THE pain only lasted for a moment, and it was followed by an immediate gasp of pleasure. The tight fabrics of a strict reality, never meant to waver, suddenly tearing apart at the seams with a deep breath and a short hiss of relief.
He saw his mother first, her sterling eyes. As he preferred to remember her, and as she was before she died—a beautiful woman that danced around the kitchen; spending an entire day on an evening's meal during the weekends, singing to a pair of speakers she had placed on either corner of the wide bay window above the sink. A woman with laugh lines dug into her cheeks, random streaks of white curling along the cascading swirls of her dark mahogany hair, a thin and lithe body that was constantly in motion, constantly tending to her only child. The stain of disinfectant and the sweltering burn of bleach, the constant artificial white lights of a hospital. A host to machines, wires and tubes. Barely alive, barely dead. She lost thirty pounds in a month, her brown skin was papier-mâché—if he even drew his fingertips over her arm, she would crinkle and blow to dust. Thick locks of vibrant hair aged twenty years in a handful of weeks, turning brittle with long gray strands. He was scared to touch her, to hold her hand, to make things worse—she was so delicate and fragile, and he didn't know his own strength.
Silver eyes were fading to a dreary and dead beige—in time, Marshall knew that his would fall pale, too. Only, he'd still be living. Barely.
When he turned, he stood on an all black axis, staring at faraway galaxies and distant neighboring planets. For the most part, it was just cool and blank. He was here for what felt like eternity, until he finally allowed himself to drift off into the empty spaces of what he could only assume was death.
Thin fingers flexed over his abdomen, manicured nails teasing along the ripples of his muscular stomach. Her skin was burning to the touch, and Marshall winced as he grabbed her wrist, yet didn't push her away. He pulled her closer to him, and the scorch of her body made his teeth grind. He watched as Sadie nuzzled against his chest, wrapping long legs around his hip. She smiled at him and bit down on her lip, and he noticed that her eyes were black and spilling with tears. Marshall tried to grab her chin, but she quickly dipped down and licked up his neck, and he moaned at the fire on her tongue. Pressing herself against him until he could feel the heat of her body inside his own veins, she moved her nose behind his ear, inside the thick of his hair, and mumbled something in a language he didn't understand. He tried to ask what she meant, and she told him to drink.
He immediately went for the curve of her throat—biting down, testing her skin, hesitating, lying to himself that he didn't mean any harm, before biting again. A wonderful explosion of the scalding essence that raced through her molten core engulfed him, brilliant colors accepting him as they poured from the wound on her neck—basking against his organs, liquifying his insides until it was only her that gave him any strength. He clutched her, desperate with need. She was laughing, a joyous sound to the ear, encouraging him to continue. To feed on her, to live off of her, to exist because of her.
Then she was gone, and he was alone. Cold and dripping in fading colors.
He could smell the water on the breeze, stagnant and old as the bayou that sank most of the area into a humid and brutal swamp. An ancient relic of an uncivilized planet, alive with only the cackle of Nature's unforgiving stance—the air was alive, the ground was alive, the water was alive, all operating under laws that were completely foreign yet remarkably similar. A wild and angry world, lashing out and showing teeth at Marshall's intrusion, yet nonetheless allowing him to live.
The soft hum of waving tree branches sang around him, falling into a rhythm with the insistent thrumming of the millions of different invisible insects that lingered around the green and black. He stood at the muddy bank of a terrifying expanse of water, stretching out into infinity with a slurry of oil and rotting gray matter. Putrid, disgusting. It churned and gently frothed, wisps of smoke pouring into the air that plagued Marshall with the stench of sulfur and limestone.
He attempted to step back, but found that he couldn't.
The blonde man in the dark jacket was behind him. He was sure of it. Smiling wide—a snake's grin, all teeth. Dark brown eyes round and bright with fascination. Marshall felt his breath on his shoulder, licking up the back of his neck, haunting against his skin. There were vibrations when he spoke, "Don't fight it."
Waves folded into each other as an underwater current pushed outward, threatening to close around them.
"I don't want to be here." Marshall said.
"It's too late for that."
Gray and murky water seeped over his calf, icy and mean. Marshall couldn't move.
"I'm taking back what's mine."
Up to his waist.
"Somehow, he transcended across realms."
His neck.
"But now, you're not going anywhere. You can't."
It swallowed Marshall whole, and the last thing he heard was the blonde man's laughter.
...
Alister listened to the ring of sirens, even when they were miles into the neighboring perish. He wasn't concerned about prison time, but the thought of losing his newest creation was one he didn't want to consider.
Marshall was sluggish beside him. High, in a different corner of time and space. A mindless zombie. He obeyed Alister's simple commands, but that was about as far as any sort of compulsion would go—his brain was melting and being reformed, his blood changing with shatters of diamonds while his flesh turned impenetrable. His eyes were glazed over, low and reflecting the celestial glow of a full moon against a bed of stars. Alister glanced at the slit over his own arm, opened nearly an inch, and the way Marshall's weak fingers held his wrist as he drank from the swell of red. The toxins of Alister's immortal blood, blessing him, transforming him into a god with an undying thirst.
He brushed the dark brunette waves off Marshall's forehead, admiring him. He thought of his last moments with his maker, just before he shoved Castor's own knife into his heart. The face of Adonis, perfection in every way possible, shocked with proud disbelief. He never thought that Alister would muster the strength to go through with it. Kendall was standing behind him as Castor crumbled on the oriental carpet, and Alister saw the raging fire in her black eyes, and he vowed right then and there to kill her and her entire fucking coven.
He still intended to keep true to his word.
Marshall groaned, finally pulling back from Alister's arm. He blinked at the surrounding wilderness, the wall of thick trees, before letting his head dip forward and his shoulders hunch. His mind was spinning; flashes of piercing white stabbed his vision, beating against his skull. He struggled to remember who he was, where he was supposed to be. He felt like he should throw up, but if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop and he was certain it'll kill him.
Alister moved to sit on his knees. "You'll feel better soon." He promised. Marshall didn't respond, stooping against the grass. "Eventually, you won't even remember what it's like to feel anything other than power, and you'll never forget that I did that for you."
YOU ARE READING
LEAVE ME ALONE
Romance"Well, look at you? Aren't you just an absolute darling? If I were to stab you, you'd bleed out holy water."
