Awake and Lost Ch. 05

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
- Sylvia Plath

Harper can't bring himself to do more than stare as Erica stumbles into the room, one hand pressed tightly to her chest with a dagger held loosely in her fist. Blood seeps between her fingers and down her oversized white shirt; the only thing she's wearing.

Erica lifts her head, looking at him with wide, dark eyes as she points the dagger shakily at Harper. "Give me your hand," she demands.

Harper sputters, taking a step back. "Wh-what?"

Erica huffs and blood gushes anew from the dark red wound at the center of her chest. "Your hand. Jesus, Harper, I'm not going to cut it off," she snaps. "And even if I wanted to hurt you - even if I tried to like this - I'd bet you could take me right now."

Harper would bet on that too; Erica's face is wan, she sways on her feet and her bloody fingers are trembling around the raised dagger. A feather could probably knock her over in her current state.

Slowly, he holds his hand out to her. Erica glances at him once before grasping his hand and holding it palm-up in her own. She raises the dagger and slices a thin line into his palm. Harper barely feels it, but that might be the shock. Blood starts to well up just as Erica clasps both of their hands together, a wet stinging press of skin.

Her eyes remain downcast, lashes fanning out against freckles and a faint jagged scar under her left eye that Harper can't help but notice.

When she steps back and lets go of his hand he feels bereft of air. Erica turns to swipe her palm along the windowpane, leaving a red streak of their mingled blood to dry along the edge.

"It'll keep them out," she mutters quietly. She sways on her feet and Harper reaches out to steady her on instinct.

"Erica," he says, trying to push away the tremor in his voice. "What's going on?"

Her head dips towards him and she smiles weakly up at Harper. "I was going to kill him, even if it killed me," she says, eyes glazed, "but it didn't work. Not like it was s'posed to, but this is..."

Harper moves his hand to her waist as she becomes more unsteady. "I don't understand."

Erica's eyes flutter closed and he pulls her weight to his, tries to lead them towards the bed before she blacks out on him.

"I broke the tether," she says, breathless, and collapses against Harper.

*

"Riley!"

Nick shakes him hard, kneeling in blood-soaked sheets. "Wake up, wake up now," he growls, unhinged by the sight of his only sired so close to death. He bites into Riley's wrist; the blood flow is so slow, so weak and quiet, but it's there, thrumming against his teeth and past his lips. He can save him.

"Riley," He says, nicking into his own wrist with his teeth and bleeding it against Riley's lips. Wake up."

Riley's eyes shoot open, he gasps and struggles against Nick's hold, dragging claws into Nick's skin. His eyes bleed red in a way they haven't since he was made. Nick pushes him back against the bed until Riley stops fighting against him.

"Tell me," Nick commands him.

The red slips away as Riley focuses on him, fangs sharp as he snarls. "Erica.."

*

"You can't stay here," Harper tells Erica's unconscious face as he paces back and forth.

He sees her shiver and thinks about covering her in case she's cold, but then he remembers that she's a vampire. A vampire that stalked and sexually manipulated him not even a whole month ago. Do vampires even get cold?

He walks back to the window and hovers a hand over their dried blood. Who is it keeping out? And how?

Erica shivers again, and Harper is at her side without a second thought. The wound in her chest has stopped bleeding, though she makes little pained faces every now and then. Harper sighs when she curls in against his hip, murmuring in her sleep.

"You can't stay here," He repeats uselessly as he pulls the covers up over her shoulders.

*

"Well," Conor starts, hovering his hand over Riley's chest, "he's not dead."

"What do you see," Nick grits out, pacing around them.

Conor looks up at him, taking his hands away. "She's not there, they're not... connected anymore. At all." He shakes his head and stares at the blood on his fingers. "Nick, are you sure he didn't-"

"Riley would never renounce the bond," Nick snaps, rubbing a hand over his face, "she did something, she broke it somehow."

Conor watches Riley, he's resting deeply under Nick's command. The wound in his chest has knitted together, leaving only an inflamed red scar.

"We have to tell the others, this" Conor gestures to Riley's chest. "This doesn't just happen. It can't."

