Page 102 of Phobia
He leans back into my neck, and I fall into oblivion as again, he begins to drink.
Crimson liquid, potent and sharp. I open my mouth to it, allow it to slip over my tongue. It smells like metal and tastes like … No. No. This isn’t right. It’s not right. I spit it out, and it dribbles over my lips and down my chin. Panic overwhelms me, sets me on fire from the inside out. I feel my heart racing, my breath stuttering. I’m dying, surely. I’ve never felt fear so real, so pure, so overwhelming. The fear is all I can feel. It’s all I’ve become. All I am.
Soon it will kill me. Men have died from fright before.
I want to scream, to fight, but cold hands hold me steady, whispered words flutter against the shell of my ear.
“Good boy. Open your mouth. Take me in.”
And even in my panic, I obey.
I drink.
And I drink, and I drink. I drink even though it horrifies me, makes me lightheaded and shaky. I take hold of the wrist that’s outstretched in front of me, hold it to my lips and drink until there can’t be anything left. But still, more comes flowing into my mouth like a siphon. And it tastes amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Like a sweet syrup, with every imaginable flavor interwoven within. How can that be?
My fear has turned into desire. I want more. I need more. Like I need oxygen, I need to fill myself up with this magical liquid. I want to gorge myself on it. I want it all over me, all around me. I want to swim in a pool of it, drown in its magnificent depths.
My cock has grown hard, pulsing with need between my legs. I might find release simply from the taste alone.
But then as suddenly as it appeared, the wrist withdraws. My lips are left mouthing at air, my tongue chasing, my hands outstretched. I whimper at the absence of that gorgeous, flowing substance, crying out, “Please, more.”
That face appears before me again, my handsome, ethereal being. The one that cradled me, drank from me, whispered words of comfort.
I can’t lose you,he’d said. Now, he looks down upon me with a soft, crooked smile. “I’ll get you more, my love. But first, you need to stay with me. This next part won’t be pleasant, but I need you to be strong.”
“Who …” Iattempt to ask, but then it hits. Pain unlike any I’ve felt. Unlike the times I've been stabbed or choked or tortured by my brothers. This ismortalpain. This is a pain like death.
My insides go hot, burning as if poison is spreading through my veins. Slowly, my nerve endings zap under my skin as though they’re being electrified.
My body moves by itself in response to the agony, bucking and writhing, back arched off the ground. I seize violently, uncontrollably. But then strong arms surround me, holding me as I thrash. Gentle fingers thread through my hair, caressing my soaking-wet brow.
“That’s it, Adrien. You’re doing so well. Just a little bit more. You’re so strong. So brave.”
“What’s happening to me?” I whimper, clinging to him, shaking, overwrought with the agony.
“Your human body is dying,” he says softly, stroking my hair, seeing the terror that’s plainly written on my face. “Don’t be afraid. It’s making way for new life. The mortal must die for the immortal to be born. Just breathe, Adrien. Just breathe. You’re almost through it.”
Even amidst the haze of pain, I look up at his ethereal, otherworldly face, watching how his strong brow pinches in empathy for my suffering. I look at him, only at him, breathe him in, absorb him into my soul. Eventually, everything else fades away. Everything but him.
The world shifts then, becoming absolutely different than what I’ve always known. My eyes suddenly shoot open. Everything has changed. The night around me shimmers with a strange glow, and before I can help myself, I sit up, pulling away from the hands that still hold me steady.
“What is this?” I ask as I scan my surroundings. The once drab and dark alleyway has become alight with new colors I’ve never before seen. I can sense every individual scent that hangs in the dank air, smells that make me crinkle my nose in disgust, smells that make my mouth water. I’m … so hungry all of a sudden. My stomach aches at its emptiness. I need something. Something to eat, but as images of my favorite foods come into my head, nothing sounds even remotely tantalizing. Nothing but that smell.What is that smell?
I hear a heartbeat … something so soft it shouldn’t be detectable. But as I turn my eyes downward to scan the alley floor, I see an image that steals my breath.
Mickey. Lying on the ground, his eyes wide open, his mouth agape, his chest rising and falling in quick succession like he’s struggling to breathe. A wave of nausea overwhelms me as I take in the torn gash to his throat, the deep vermillion that stains his entire front.
Blood. So much blood.
That’s it. That’s what smells so wonderful, so delectable.
My hand flies to my mouth as I turn away, my stomach heaving, my mind flooding with horror. He’s dying, bleeding out in front of me. I begin to hyperventilate, a silent scream slipping through my lips.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my crimson-eyed savior reaching out, extending his arms to me, brow pinched in concern.
“Did you do this?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
He nods. “He was hurting you. He almost killed you.”
