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Delilah
I started to pull myself from the darkness. A strange feeling grabbed me. I’m not sure what it was—pain, hunger, thirst—some sort of craving and the desperation to feed it. I can’t feel my heartbeat, and it scares me. I tried to move, but the darkness wouldn’t let go. I was trapped. Panic took over, and I cried out, only to find my voice muted by the inky black. What happened to me? Where was I? Did I die?
I lost the battle once more as the darkness pulled me under. Images started flashing through my mind. People, places, what seemed like important events, but I couldn’t figure out who they were or why they felt important. Blue eyes, brown eyes, my name on their lips, but I couldn’t understand what was being said. None of it made sense.
Another flash, and I saw a man with a gun before a sharp pain hit me. My shirt turned crimson just above my waistband and the crippling pain seared through me again. I remembered this moment. I’d been shot. But why? Who was that man? I had no idea what I could have done to deserve being shot like that. Oh, no. I was dying. There was so much blood. There’s no way I could survive that. This was what dying felt like. My throat felt so dry.
Wait—who do those green eyes belong to? It didn’t matter that I couldn’t remember. Somewhere deep inside came a growl in response to the images. Mine. The growl came each time I saw those eyes. But how were they all mine? Three sets of eyes, three different colors, three different faces. Yet I had claimed them all.
The man with green eyes had tried to save me. His red hair tumbled down in his face when he picked me up. It looked so soft; I wanted to run my fingers through it. He carried me to his car and drove away. I could still feel the cool leather against my damp skin. I shivered at the memory of the cold sweat that had drenched me as I lay on the floor of the diner waiting to die. The green-eyed man had tried to give me something, his arm, I think, and he kept saying, “Drink, mo chroí.” I had no idea what mo chroí meant, although it seemed like he was trying to help me. I tried to do what he commanded, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. Something metallic touched my tongue just before I passed out. It tasted strange yet familiar. A warm feeling spread through me, and I wondered if I would survive. It was short-lived, with the pain returning moments later. I knew that I had to fight.
Each time I fought my way out, I felt the darkness drag me back. Something felt different this time. I looked down at my hand, and someone was holding it. His long red hair covered his face, but somehow I knew he was mine, even though I couldn’t see his eyes. I felt it inside me. I wanted to wake him, to look into his eyes and ask who I was. Before I had a chance, that craving hit again. I wanted something. No, I needed it. But what was the thing I was craving? What would satiate this need burning inside of me? I wasn’t sure, but I could smell it. I needed to follow the smell. I felt almost feral in my need to find where the odor was coming from. It was intoxicating and drew me out of bed I’d been lying in. Something was wrong. I couldn’t get up. I was groggy, and the room started to spin.
I tried to scream again, but the darkness swallowed me whole. I fought against myself, trying to wake up. I needed to get out of this bed before I lost myself. The more I tried to pull myself out of the dark, the more I realized that something was wrong. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to go home. Where was home? Who was I? I tried to search through my few memories to figure it out.
I should be in pain. My stomach should be on fire like it was right after I got shot. I’m not ready to die. I prayed that something would happen to save me. Suddenly, I walked through a dense fog, trying to find my way back. Something was hiding in the mist. I got the feeling it was dark, something sinister that wanted to claim me. I ran into a man with dark hair who grabbed me. I tugged out of his grip and sprinted. I heard him call after me and wondered what it meant. “Myshka.” While I was looking over my shoulder to see if he followed, I slammed into something dense. I felt arms around me again and whipped my head around. Somehow I knew the blue eyes I was staring into. “I’ve got you, Love.”
“Who are you? Who am I?” I tried to ask, but he faded along with the fog. I was standing in front of a door. Would this door take me back? As I thought the question, a dark red substance started to run from the top of the door. Instinctively, I stepped forward and touched it. Sticky, thick liquid coated my fingertips. It smelled familiar, like the metallic substance the green-eyed man had wanted me to drink. But he had put his arm against my lips. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have been holding something if it was his arm against my mouth. Unless...had he tried to make me…drink his blood?
