In The Dark Of Night

Chapter Thirteen - The Blood

Chapter Thirteen

The Blood

 And would you leave me,

If I told you what I've become?

 ~Florence + The Machine, No Light No Light

It was midnight when he stumbled back into the Warlock's Gothic building. 

He didn't realize how bad it looked until he heard Santino curse in a fluid string of Spanish. That was what brought Faye into the living room.

She'd screamed. 

He'd pushed past the two of them, ignoring the questions and the disturbed looks and the profanities - all he wanted was his bed and his pillow and to sleep for about five years. 

When he slammed the door shut on the both of them, he got something even better - Wynella, curled up in a ball, hugging onto his t-shirt and staring blankly out the window.

She turned when she heard the door click closed.

He didn't even flinch as her eyes widened a fraction as she took him in, lips parting and hand flying to her lips.

"You're..." She gasped, her feet swinging for the floor and hair flying around her shoulders.

"I know." Cale whispered back, cutting her off. 

Silently, he crossed the room, golden eyes dim, as he hooked his fingers underneath the edge of his shirt and pulled it up and off. 

He didn't miss the sudden flutter of her lips as she came eye-to-eye with his bare, muscled chest.

He let the t-shirt fall in a puddle on the floor - there was a soft splat as it hit the ground, the liquid soaking it weighing it down. 

Her eyes strayed to it, then back to him.

"Is... is that your blood?" 

He didn't respond, sinking onto the bed beside her and staring at the wall across from him. 

A mirror hung there - all light bulbs and reflective glass and framed edges - just above a chest-of-drawers, and it was there that he could see himself in all his glory. 

Blood stained his upper torso - a brilliant, bright red that stuck fast to his skin. It stained his arms and his neck and even parts of his face. His hair, a dark black, was slicked with the substance too.

It was like he'd been sprayed with it. 

He closed his eyes - trying to get a hold of his thoughts.

All he could see behind the shutted lids were Santino and Faye screaming, asking him what the hell had happened and what the hell he had done. All he could hear were the agonized pleas of a fast-fading face, as though from a dream. 

"Cale... Cale? Can you hear me?" 

Wynella's voice broke the suspension and he snapped back to his reality.

Instantly his gaze fell on his reflected blood-soaked image.

He looked away. He looked at her.

She was gazing back, expression wholly worried and fingers edging across the fabric of the bed for his, concern laced in her tone.

"Are you hurt?" 

He shook his head, no. 

Her hand reached his and latched on. 

Instantly, that calm flooded him and everything that had been stressing him simply seconds ago floated away. All he could think about was how unbelievably good just her hands felt. And how unbelievably good he felt around her.