A Bloodthirsty Angel:
Part One - Temptation
By: Kitty E.
Quatre watched the sunset with equal measures of apprehension and awe.
Snowcapped mountains were stained pink, then red as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Already he felt his other nature rising within him, responding to the waning light like the sea to the full moon. Four days! I haven't fed in four days. I can't *bear* it! he thought in sheer frustration.
He had thought this mission somewhat of a blessing, had actually been excited when he had read the outline. Heero and Duo were to cause some distraction in the region formerly known as America, drawing OZ troops away from their bases in former Canada and Mexico. After a weeklong wait, he and Trowa were to perform a simple seek and destroy in Canada while Wufei handled the hidden bases in Mexico. Five days with Trowa, alone, he'd made sure of that, refusing the Maganac's assistance. He hadn't known their safehouse would be in the middle of a pine forest, a four-hour walk from the nearest town, let alone a city large enough to let a missing person go unnoticed.
He caught movement in the corner of his sea green eyes, and turned them from the twilight to Trowa's tall, slender form returning from where they'd hidden their Gundams. Something inside Quatre sparked at the sight of him, at the prospect of speaking with him again, something utterly different from the desire to feed. He couldn't yet name that feeling, but nor did he dare try to. Whether he wanted him as more than a kindred spirit or not he knew he could never, ever act upon it. To love Trowa, to say the words, or commit the act, would be to reveal his secret, a secret that no human could know without the promise of death. For his sanity, and for Trowa's safety, he wrote it off as lust, both for Trowa's body and especially the blood within it.
As Trowa neared the cabin, he recognized something was wrong. The graceful lines of his back and neck were hunched over, and he was clasping his wrist tightly, as though in pain. Quatre felt a rather irrational fear grip him, and he rushed out to meet him. Mortals are just so fragile.
"Trowa! Trowa, are you all right?" he called, stepping out onto the porch.
"Some wire cutters fell from the ladder, and cut my wrist," he said quietly, no sign of pain in his voice save the harsh breathing which proved he had run part of the way. Coming closer, Quatre could see blood spilling through Trowa's clench fingers, caught it's unmistakable scent on the breeze. "It's my right hand," Trowa continued. "I don't think I can wrap it myself."
Quatre nodded grimly, Trowa's blood flowing freely mere feet away was not going to help his growing craving at all. Still, he couldn't turn him away, not when Trowa was finally asking for his help. His jaw was working reflexively and he had to swallow several times to say, "All right, follow me." Thankfully, the anxiousness he felt did not show in his voice, in fact he almost sounded eager.
As they walked down the short hallway towards the bathroom, Quatre strapped himself down with every control technique he knew. He forced his breathing to slow as retrieved the antiseptic and gauze from the first aid kit which had been circulated between the five of them ever since Heero's near self destruction. He heard the faucet turn on, and looked back to see Trowa washing the blood from a deep, jagged cut. His eyes locked briefly on the watered down, but still deep crimson fluid trickling down the sink, but he pulled them away to Trowa's face. The scent of antiseptic assaulted his nose as he wet down a washcloth with it, temporarily masking the blood. Trowa held out his wrist, and
Quatre took lightly in one trembling hand. He heard Trowa hiss slightly, but the stoic boy uttered no other sound as the wound was cleaned.
"You're lucky it didn't cut the other way. This could have been much worse," he said, trying to create a conversation to distract himself, but Trowa remained silent, biting his lip to keep from making a noise.
He heaved a little sigh of releif when layer after layer of white gauze began to hide the sight of blood from him. He tied it off and marveled that he'd made it through it all with his secret intact. Then he noticed a teardrop's worth of blood on his thumb, slowly sliding downwards, pulled by gravity towards the floor. His head moved down even as his hand pulled away, instinct overtaking reason, as he licked the blood from his fingertip.
In an instant his breathing was ragged once more, and his only thoughts were of feeding. It was all too much, simply too much temptation for one so starved. Shimatta, one drop is all it takes. He looked back up to Trowa, who's expression was one of vague concern at Quatre's sudden strangeness. If I feed from him, I have to kill him. That's the law. I don't want to, but ... I *need* too.
"Trowa, I ... need something from you," he panted, as he crowded the taller boy against the counter. He noticed Trowa's somewhat bewildered expression, and lifted one hand up to smooth his brow, while the other took a handful of Trowa's sweater. This is probably only way I can claim him as my own.
He pulled Trowa's face down to his, feeling little resistance as their lips met for the first, and the last time. Trowa stood utterly unmoved for a long moment, hands gripping the countertop so tightly they shook. Slowly, the rigid form of his body softened against Quatre's, and he exhaled a long sigh across the blonde's cheek. There, he understands, Quatre thought. He could take Trowa's life now that they had said a silent good-bye, he was sure of it.
His hand slowly slid down from Trowa's cheek to the high collar of his turtleneck, and pulled it down to expose his true prize. He broke the kiss, and moved it downward. Quatre's tongue slipped between his parted lips to test the flesh of Trowa's neck. He felt Trowa's hands leave the counter and encircle him, crossing at the small of his back. The gesture made him ache as he bit down, sullied the ecstasy of feeding with an agonizing regret. Hands which had come up
to hold him now sought to push him away, but Quatre held fast. Feelings were forgotten as hunger took over, he couldn't think of anything except the hot, iron tinged fluid pouring into his mouth, and how to get more.
"Quatre, stop. What are you-" Trowa was still struggling against him, but it was a considerably weaker fight.
Quatre sealed his eyes shut, and bit a little harder causing Trowa's next words to catch at the back of his throat. Reality took on the surreal quality of a dream, as if he could continue drinking forever if only he didn't wake. Trowa's soft noises of disapproval faded, leaving only the sound of his slowing heartbeat. Quatre felt him go limp, and he knew death would come soon. He'll close his eyes forever, and never open them, leave all my wishes left
unfulfilled. He'll never smile for me, never sleep in my arms, never ... Quatre's lips went slack, allowing a trickle of blood to escape. Oh god, I love him, don't I? he thought in shock, and despair. I love him, and I've killed him.
"No," he groaned, pulling his mouth away and feeling his body scream at the premature release of his victim.
Trowa slipped from his arms, and slammed into the tile floor, and Quatre
became something like himself again. "Trowa?" Please forgive me for what I've
done, he thought as he grabbed the roll of gauze he'd discarded and began to
dress the profusely bleeding wound on Trowa's neck. Allah protect me, for this
is what I *must* do.
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Part Two