The thought shook me, and I took a step backward. Was that blood coating the door? I felt as if I were going crazy at this point. Dying was a strange experience; nothing at all like books and movies had described it. I didn’t feel any pain, but my mind was so scattered. I was lost and disconnected. “I might as well get this over with,” I said aloud as I stepped up to the door and gripped the handle, letting the blood coat my hand. I turned the knob, wondering if the door would be locked. It opened freely, and I walked through.
A bright light stole my vision for a moment. I repeatedly blinked to clear my eyes. I felt strange again, like that craving from before was back. I could smell the thing I desired, and it had me sitting up to follow it. As I sat up, I realized that I hadn’t been dreaming of a red-haired man who held my hand while I slept. He was sitting right beside me with his head lying on his arm and his other hand holding mine. I hated to wake him, but I wouldn’t be able to get up unless he moved. And I needed to get up. I had to find that smell. It was a desperate yearning that I couldn’t argue with.
“Excuse me,” I whispered, leaning down toward his ear. The man’s head popped up, and I moved my face to avoid having my nose broken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Mo chroí, you’re awake. How do you feel?” He pulled out his phone and typed something without letting go of my hand. Then he lifted his face, so his eyes met mine. I had seen those eyes before. Those were the eyes in my dream. My soul screamed, Mine.
“I need to get up. There’s something over there. I don’t know how to explain, but I need it. Please, will you help me?” I decided to keep my claim to myself for now. I had no idea who this man was, much less who I was. It would be good to have those answers before telling people that they belong to me now. The thought of that made me laugh, and the man looked at me with his head cocked sideways.
“Someone will bring what you need. Before they get here, we need to talk.” His dancing green eyes turned dark. I could tell this would be serious.
“What is it?” I braced for whatever horrible news he could have to share.
“You were shot, and you were dying,” he began, pausing to see my reaction. “I did what was necessary to save you. I hope you don’t hate me for it.”
“What did you do? I feel fine except for this tingling in my throat and the weird craving.” I had no idea what he was trying to imply. Had he donated a kidney or something?
“That tingling and craving are connected. You need to feed to complete the transition. Steph is bringing some blood now.”
“Blood? I need to feed to complete the transition. What does that mean?” I could feel the fear gripping my chest, but my heart wasn’t racing. It was as if my body remained calm while my mind panicked.
“It means I’ve turned you into a vampire. There was no other way to save your life. I’m sorry. I would have preferred giving you a choice in the matter, but you were dying.” He sounded as if his remorse was eating him alive.
This man saved my life. I leaned forward as I pulled his hand, encouraging him to come closer. He hesitated, then did what I had silently requested. When he was close enough, I wrapped my free hand around his neck and pulled him to me, pressing my lips to his. I kissed him as if I owed him my life because I did. The moment our lips touched, my mind screamed my claim on him at me again.
He pulled away gently and brushed a dark curl from my face. “I don’t even know your name.”
“That makes two of us,” I admitted before flopping back on the bed. I felt so strange. I was exhausted, but at the same time, I felt stronger than I had ever been. My vision was crisper, and I could smell things that I had never noticed before. Something inside of me felt right—as if this was what I was meant to be.
Before he could respond to my admission, the door swung open, and a woman walked in. She was short and thin. Her light brown hair was cut in a spiky pixie that brought out the green and brown in her hazel eyes. “I think you might want this,” she said and handed me a bag with a straw poking out of it. I stared at the blood bag in my hand. It didn’t take any encouragement for me to bring the straw to my lips and drain it.
“I brought a second one, just in case. Here, Dec; I’ll let you handle it. I’m sure our patient is feeling a little weird about people watching her eat.” The woman’s smile was kind, and I liked her immediately.
“Thanks, Steph,” the man responded as she left. He turned to me and handed over the second bag, then watched as I gulped it down too. “Slow down a little. You’re going to feel like you need more when you finish that one. It’s normal. We’ll work through it.”
I stopped when half the bag was gone. “How much do I need? Is there not enough? Who are you? Where am I?” The questions fell out of me in a rush. I felt out of control again, and this time it wasn’t because of the craving. He looked at me and smiled.
He held out his right hand and waited for me to put mine in it. “I’m Declan Roarke, and you’re at my home. There’s plenty of blood, don’t worry. Generally, two bags will keep the craving under control for a day or so in a newly turned vamp.”
