Taste

Damien's heart was pounding in his ears, and he hated the way he could feel the blood from where Crowe had repeatedly bitten him throb, hated the way drops of blood slid down his throat with every thump-thump of his heartbeat. He hated even more that the only way to resist the magic of Crowe's bite was to introduce another vampire's magic into the mix. And of course it would have to be Cain, because what other vampire would bother coming to his rescue?

He didn't like knowing that the only vampire who would even consider crossing a monster like Crowe on behalf of him was the vampire he hated more than anyone. 

Across the room, Cain was pulling himself up from where he'd been reclining on the floor. He looked as haggard as before, but there was a gleam of hunger in his eyes that reminded Damien chillingly of the way Crowe looked at him right before he would sink his fangs into his throat. Moving slowly, the vampire stepped closer, and Damien valiantly fought the urge to scream, choosing instead to close his eyes. He heard Cain draw closer, barely able to make out the sound of his soft footsteps. He wasn't breathing, so the only sound he made was the swish of his cloak and the light impact of his boots on the floor. He paused at what must have been the side of the bed, and Damien tried to open his eyes, only to find he'd lost the confidence. 

The vampire said nothing, just stood there.

Slowly, Damien fumbled around for the dagger he'd been given, clutching the hilt of it in his hands and then trying to open his eyes again. After a few deep breaths, he was able to open his eyes. Cain was staring down at him with a strained expression. His fangs were out, the corners of them dragging at his bottom lip on each side of his mouth. He wasn't breathing, but he was watching him with what seemed to be single-minded intensity. 

He looked down, at the large amount of space between the edge of the bed, and where Damien had backed himself up against the far corner, right along the headboard. There was a question in his gaze - did Damien want to come closer, or did Damien expect Cain to come closer, instead? 

As much as Damien hated the idea of being the one to initiate by drawing closer, he also didn't want the vampire on the bed. He was under no illusion that the mere fact of Damien not wanting him there would function similarly to a revoked invitation - after all, the bed was Cain's, not Damien's - but he still wanted to think of the bed as his own space, and he didn't want Cain to encroach on it. So, despite the way it grated on him, he cautiously moved towards the edge of the bed, until he was perched right in front of Cain. He crossed his legs one over the other so that he was seated on the edge, but without dangling his legs over the side. Then, with a heavy sigh, he looked up at Cain and said, "So now what? Do you lick your finger, or…?"

Cain stared down at him with naked hunger, but oddly, Damien wasn't afraid of that look on his face, at least not the way he'd been afraid of Crowe's ravenous attacks. Maybe it had something to do with the rigid control with which Cain held himself utterly still, or the fact that the man had chosen to arm Damien with a silver knife specifically because it would give Damien the opportunity to enforce his 'no' with a genuine threat, but he didn't feel trapped by the vampire looming over him. 

Cain didn't speak, but he did make a bit of a face at Damien's question. Then, with a mild shrug, he popped his thumb into his mouth. It was such a childish gesture that it took Damien several seconds to realize the man was applying his saliva, as he'd stated earlier. He wasn't sure why he'd expected the man to use another finger - the thumb made the most sense, given the wound in question was on the side of his neck. Still, it looked hilariously incongruous, the dark and foreboding figure staring down at him and sucking his thumb like a toddler. 

Damien fought to keep his face straight, but from the slight frown Cain sent his way, it was clear he'd done a bad job of it. "You look like a baby," Damien explained. 

Cain popped the thumb out of his mouth with a grimace. He didn't respond verbally, though. Instead he raised his eyebrows, as if asking a question, and gestured vaguely in Damien's direction with his suckled thumb. 

Somehow, Damien found this even funnier, and he began to giggle. At first it was fine, but then he began to realize that the laughter was showing no signs of slowing - that he couldn't stop laughing. He wheezed with laughter, doubling over, clutching his gut as his ribs protested the paroxysm of hysterics he'd fallen into. 

