True Mate

IV.

A scream...blood...so much blood!

Liv bolted up in an instant, sending waves of nausea through her as she shakily stumbled across the hall to the bathroom. Retching into the toilet, her back heaving as her stomach emptied its contents, a thin sheen of sweat spread over her fevered skin, glistening in the pale morning light.

"Hey, you okay?"

She heard the man from last night ask. Unable to answer as another rush of sickness hit her, her head bent low over the bowl. Suddenly, a warm hand touched the back of her neck, drawing slow, comforting circles over her upper back. He didn't say a thing, and eventually she had nothing more to throw up. Helping her stand, he flushed the toilet and led her to the sink, supporting her weight while she rinsed her mouth out with his mouthwash and splashed her face with cold water.

"Better?"

She nodded, giving him a weak little smile.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled.

"No worries, sweetheart," he rumbled low in his chest like a purr.

His voice did things to her. She hadn't even known him for twenty-four hours and she already felt as if she'd known him for much longer.

"I was going to ask you if you'd like some breakfast, but uh," he gave her a meaningful look, "that's probably the best thing for you right now."

At that, she had to give him a big smile.

"Y-yeah," she laughed.

"Would you like to sleep a bit longer? Or are you wanting to leave?"

There was something in his tone that made her feel sad, like he didn't want her to go.

Same here, she thought.

"Actually," she began, "could we have coffee?"

He grinned.

"Of course!"

His enthusiasm was contagious. Arm in arm, he brought her to the couch and covered her with the ugly throw he'd inherited from his great grandmother. While he busied himself in the kitchen, she turned on the television and zoned out during the weather report. But then there was a breaking news story on the events from last night. Unsure if she wanted to watch it, she studied the screen with apprehension as they showed her friend's picture and the front of the bar.

"...As of right now there are no leads in the investigation. Patrons of the establishment claim to have not heard anything, with only a few saying they saw the victim with a man, just minutes before she was brutally murdered. Police have requested the security footage from the owner, and have yet to analyze the evidence..."

She felt rather than hear his approach. He set down two mugs filled with steaming, hot coffee on the coffee table in front of them, before sitting down beside her.

"Cream or sugar?"

Shaking her head, she took the mug set in front of her in her hands, the warmth of the roughly sculpted clay a comfort to her.

"Thank you," she said, sipping the dark brew.

They sat quietly as they savored their coffee and watched the program go from one horrific tragedy to a series of minor vandalism and petty thefts.

"Later, when you're ready, I'll take you home," he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head; she didn't want to leave this cocoon of warmth and safety he'd spun around her. She only wanted to go back to his bed, maybe sleep for a few more hours, and share another exotic dinner with him. There was an inexplicable need to be near with him, to stay by his side. It was as if she knew he was the only one who could keep her safe on an instinctual level. She didn't know how right she was...