Eleventh Grade Burns(12)

“Not at all” As he leaned in, she brushed her hair from her neck. Her eyes widened. “Wow, your eyes are purple. Cool ...”

His fangs almost shot from his gums, and he closed his mouth over her flesh, biting down. She shivered at first and Vlad forced himself to slow down. He didn’t want to hurt her. Nor did he want this to be over with quickly. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore—it wasn’t just the blood that had called him here tonight. It was the act of feeding that he had longed for. It comforted him. It made him feel complete.

After Snow relaxed, Vlad bit down harder, opening the artery. Delicious crimson splashed over his tongue to the beat of her racing heart, and Vlad slipped his arms around her, drinking deep, feeling her entire being shake with excitement ... and fear. She tensed again and he clamped his mouth down, barely resisting the temptation to tear through her flesh completely, enjoying the taste of her blood, the sensation of her terror as he continued to feed. He heard her whisper his name, followed by the subtle breathy word, “stop,” but even then, he continued to feed. Her heartbeats began to slow, but Vlad couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. It was his nature. It was his need. His need to kill.

No.

He pulled back hard, and stumbled backward, keeping his distance, gathering himself. Snow crumbled to the ground, dazed. He watched her, wondering if she had any idea how close she’d been to dying, and a wave of guilty nausea washed over him. He almost gagged, but took slow, deep breaths, calming his stomach, collecting his thoughts. What was wrong with him, anyway? He’d promised Snow, promised himself, that he would only feed when he physically needed to. He shook his head, feeling the nausea settle some. He had to get a grip, or he was going to become something that he couldn’t stand to be. A monster. Just like Joss had said.

Snow stirred, rubbing her neck absently, and smiled over at Vlad. “Wow, hungry much?”

Vlad breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You need it.”

Not that time. Vlad hadn’t been more than a little snacky. But Snow had no way of knowing that. And he’d almost killed her, almost took her life without her even knowing. His veins filled with horror, his heart raced. He was an almost-murderer. A bloodthirsty maniac. A near-killer.

She struggled to stand, and Vlad moved across the alley and helped her, the beast within him contained once more. He dared a glance at her neck, which had healed already. “Are you all right?”

But she wasn’t all right. She was still in the presence of the boy who’d selfishly taken her life-giving blood just to satisfy some stupid craving. She was like a cookie to him now, not a person.

What the hell was he becoming that he could treat her that way?

Snow nodded, her arms draped over his shoulders, her body still wobbly. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. I always feel weird after you feed. Like I’m floating through a haze.”

“I’m sorry.” He said it again, had to say it again. He was sorry. For hurting her. For changing her life. For needing not to stop.

A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Vlad. I actually enjoy it. It makes me feel close to you.”

Vlad allowed himself a small smile. “I feel close to you too.”

She tilted her head for a moment, eyeing him with uncertainty. “Something wrong? You seem kinda stressed tonight.”

Sighing, Vlad said, “It’s a lot of stuff. That slayer I told you about is back, Henry’s acting way too noble for my tastes, and earlier I got the weirdest feeling that Otis knew about our meetings.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “Bad? No. More like horrible. Because if Otis realizes that I’ve been lying to him ...”

“Why are you lying to him, anyway?”

Vlad sighed, his heart heavy. “Sometimes I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, Vlad. I understand.” She met his eyes and Vlad’s tension melted away. She did understand. At last, he had a friend who he didn’t have to hold back with. She really, truly understood.

Without warning, Snow leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He was surprised—she’d never done it before—but he didn’t stop her, not at first. Her lips were warm and sweet. She was a great kisser, soft and giving, but not ... not Meredith.

He pulled away—it was more difficult than he thought—and blinked at Snow, his terror over nearly killing her settling, replaced by confusion. “What are you doing?”