The Touch of Demise │18+

21: The Departure

Grace tried to hide her cough, but it grew from her chest, and couldn't help but escape. Alexander looked up from his phone as he sat across the small room. There was a tube connected to a bag that was filling with blood from the IV in her arm.

Demise was busy training once more, preparing for whatever operation he was about to launch in retaliation of the body found earlier that month. She didn't know what he was doing or what his plan was, but she was sure it would rock the entire lycanthrope world. So he was busy. Always busy. He made time for her, though, and she enjoyed it. She was quick to realize that as much as she enjoyed his presence, he enjoyed hers. It was like he came to her when he needed to calm down and she was happy to relax him in whatever way she could.

He touched her now, eagerly, and enthusiastically now. But he never went further than pleasing her with his hands or mouth. She fidgeted in her seat as another wave of desire rushed through her. She could tell that he was hesitant to take her in any other way and he refused to let her use her mouth on him.

It frustrated her and when she tried to vocalize it, he always distracted her with his fingers or with his lips or with his teasingly romantic words.

It wasn't fair. He was so...beautiful.

"Are you getting worse?"

Looking up from her arm she wore an expression of dismay. She shook her head in response. Yes, she was getting worse. Even with medicine, even with therapy, even with a fantastic, worrying mate, she was getting sicker and sicker...

She tried to hide it from her mate and so far, she was succeeding, but she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to. Demise was so in tune with what she needed and every part of her body. Surely, he'd notice soon. He hadn't yet simply because of how busy he was.

She didn't want to worry him. He already had the world on his shoulders.

And below that want to not worry him, there was an underlying issue of what if she died? She knew it would end Demise. Ironically, she felt like she would be his downfall – his demise – and he wouldn't be hers. She'd live for him. She'd get better. She had to.

Alex stood up and removed the tourniquet band from her arm and slowly replaced the needle with a cotton cloth. "This should be enough for now."

"It's only a bag."

"Yes, well, Xerxes doesn't need much blood. He doesn't need to eat as often as we do. This should last him at least a month."

She remained silent as she watched the rest of her arm turn a sickly bluish-grey. It went down to her wrist and just above her elbow, but she was prepared for this. She brought a long sleeve shirt and she was sure she'd heel by the time Demise saw her.

She wasn't expecting, however, how dizzy she was once she stood up. Alex had to catch her and hold her for a moment. She pushed herself away as her vision cleared.

"Are you okay to walk back?"

She nodded. "Yes, you need to get off of his land now. I'll be fine."

Once she made it back to her room, she immediately collapsed on her bed, taking a well-needed nap. She awoke to a heavy force right beside her, on the side of the bed.

Demise looked at her with hooded, inquisitive eyes as he gently stroked her hair. He was in a fine suit, one that made him look more like a politician than a Primus of Lycanthropes. She liked this look, too. She liked how he looked regardless of what he wore.

"You don't feel well."

She sat up slowly. "I'm fine."

"You're pale and your eyes look dark. How long have you been feeling like this?"