Page 75 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
It only takes him a few steps to press me up against the wall. I drop the music box. He holds me like he did in the shower, but this feels anything but sensual. His fangs shine in the moonlight.
“Don’t do this. If you’re in there, don’t do this. Please.”
I press the point against his chest, and he stares into my eyes.
“Do it,” he says, pushing forward. He's fighting the demon. "I don't want to hurt you, Bea. Please, do it so I can't," he pleads.
I think of Marcel and how he exploded into goopy bits when Dennis staked him. Dennis might not be himself right now, but this is still his beautiful face. It would break me to watch it crumble to nothing.
“No.”
He opens his mouth wide, the sharp edges of his fangs threatening to break my skin. My hands shake. It would be over in a minute, but I know what my death would do to him.
“Dennis,” I call to him. “No. She wants this. She wants to break one of us. It will give her more strength. This isn’t you.”
“But it is,” he groans. “I want to drink from you.”
“You want to take a sip, not drain me.”
His irises spring back a little at that.
“You’re gentle.”
“I’m not. I’ve killed before.”
“But you’re gentle with me.” His grip falters. “You feel guilty about things because you’re decent. I know it. I feel it. You’ve loved before. The woman with the blonde hair—Agnes. I saw how you loved her. Whatever happened, I know it’s not your fault. Someone else did that, and you were wrecked, but it's not your fault for loving her. ”
His eyebrows scrunch together at that like he’s in pain.
“And I know you’d rather get staked than be responsible for my death, but killing you would hurt me deeply, so please don’t make me do it.”
He hangs his head down.
I squeeze my thighs around him and wrap my arms behind his neck. I pull him close to me and kiss him. I’m not gentle. I run my hands down to his shoulders and the neckline of his tank top, tugging it roughly. Passion floods the bond between us. Hunger swells up in my throat, driving the darkness away.
I’m gasping for air when we come apart, our foreheads touching as he bumps me higher up the wall.
I can see the white around his irises. They’re back to normal when our eyes meet.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Bea,” he breathes, touching the back of his neck. “She took over. She must have come in with me.”
I catch a glimpse of red flashing behind his shoulder. A skull bares its teeth. It's an ugly contrast to the red-frocked body it’s attached to.
“We’ve got bigger problems to worry about right now.”
I slide down from his arms.
“My ex knew a banishing ritual,” he says. “I never saw him perform it in person though.”
“That’s not very helpful,” I whisper. “But I’ve seenThe Exorcist, so I’ll give it my best shot.”
The demon’s appearance keeps shifting between the skull and the face of a beautiful woman. I think she’s already losing steam.
“It hurt you to lose Martha. You don’t get to suck up all her misery or the energy from her annual celebration.”
She lunges toward me, the scent of sulfur rising up.
“You’re not strong enough to stop me,” she says.
