The Vampire's Rival

When she tries your patience

"This cannot be happening," I heard the girl whisper as I lost myself to the power bubbling inside me.

I fought against the crashing power, raised my head, and looked up to see sheer panic on the girl's face. She knew. She shouldn't have, but she did. And I knew exactly how. Bloody Wildlings! I should have cut off their tongues all those years ago, like I always did.

The girl suddenly shook off her field jacket, rushed to the ugly, over repaired backpack and pulled out a water canteen. She downed a gulp of water from the bottle and then washed the sharpened butterknife with what remained. The girl then ran the knife's blade over a lighter's blaze. When it was cool enough, she cut deep into her forearm and let her blood drain into the canteen.

The scent of her blood hit me, and the agonizing flare of need was like a hot poker pressed to every single one of my nerves at the same time. It was almost impossible to hold myself back when she handed me the canteen with a shaky hand, but I stopped myself from lunging at her because I didn't want to waste a drop. As slowly and carefully as I could, I took the water bottle, pressed it to my lips and tipped its contents into my mouth.

O-positive.

My favourite.

Every drop of the mellow, sweet, pleasantly piquant blood pulled me away from the clutches of the devil inside that maniacally swiped its arms in a frustrated attempt to pull me into its cold embrace. I wanted to enjoy her blood, but every sip was punctured by a deep desperation to avoid facing the cold entity inside me that was eager to take over. Once I had emptied the canteen, and found a modicum of control once more, I lowered it and looked up at the girl.

"Sit!" she ordered.

I did.

"And it's not a butter knife, it's a whittling knife. For carving wood." She added.

She reached for my belt, her hands steady as she undid it and pulled it off the belt hoops. She used the belt as a torniquet above the arterial wound on my leg, pulling it as tight around my leg as she could get it.

"First dinner and now this," I whispered weakly. "Aren't we moving a little too fast?"

The girl smiled but kept her eyes on her work. I smiled back, even though it still hurt to move a single muscle, still marvelling at this girl's nerve.

"Still slower than the average teenage tryst. We should have broken up at least twice by now," she replied without missing a beat. She looked up at me. "Now shut up, so I can save your life. And mine, and everyone else's."

I watched as a drop of blood formed on her self-inflicted arm wound and plop onto the forest floor. Before I knew it, my fangs had burst from my fangs, and I grabbed for her. However, at exactly the same time, the girl turned away from me and I missed. I closed my eyes for a second and reeled in the devil fighting to take me over.

When I looked up again, I watched as the girl took a make-shift medical kit from the frumpy backpack and focussed on dressing her wound. She didn't witness my slip up. My lack of control. I took a deep breath as she worked on her wound, pulling my fangs back in and forcing my hands into tight fists. When she was done dealing with her wound, the girl turned to my injuries, stitching closed those arterial cuts with practiced movements. The brazen confidence in her work was a comfort.

This girl was a Medic in that Barn.

Once she was done, satisfied with her work as she checked the stitches once more, I watched her stand to leave. She picked up her field jacket before walking back into the shadows of the forest. That she thought I would just let her do that was the height of hubris. I was still on the edge of blood starvation, still weak, but I was still stronger than her. I got back to my feet, walked up to the girl, and grabbed her. As if the movement was burned into her muscle memory and bypassed every conscious thought, the girl shifted against me, wriggling out of my hold, surprising me, yet again!