You Better Not Be Her Prey 3

Prologue: Angel of Death

He'd spent what felt like hours looking for her after his wounds healed. Climbing up to a rooftop, he looked around. Still no sign of her. A flash of lightning to his right startled him, and he looked towards the railing to his right. Someone was standing there. Wings extended, pure white feathers with black tips. He looked down, seeing a mixture of metal on the ground, mingled with blood. He saw the flash of what looked like scaly armour, and he noticed the sword by the figure's side almost immediately. It looked oddly like a familiar katana, but it was different now. Still a katana, but edged with black, dark angelic symbols on the blade instead of Norse runes. His breath stilled. It was her.

'Adelaide?' he asked. The figure looked over her shoulder slightly, and he could see the veins on her eye, and the blackness in her eye. Pure, deep blackness, like an abyss.

'Adelaide isn't here right now,' the female said. He gulped, standing completely still, beholding the figure that wore his wife's face, but yet wasn't her.'

'Winter Phoenix.' She turned, spreading her wings wide, and he could see the extent of the transformation. Her eyes were pure black, veins gathering on the corners of her eyes, and the White Phoenix suit had a burnt out emblem in the centre where the phoenix used to be, with scales replacing the Wakandan-made fabric of her armour. Her wings were open, the white tipped with black, as if the feathers had been dipped in black paint. The hand that wasn't holding the sword crackled with black and gold energy, not white and gold like she'd had a few months ago. She was beautiful, sexy even, but in a terrifying sort of way, and it aroused him and made his blood run cold all at the same time.

'I prefer the Angel of Death.'

Two months later...

I woke up in bed. I felt my eyes shift and change with the onset of hunger. Getting up gingerly and trying to ignore the thought of fanging into my sleeping husband, I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen, opening the fridge and seeing the blood bag there. The red liquid calling me like a beacon. I groaned softly, feeling the hunger build. I pulled out the blood bag and opened the top, fanging into it and sucking deep. When I finished, I let out a soft sigh of relief, standing there and letting the blood make its way through my system.

'Midnight snack?' A familiar voice asked. I turned to see my husband James in the doorway.

'Yeah. You narrowly avoided becoming my midnight snack again.'

'You're improving.'

'Not well enough,' I retorted. He grabbed a sharp kitchen knife and sliced open his hand, extending it to me. I swallowed, turning away.

'You're resisting. You need more than the one blood bag.'

'I don't want to hurt you,' I said softly. 'I really don't.'

'You're not going to. You need more than a blood bag to be full enough. You're going to be starving by tomorrow morning.'

'I didn't intend for you to be my walking blood bag, James,' I snapped. 'I can't. I won't.' I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. Being in close proximity to the injury on his hand made my breath catch in my throat as he noticed my eyes change.

'You need to feed,' he said gently, raising his bloodied hand near my face.

'I can't,' I said softly. 'Please let me go before I hurt you.' The smell of the blood was driving me nearly insane now, and I could hear his heart beating in his chest, the pulse thrumming in his neck. I took his hand and licked the blood, letting out a small growl from the base of my throat. I licked the wound clean, and began to gently suck out the rest of the blood. When I finished, I dropped his hand and made my way up the stairs.

'At least you're improving,' he said to himself, then followed after me.