Battle for Blood

He was out of his body again. Looking down at his true body, he couldn't help but feel divorced from the shell that held his consciousness. He looked so...weak. Starvation drove him from his physical form, trying to find relief in the shedding of the pain and weakness that ate at him every day. Three years he had spent locked in a pit beneath the earth, nothing to sustain him. His wanderings away from his physical form were the beginnings of the madness that would come with time. He tried to fight but each day he thought the hunger could not get worse and each day it did. He would wander about the area where he was held, looking at the dogs that lazed in the sunlight. Guarding him was too easy a job for them.

Today, as he floated up through the net above him, the cursed net that let sunlight stream into his cage, leaving him no small dark corner to hide himself, he found no dogs stretched out above the pit, basking in the warm rays of the sun. Strange. He moved silently, unburdened by physical form. The area where he was held was deep into an ancient forest. To anyone else his pit was in an overlooked clearing but he new better, sensing layer after layer of security that held him there. It was unnecessary. He could not have broke out of the first prison once he fell. Far off, at the outer perimeter of the dogs' territory he heard the whisperings of a battle. The howling of the dogs and clanging of metal sounded soft at this distance. He willed his form faster towards it, hope springing in his chest once again. This was the first rescue attempt in years. The mere thought of not having been forgotten was enough to give him energy he had long thought left him.

He flew through the defenses, seeking the source of the commotion. When he passed the first body on the ground his hope soared. The man on the ground was the pack leader. He had been shot through his head, the crumpled body lay in a canine position on the ground but the blood was human. Far behind him his physical body felt the hunger pang though he could not truly smell the sweet sticky fragrance. The temptation was worse than hunger. He kept moving. The bodies began to multiply. Men and women lay across the ground, shot, stabbed, sliced in vital places. None were bitten. There were no marks of his kind on them. What was this battle? A dog whimpered on the ground ahead of him. A deep wound bled freely from it's side. He stopped to watch as the dog's eyes went dark, the whimpering and twitching subsided and the heart he heard within it's chest stopped beating. The body slowly lost it's fur, bones shifting and claws retracting. In death it took it's true form, that of a brown haired woman with thick muscles and long raised scars down her back. He curled his lip in disgust. They should not have been allowed to take human form in death. They died like dogs in the dirt.

He emerged from the tree line into a great clearing. The battle was ending. The dog had driven his would-be savior into open ground where the pack had the upper hand. Before him a women in leather armor was making her last stand. Her weapons had been tossed, taken or left buried in the bodies of her foes. She stood with what appeared to be a long staff with a sharp blade embedded lengthwise along the end. She must have left in the rear as a last resort. There was no way she had carried it into battle. He understood; she had fallen back to her last position. Though she had managed to kill most of the pack there were still enough left to finish her off as they closed ranks around her. He went closer, wishing she weren't going to die.

Her movements were fluid, fast and precise but her breath was slightly ragged, sweat poured down her body and he could hear her heart beat flutter in her chest. She was tiring. She dodged attacks, kicking a beast mid air as it threw itself at her. The circle of wolves drew closer. Two flung themselves at her back. She caught one with her staff, sweeping it against it's skull and sending a man's body flying into the dogs growling at her side. The other tried to grab her arm with it's teeth. It's foaming mouth glanced her arm as her fist made contact with the side of the beast's rib cage, sending the animal flying. The pack snarled. One more attack. If one of them landed a blow, made her stumble, caused a second's opening, the pack would be upon her. She could not hold out much longer. Unseen, he moved through the snarling animals and stood next to her. He wanted to see her living face before they took her. Her leather helmet was tight against her forehead. Light chain mail covered her face. Her wide eyes were the only part exposed. They flashed at her foes. He could see her fear, her calculations and determination.

There were eight of them left. They were too close, she was too far out in the open. She had no where to go. He reached out a ghostly hand, wishing he could feel her warm skin but her head fell away from him. She took her staff in both hands and with surprising grace, bent back, further than nature should have allowed, and swept her staff with it's wicked blade in a long arch, striking glancing blows at the legs of the dogs around her. Using the momentum, she continued the attack to the front, sweeping the blade at maximum length from her body. The wolves leapt from the path of the blade as it mad it's deadly circle, but she managed to strike almost every one of them. For a moment the ring of dogs widened, surprised by this new tactic. Then they dove at her. The attack had set her off balance enough for them to see their opening. Though they were all injured they moved with the taste of victory in their pointed mouths. The woman straightened, but instead of positioning herself to fight them she began to run at the wolves. Madness he thought. She could do it. She had come so far. He wanted to reach out, grab her from her suicidal charge. At the last moment, she lowered the end of the staff, too low, he thought, she would miss the dog heading straight at her. She dug the blade end into the ground and soared in a great arch above the heads of the charging animals. She landed in a roll, tucking her head in and somersaulting in the dust. As her feet touched ground again she was off to the tree line, faster than she should have been able to move.

