The Contract

XXIII - Tangere

-

Dinner was quiet. Words were scarce. Even Tony, who normally could talk for hours, was silent.

Clink, clank, of the silverware. The occasional cough or clear of the throat. I heaved in a sigh, feeling out of place and awkward beyond belief. I had never felt this way with my family before, because they were, after all, my family. At the time, however, I felt as if I didn't belong here with them, with these people who had never killed, never gotten involved with the supernatural. . .

I hadn't expected that I would be the one to break the silence. Before I knew it, I had quietly murmured, "I'm going to bed," and got up. I didn't bother to push in my chair, or clean my plate off. I just went straight up the stairs, listening to the quiet groans they emitted as I ascended them. I wondered, as I stopped at the top of the stairs to simply breathe, what was happening to my world?

I slipped inside my bedroom and went to sleep.

-

I murmured softly in my sleep, trying to ignore the cold, tickling sensation that crawled up my arm. My eyelids fluttered open as the icy touch brushed up past my shoulder and rested on my neck. I offered a shiver, for it felt like winter had just entered my room, clinging frost onto each and every object it could.

I looked over my shoulder to see Lure peering over me. He used one arm for support to stay up, and the other to trail his fingertips along my neck. I stared up at him, watching as his hair messily fell over his eyes, casting him to look as if he had just woken up. Through wisps of chestnut, however, I could see the red of his irises, passively gazing down at my neck. He leaned down slowly—I stiffened when the hair before his eyes lightly tickled my cheek—and kissed my neck, where his fingertips had been lingering only seconds before. He kept his lips against me for a few seconds, not adding too much pressure, but just enough so I would know his lips were still touching me. A chill where his lips touched disturbed my skin.

He pulled back and tilted his head at me, eyes finally focusing on my own. He didn't say anything, still, which I found relatively odd. I shifted so I was facing him, then moved away from him until I was against the wall. He knew that I knew what he wanted. There was some unspoken chain that hung in the air that seemed to connect our thoughts just from looking into each other's eyes. I could tell that the uncertainty and worry that I held was transparent to him. He wouldn't back down—that, I could see from him.

A smile slowly slipped onto his lips, startling me. A queasy feeling interrupted my stomach and I had the firm suspicion that he was about ready to taste my blood and become human. I wasn't quite ready for him to do just that, but he was Lure, a demon, and he didn't care if I was ready or not.

I watched him as he sat up and arched an eyebrow at me. The ring that clung to it shone against the dark of my bedroom; it was quite a wonder that I could see his features so clearly, but the street lamps outside helped with that. Come to think of it—why were the blinds of my window open, letting the street lamps' light enter?

Lure seemed to have caught my distracted moment, for he quietly murmured, "I opened them, to let the night in." When I looked back at him, he raised his hand and flexed his claws in an implicational manner. His smile was unsettling; too tranquilizing and too composed, much like the sea before a storm.

And then he pounced. I was ready—I rolled out of the way just as he met the wall. He held his hand out to stop himself from colliding head on against the wall. I scrambled off my bed before Lure could register the fact that I had moved. I stood, nervously, by the door, while he gave the wall a withering look before snapping his attention back onto me.