Soft, porcelain flesh stares up at him, inviting him. Slowly, he etches his tongue across the pale skin, inhaling the sickly sweet scent that was woman, any woman. The girl, with lengthy brunette locks and large brown eyes, trembles as his mouth meets the smooth, sensitive spots on her neck. Her eyes flutter shut and she draws in a shaky breath.
"Are you going to kill me?" she whispers, and the words trigger something in him, a primordial instinct. He kisses the wide expanse adoringly, cobalt eyes carving his brand into her body.
He doesn't answer quite so soon; instead, he allows his fangs to brush against the area slightly, relishing in her shiver at the feel of it. He wets the spot carefully, his tongue marking his name into her skin. Still, she is unmoving, waiting for him expectantly.
He nods slowly into her neck, nestling his head there and exhaling into the crook. She gasps shrilly as her back arches off the sheets. Her nails dig into his arm, pleading with him.
"Please --" she murmurs brokenly, begging him. She is panicking now. "Why?" Her words are fragmented, wispy.
He contemplates the answer thoroughly before opening his mouth again, ready to drink her in, to taste her until she is left with nothing. She mewls quietly in the back of her throat.
"Because you aren't her," he confesses into the pale white flesh. It's a terrible secret, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. He wishes he could swallow them forever, bury them deep inside of him, never revealing them to anyone. No one could be trusted with the admittance.
And so he stretches his jaw open and steadily sinks his teeth into the skin. Blood-scent is all around him, drowning him in the sweet aroma, coating his tongue with it. In the back of his mind, he wishes it was her blood - yet this is the only way to keep him from killing her.
The screams will fade.