CHAPTER 3:

"What do you mean, Roth?" Jacob growled. "Speak plainly."

Roth's face twisted into an annoyed scowl and Jacob felt his gut wrench stupidly at the thought that he might have disappointed him. He had to shake himself mentally and remind himself that he should not care about the praise of a sociopathic murderer like Roth – but he couldn't shake the disappointment at the same. Jacob grimaced.

"Now, now, my boy," Roth said suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts with a quick, sufficient jerk at Jacob's hips; bringing the assassin back down onto the bed, flat on his back and beneath him. "Don't look so glum. I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome for tonight's event. And here I thought death the only outcome – you never cease to surprise, darling."

"I didn't do anything," Jacob protested, eyeing him like one might gaze at a particularly unstable stranger – wary and perturbed.

"Exactly," Roth said, leaning forward to smirk against his ear and lick a hot strip across the mostly healed punctures in Jacob's throat – making him shudder, eyes wide. "You couldn't do it, so neither could I."

Jacob saw white behind his eyes, electricity still shuttering through his veins from Roth's attention to the bite at his throat. God, why was it so sensitive? It was the bite of a madman, nothing more. Jacob swallowed thickly and tried to blink clarity back into focus.

"Stop," he moaned, and pushed against Roth. Surprisingly, the man conceded. All at once, Roth was off him and standing at his bed side, reaching for his hands and helping him up.

"Quite right, my dear," he said, urging Jacob to his feet. "As tempting as you might be, we must get you fed and squared away. You're not out of the woods yet."

Jacob felt his heart drop into his stomach. He opened his mouth to protest, but the second his feet met the carpet, his head went into a sickening spin. His lashes fluttered as he tried to clear his vision, but instead felt his strength – what little he had of it – leave his knees. He stumbled forward only to be caught by a strong grip, one that immediately held him close in some mock resemblance of worry.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh, darling," Roth said, petting back a lock of hair that had managed to fall into Jacob's face. "It's almost over."

"Wha-?" But Roth was already moving. He slung one of Jacob's arms around his slim shoulders and to Jacob's surprise began to easily steer him up and out of the room. "Where are we going?"

But Roth didn't answer. He just kept urging Jacob further even as the hallways began to grey and his ears began to fill with static. Just as Jacob thought he would not be able to take another step, they reached a door – a locked door.

"One second, my dear," Roth insisted, leaning Jacob gently against the wall as he pulled free a key and swiftly unlocked the door. Jacob could do nothing but watch as Roth again took him under the arm and guided him into the room. It was a dark room, with only its middle illuminated by the light of the moon from a nearby window; its corners drenched in shadows.

Jacob was panting by the time they reached their destination – air coming out of his lungs in big huffs as he tried to understand why he was so tired, so winded, so weak.

"Roth," he murmured, head down, unable to take in the room. "What's happening to me?"

But still, Roth said nothing. Instead, he eased Jacob down to the floor and stepped away completely, disappearing to the doorway; back into the shadows. Observing. Waiting.

"Roth?"

Nothing. A quick turn confirmed that Roth was still there, watching him like a hawk. But the man made no further move to help or answer him. Jacob took a big gulp of air, preparing to sigh, only to realize… something smelled delicious.

His breath caught. He took another tentative sniff, then a deeper one. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he smelled it, the scent activating a fire, a need, that burned so hot and so deep Jacob thought he might die if he went another second without it. He opened his eyes and suddenly the darkness was no longer a barrier.

In the darkness he could see a woman chained to opposite side of the room. She was young, pretty in wide-eyed way - and fear made them all the more wider. She looked absolutely petrified. The trembling in her hands had caused the chains at her wrists to start a soft and eerie song, jingling in tune to her terror. She was pale with fright, her hair plastered wetly to her nape and temples. His bottom lip quavered. She was on the verge of tears.

The words 'don't be afraid' blossomed in Jacob's throat only to die before he could speak them. Without meaning to, his eyes slipped closed again. He sniffed the air and felt hunger punch him even harder in his gut. The delicious smell, the smell that was making him go wild – it was her.

She smelled of rainstorms and lightning charged clouds. Like the wind rushing against his face mid-leap of faith. Like the smell of gunpowder and passion and adventure, if one could smell like such a thing. She smelled like adrenaline – like life.

And oh, how he wanted her. All of her.

It took a moment to realize that something was growling inside of the room; a moment longer to realize it was himself. And yet, even after he could not stop it. Despite the howling of his muscles and the pain in his eyes and the shallowness of his breath, Jacob forced himself onto his hands and knees as though pulled by some hidden force. Slowly, he made his way toward her. Drool pooled in his mouth, but swallowing did not quench his thirst or slake his hunger. If anything, it made the need stronger. He needed her.

He gums ached with that need. His body ached with that need. And with every inch gained, the ache only grew worse – worse and worse until finally he was touching her, his hands at her shoulders, and he felt his bones could go alight at any moment.