"I don't want the Contingent to know about this," Nick says, turning away from them.

Conor bites back his protests, huffing instead and asking, "Then what do we do?"

Nick goes to the sink and starts rinsing the blood off of his hands. "Leave it to me."

*

Erica feels comfortable in a way she hasn't in years when she wakes. A soft mattress and pillow are luxuries she hasn't bothered with in a long time. Sneaking into Riley's loft when he wasn't there every other decade doesn't count in her mind. It didn't matter where she slept as long as the sun couldn't reach her.

Even back then, she was getting careless. Maybe being dead was getting to her, maybe she was losing the last scrap of humanity she had.

"Oh, you're awake," Harper says around a yawn. He's sitting in his desk chair, not far from the bed.

Erica blinks slowly at him, delighted when he starts getting jittery under her gaze. She pushes the blankets down to her waist.

"Thank you for covering me," she says softly.

"I, well," Harper starts, swivelling a little in the chair, his heart is racing. "Yeah."

"You're nervous," Erica observes. "I'm sorry. But before you ask, no, I can't leave."

"Why not," Harper blurts, then grimaces. "Not that you can't-well, you shouldn't be here, but what happened tonight? Why can't you leave?"

Erica shifts and winces at the feeling of dried blood sticking Riley's dress shirt to her chest. She gestures to the window. "That keeps them out, but only for as long as I'm here."

"Keeps who out?" Harper asks, rolling his chair closer to the bed.

She sighs. "I forget there's so much you don't know."

"Then tell me."

Erica says nothing, turning her face away.

Harper groans in frustration. "I don't understand anything," he exclaims and stands from his chair, "all I know is that a month ago I was getting awesomely dream-laid by a hot girl - oh, a hot, vampire girl, apparently, which - how many things do you think I can mentally process at a time? Vampires! Creepy, yet hot vampires! Actually getting laid! God, and I can't stop thinking about it, about you. Do you know how insane I feel? I haven't left the house! I can't write anything! And now you're here, and you look like death! Pun not intended. Just what-what am I supposed to do with all that, Erica?"

Harper feels like he's been running in a hamster wheel by the time he's done, his heart is beating so fast. For a long moment the only sound in the room is his heavy breathing, until Erica sighs and shifts against the bed.

"Riley," she starts, "he was, is, my sire." Harper looks at her as she goes on. "He made me into... this."

He goes to sit at the edge of the bed, hesitates a bit before saying, "You mentioned breaking something, before."

Erica nods. "The tether, our bond. He did it when he turned me, I never asked to be this way," she growls, "to be his."

"His," Harper echoes.

"It's a bond of our hearts," Erica explains, "my life is bound to his. Or at least, it was." She closes her eyes and smiles at that.

Harper must look as confused as he feels, because she goes on to explain. "It's - I don't know how else to explain it - for all intents and purposes I belonged to him."

That part disturbs him more than the rest, oddly enough. He can't imagine Erica belonging to anyone, let alone what it must be like to be tied to someone against your will.

"It's not supposed to be like that," she tells him quietly. "When two people choose each other, when they both enter the bond willingly it's... special. The tether is an extension of their love. It's a symbol."

Harper turns back and Erica glances down at Riley's bloodied shirt. "Riley bastardized it."

Suddenly the thought of belonging to Erica hits him- for some reason that thought doesn't strike him as wrong at all. "So," Harper says after a moment of awkward silence. "He'll come for you."

"No," Erica shakes her head against the pillow. "He's coming for you, that's why I'm here."

"Me," Harper gawks, "What did I do?"

Erica smiles at him coyly, her dark eyes glinting. "Come here," she says quietly, leaning forward, "I'll show you."

*

Nick drops the haze and watches as Riley opens his eyes. He sits up slowly, blinking the weight of the haze from his eyes and reaching up to touch the still-healing scar on his chest.

"Welcome back," Conor says with false cheeriness. "Did you have a nice nap? Good dreams?"

Riley sneers at him but doesn't answer. The faint wound pangs still, and Riley traces at it with his fingertips until there is only a blotted redness on his skin.

