"Frankie." She panted, desperate for air. Her nails dug into the thick fabric of his uniform, the sling cradling his still injured arm catching under them.
Her cries fell on deaf ears. All that he processed, all that he saw, all that he felt was her blood. The savory taste coated his tongue, flooding his senses. Each breath was rushed, hurried as if it were an obstacle to be overcome to further his pleasure.
It wasn't until his fourth or fifth inhale that he realized she'd been calling him by his name.
There it was again. His name in that kitten's mewl of a voice.
"A little more." He grunted, blood trickling from his full mouth.
How he found the will to cease this far in was beyond him.
She didn't have to say it. He knew he was killing her. Truthfully, he'd hoped at his cold inner core that she'd fall unconscious before it was too 'd had an excuse planned for her father and everything.
It was too hard to stop. He'd lost control. The effects of the blood shortage were getting to him.
It was all true anyway.
Alison was lying limp in his grasp, all but lifeless. Yet when he looked down into her fragile profile, he found himself charged with ferocity. It had been a long time since he was last so close to a woman.
A real woman. Complete with pulse and warm skin.
"Are you sure you want me to stop?"
"...Yes. I'll die if you go on."
"And you're sure you want me to stop?"
She quieted then, aware of his meaning.
He was offering her another way out, a way her father assumed had been ruled out by his status, forgetting the simple fact of human- or not so human nature. If he stopped now, she'd turn. She'd become what she hated most. All of her work, her sacrifice, the sacrifice of her friends, would amount to nothing.
But she could always let him keep on.
"No, I... I guess I'm not sure."
He watched her spine shiver, a combination of pain and uncertainty. Smacking his lips, he watched another tremor ring out through her back.
Guilt took him immediately.
It had felt good to drink from her, too good. He felt alive again. Exhilaration rushed through him with each swallow and he'd have given anything to keep that feeling. Taken anything.
But with her last words, it lost a bit of its savor.
"Why aren't you sure?" He grunted.
She didn't answer. And for a moment, Frankie thought he had indeed killed her with his feeding. Until, of course, she coughed.
A sharp groan followed. No doubt, a reaction to the sensation of her open wound.
"Your friends?" He suggested.
Her chin dipped twice in a feeble nod.
"Tch." He clucked, licking lips. "The're dead, Ally. There's no sense crying over spilt blood."
"You're a monster."
Growing impatient, he pulled in closer, his lips wet against her temple.
"And you're also in denial."
Her breath hitched and she was reminded of what she was up against. Lowering her voice, she glared at the parallel wall.
"What's best for you."
He was now at her ear, his lips staining her skin with her own blood.
"You think it'd be some special honor to your friends if you died right now, right? You'd be a martyr, a fallen leader." He couldn't suppress the taunt in his words, "Saint Alison, patron saint of humanity."
"What would you know about honor?"
He turned to her directly, brows raised. He didn't speak, but calmly gestured to the patch on his pressed, and now bloody, fatigues.
"I mean real honor." She added, rolling her eyes. "Not fighting another man's war. I'm talking about fighting and dying for what you believe in."
"And you don't think I believe in this?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
The defense in his voice surprised her.
"And you'd die for this? This poor excuse for a perfect world?"
"If it's what was asked of me."
"Then you know why death is worth it for me."
Frankie shook his head, a devious grin spreading.
"I see why it's worth it for me, but I can only see why turning would be worth it for you."
"Think about it. One day, we're bound to find a cure for any one crazy enough, rich enough to buy it. You're father's one of the most influential men of our world, and as his daughter, that makes your opinion pretty damn important. If you still wanted to, you could push for the cure, or at least push to make it an option."
"...Do you want to be cured, Frankie?" She whispered, quickly.
"Are you planning on going back to the way you were if they do find a cure?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Well, soldier, I guess I'll just have to make that a direct order."
A silent agreement to live. Or rather, to die. Against her heart and better judgement, she went with this plan of change for the better. It wasn't as though she couldn't change her mind later. She'd done it to a hundred others, a splint through the heart and she'd be as good as burned.
He propped her up against the stone wall, slowly making his way back to the exit.
"A hundred bucks says my brother beats you to the punch." He muttered, turning the corner and exiting the room.