Kisses from Hell

Sol fluttered his fingers toward her, daring himself to touch.

“I do not need it to live;

I need it to be alive.

But you, Aurora, you are extraordinary.”

Her heart crept toward her throat. She wanted to pull him to her and sob thank-yous into his chest.

Am I home?

“Your touch can fill me with the same life I would have had to kill for.”

Aurora knew she should, but could not be disgusted by him and could not fear him. She had felt the same hooded emotions in her cell Below.

Those are not my people now. They never were.

Without thinking, she slid her hand on his. It was cool stone beneath her fingers.

His eyes began to roll back and he closed them, inhaling.

“What do you feel?” Aurora whispered.

Sol smiled and opened his eyes. Aurora sat before him, waiting for approval.

“Everything.”

She is beauty.

Sol reached across the narrow table and led her face to his.

Warm lips touched, pressed. Exchanged new feelings.

Warm lips pressed, parted. Connecting secrets.

He had circled the table without leaving her and now tucked her body within his. He kissed her deeper and felt his fangs jut out.

He pulled his mouth from hers.

His first time

embarrassed.

Aurora smiled and slid her finger back and forth across the points of his teeth. “It’s okay.”

She accepted him, wanted him completely.

No more waiting.

She pulled him back to her.

Music, his music, fell through her body.

Desire loosened her hands as she fumbled with buttons, zippers, ties. She had never wanted, never meant, never felt so much.

Love, home, she has found you.

Ten

Night awoke and stirred sleeping promises.

Moonlight crept into the hidden two.

Killer. Coward.

Wake.

You must wake.

We must hunt.

The man sprang up. Fueled by the decay of his bed and sick, sweet pictures of a blood-covered girl.

Killer. Coward.

He scraped his drool onto the knife, charging it for its upcoming task.

Find her.

Killer her. The freak. The whore.

We must kill.

Now now now now nownownownownownownownow-nownownownow. GO!!!!!!!

He skittered across the floor of Above. She would be easy to find. He knew her voice. He knew her smell. He knew she was close.

Eleven

Sol lay next to beauty, love. Staring into her as she spoke of her past, her dreams, hopes, wants, needs, love.

Not touching.

Still feeling.

She had changed him.

He had emotion without her touch. Within her, he had found himself.

Twelve

“Of course, the first thing she’s gonna go do is hook up with one o’ them Others and be some murderer’s slut. But he can’t protect you now, no sir. He can’t protect you at all.”

His deranged rants were heard and answered:

You must teach her.

She needs to learn a lesson.

Bleed her, taste her, lick her dry.

She asked for it. For us to kill.

He slithered up up up. Tearing clothes, scraping flesh. Unaware of pain. His knife calm, waiting nestled between wet teeth.

Killer. Coward.

He had reached her. Rough bark stuck to his hands, sweaty with desire, anticipation. Night cloaked him, but he still stood in shadow, drinking in the moments before he was realized by his prey.

She asked for it.

Kill her.

He released the blade from his mouth and painted his lips with its excess spit.

Kill her.

His breath quickened, revealing his presence. She quickly turned and his body began to tingle.

“Let’s see what’s under that blanket, girl.”

Before she could scream, run, fight, feel, process, he was on her. She landed with a thwack on the wooden porch. Her blanket torn open as he sat on her twisting bare stomach. Four spider fingers fought past her teeth and pinned her tongue.

“Shh, shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s gonna be fun.”

Thirteen

Sol awoke to find the space next to him empty and the sun silent.