"This is not a bad vampire romance novel--as much as this could be--please stop with the melodrama."
Meme || Status: Not Accepting
The snarl that threatened to tear past his lips, to twist and mar the vampires visage until his outside was truly as ugly and dark as his insides, was barely held at bay, and James found himself grinding his teeth as anger and agitation flared up within him, his jaw clenched tight enough that the muscles stood out.
Of course he would be stuck with a bloody fool who thought his curse amusing, not fully realizing the truth of his situation. For Val, it was fun and games—pop culture references and asinine questions to make her look the fool and not like the actual threat she was. But for him? For him, it was all but indescribable.
Everything and everyone he once loved and held dear was stripped away from him when he had the curse forced upon him. Who he was, the kind of man he was, that was all stripped away, murdered violently the moment the monster sank his fangs into his throat and drained him of his blood, leaving him with nothing but the darkest, most vile and wretched parts of whatever mockery of a soul he had left in its stead. No, this curse was not something he found cute or kitschy, was not something he would ever make light of the way she had so easily and carelessly done so. As far as he was concerned, the curse had destroyed the man he once was and left a monster in his place—–a monster he’d come to learn, live with, accept, and embrace these last few centuries.
❝I did not know that starvation fell under the category of melodrama,❞ he sneered, the tightly reigned in fury and vitriol slipping past his iron-like grip and contorting his features.
It was true, though. He hadn’t fed, hadn’t hunted in days, and the agony that he normally felt had only grown exponentially. That always just out of reach itching sensation he felt just below the surface of his skin, the burning feeling that coursed through his veins, the too-tightly wound up feeling that gripped his spine and weighed his shoulders down like Atlas holding the world, and the ever present ache of his fangs had both flared up, nearly crippling the vampire and driving him all but mad. He was trapped within his own personal hell, and that hell was his body rebelling against its nature, destroying itself from within.
He felt like a caged animal, a predator stalking its small confines, hunger lapping at his every nerve and burning bright within his gaze. His agitation, coupled with the near debilitating pain that he was in, made him wrap the tip of his tongue around a pronounced, elongated fang, pressing against the sharp point to prick the tender, muscular organ. It grounded him, gave him something to focus on other than the pounding of Val’s heart or the sound of blood rushing through her veins. It was a temporary respite that gave him some semblance of control, and he took advantage of it, speaking to the infuriating witchling once more.
❝But please, if you’d rather not deal with such ‘melodrama,’ leave.❞
And with that, he gestured towards the solid oak doors she’d entered earlier.
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