The world narrowed to just the two of them. Just his need and her smell – coming from her neck, pulsing in thick waves in time to her heartbeat. He found himself consumed by it, the sound. His eyes became fixated upon her neck, onto the small quiver of her throat where her pulse was visible from fright. He reached a finger out, trembling, and gently stroked that small patch of skin. She whimpered and tried to shrink away, but he was over her now; in her space, encroaching upon what little room she had. His finger was replaced by his lips and nose, then by open-mouthed kisses. She cried audibly, then – weak and pleading. He couldn't understand what she was saying beneath the heady thump of her heartbeat. He licked her pulse to calm her. It did anything but.

He could feel it; her pulse against his tongue. Thick and strong and promising.

And then her voice broke through, thin and small and sounding like his sister from when they were young - one of the very, very few times he had ever heard her cry.

"P-please don't do this."

His eyes snapped opened. Violently, he tore himself from her as though burned. And he might as well have been burned, he thought, as the hunger seared punishingly through his veins in response. It rose up like a wave and chewed through him. Urging, pleading, wanting. He shuddered and pressed his face against the floor. He'd throw up if there were anything in him to pass. Instead, he heaved dryly – tears hot against the rims of his eyes.

"No, no, no," Roth said, his voice more a snarl than the words of a man. He stalked heavily across the room and clawed his hand down deep into Jacob's hair. Jacob let out a hoarse shout, one hand at Roth's wrist as the man lifted Jacob's gaze up to face him.

"Roth!"

The thin man bent down at the waist so that his manic, red eyes could consume Jacob's vision. In them, Jacob could see his own face – pale and terrified and confused, but also needy. So absolutely desperate in his need.

"There's no running from this, Jacob," Roth growled. "It's rude to turn away a gift."

And then he was being dragged by his hair, his feet scrambling useless behind him as he shouted. He wasn't used to being so weak. He was anassassin. He scaled buildings and took on multiple foes single-handed. How could he be so weak that he couldn't tear away from this old man's grasp? To be unable to run? Get away? Get back to safety? He felt a frustrated cried burn at his throat, but smothered it down – only for it to be replaced with pain not a second sooner as Roth threw him down at the woman's feet once more.

Her shaking had worsened, tears gleaming wetly on her cheeks. She smelled even more fiercely of rain. The hunger burned through Jacob anew. He writhed, his gums aching. Lost as he was to the sensation, he didn't see it the moment Roth pulled a knife from his waist – nor did he see him cut a long, neat line down her wrist with a softly murmured, "Until you get your teeth."

And then the smell hit him harder, increased threefold.

Everything that she was, everything that she could be – all of it, everything that was her. Jacob felt a dry sob build in his chest from how overwhelming it was. So close, so strong, so alive. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He needed. He needed.

"Hear, dear boy," came a familiar voice, suddenly soothing and gentle. "It's alright, she's here." A warm wrist, soft flesh, pressed to his nose and mouth. Something warm spread like wet jam across his face. His eyes rolled in his skull. First he swiped his tongue messily across the gash, then sucked onto it. His teeth ached to bare down, to pierce, but instead they bluntly pressed against her.

And it was like something clicked, finally. The smell became more tolerable now that he was swallowing down its source, filling his stomach with it, growing full off it. He whimpered with relief, eyes tightly shut as he shuddered pleasantly. She was hitting him, but he didn't notice – not until her attacks became kitten soft against him.

Something was screaming at the back of his mind – something pained and wild and breaking.

But he ignored it in favor of the thick flavor flooding his mouth.

"Good boy," came the voice again, petting the back of his neck, threading fingers through his hair with praise and wonder, and Jacob couldn't help but feel a little thrill of pride. He had pleased his maker. His… maker…

'That's...That's not right.'

Jacob opened his eyes and was met with the face of a dead woman huddled against him - staring at him blankly.

"No!" He spluttered, his unfinished swallow splattering wetly down his chest and across her as he flung her wrist from himself. He clawed his way backward, backpedalling violently. He accidentally kicked her once in his haste, forcing her further into the wall and away from him. She lolled like a rag doll, and looked just as pale as one, too. His stomach seized, and between his large, panicked gulps of air, he was sure he was going to be sick.

'What have I done?!'

He flipped onto his hands and knees, and prepared to vomit only for a large hand to wind across his face from behind, cover his mouth, and lift him onto his knees. His back arched along the length of Roth's legs and waist, the back of his head pressed against Roth's stomach.

"No," Roth chastised him, his hand firmly keeping Jacob's jaws closed. He shook him by his jaw once, tightly, like he were a dog to be spurned and taught a lesson. "No."

Jacob's breath whistled loudly over the top of Roth's hand. He had the man's wrist tight in his grasp, but he couldn't pull himself away. So after a long moment of struggling, instead he waited. He allowed himself to calm until his heart was no longer beating a painful staccato against his ribcage. It slowed, and it slowed, and it slowed…and it slowed...

The room grew grey and soft around him. Something whispered 'this isn't right' within him. 'Something's not right.'Roth was easing down behind him, now – lowering Jacob into his lap with a tenderness that was frightening. He felt boneless, even weaker. Cold. Afraid. Exhausted.

"Don't worry, my dear," Roth said, smoothing his sweat drenched hair from his face. "It's almost over."

Jacob watched himself fall asleep in the reflection of Roth's dreadfully red eyes.

[a/n] Sorry for the delay, I got crazy sick. .