BITE - a snowbaz fanfiction

2

He says he feels fine.

That the bloodlust isn't there, that there aren't any fangs filling up his mouth. He hasn't woken up in need of blood. Like I did.

And I think for a moment, What if I didn't turn him?

But that's nearly impossible.

Granted, Snow's entire being is impossible.

His magic is back, at least for the time being. But I don't know if it's his magic, or if he's taking it out of the magical atmosphere again.

The Humdrum could come back. The Humdrum could come back.

Or . . .

I remember reading a book hidden deep in our library at the old Pitch manor. It told of a powerful magician from the Petty family—not as powerful as Snow, but close—that was somehow immortal.

They couldn't explain it. As soon as the immortal Petty gained the spotlight, he disappeared. So the phenomenon was left unspoken of.

Snow could be—

Immortal.

He wouldn't need to take life to survive if he's already immortal.

I don't know if I can tell him. He'd be losing Penny, he'd be losing every mortal person in his life...

(He'll find out eventually.)

I roll over onto my side and close my eyes. (I should've been the one to choose the sofa in this flat; Snow's taste is despicable.) (Penelope told me to stay overnight, to watch him. He didn't argue.)

I feel Snow's breath before I see him. He's hovering behind my back like he's lost.

"Are you awake?" he whispers so quietly that only I could hear him.

"No," I murmur.

"Baz," he says, "Can you . . ."

Can I what, Simon?

Have you back?

I raise my eyebrows at him even though I know he can't see it. "Can I?"

"I—" he sighs. "Just . . . come here."

He's looking at me with that piercing, desperate gaze that so long ago made me fall for him. Crowley, it's been a long time since I've seen that face.

I sit up and look expectantly at Snow. He doesn't look at me; he's staring out the big window that stretches out across the wall in the sitting room, a glorious view of London.

I nudge him, and he looks back at me, runs his hands through his curls, and walks into his room. I follow him.

He crawls into his bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

He looks so small.

So vulnerable.

I love you, still now.

I lie beside him, and he's the one to shift closer to me. He's radiating warmth, a magical warmth. It feels different than before—less stinging, more comforting. More real.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, just lies there in my arms. For the first time in months.

I haven't realized how touch-starved I've been until now.

Snow's breathing slows, and I close my eyes.

The last thing I hear is a nearly silent whisper, him saying, "Stay."

I do.

I bite down.

The flavour is rich, coppery, warm. It's excruciating how slowly it flows out.

But then I hear yelling and screaming.

Animals can't scream.

"Baz, stop!" he's yelling.

It's Snow.

But I can't stop. I can't stop. The human in me is fighting for control, but it doesn't win. I've been taken over completely by my dead side.

I drain him completely.

Until he falls over in my arms, and I don't catch him.

I lick my lips and turn around.

Mother.

She's looking at me like I'm not her son, like I'm only a vampire.

"No, no, Simon, I'm sorry. Simon, I promised I'd never hurt you. I promised I wouldn't bite you. I need you."

But he's dead.

Drained dry.

Mother mutters something under her breath, and a white flame appears in both her hands. She glares at me, a menacing glare, and draws her hand back.

The flames fly toward me.

I ignite.

"Baz, shhh . . ." Someone's shaking me. "It was a dream, yeah? Just a dream. You're okay. You're okay."

I open my eyes. I'm wrapped tightly in Snow's wings. He's kneeling over me, holding me down by my shoulders, his tail around my right arm.

He presses his forehead against mine like he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't.

(Because we're not together.)

(But Snow slept in my arms last night.)

"Do you need to drink?" he asks quietly. "Your . . ."

He presses his thumb on my cheek, reminding me that my mouth is filled with fangs.

"Sorry," I mumble.

He still looks concerned, more concerned than I've ever seen him with my past nightmares.

"What's wrong?" I whisper.

He ruffles his hair and sighs. "You said you needed me." He pauses. "Baz, we're not . . . we're not that anymore."

I don't say anything. I'm trying to keep myself from saying, You slept in my arms. Stop screwing with my emotions.

"Baz, I—"

"Don't," I say roughly, getting up. "And" —I open the door— "put your cross on, please. You don't want to risk being bitten by anyone, do you?"