Pool of Crimson

chapter 10



I couldn’t move. Those same dingy taupe walls stared back at me. My pulse raced and my face flushed with dread. I couldn’t be here again. Not on that damned table. Not again.

My wrists were bound with padded leather. Tears flooded my eyes as I tried to slip my hands from the tight bonds that kept me strapped to that f*cking table.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I kept repeating to myself as I struggled against the restraints. The muscles in my back screamed in protest as I tried to pull the restraints from the table. I yanked and yanked again, until my skin burned from the friction.

“Darling,” my torturer cooed from the corner. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.” She sat, stiff and proper, on a metal chair.

I wasn’t sure how I’d missed her. Her blond hair and gray eyes mirrored mine, but there was something sinister there I hoped I didn’t possess.

“Please, Mommy, don’t do this,” I begged, warm tears streaming down the sides of my face.

She remained still and pretty, with a big, unconcerned smile on her face, like she was having her picture taken.

“But, sweetheart,” a deep male voice behind me started.

My breathing became erratic at the familiar sound of his voice, and the smallest flicker of hope filled me. Patrick! Patrick could get me out of here.

“She can’t let you go.” Patrick’s voice was soothing.

I strained my neck to try and see him better. He came around the table from behind me, and stood only a foot away. I could almost reach up and touch him. The adhesive pulling at my temples tore the top layer of skin from my face as I struggled against the nodes. I didn’t care.

“Why? Why can’t she?” My breath hitched as I tried to hold back my tears.

“Who are you talking to, darling?” my mother asked with a simple cock of her head.

“Why can’t she let me go?” I asked again, ignoring my mother as Patrick stepped up to the gurney.

He gazed down at me, eyes soft and apologetic just before he glanced over his shoulder at my mother. She didn’t see him. Maybe I was going crazy.

Tears slid down the side of my face, regardless of what I wanted.

Patrick’s soft, cool fingers trailed across my forehead in a tender stroke as he pushed my hair from my face. His fingers brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Because, sweetheart, she’s afraid of you,” he said softly, with the tiniest of smiles.

He meant to reassure me, but I panicked. The slightest glint of fang graced his smile. My pulse pounded through my veins and my lungs burned as I breathed the stale, electricity charged air.

“Patrick,” I whimpered. “Please help me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I can’t,” he replied, an apology gleaming in his eyes.

“Why?” I inhaled a broken, ragged breath. My salvation faded away as he stroked my hair tenderly. My bottom lip trembled with fear as I openly sobbed.

“Sweetheart, I’m not the white knight,” he said simply, his eyes filled with remorse. “You are.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead lightly as he pushed my head to the side. He leaned in close to my ear, his nose trailing lightly along my jawline to my ear.

“Don’t you know? I’m the villain of the piece,” he whispered, then sank his fangs deep into the flesh of my neck.

“Noooooooooo,” I screamed as pain rippled through me, and the warm flow of my blood covered my skin.


My eyes snapped open. The room was dark. I reached for my neck. I was alone, warm in my bed with my neck still intact. I couldn’t let him bite me. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.