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In the few seconds it takes for you to block your door, he’ll already be sitting on your bed, listening to the sound of your heart pump his next meal through your body. The adrenaline rush runs out, and you start to feel the after effects of running throughout your house. Fatigue hits you almost as hard as the realization of why he’d chased you in the first place. Someone like him could have easily killed you within a split second, without a single thought of regret or remorse crossing his mind. He’d planned it this way because it would make the feed all the more amusing for him, and the blood taste somehow sweeter. It was so he could get the satisfaction he needed from seeing the absolute terror overcome you as he finishes off your family. So that when it is you turn, you would already know what he could do, and it scares you. That fear will make the heart pulse faster, and the blood come quickly.
This way, you’ll know that when you scream, nobody will hear you.
He walks towards you with undeniable grace, and the trembling starts. A piece of wood you’d intended to use as a stake falls from your desperate grasp, and rolls across the room. Giving up suddenly seems inevitable, because fighting would just mean adding to the list of wounds that already seep blood down your back, and the side of your leg.
“I didn’t mean for you to lose so much blood,” he says, his fingers brushing the scratches on your leg. Sighing, he whispers. “Such a waste.”
He brings his fingers covered in your blood to his lips, and licks them. His sparkling green eyes flash a deadly red.
This is it, you think watching him eye you hungrily. It’s plain to see in the way his tilts his head to the side, and in the way he brushes back the lock of hair that covers you neck, that his thirst is unquenchable. This is how I will die.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He wipes away a stray tear, and for a moment, his hand lingers there, relishing the warmth. “But, if it helps,” he continues and all the while, the same hand wanders on your neck, searching there for the gentle pulse. “your death will mean my survival. It’s kind of like the circle of life.” He grins, showing off eager fangs.
But even if anything he said could have calmed you, his words are lost in the sudden pain that takes over your every thought. His teeth are piercing your neck, hitting a vein, and striking home.
At first, it’s as if he’s trying to relish the taste, swallowing only what your weak heart pumps into his mouth. Moments later, bloodlust warps his plans and he’s taking in mouthfuls, getting the liquid down before your heart even has a chance to send the next mouthful up through your body.
The fatigue you’d felt before doubles a hundred times over, and your legs give out. But he won’t let you fall. Instead, his strong arms are pulling you closer to him. You begin to fade between life and death, while your vital fluid levels get dangerously low.
Your mind jumbles, flickering out, but only to moments later slam back into focus, until it just shuts down completely. Your last few seconds are a blur as slowly your body dies out, until it’s just you, vaguely realizing that it’s over.
Creatures of the night have been known for centuries for leaving a horrible death scene behind, knowing that it will imprint a terrible memory in our mind, that will remind us that no matter how cruel the human race becomes they, and they alone, will always have the power to kill without mercy or guilt.
He’s planning to do that when he lifts your lifeless body gently, and places it on the bed in such a way that would suggest a peaceful sleep. That is, until whoever finds you first notices the open wound between your right shoulder and jaw.
“Sorry, love,” he says to deaf ears, and presses his scarlet lips to yours, leaving them blood red. “Had to do it.”