Okay, so, this is a Thirst fanfic (obviously). I hope you like it. Disclaimer: This fanfic is my property. But since when do I own a 5000 year old vampire and her friends and family?
"What…in…the…name…of…Krishna…did…you…do?" I seethe.
Seymour looks away guiltily.
"Seymour?" I tap my foot impatiently. "I am waiting."
"Well…um…uh…I kind of…uh…um…"
"I slept with her! Okay! Happy, Sita?" he bursts out.
I am momentarily stunned. This is certainly not what I was expecting. "You…slept…with her?"
He snorts. "Well don't sound so surprised. I'm not a dickless ass who can't get laid," he says sarcastically.
I blink, shocked. This…this is not the Seymour I have been with for the past God knows how long. Suddenly, I act. Faster than anyone - even Seymour with his new, improved, vampiric senses - can follow.
In the blink of an eye, I have him against the wall by his throat.
"Who the hell are you?" I whisper in his ear.
He doesn't even bother to struggle. Yet another sign this is not the Seymour I know and love.
"Whataya mean, love? I'm Seymour."
"The Seymour I know would be terrified. He would be struggling, and asking what is going on. He would never say 'whataya' or call me 'love'. Now. I'll ask again. Who the hell are you?"
He struggles now, briefly. Not that it does him any good, but you cannot blame a boy for trying, right?
I stand back, away from his face, but still holding his throat painfully.
"I'm going to ask nicely once more, and once more only. Who are you? And what the hell did you do with Seymour?"
He merely laughs in my face. "What, you don't recognize me, sweetheart?" He stops laughing abruptly, and spits in my face. "Bite me, bitch. Oh, wait, you did that already." He sneers at me.
I have a sickening feeling gnawing at the edges of my stomach. "No," I whisper. I shake my head, trying to rid it of its new knowledge. "No."
He rolls his eyes. "Oh, hell yes. I'm assuming you know who I am now?"
I look at him then, really look at him. I see him through the eyes of someone in shock and in love. "But you are dead. I saw you. There is no possible way you could have survived that blast."
"Well, obviously, there is," he says snidely.
"Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me. I thought…" In all honesty, I do not know what I am talking about, much less what I think about this man standing in front of me. About the man who made love to me. About the man I loved. About the man I still love. About him. About…