A moment later, he felt four cool fingers come to rest on the back of his neck, and he looked up, laughter so forceful that his eyes were filling with tears. His watery gaze barely found Cain's serious expression before he felt the cool, wet swipe of the man's thumb press against the bloody puncture wound, the pressure insistent but not painful. He felt something there, not sickly and too-sweet like the rot of Crowe's magic, but instead light and ticklish, almost like getting a deep breath in a field of wildflowers, when the pollen filled the air, making his nose itch and his lungs prickle. There was a tingle that danced over his skin where Cain's thumb rested, like when he pressed just the right (wrong) place on his elbow and the prickle that resulted made his hand feel momentarily numb. It was simultaneously wrong and right, uncomfortable and familiar, cool and yet there was such a deep sensation of warmth he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. 

The uncontrollable laughs died on his lips as the cool feeling of Cain's hand on his nape centered him. For a moment, the laughter was replaced with a feeling of all-consuming rage; no one should touch him there, never, not ever again, he hated it, hated it, hated it - He clutched the dagger, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. 

Immediately, the vampire took two deliberate steps back, his hand lifting away from Damien's neck, taking with it the calm that had descended upon him. As he felt his heart began to pound again, his breath quickening with some indescribable blend of too many emotions to even attempt to identify, Damien watched Cain. The vampire was watching him, his brow knit with concern, his attention clearly focused on Damien and not on his own actions. Damien felt like time itself slowed as he watched the vampire lifting his thumb back to his mouth. 

"Wait," he said, a bubble of panic building in his chest, "the blood-" 

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before Cain popped the blood-smeared thumb into his mouth. He froze, then, like he'd been carved from marble. Not breathing, not blinking, nothing. Then, after several agonizing seconds, he swallowed, once. He shut his eyes, removed the thumb, and inhaled deeply, before pronouncing his next words in a solemn tone. "That… was a mistake."

The quiver in his tone was unmistakable, as was the way his hands seemed to want to curl into claws. He was clearly holding himself back and struggling to do so. 

Damien gripped the dagger harder, feeling like he'd swallowed a stone. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. 

"I didn't mean to," the vampire protested, lifting his hands like he was showing he was unarmed. But the clear edge to his nails and the flash of fangs from his mouth did little to reassure Damien. "I forgot."

"You forgot there was blood on your own hand?!" Damien challenged, frustration beginning to overtake the panic he was feeling. 

"I wasn't thinking," Cain tried to explain, badly.

"Clearly!"

"I'm sorry," Cain said then, and Damien had to process that for a moment.

He wasn't sure if the apology upset him because it wasn't enough, or because this wasn't the apology he wanted from Cain. The vampire had always been so full of himself and seemed not only unwilling but unable to admit that he'd deeply wronged Damien. And now he was apologizing for instinctively licking his thumb clean, a perfectly normal gesture, when he still refused to apologize for the fact that he'd ruined Damien's childhood and his future? 

"Don't be," Damien finally said. "You've worse things that you should apologize for first."

Cain cocked his head slightly, eyeing Damien for a long moment before he slowly nodded. He looked down at his thumb, then Damien's throat, before asking, "How's the injury?"

Damien lifted his hand up to the side of his throat, wincing when he felt the remnants of Cain's saliva, still a bit sticky to the touch. But when his hand came back, he could still see blood. He wasn't sure if it was from before or after Cain had swabbed his throat, though. "You tell me," he said, tilting his head a little, hating the way it looked like he was baring his throat to his mate. Ugh. It was borne of necessity, he tried to tell himself. It meant nothing. Really. 

Cain stepped closer, though he was clearly wary of the dagger still clutched in Damien's right hand. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, eyeing the injury site for several seconds before shaking his head. "Still bleeding," he pronounced, sounding disappointed. 

Damien swallowed hard, righting his head and resisting the urge to slap his left palm back over the injury. "Now what?"

"Let it bleed," Cain pronounced slowly, his words heavy, "Or…"

Damien didn't like the way Cain refused to meet his gaze when he said the word 'or'. "Or what?"

