Angel Blood

43- Rage in a Hollow Shell

There's something even deeper than that. Something that makes me heavy with exhaustion despite the shroud of darkness biting at the back of my head. A ravenous part of me left unsatiated. 

I hunger.

I touch my stomach. No, that's not quite right. Images of the dark haired one bringing me bowls of brown liquid with little chunks of meat rise to the forefront of my mind. I starve for something deeper.

"How is she?" the dark haired one asks.

Destroy, my mind whispers, pushing out the thought of how I need to feed. The darkness threatens to blanket my mind again. I fight it back. Somehow I know it will push my thoughts away. I want my mind to be awake, don't I?

Destroydestroydestroydestroydestroydestroydestroy.

"Not good," the other one says. His voice is familiar but I cannot place why. "We need to tell her."

The dark haired one sighs. "That's dangerous. She's going to want to see him and I don't even want to imagine what he could do to her in this state."

"We can't keep him locked away forever," he says, eying me with a strange frown downturning his lips. "It's not fair to keep this a secret from her anymore."

"What if he kills her?"

The brown haired one eyes me for a second longer. My mouth pulls into a wide grin at the word, savage glee blossoming in my chest at the thought of slaughter.

"He won't," he says, hazel eyes unmoved even as the smile drops from my lips and I stare back into his gaze and imagine ripping him limb from limb. "He needs to feed first though. Make sure he's not so ravenous once we send her in."

The dark haired one sighs. "Where are we going to find a woman to willingly fuck him?"

He snorts. "Are you kidding? That's the easy part."

...

"What the fuck?" The female in front of me stumbles backward a few steps, her small back hitting the wall furthest from me. "What's wrong with him?"

The darkness resides enough for me to take note of her slim frame, of the roundness of her breasts and the curve of her hips. That starving part inside of me flares to life again.

"You said you wanted to fuck Sinclair Black," the dark haired one says, gesturing to where I slump against the wall. "Well, here he is."

"Why does he look like that?" she asks, tugging up her red top so less of her chest peeks out the top. "Is he sick?"

"He needs to feed," the dark haired one says.

I rub at the emptiness in my chest as if the touch will help soothe its hollowness. Yes. I do need to feed.

"I thought..," she pauses, licking her plump lips and running a twitchy hand through her golden hair. "There's been rumors that he's dead."

The male snorts. "Does he look dead to you?"

She hesitates, eying me like a little mouse that's been trapped by the cat. "How much?"

"Twenty-thousand."

She takes another long look at me and the wary look on her face sends a trill through my chest. I smile, hoping she comes closer. She should be frightened of me.