#vampire biting

“Target?” “Alive. Below and on your three. There’s probably a basement.” “Understood.” He put his back to the wall by the door, the L2 Lunex rifle trained on the doorway to the little hallway off the vestibule. This was no longer a two in, two on backup mission. Somehow Arden Telep, medicated to suppress his abilities, a complete civilian with no training in the Gifts, had killed a Silencer operative. That meant either their information was incorrect, or someone else was here. He might have doubted Chase’s expertise with the words of augury, but Michael had never scried and been off. They couldn’t check for a second target without a name, which meant –

He never saw where the man came from. His finger had only begun to reflexively tighten on the trigger at a movement when a hand closed over the barrel and pushed it to one side, and now he was looking into a pair of green eyes under shaggy pale eyebrows and the world suddenly felt soft. Liam felt as if he were falling into cotton as smothering warmth piled up around his brain. A taloned hand carefully reached for the radio on his shoulder and switched it off, cutting off Michael's urgent query in his ear. There was blood on the man’s breath as he spoke.

"Put your weapons on the floor," said a voice. It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, the voice of a father he'd never known, the voice of something more and better than human. On some level he knew he shouldn't obey, but his hands were already briskly at laying down his gun, flicking out his sword and bamboo and laying them out as if for inspection.

Afterward he stood up, and a hand lifted his chin so that he looked into the eyes again. Everything made sense. Everything was fine. Somehow that relaxed, fulfilled feeling coexisted with the awareness that the mission was fucked because their intelligence had been bad. No one had expected a vampire.

“What is your name?”

 “I’m Daniel Schwartzman, face-name currently Liam.”

"How many others are here?" The vampire asked.

"Madison is dead. Michael and Chase are coming in." He answered without the slightest ability to refrain.

" Why are you here?"

"To kill Arden Telep and retrieve a Level 4 constructed artifact, the Eye of Rule."

"If you do not return, how long until someone else comes?"

"Maybe two hours to scramble a team with a pact," Aidan said. “The nearest Exalted is Painmother Nguyen in Bremerton.”

"You’ve done very well, Liam. You’re going to feel no pain. It will all be very nice, and then you will go to sleep."

It was a feeling like being drowned in pillows, soft and nice and inevitable, and then the man took him into his arms and Liam helped him get the helmet off and unfasten his collar. Why wouldn’t he? It seemed like the polite thing to do. A distant part of him knew he was about to die, but no part of him really cared. There was a little tickle at his throat, and then a warm swell of peaceful well-being, and then he felt heavy and he leaned into the arms of the stranger and slept.

Daniel Schwartzman had not quite given all he had to give, little spurts of blood still rewarding Tolly’s questing tongue, and he was very distracted by this, which is why he was shot several times from the kitchen doorway by the first man through. Tolly stumbled backward, arm fruitlessly raised against the rain of agony and noise – even silenced weapons were loud this close - and then he grabbed the dying man and threw him into the others. The room wasn’t big enough to easily avoid it. One man was knocked back into the doorframe as the other ducked and rolled, and Tolly snatched at that one as he started to come up and then he broke the man’s neck with an audible SNAP. More bullets tore through the wall and ceiling where Tolly had just been, but he was paying attention now and they were well behind his trajectory as he kicked off the other counter and rammed his knee into the survivor’s shoulder. The man stumbled, and then Tolly grabbed him by the front of his vest and looked him in the eyes.

It was over very quickly after that. Tolly dropped the body on top of the others, staring down at the ruin of his tee shirt as his flesh pushed flattened bullets out. A couple had gone through him entirely, but with the blood of three people to burn he could have healed much more severe injuries than he presently had to. He lapped away the bite marks just in case. Then it was a matter of under a minute to run all the bodies back out to their vehicle and stuff them inside so Arden wouldn’t have to see them. There was blood on the kitchen floor, but all of it was his own, very red and bright because it was what he had taken from Daniel and Madison.

He ran to the basement door, tapped on it politely, and then opened it.

“Arden, it’s safe for the moment, but we have a problem.”

Part 12: Drive

You danced and acted in the opera house. You were part of the ensemble, you had been grateful to land such a role especially as you hadn’t been training for as long as the talented people that you worked with. You were in the background most of the time, but you worked hard and decided that one day you would land more central roles.

Little did you know, you were already playing the central role of someone’s affections. You had long since heard the rumours. Of a monster or a spirit that haunted the opera house that you worked in.

He watched every performance you were cast in, from the shadows. There was little else for him to do but he found himself enjoying the way you moved. Held yourself. You weren’t like the others. Stuck up and taking themselves too seriously. You were real. You were going to be his.

You were in his dreams, in his every thought. Every evening he would look forward to the curtain call. To seeing your face once again from the box he reserved next to the stage. He loved the way your voice would carry, a melodic confession of love straight into his ears. He could pick your voice out above anyone else’s.

There had long since been rumours of the vampire of the opera. A demon that haunted the opera house. Hidden away from the rest of the world for reasons unknown. He used the audience as people he could feed from, his life blood. With the occasional rat if there was a quiet period. He lived in the underground dungeons, only coming out to catch a glimpse of you.

He would often leave you his handwritten poetry in your dressing room. The only contact you had with him throughout the last year. Describing the way you would glow. His affection growing every second he saw you. The way he watched you onstage, his eyes never able to move from your form.

One evening, you were feeling lonely. You heart aching for something you couldn’t yet put into words. You had no plans or anywhere to go after the performance. You absentmindedly looked towards the mirror and it was the first time you saw his face. There he was. Slicked back white blonde hair, a mask covering one half of his face and a long, cloak-like leather duster. He took your hand, through the mirror, bringing you below. To the place he called home. You were stood taking in your surroundings. It was an underground cave and you found yourself feeling at home. Because he was there. You were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Knowing you could get burnt at any moment. The potential danger rolling off him in waves. But the desire for his touch, his love was too strong.

