless -
Ugly, sharp points flew out of the dimples, extending beyond the woman's regular teeth to reveal a second set as another, deep hiss fluttered from the back of her throat. With a gasp Dean automatically panicked and tried to propel himself away from her, resulting in smacking his head against the cold stone behind him. His vision swam, her flawless features taunting him with dizzying movements.
She held her face in front of him for a moment - jaw open wide, hot breath pressing into his eyes at regular intervals - before backing away and standing up straight once more. Her mouth closed, the sharp teeth slowly retracting. She wasn't smiling anymore.
Although Dean was still stunned from the contact his head had made against the wall and the event that had just unfolded, he still had enough sense to realize that the look on Myah's face was that of hunger.
This realization must have shown on his face, because Myah straightened her posture even further, her navy eyes growing colder and she glowered down at him.
It unnerved him how quickly her emotions seemed to change in the short while he'd known her.
"So," She asked finally, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly in yet another display of random mood, "Are you afraid of me yet?"
Dean scoffed, trying to be unaware of how much pain he was in and the stubborn fear that balled at the back of his throat. "I've seen more bite from a chihuahua."
She was amused by his comment and let her head fall back in a bit of a laugh. "You haven't felt my bite yet, boy." She leaned over him and traced a finger along his jaw.
Dean grunted, turning his head away. He barely hid his disgust as he responded to the person he was swiftly beginning to hate, "So why don't you eat me already?"
He had meant the words to be sarcastic, but it came out as a growl.
Myah smiled cockily, obviously expecting the question. For some reason, Dean felt like she was getting closer to him, although he didn't see her move. It left a cold, empty feeling in his chest.
"You're not the entree, Dean," She said in a menacingly low voice. "You're the dessert."
Drip.
The sound of the water traveled through Dean's veins, chilling his soul. "I don't know, lady," he said with a forced grin, "I've been known to be pretty bitter." The latter was said with full meaning.
She sniffed at him, her eyes widening in what could only be described as glee. "How about I decide that for myself?" She took a step towards him, reaching around behind her. There was a glint of light and before Dean could realize what was happening, she was kneeling before him and he was staring at the blade of a powerful, curved knife.
It was a beautiful weapon, about twelve inches from tip to bolster. Its silver appearance seemed to give a off a radiant hue, and there were black etchings in the blade that he didn't care to recognize. The swift movement from holster to his face had caused the metal to hum. Dean swallowed.
In yet another motion almost faster than he could see, Myah had her hand around his neck and was pressing his head up against the wall. He stared down at her with widened eyes, hazel glinting with fear and loathing. "What the he-" He gurgled, before she tightened her squeeze.
"Sshh," Myah said in a whisper, licking her lips. Despite the awkward position of his head, Dean could see that her eyes were glazed over in hunger.
"Time for you to be a good boy."
"Augh!" Dean cried, fighting against the powerful hand and the chains from above that kept him at bay. The knife was in her right hand as she held his head up with her left. Her strength was immeasurable, and Dean found himself choking for air. Slowly she lowered the knife closer to him, and he shut his eyes, one leg shooting out from under him in an attempt to kick at her. It was no use, and he readied himself for the feeling of the blade against his neck at any moment.
When the cold metal touched against the inner skin of his upper arm, it took several seconds for it to register in his brain. The pain of the slice that followed also took a moment to appear through the fog. Dean cried aloud in surprise.
She lowered his head a little, allowing him to see her movements better. Crimson was trickling from a four-inch surface wound in his arm, making him ill at the sight. More than any pain, or even the horror of an attack to the neck, this unpredictable action of a vampire was what frightened him.
Her eyes flashed as she leaned forward, holding his gaze as her tongue flicked over the blood on his arm. Her lids shut in pleasure and she began to suck at the wound, drinking it in. Dean could feel the powerful movement of her tongue against his skin, and it disgusted him in a way he never felt possible. "You freak!" He cried out, fighting once more against her hold. "What are you doing?"
She continued to ignore him, sucking the life out of his vein with a greater force. The wound was small, though, and the cut wasn't deep. Soon his body's natural heroics lessened the flow of blood. Myah did nothing to prevent this, and looked back up at him with a mouthful of his red juices.
Dean was near hyperventilation, her closeness and the smell of his own blood overwhelming his bare senses. That was him dripping down the side of her face, making her lips even more cherry than before...
Suddenly Myah leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, her left hand still holding his face still. Feeling the warm stickiness against his face, Dean cried out against her mouth, stricken in horror and kicking both of his legs in panic. The pull on his arms should have been more than he could bare, but he was drowning in a black sea of fear.
His strangled sounds were enough to gain her tongue access to the inside of his mouth, and he was suddenly overwrought with the warm tangy taste that had been, only moments before, flowing through his veins. He gagged, his eyes clenched shut at the taste, at the smell, and at the overall thought of what was happening to him.
She allowed the contents of her mouth flow freely into his, and he could soon feel the creepy tingling of his blood trickle down the back of his throat. He began to choke on it, his stomach a hot swarm of nausea that threatened to be released.
The captor must have sensed this, because she released his face from hers. She moved back a little, watching him sputter and swallow, a trail of crimson dripping out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. His eyes remained closed as he fought to gain control of his reflexes, his breathing. Slowly his lungs took up a more normal pace, his Adam's apple balancing out into normal movements. His legs were trying to prop himself up awkwardly against the pull of his chains, his body having lost height in going from kneeling to sitting.
The woman stood up, knife at her side as she stared down at her prisoner.
Finally his eyes opened.
The hazel tore through to her own navy eyes, a vicious hate and betrayal that almost burned at the sight. She smiled proudly at him and took a step forward to pat him on the head. "Good boy," she said fondly, ignoring the way he fought to get away from her touch as she ran her fingers through his hair. She stepped back again, his loathing sight watching her every move in a distrust that would never falter again. Lifting the blade, she ran her tongue against it, tasting the cooling blood that had collected there.
"Are you afraid of me now?" She asked him quietly, her eyes laughing maniacally. And with that, she spun around and left the room.
The near complete silence was broken only by Dean's sticky pants of breath. Shuddering, he suddenly lost the contents of his stomach on the floor beside him, and consciousness became fleeting.
Drip.
Drip.
He wasn't sure if that was the just the water anymore.