*^This next chapter in the Stages story, is extremely graphic. Readers discretion is advised. ^*

******************************************************************************

"What smells like blood?" I asked as Angel closed the door behind her.

"Uhh, nothing." She dug around in her bed side, night stand. Fumbling around in her drawer an entire minute, she came up empty handed.

"What are you looking for?" I asked, not really knowing what else to say. I just stood there, leaning against her door, fiddling with the small jar of wolfsbane.

"Looking for a lighter." She said, as she tracked her lost item down. I tried to help, sniffing the air for the residual butane residue that sometimes stained the sides of the metal casing, but to no avail. The scent of blood was getting stronger as she dug through the mess of clothes on the ground around her. She really didn't like a clean room. Even though most of the clothes on the floor were clean, I still considered it dirty. It was on the floor!

"Ah, Got it!" She said, snatching a bright red lighter from under her bed. I looked at where she had grabbed the lighter, and noticed a small red stained rag underneath her bed. It fell from inside the mattress as she sat down.

"Gimme' the jar," she said, "So we can see if this works."

I absently tossed it too her, and she caught it. But I couldn't stop staring at the rag. I knew it was blood, and slowly, I started putting two and two together, and what I came up with, was that I was in love with a cutter.

My imagination went haywire. Thoughts of her bleeding arms wrapped around me as we lye intertwined on her bed coursed through my head. I couldn't stop them this time. I imagined her rubbing her blood over my mouth as I tasted it. I imagined kissing her with my bloody tongue, the thick red liquid sticking us together, ecstacy caressing our souls.

I closed my eyes and clenched my fist and jaws together as the thoughts came harder, and faster. By now, Angela had already caught wind of them, and as I opened my eyes, I saw her stares.

I gripped my chest, and slid down to the ground. My heart was beating too fast, and that look of shock on her face hadn't helped. Yet, in my mind, all I could see were the two of us rolling around in the red stained sheets of her once perfect white bed.

My breathing became restricted, and ants crawled through my skin. I tried to shut it out, but it wasn't working, and just when I thought the world was about to end, I felt her touch.

It was more like a grab.

She pulled me from the door, pushed me onto my back, and pinned my arms down. Her eyes were wide, and exhilarated. She felt what I felt.

She bent over fast and kissed me hard against the floor. Her hands squeezed hard against mine as she tried to pull herself away from me, but something in her kept her from escape. Her soft hands were soft shackles keeping me from control.

She moaned as she pressed herself into me. My stomach clenched. I freed my hands from her and pulled her closer by her sides. She ran her hands through my hair, her tongue circling mine. And at the hight of my ecstacy, she pulled away.

She grabbed her left arm, her scars had opened up, and they smelt more delectable than anything I'd ever smelt before. I could taste it through the air.

Seeing how I reacted to it, she pulled up her sleeves, six small slices lined her forearm, and were I should have felt some kind of sadness, I only felt more lust. She knew I loved the sight, the smell, the taste. And so she raised her arm too her mouth and tasted it herself. I couldn't take it.

I pulled her down onto me, kissing her as hard as I could, as licking the blood from her tongue. My hands ran through her shirt, sliding against her sides, and running up her back. I pulled her braw strap apart without thought and she slid her bleeding arm against the side of my face. Her hair hung over my nose, adding fuel to my burning desire, and I pushed her away.

She pulled her shirt off, and I did the same. She dug her fingernails into my chest, slicing right into my bloods prison. I began to bleed instantly, and she lowered herself into the wound. Licking it, then kissing me.

The only noises that haunted the room were the small moans of my mate, and the slick smack of two bloody beings trying to become one. And that's all that I ever wanted.

******************************************************************************

I hadn't even noticed her get up until I heard her turn on the sink in her bathroom. I looked over as she washed blood off her arms, breasts, and her mouth. And every couple of seconds, she would stare over at me, reminiscent, and smile. "This does not reach my cousin." She said, running water over her hair, just in case.

"Deal." I said, standing up from the floor. As I looked at the spot where we'd once been, I wondered. 'For all the blood that covered us now, there were barely any spots on the floor.' Probably because I'd been on my back the whole time. A grin ran along my face as I recalled the past half hour.

Walking over to Angela, I planted a kiss on her lips, and began to wash away some blood from above my right eye. "So why do you do it?" I asked, referring to the bloody rag under her bed.

She looked up at me, and I didn't blame her. After what had just happened, I was making small talk. But the simple truth was, my instincts were no longer running me ragged. It didn't change the way I felt about her, it just flipped my mood. Much like a light switch. Still she answered.

"Some witchcraft takes sacrifice. Like mine." She explained. "Like werewolves need either the moon to be full, or their emotions to be high to change, I need blood to create spells and practice them."

Either way, it didn't bother me. In fact, I kind of saw it as a turn on. Not to sound sick or anything. But then again... I was a hunting, stalking, killing machine. And for me, a little blood, went a long way.

She'd gotten all the blood off of herself, and started to get dressed. I on the other hand, stood in front of her bathroom mirror, still covered in dried red, half-naked with my pants undone. She laughed at me, making me feel a little awkward. "What?" I asked.

"You missed a spot." She said.

"Missed a spot..., I'm covered in it!" I said laughing back at her, and tossing my bloody rag her way.

There was a knock at her door, and my heart skipped a beat. I rushed to scrape the dried blood from my skin, and at the same time, I tried my hardest to button up my pants and stay quiet about it.

Angela, without missing a beat, grabbed my shirt, threw it at me, and pushed me further into the bathroom so she could shut the door. "Coming." She said.

I heard her open up the door, and heard Emily, asking what was going on in here. She obviously heard me talking.

"Where's Michael." She asked.

"He's in the bathroom. Why?" Angela replied, something I'd been wondering myself.

"Nick says that his dad has been trying to find him ever since school let out." She said, loudly I might add. As if she wanted me to hurry up and get out.

I couldn't agree more, having gotten most of the blood off my torso. I decided that my red 'Fender' shirt would hide the rest of it. As for the cut on my chest, I padded it with toilet paper and ran water around the edges of the paper to help it stick.

"Kay, I'll tell him when he gets out." Angela said, getting rid of her cousin, and shutting the door when she left.

"Did you get that?" She asked me.

"Yup."