The dying soul (part two)
Without a second word, Azrael leaps into the air. The grace and speed at which he darts his way through the first must be incredible, and yet I can barely feel it over the fading haziness of my conscience, the only thing keeping me from passing out from the pain being Azrael's hands clamped firmly over the lower half of my torso. Breath rises and falls from my lungs in inconsistent gasps.
I can't believe I am dying like this.
Perhaps if I had more energy, I might have cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have killed those vampires when I had the chance- what sort of an idiot lets another vampire intervene? I roll my eyes, groaning against the pain and rivulets of blood that stream down my torn up back like snaking rivers. Maybe I deserve this fate, if only for being so insolent. Azrael's icy voice cuts through any thoughts of self loathing with a wintry cold, laced with bitter venom.