"Vampire saliva can definitely heal wounds," Cain pronounced. "But for this particular injury it might require… more direct application." 

Damien felt like he was going to vomit. "You have to lick it?" 

Cain still wasn't meeting his eyes, but he nodded slowly. 

"No," Damien said, instinctively, before he even had the chance to think about it. "Absolutely not. Never." He couldn't let a vampire that close to him again, and especially not his mate! The chance of being bitten was too great. Cain had already fallen prey to his own instinct once, and now he was literally shaking with the need to taste more of Damien's blood! He wasn't an idiot, he knew that the fangs out and grasping claws were clear signs of a vampire in need of blood. 

He also knew there wasn't a god in the pantheon that could promise him enough to let that man feed from him. Not even Brinn. 

He felt another bead of blood trickle slowly down his throat, watched the way Cain's eyes tracked the droplet as it trailed down the side of his throat, curved into the lip of his collarbone, and came to rest there, over his heart. 

"It can heal more than just the bleeding wound," Cain said quietly. "I could heal your other injuries, too. All of them."

As tempting as that may have been on another day, Damien wanted nothing less than to be fed from by the vampire standing before him. And he knew that if he allowed the monster's mouth to descend upon him, he would absolutely feed. It was his nature, an instinct he could no more control than Damien could his transformations. Somehow, Crowe's repeated feedings hadn't led to Damien's enthrallment, which was as much a mystery as it was a relief. But given all the weirdness that had revolved around him since he'd imprinted on Cain's scent and recognized it as mate, perhaps the failed enthrallment was related in some way. If that were the case, then he sincerely doubted he'd be afforded the same level of protection from his mate. For that matter, what if his own instincts took over, and he asked to be bitten? Could he trust himself not to succumb to his instincts, this close to the full moon? 

Damien inhaled, of half a mind to tell Cain that enough was enough and he needed to leave,but when he did, a bolt of piercing pain shot through his cracked ribs, and all that he ended up doing was releasing his breath in a low groan, wrapping one of his arms around the injured area and trying to stop breathing until the agony subsided. By the time he could see past the spots in his vision and cautiously resumed his shallow inhales and exhales, he realized that he didn't have a choice. Even if Cain's instincts won out, or his own did, if he didn't allow Cain to at least try and heal him, he would certainly die on the night of the full moon. He'd barely survived his last transformation. There was no way that he would survive again, especially not in his current condition. He didn't have the magic available to transform normally, much less the magic needed for an expedient healing. Normally, a werewolf's body healed itself as part of the transformation process, which was a large part of why so much magic was required. But if he was going into it already injured, that would mean that he'd need healing, transformation, healing, and then returning to his body. Three rounds of healing was too much to ask of his magic in this weakened state. 

And as much as he'd rather die than be bonded to Cain, he couldn't just go and die without at least trying his best to survive. If he did that, Dezzy would absolutely learn necromancy just so that she could raise him from the dead and kill him herself. He couldn't do that to her. Plus, necromancer's robes really weren't her style. 

"Well?" Cain prompted, his arms now folded defensively over his broad chest as he stared down at Damien with blood-red eyes.

"No teeth?" Damien asked carefully. 

"None," Cain agreed.

"You won't drink," Damien said, more threat than question this time.

"I will not," Cain answered, though he didn't sound confident. Damien decided it wasn't worth agonizing over again, though. If Cain did drink, there would be nothing for him to do about it once it happened. Despite his better judgement, he would have to trust the vampire to keep his word, in spite of all the instincts that had to be screaming at Cain to do precisely what he'd agreed not to.

Damien wanted to sigh heavily, but suspected his ribs would be most displeased with the act. Instead, he stared down at his criss-crossed legs, at his hand, still wrapped around the dagger's hilt, and said, "Fine. Do it."

"Right," Cain said, a bit of an edge to his tone. "We'll need to take off that shirt of yours, then."

"We need to do WHAT?!"