"Well, he's not as talkative as usual, which I like."

"Shut up, Conor," Nick says, he looks at Riley for a moment before standing and pulling his jacket on. "Watch him for me."

Conor's head shoots up. "Wait, where are you going?"

Nick glances back at Riley, who is eyeing him warily. "I'm going to take care of things, you will stay here."

Riley nods mutely, and Nick slams the door behind him.

*

"Give me your hand," Erica says softly, reminiscent of what she said when she first got here.

Harper does so reluctantly, feels his arm shake as he lets her latch onto his hand and guide it to her chest.

"See here?" She asks softly, touching his fingertips to the collar of her shirt; the material has gone stiff with dried blood. "He had me here for years, and then..."

Erica flattens his palm over the already-healing wound, just above the swell of her left breast. "Then you come along," she says, glancing up at him, "and my heart actually pulses when I'm with you. It pulls every drop of blood I've ever had into itself just so it can beat in my chest. You make me feel alive, and Riley hates it."

Harper gulps, his hand is still pressed to her chest, and every so often he feels a soft thump beneath his palm. It wouldn't be a great sign of life on a regular person, but for a vampire-. "Is, uh," he coughs, "Is that normal?"

Erica slides his hand down so that a firm nipple sticks into the centre of his palm. "I don't know," she answers sincerely. "I know blood makes me bruise, makes me strong and less pale, but it's never made my heart start."

"Hah, that's," Harper laughs awkwardly, "that's sort of romantic."

"No it's not," Erica says, her burning gaze set on him. "It's unnatural, it's animalistic. You make me feel alive and I want to own you for it," she growls, holds his wrist more firmly against her breast and pushes up against his hand, "I want you beneath me, begging for me, I want to use every inch of you to make me feel, do you understand? I want you to be mine."

Harper can't think of what to say to that, he knows that "okay" would be a bad move here. Because he's not okay with what she's saying, not all of it - but he is hard as a rock. His fingers twitch against her soft flesh, he wants so badly to knead into the soft mound with his palms, to open her bloodied blouse and push her breasts together between his hands, he'd love to give in and do it. A part of him thinks he'd love to give Erica everything she wants.

"That's what you do to me," she says solemnly, and slowly, so slowly, she guides his hand lower, her long fingers curled firmly around his wrist. Harper's breath catches as his finger glides down her stomach, stopping to rest just above her pelvis.

Erica arches up against his hand, and grabs him by the back of the neck to pull him down to her eye-line. "I can't stop," she says, sounding anguished.

"Erica," Harper rasps, his throat gone dry.

His fingers twitch against her thigh and Erica leans up to kiss him, open and wet. Harper feels a rush of heat pulse through him, straight to his dick. This isn't like the fuzzy desire and compliance from being "hazed". Harper's mind is clear, and the want he feels is his own.

He starts tearing at Erica's blouse, ripping it open and off her shoulders. Hastily he climbs onto the bed, refusing to let his mouth part from hers as he clumsily shucks off his own clothing.

Erica stops him when his arms get tangled in his shirt and shoves him down, crawls on top of him. "You want me?" She asks as she pulls his hands up above his head.

"God," Harper says, breathless, "Please."

Erica leans forward and licks below his jaw, humming when Harper shivers. "Tell me what you want, Harper." She wraps each word with a soft rasp, a sign of how affected she is too. "Tell me, and maybe, maybe, I'll give it to you." She rolls her hips onto his clothed erection just once, like a promise.

Harper whimpers and bucks his hips up, desperate for more friction.

Erica tightens her grip on his wrists, grinding down just as the glass of the window shatters loudly, startling them apart. A thick stone cross thumps to the floor beside the bed.

Silence reigns in the room, barely disturbed as Erica rises from the bed and slowly approaches the window. Blood dribbles down the ridges and creases of the cross, staining Harper's dull grey carpet beneath it.

Erica stares at it in horror, clutching her blouse closed in a pale fist. Finally, in a horrified whisper, she says, "We've been marked."