Enraged

Nya sat by the bed, watching the wounded man breathe slowly. He had taken forever to clean up, and she had thrown away two washcloths and two towels in the process. He was completely unconscious now, and she wondered if she would have a dead man on her bed in the morning. The only time he had flinched was when she cleaned the cut on his stomach. Something funny was pushing up against the stitches. Figuring it might be some sort of tracking device that had gone wrong, she pulled it out of his flesh and dropped it in the wastebasket. No matter what this man had done, there was no excuse for being treated the way he had been. The sight of the man’s bruised body caused her to wonder just what kind of police force “protected” her city. With no small amount of difficulty, she had managed to maneuver his body on the bed, barely noticing that her sheets were already turning pink from his leaking wounds.

It was getting late, and the chair she was curled up in was getting comfortable. Grabbing an afghan off the bed, she laid her head on the arm rest, surveying the person in front of her. Apprehension fluttered through her mind. What was she doing? A strange man, naked, bleeding, obviously wanted by the police, was asleep on her bed. Nya couldn’t help but smirk. What would her brother say if he could see her now? After her parents died, her brother, Nick, had officially taken over control of her life. Even though he worked in some genetic research lab for the government, he still called at least once a week. How are things Nya? Is everything okay? Are you sure? Do you need money for groceries? Are you still arguing with the city over those ducks? She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. It wasn’t even about the ducks. She wanted to make a difference. Even if Nick thought it was a dumb idea and poor career choice. Moving to the city was her escape, her independence, away from him, and his controlling concern.

Her eyelids were sinking with the depth of the night. Watching the chest of the man rise and fall was her lullaby. Tight and defined, it was a lovely bed time story.

She might have dozed off, but wasn’t really sure. But she woke up to a feeling. Not a suspicious creak of the floorboards or a weird light, but a feeling that something was…wrong. Nya sat up slowly, glancing side to side without moving her head. Before she moved to the city, Nick had forced her to take self defense classes. But with her hands twisted in a blanket and her feet shod in fuzzy pink slippers, she didn’t think anyone would view her body as a weapon. I wish I hadn’t left that mace in the other room. Nothing wrong was in view so she swept her eyes to the man on the bed. He was fine, still breathing. But something was different. Maybe he was dying. His color, instead of returning to a healthy copper, was paling. But other than that, he looked healthy.

The moment she realized that all his wounds had completely disappeared was the exact moment Rage woke up.



Anger was the first emotion Rage felt when he woke, followed closely and violently by hunger. So hungry. It had been close to a week since he’d had anything to eat. His vision was hazy. He stared at the ceiling, having no idea where he was. He remembered Garrett and the others, remembered the feel of boots connecting with his stomach. But he had no idea how he got here. And he felt different, better. Hope peeked its way into his mind. Running his tongue over his fangs, Rage grinned. He was back. And he was hungry.

Rage didn’t even look in her face before he pounced, knocking the chair over on the floor, his pale frame straddling hers. She was in shock, horrified and trembling. Usually, he would pause to soak up the look on her face, securing it in his bank of memories. But this time, basic survival needs knocked any idea of foreplay from his mind. He pushed her head roughly to the side and pierced the skin. With every swallow he could feel the energy returning to his body. His mind focused, vision cleared. He felt the power return to his legs, his arms. He practically glowed with it. All but ignoring the soft whimpers coming from the girl, he took the majority of her blood, leaving a little for later. She crumpled into a pile of pajamas when he released her. He stood, stretched his arms above his head and looked around the room. Where was he?

Nya knew something was wrong before she saw him move. She could feel, anticipate, his attack, but horror kept her stiff. A light movement of his jaw and a quick flash of grey eyes was all she registered before feeling the impact of the chair hit the floor. Realization dawned on her. A vampire, that was freaking great. When Rage snapped her neck, not even pausing before he sank into her flesh, she felt a wave of intense pain crash on top of her. It was like her entire essence was being sucked out through a straw. Her eyes clouded and rolled to the back of her skull. Maybe Nick was right, I can’t take care of myself.



Ok, he remembered the cops, and he couldn’t forget their fun-time of course, but what happened after that? Flashes came back to him, an alley, a small dirty man in a blue coat, and a girl. His eyes glanced at the one on the floor. Her? Yes, that was her. What did she have to do with anything? This was obviously her apartment, her bed. And the chip. Where was that? He looked at his stomach. There was a dark red line where Garrett had cut him. Rage ground his teeth. That human had given him his one and only scar. A look in the bathroom and he remembered her bathtub and soft hands washing away blood…his blood. He swallowed, shaken by the mere memory of that helplessly human feeling the chip had given him. Where was that vile thing anyway? He found it, covered in red at the bottom of her trashcan. She threw it away. This human girl had found him dying in an alley, brought him up here to her own room, cleaned him and made him a vampire again. And he killed her. Rage wasn’t exactly sorry, pity and remorse not a feeling easily come by for vampires. However, she was interesting. What sort of woman would help a complete stranger out for no reason? He studied her harder. Nice body, soft and womanly, black hair fell across her shoulders. Rage picked her up by the collar of her pajamas and looked at her face. She was beautiful but not intoxicating. He smiled, when he was done with her, she would as irresistible as death. Dragging her into the kitchen he found a sharp knife. Running the blade across his arm, he opened her mouth with a strong grip on her jaw. The crimson drops splattered on her tongue, a few missing their mark and landing on her lips. His eyes narrowed, and he wanted badly to lick them off.

“Drink up lovely, things will get better from here.”