Spike had now moved behind you, gripping your hips. His strong hands were now roaming over you. Your hips. Your thighs. He ran his hands over the material of your outfit, his body flush against yours as he spoke. You closed your eyes, relishing his touch. Leaning back, pressing your body into his as he whispered a string of hushed confessions into your ear, “Touch me, love. I need you to trust me… to devour this. The touch we share” You nodded, sighing at his words. Words you felt within your very soul. The words that had been written in the poetry left in your dressing room. It was him. His words. His love.

You were drawn to him. Your feelings bubbling towards the surface as his passionate embrace swelled your affections further. He spoke lowly in your ear, “I’ve seen you, where your heart lies. I know you now, you belong here in the dark with me” he insisted, “Let your darker side give in, love” He pressed this into your skin with a kiss against your pulse point. You shivered, leaning your head back against him. Leaning the side of your face against his.

The sensual touch making you bite back a moan. You reach up to the side of his face with one hand, his form still behind you. You moved your hands, resting on your body and he swiftly moved both of his hands to rest over yours. His eyes closing briefly at the pure pleasure he felt at having you here, responding to his pleas. His passionate demonstration of his feelings. He felt so deeply for you. Would kill for you.

You felt yourself wanting to stay with him. Wanting to embrace the darkness, so long as it meant being by his side. You nodded softly and his undead heart rose. His eyes widened slightly in wonder, searching your face to confirm this further. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and moved from his hold slightly. You walked around, with him closely following, exploring the underground that he had now made into a home.

You moved the curtain as he spoke lowly, telling you of the affection he had held for you since he had seen your face. When you opened the curtain, you were staring back at you. A doll with your face. A life-like figure. He had designed a version of you. To keep him company. You didn’t know whether to weep or embrace him once more. Instead, you merely gasped in shock, falling back against him. Fainting. He pulled you into him, carrying you toward his bed. It was grand, but you didn’t see it until you woke.

He stroked the side of your face as you slept, his blue eyes scanning your form. He had dreamt of you in his bed, longed to see you this way. He lingered for a moment before he left you to rest, drinking from his bottle of liquor and moving away to a different part of the dungeon to give you some space.

 When you woke and walked towards him, he was hunched over his desk, feverishly writing. He could sense your movement and he relaxed when he heard that your footsteps were slowly coming towards him rather than running away. You run your hands along his shoulders, he closed his eyes at your touch. He had dreamt of you for so long. You pressed your face against his once more. This time, it was the side that held the mask. You frowned, moving back slightly and peeling away the mask. You slowly take the mask from the side of his face. He snarled, almost overturning the desk. Turning swiftly and pushing you from his face, the mask still in your hand. He growls as he pushes you away. You land on the floor, eyes widened in horror at his temper.

“You stupid-! You bloody horrible– is this what you wanted? To laugh? To jeer at the monster?” He shouted, “Oh yeah that’s right, everyone look at Spike and his hideous demon half” he continued, kicking at the metal gates in the corner of the room. He was covering one side of his face as he spoke, but you could see the fangs now on that side of his face.

You pulled yourself back to your feet, the mask still in your hand. You could see that his eyes cast towards you, pain in his features as he saw what you did. He expected you to turn and walk away, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to let you walk off. Instead, you surprised him. You move back to his side instantly, willing him to feel your comfort.

“You’re not a monster, you could never be a monster to me” You say softly, swept up in the passion that never dissipated, “Your words are so beautiful, no doubt your heart is too. I can feel it”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrow, moving his hand away to prove you wrong. You saw his face, one half of his face had been twisted. He was paler, with purple veins lightly showing on the side of his face. Contorted at the forehead that was ridged and textured in a way that stuck out. There was also a piercing yellow eye now evident where you hadn’t noticed one before.

You reached to touch the roughly textured but he grabbed your wrist, a firm grip keeping your hand in mid-air. You take an intake of breath, shuddering at his cold touch only in temperature. But the warmth that spread through you from this action was one that couldn’t be denied. You shook your head softly and he released your wrist, allowing you to continue.

To anyone else, it may be shocking, grotesque even. But you stared in a way that could only be described as lovingly. He had cowered slightly, waiting for you to laugh. To begin to make fun of him for both his affection and his form. His insecurity had gotten the better of him again.

You reached to stroke his face and this time he let you. Your hand contacted his face, running gently over his forehead. You had expected it to be rough, but it was smooth like the rest of his face. You stroked him softly your touch feather-light. The adoration evident to him. 

“I love you, y/n”

“I love you too, Spike. I’ll never stop” you confirmed. Everything had moved so fast but if this was what love was you wanted more of it. You wished to drown in it by his side. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, to that side of his face.

As you leaned in again, he moved so that his lips were now hungrily on yours. Parting your lips, moving urgently against you. His lips felt so good you never wanted to break apart from him. It was a revelation, his love pouring into you. His hold on you tightening as your emotional attachment grew further. Your lips on his feverishly, willing him to feel the honesty of your love. The intimacy that both of you had longed for for what felt like your whole lives. The amorous exchange becoming increasingly desperate. Both of you swept in the passion of the moment. In the attraction you couldn’t escape.

He pressed you against the wall, pulled you to the side. Moving your head so your neck exposed to him. He landed a kiss along your neck before he moved back. His fangs more visible as he held you in place, his hand firmly in the crook of your neck. You gasped and he gripped you tighter. Pulling you into him as he pierced your skin. His fangs sinking into the side of your neck. He drank deep. Your blood slowly dripped down your neck as he tasted you.