The Fawx Bite

XVII.

Viola shivered despite the fact that she could no longer feel the cold. No, she was shivering because she was unnerved. Bleach filled the room, along with hand sanitizer. The smell was ghastly and strong enough to kill any bacteria that could hope to grow. Along with that was an assault of sounds such as the refrigerator humming, the purr of the florescent lights, the clicking of a computer, and other various machines that were alive.

But what attracted her attention was the fact the room smelled like fear. It was overpowering, so heavy it was like a wet comforter had been thrown over her. It was as though there was actually someone standing next to her. She parted her lips, inhaling. The scent became all the more choking and precise.

The scent belonged to a man. He was somewhere near his mid to late twenties, and he was absolutely consumed by terror. Traces of pain rippled along the scent along with the words, "Stop." A chill crawled down her spine at the combination. She rested her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the sudden taste of it clogging the top of her tongue. Viola could remember the taste, the ice that pierced her tongue, and the odd thickening sensation from the drug that had been pumping through his blood. Stoker had insisted that it wouldn't harm her, simply because she had already been exposed to it.

He was dead now. She didn't know his name, nor did she truly care. He had failed to evolve into something better. And yet his failure had given her added bonus. His body had been dragged away a little while ago. Even though his individual scent had faded, the strong emotions lingering only because of the amplified power that they had held in the last seconds.

Viola had killed him. Probably why the smell of his last moments were especially powerful for her. She hadn't been crazed as she was when she killed Bruce and her fellow classmates. She had been methodical, paying more attention to the hunt other than the actual kill. It helped that she had also been in the same mystical plain as him. She had hunted him in the world of nightmares, blending in with the demons that hunted him.

She simply stood there, detached from the scene before her. She knew that Stoker was at her side, and there was a small part of her that wanted to be horrified by what she had done. And what she had ben through the past several days. So much blood, and pain, and confusion. Viola had never felt so alone and lost, and she didn't understand what was really controlling her.

He was probably able to sense everything that was running through her mind. Stoker had revealed an uncanny ability to add his voice amongst her thoughts. It disturbed her, and made Viola feel as though she no longer belonged to her own person. But if she really honed and concentrated on Stoker, she was able to get a shadow of what he was thinking or feeling. Viola was also able to know where he was at all times. And she always knew if he was healthy, sleeping, or in danger.

It disgusted her.

The faintest of chuckles emanated from the vampire next to her. The sound was too quiet for human ears to detect. Viola angled her head in his direction, the slightest of challenges. What she really wanted to do was snarl or spit at him. To snap her teeth. To rip him apart. Her fury burned unnaturally against the chill of her still blood within her veins. But anytime she felt the tiniest bubble of violence build up inside her, she couldn't follow through. At least not against Stoker. She had discovered this with the young man only a few hours before. But with her sire, it was as though an invisible pattern of strings bound her.

"Your sister is coming to visit," Stoker's voice cut through her thoughts as though they were paper.

A flash of hurt, like a bee sting. Poisonous renewed rage blossomed through her body. Viola turned away from him, "So?"