Rare Blood

Chapter One: Fate

When Roxy felt the popping sensation of puncturing a vein she could no longer remember why she wasn't supposed to be drinking whenever she wanted, and when the blood filled her mouth... she no longer cared.

It warmed her much faster than anticipated. The effects were instantly noticeable, even in the fingertips which normally took a good amount of time to heat. The warmth filling her spurred her to keep drinking. She felt like she was floating, stoned... "Roxy," a voice she knew broke into her moment.

"Roxy!"

It took everything she had, but Roxy released the girl. She let her fall to the ground, licked her lips, and then turned to face Cyrus. He was standing a few feet from her with his hands balled into tight fists. "What have you done," he growled, obviously struggling to contain his anger.

Uncertain how to answer, or if she even could, Roxy looked down at the girl. She had nothing in the form of an explanation, she felt no remorse. There was only the urge to take more. She felt practically alive from the blood pulsing through her. It was incredible.

Turning the key, listening to the engine as it thundered to life, Cyrus knew he was going to feel better. He always felt better after testing the engine in his 1969 Camaro SS. The car was his favorite thing. It was fast and fun to drive. He shifted into reverse backing out of the garage, and then he floored it onto Old Mill Road.

As he maneuvered the car around the turns in the road he removed his phone from his jacket pocket to call Roxanne, the source of his stress, and need for the drive. She was expected at his house that evening, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with her. It went to her voice mail so he hung up.

A minute down the road he rounded a corner, and much to his dismay Roxy's Range Rover was pulled over blocking half of the lane. He slammed on the brakes pulling up behind her knowing whatever was going on wasn't good. As soon as he opened the car door he smelled blood and it took no time to find the source. His temperature plummeted as what he saw registered.

Roxanne had some girl in her arms drinking from her neck on the side of the road. He yelled her name prepared to do more, but she let the girl slip from her grasp, and crumple to the ground. Roxy seemed dazed as she wordlessly looked to the girl lying at her feet. His gaze followed as if the explanation might be lying there with her. All he saw was the pale stillness of a life fading, but not yet gone.

Cyrus could hear the slow, faint rhythm of the girls heart, and before he knew what was happening he was at her side lifting her small frame up off the road into his arms. The sound of her heart had pulled him to her, and not to finish what Roxy started, he was going to help her. She was alive, and Cyrus was going to keep her that way.

Roxanne forgotten, he carried the girl to his car and placed her in the passenger seat. He got in the drivers seat, turned the car around, and headed back to his house. He glanced over at her slumped form feeling a pang of something that made him turn the heat on for her even though he knew they'd be back at his house before the car warmed.

As soon as Cyrus pulled in the garage he turned the engine off and lifted the girl from the car. He carried her straight to his bathroom and laid her down in his bathtub. He retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet, got it wet in the sink, then dropped down next to the tub placing it against her forehead. He held it in place for a second before gently wiping some of the blood off revealing an inch long sliver just under her hairline. It was still bleeding, but it would be fine.

Two butterfly band-aids later he was on to the puncture wounds and realized he was going to have to remove her sweatshirt to get at them. "I'm sorry..." he whispered finding it strange he meant it as he tore the sweatshirt down the middle. The material parted revealing a light pink t-shirt that was far more form fitted which made him question the sweatshirts origins. It was at least three sizes too big, and for some reason the possibility that it belonged to a male bothered him.

The annoyance didn't last long though, because when he got a good look at the two swollen, purple-red puncture marks all he wanted to do was kill Roxy.

She could've finessed it, she could have kept the damage neat and clean, but no, not Roxanne. She left marks like a rabid pit-bull.

After doing what he could for the wounds Cyrus lifted her out of the tub and put her in his bed. As he eased away he noticed how delicate her features were compared to his, and then it struck him just how beautiful she was. She had a graceful bone structure, long lashes, and lips the color of frosted rose petals. Her hair was long and golden-blond, a shade or two lighter than his own. Her pink t-shirt revealed her flat stomach and a nice set of curves... and then he suddenly felt very guilty for looking at her, appraising her the way he was so he covered her to the neck with a blanket, and then he just stood there.

He stared at her for a moment like he expected something to happen. Nothing did, but he found her resting form impossible to walk away from so he pulled the upholstered chair from the corner over next to the bed, and he sat down, in for the long haul apparently.

As Cyrus sat watching the rise and fall that marked the sleeping beauty's breathing he couldn't stop wondering, what color are her eyes?