Struck (A Vampire Novel) ✔

Three

I opened my eyes quickly, whimpering at the brush of fabric against the wounds of my back before quickly rolling over onto my stomach. Presented with the opportunity, I bunched the sheets in my hands and gathered a nice mound around my upper body so I felt more covered, though covering my back was definitely not going to happen anytime soon. When I gathered courage, I turned my head to look at the man who had brought me here and prayed he hadn’t done so in intent to harm me.

The immediate reaction was relief, being that he didn’t appear to have black eyes and fangs or any other demonic features, though I noted that the demon girl had appeared normal at first as well… This man was eyeballing my back, probably at what had to be some nasty gashes across my birth mark. He was thickly built, muscles obvious through his shirt. His hair was blonde, bright, and had a slight twist that indicated curls would be birthed if it was allowed to grow further. He had a mild 5’oclock shadow that at the same time seemed well kept. His eyes were a blue almost-green color, and they noticed I was staring at him.

“Oh… small, potentially gorgeous, red hair, stunning eyes,” He said as-a-matter-of-factly, “My mate will love you just as soon as she’s over the whole you being a Monet thing.” I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, and I wasn’t sure in what way he meant his ‘mate’ would love me. He suddenly reached to touch my back and I winced in anticipation, but he only brushed against the design untouched by the demon girl’s vicious claws.

“You’re very lucky Jacobi spotted this before he had carved your stunning eyeballs out of that pretty little head of yours,” He stated with amusement, “And you’re lucky he’s one of the few of our kind who has amazing self-control.” If this Jacobi person was who I thought it was, I did not think he had any self-control beyond senseless torture of innocent women and I did not think I was lucky at all at this point in time.

The man barely brushed the skin near one of the wounds of my back, causing me to close my eyes and whimper pathetically. “That will not due,” he said suddenly, “No doubt, you’ll get sick and die. Either by infection or shock. But don’t worry; it’s nothing a bit of medicine can’t fix!” I could feel a cold sweat beginning across my skin, but I still couldn’t find the courage to say anything. I expected this man to attack me any second, to accuse me of horrible things and then hurt me.

When he suddenly moved closer to me, pulling me up from the bed, I began to panic. I pulled the sheet with me, covering my chest as though this would save me from any harm. He quickly pressed me against his chest, maneuvering me in such a way that his hand didn’t affect the area of the wound on my back and that I had no choice but to look up into his face. For a moment, he only looked at me breathing rapidly in panic in his arms, and then he flashed a very calming smile.

“My name’s Xander,” He said brightly, “I might scare you but really it’s for your own good.” Before I could register what he was saying, his pupils’ bled black over his eyes and fangs extended in his mouth. I gasped, moving to struggle, but his grip was iron and unrelenting. Without hesitation, he bit into his own hand, tearing a bit at his flesh to free a sudden rush of blood. And then he pressed that wound against my mouth which had been opened in an attempt to scream.

I struggled against the wet wound, my screams muffled until choked by gagging through the blood. And then I pushed past the wave of nausea in order to swallow what tasted like sour wine tinged with copper. After the initial intake of blood, Xander had to actually pull his hand away from my grip, which I hadn’t known I had in my hand. Though I definitely wasn’t a fan of the taste, I had suddenly felt a wave of numbness, like being injected with a high dose of morphine. It was followed by the most pleasurable feeling of ecstasy crawling across my skin. It wasn’t a feverish type of ecstasy, but more calming.