Rabbit Blood

Chapter 20 - Rebound

Several flights of stairs later, Leslie dashed into the first-floor restroom, next to the bar area, ignoring the demon onlooker who asked if she had the shits. She leaned against the sink, dwelling on her own breathlessness.

What just happened?

This was not allowed.

Leslie smacked her hands against the ceramic. No, no, no. No panicking. She had to keep a level head. Right now, Leslie needed to be her own best friend: the person who slapped her in the face and delivered inconvenient truths.

Being bitten was all the reason she needed to rescind this contract. Alastor had shown his true colors with disturbing rapidity. Yes, she'd known bad men in the past, but their grosser qualities crept up after long periods of dating, and they never hurt her in the literal sense. One ex, Ranajay, would hit walls and desks, and Karl threw a roll of toilet paper at her head, but that was it. Alastor bit her, for God's sake. He seduced her into making an agreement, then latched on like a leech. What kind of person did that?

Leslie examined her lip in the mirror. No pain, no mark, nothing. She almost wished she could see the damage, so it felt less like her imagination. The only evidence was a tiny red speck on her dress, and the taste of blood and cognac still on her tongue.

Then there was the memory of the kiss, fresh in her mind, and it made her sink to her knees, and she laughed through tears. Unbelievable. God help her, she'd never had such a rush in her life. So many weeks of doubt and suspicion as he toyed with her, looking over with a smirk and heavy-lidded eyes. What did he want? He couldn't possibly want her, not in the same way. But tonight, he kissed her. Alastor kissed Leslie. It didn't feel begrudging, either: by the contract's terms, he could have given her much less.

However, speaking of the contract (and the disturbance again surpassed her joy), he certainly did what he could within the letter of the law. What had she written? Soft biting. Maybe that meant something else to Alastor, comparatively - soft could be taken as 'anything less than the force necessary to cut steel'.

This was a nightmare. Leslie didn't want to give up the highest high that Hell could possibly give... but why did he have to make her bleed?

Maybe it was an accident.

No. No excuses. Unless she did something, she'd be up all night agonizing about it. Come on, bitch, she thought, we've got to fix ourselves. Solution, tonight, NOW.

Her immediate instinct was to march back upstairs and push the Radio Demon beyond his comfort zone. Historically, this was a poor tactic for resolving fights with bad boyfriends: a mixture of hate-fucking and blind, stupid ignorance. It never fixed anything. Besides, she reasoned, Alastor would not be open to angry, passionate sex of any kind. Not yet. He'd also never apologize. Men like him thought it was beneath them, or it showed weakness.

She could go to her room and spend the night with a pillow... but it would be pathetic, especially after tasting the real thing.

Then, an idea squirreled into her brain: she wondered, hypothetically, about finding someone else. Quickly. Someone who'd be generous instead of sparing, and blatant where Alastor was merely suggestive. Maybe it would help her. Maybe it would get to him. There was nothing in the agreement about mutual exclusivity, but she judged him to be the possessive type. Yes, she thought, that'd show you: there's more to life than Al's temptations.

But who was there, really?

Her first thought was Kain from the weekly powwows. At the very least, Kain was well-educated, and less brutish than others. He'd take her; judging from reports of his antics, he'd take anyone with a pulse. But he also seemed like the sort of guy who would tell everyone what they did, in gruesome detail. As if her reputation wasn't tarnished enough.