Tangle (BWWM)

Chapter 16- The Death of Me

A/N: Guys, I just want to thank you all for your overwhelming support of my work and your patience. The past few weeks have been pretty difficult as a result of the Virgin Islands (and other Caribbean islands) being hit by two cat 5 hurricanes. My editor, as well as many of my other loved ones, is still without power and other comforts, and it has affected my writing and motivation (amongst other factors), but I'm trying my best to get these chapters out for you. With that, I hope you enjoy! As usual, vote, comment, etc. Love you all!

~~~~~

Vincent lie in Gabrielle's bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. There was barely a sound to be heard on Gabrielle's street; a stark contrast to the late-night noises of the city that his powerful ears picked up, even from the penthouse suite forty floors up.

His body buzzed, aware of Gabrielle's presence, and he wanted desperately to hold her, arms aching to cradle her sleeping form in his embrace. His lips quivered in anticipation as he imagined pressing them against her soft, delectable flesh. However, he thought it best to keep his distance for now.

He had only been unconscious for two hours before his eyes shot open in response to the gnawing hunger burning in his belly. When he woke up, he realized that his fangs and claws were extended at full length, and he'd been holding Gabrielle way too tightly. His face was also dangerously close to her throbbing jugular, so he pushed himself away, sacrificing his desire to hold her close.

She was safer that way.

How could he have forgotten to sate his hunger before spending the night with her? Being intimate with Gabrielle only increased his need to drink from her and bond her to him. And he was foolish enough to prolong the time since he'd last fed. He could absolutely kick himself for endangering Gabrielle in such a way. Jacques's nagging voice rang in his mind even now...

So there Vincent lie, completely still, eyes focused on the white ceiling, specifically on a bubble in the paint where there may have been a small leak. He had his hands clasped together on his rigid, tense chest, index finger tapping rhythmically on one hand. He was deliberating. The time was now 3:47 AM. His contact from the hospital surely would be fast asleep by now, and Vincent knew that the man would certainly not be happy if he were to call him in the wee hours of the night, begging for an already revoked privilege. But he needed blood as soon as possible...

His arm only moved to reach down onto the floor and retrieve his cellphone. He held the device up, squinting from the bright light and cursing the electronic. Scrolling through his contacts, he came to the only name in Arabic on the list, قُصي المصري (Qusay Al-Masri). The man had insisted on being entered in such a way. Vincent rolled his eyes at the memory, thinking about the back and forth between them on something as simple as a contact name. He could imagine the hard time that was ahead...

Tapping on the contact and breathing a ragged sigh, Vincent hoped for the best when he heard the ringing tone in his phone speaker. The increasing pain in his abdomen made itself known with every creeping second. Slowly, he stood and excused himself from the room, so as to not disturb his lover from her peaceful slumber. At least she could sleep well...

He tried his damnedest to ignore the small, pleading whisper she made in her sleep when the bed shifted. It must have felt so empty now.

The line surprisingly opened on the other side. "Salam," the gruff masculine voice greeted with an Egyptian accent.

"Qusay, I need a bag as soon as possible. I—"

"Alhamdulillah. Thanks for asking," Qusay interrupted irritatedly. "And you, Vincent? How are you doing?"