The disoriented creatures, turned, tripped and scrambled to follow her. They were slow from battle and injuries, but still deadly. His hope soared again. She was faster, terribly and beautifully fast. She would get to him first. His wandering spirit was pulled, faster than the wolves, back towards his nearly dead body. He passed her as she wove between trees and over the conquered bodies of her enemies. She would get to him first! The wolves cried behind her but they were falling away. She would make it. He stayed with her, encouraging her with every fiber left in his starved consciousness. She was coming for him.

She nearly ran over the pit that held him. They had disguised it well but could not cover it completely. They had needed the days of full sun to weaken him faster. The metal net, woven with silver and blood to keep him in, was bolted to the ground with great iron spikes. She set about prying them from the ground with her gloved hands. The task would have been impossible for a full grown human man. She strained, panting with her effort. The spike did not move. Come on, he wanted to scream, this is the last part! Slowly, much to his disbelief, the spike began to move, barely an inch at first, and then faster till she fell back with a thud, spike in hand. She moved to the next one. Far away, a wolf howled. It was not a hunt cry; it was filled with pain. Maybe they would not catch up. She threw the second spike to the ground and pulled back the net. There was just enough space for her to crawl in. She turned back, lowering herself carefully. The net above him was not the only thing holding him in. His entire pit was lined with the same terrible cage. Parts of it stick out from behind the dirt. She used it to climb as far as she could and jumped to the ground. He was there, standing next to her, as she reached out towards his lifeless body. He could feel her closeness on the skin his consciousness was not inhabiting. Her smell was infectious. Had he a ounce of strength he would have devoured her. She was so...alive. She leaned over him, reaching into her leather breast plate. Just take me, he thought. Just get me out of here. Her hand emerged with a large hip flask. She unscrewed the top and propped up him head. The smell of fresh blood against the air pulled him back to his body. He fought it through the starvation. No you fool!

She held the dead body in her arms. They had told her he would appear beyond help. With a few drops of blood he would wake up and be able to escape with her. She was grateful for that. Her legs shook after hours of fighting. She would not have been able to carry this man. She tipped the flask towards his mouth, letting the red liquid flow between his parched lips. At first, no sign of life returned. A small drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He couldn't be gone. It took much longer for them to truly starve to death. She shifted her body so that his back rested across the of her bent legs, his head against her chest. Once more she held his head softly and poured the blood into his open lips.

She felt his body shudder against her. She tipped in flask further. He began to swallow passively, letting the blood reanimate his limbs. Slowly, his hand reached up, tipping the rest of the blood down his throat. She sighed with relief. Maybe he was strong enough to get them out. She could feel it wearing off. The adrenalin of the battle and the case was slowly leaving her. Her body sagged as the vampire drank the flask dry. They would be okay. She let go of the flask and let him finish. Her heart beat against his head. She felt the life return to him.

In a flash, faster than she ever could have moved, she was pressed against the wall, his hand at her neck. Her mind, which had just begun to slow with the end of her mission nearing, screamed at her to fight back. What was going on? She was here to rescue him. She looked into his face. His cheeks were sunken ad the skin hung loosely. His eyes were dark with hunger. She understood in a flash. The blood in the flask was a tease, a sip of water to a man lost in the desert. They had sent her here to die.

"No!"

His hands ripped the helmet off her head. The tough leather that had withstood so many teeth and claws, crumbled beneath his fingers. The protective plates that had been sown to it to protect her neck and shoulders fell away as if they were made of lace. Her long chestnut hair fell about her shoulders, sticking to her skin with perspiration. It was too much. She had gone too far. She could not just stand there as he drained her. She tensed her arms, preparing to strike him but he was too fast. It had only been a moment since he was lifeless in her arms. He fell upon her neck savagely. As if the world had slowed to a halt she felt every centimeter of his teeth pierce her skin. Her blood, pumping through her veins spilled over into his waiting mouth. Her heart beat fast, faster than it had been in battle. She did not want to die. She struggled, twisting and straining against his grasp. She brought her fist to his chest with no effect. She was growing weaker as he was growing infinitely stronger than she would ever be. Her fingers splayed out across his chest, pushing him away with pathetic weakness. Her head spun around her. The sun dappled pit grew darker. She did not want to die. He growled against her throat, more animal than man. His arms wrapped around her body, holding her up to his mouth as she sagged beneath him. The fight went out of her. Her hand slipped from his chest. She felt the life slipping away from her and simultaneously, his chest, crushed against hers grew and breathed with life once more. Her head slipped back. Her limp body gave way against his strong, immovable one. She closed her eyes. They had lied.

*

This is my first time posting. Let me know what you think! Suggestions are welcome as I am totally new at this. Thanks!