…oh, dear…  this is what happens when I paint my fingernails scarlet…

blood drips from my fingertips and trickles from the corner of my mouth as i come to my senses.

what the fuck did i just do?

my vision widens and my senses return to my body in a stream.  i feel the burn and cramp where i have been kneeling for too long on the bloodsoaked sheets.  minute movements of muscles in my hands reveal a stickiness of surface that tells me it’s not just my fingertips that are bloody, but much of my hands, my arms.  my chest, too, feels warm/cold and sticky.  my vision is red, not just from the carmine of my bedroom’s decor, but the remains of what lies in front of me that have caused this.  against all odds, there is a flicker of movement.  a tiny groan invades the buzzing in my ears that is brought on by returning awareness.


i always loved the deeper end of the red spectrum – the scarlets, the brown-tinged and slightly rotten burgundies, purplish and vibrating hues that would draw me in and make my mouth water.  but i never understood why, until i met you.  you with your deep mahogany hair and eyes to match.  your skin so pale it flushed delightfully when i fucked you.  and it didn’t take me long to do that, either.

friends of friends of friends.  a bar deep in the warren of the old city, your scent smacked me in the face, then in the gut.  i know you felt it too.  it’s a cliche, but when our eyes locked, i almost heard the feral growl rumbling in your chest.  my core flipped, and i knew it wouldn’t be long before one of us had the other pinned against a wall, tearing at clothes with fingers and teeth.

in the end, it was mutual.  we barely said a word in the steam and cacophany of the bar, but we didn’t need to.  i don’t remember how we got from inside to outside, but the alley suited us perfectly.  there was no finesse, there was no seduction.  there didn’t need to be.  all there was was you, and me, and oceanic hunger.

now we are here, and i have awoken from my lust-induced trance to see your ravaged body lying before me.  deep gouges in the flesh of your shoulders, your chest. a chunk missing, here and there.  almost guiltily, i probe pressure points in between my teeth and confirm the ragged flesh caught there.  absentminded, i lick a trickle of blood–your precious blood–from the corner of my mouth.   i am swamped by your scent once again, and i almost come on the spot.  this is what you do to me, what you have made me.  i cannot get enough of you.  i bend to all fours and begin to prowl forward.

you stop me with a raised hand.

it’s dim in here.  candlelight gleams from your eyes gone black with low light and desire.


i hesitate.  “S…Stop?  B…but….”  i groan in frustration.  lick the back of my hand.  “I can’t.  you can’t do this to me…please…  i need more…”

“No, Lila.  not yet.  i need to recover.  i need…  food…”

at once, my chagrin disappears, and a slow smile spreads across my gory features.  i feel tiny cracks appear where the sheen is so thin that it has already dried.  my pulse increases as you start to haul yourself upright, your expression matching mine.

your teeth gleam in the gloaming as you reach for me.