The Sweetness Soured

Joscelyn Kafara rolled her gold ring across her pale fingers. She kept her gaze fixed on the bartender, who’s mistakes outnumbered the tips in the stained jar on the till.

Her drink remained untouched on the dirty table; on the house, the sweaty, old boss had said. The stench in this place made her want to starve herself for one more day, but alas, she was here and after spotting that pretty bartender just ahead of her, she knew the wait would be worth it.

Pushing aside her cloak, she grabbed her pocket watch and smudged the spattered blood to check the time. Two more minutes and the bell would ring, letting all these disgusting drunks know to take their leave.

Gambling nights at bars always brought in more customers. They lured themselves in with the promise of cheap, greasy meals and rotgut alcohols.

She sat up straighter and drummed her fingers against the chipped wood. She picked the furthest table she could, away from the front of the bar but close enough to the entrance. The sticky heat of the bar gave her a dull headache, the stench of sweat and bad breath filled the air.

Her focus remained on the bartender.

Her hand snapped towards her dagger as a man swayed towards her, his face was flushed and his voice slurred as he tried and failed to flirt with her. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him from her seat, giving him the death glare that made most people look the other way. But his lidded eyes proceeded to look her up and down and she clicked her tongue. Her features turned to disgust as he placed a grubby hand on her table.

“You waitin’ on someone, sweetheart?”

Her fingers pressed harder into the hilt of her dagger as she eyed the dirt under his chipped nails.

“Let me see that pretty face of yours, mhm?” His mumbled tone was full of a promised desire that made her stomach coil.

She quickly eyed the others around her; some watched her with their drinks risen up to their mouths, some set their cards down and gazed at her with the same lust-driven thoughts. The air buzzed with loud chatter and gaudy music.

The ache in her temples pounded harder, she could barely take another breath with this low life hovering over her. His sweat dripped down his temples and the yellow patches darkening his shirt under his armpits made her want to throw up.

His hand shook as he concentrated on lifting it up to her face. Instantly, she swiped his feet from beneath him and he went toppling into the wooden table. Her untouched drink shattered over his head, the brown liquid poured down his face and clothes.

He didn’t get up and she watched his chest rise and fall ever so slowly. Her chair scraped back as she stood up, and before she could pull out her dagger, another man from behind roughly pulled her hood down before punching her so hard that she barely managed to grab the ledge of the window in time. She caught herself before she fell onto the unconscious man on the floor.

A series of shouts filtered around her, her vision a haze, yet she could make out the few people who had abruptly gotten to their feet. She eyed the joker card that lay on the floor, and she clenched her teeth.

Her head throbbed and she felt her blood trickle down her nose but before he could grab her, she whirled and quickly side stepped as his knuckles collided with the filthy window. He cursed and she grabbed her chair before knocking it over his head twice. Splinters went flying and the chair crumpled in her grip, she grabbed a fistful of his hair as his limp body knelt on the stained floor. She spun her dagger in her hand before placing the shiny tip just under his chin. His glossy eyes stared up at her.

“Don’t try me,” she snarled.

Behind her, she could feel the eyes of all the others, she could smell their fear. Their cigarettes and scattered card games were tossed onto their tables, she could see some holding blades in their shaking hands.

The bell rang and they immediately took that as a cue, murmuring silently as they trudged out of the bar. She tossed the man – still in her grip – over the other one who was still lying on broken table.

Wiping her nose with her knuckles, she looked up at the bartender who was standing there limply with eyes as big as the hunger that grew in her.

Well, she’d have no luck with him tonight.

She walked towards him and heard the sharp intake of his breath. She tossed a couple of gold coins in his jar; he flinched from the sound before pulling his gaze away and towards the shiny coins.

She was out the front door when she heard him rushing out after her. She stopped mid stroll and looked over her shoulder. He was holding his jar with both hands; his caramel eyes matched the messy brown curls on his head. She looked towards his throat as it bobbed.

He had no idea how much danger he was putting himself in right now. Her self-control was hanging on by a very thin thread. Her brows rose as he bravely walked towards her and pushed the jar back into her chest.

Determination swirled in his eyes, and he took a step back.

“I don’t need your pity.”

She gritted her teeth in a feral grin, what a clever boy. After tonight, she knew his boss would most likely cut his salary to pay for the damages she caused on their cheap furniture.

“You’ll need it,” she could feel the thrum of his blood and subconsciously, she licked her lips. He was a distraction, and she needed to move far, far away from him before her patience snapped. She put the jar down on the floor and pushed it towards him with her boot.

“Your eyes,” he stuttered out.

Joescelyn rubbed her forehead as the headache worsened.

“Get lost,” she growled. She made sure he took note of the sharpness of her fangs.

Silence hung in the air between them, and she began walking away.

“Are you hungry?” he whispered.

That was not what she expected.

Her lips twitched and she took a step towards him, testing him, trying to catch the falter of his steps. But he remained as still as he could. She watched his fingers shake at his side, giving him away.

“And what if I am?” she halted dangerously close to him.

Hesitation flickered across his features before she watched him pull away the collar of his shirt.

Such beautiful, tanned skin. She knew he would taste just as good as he looked.

Her sharp nails pinched his cheeks, and she watched as he stumbled back, his head hitting the wall. Her red eyes darkened as she murmured against his jugular vein, feeling his pulse beneath her lips. His breath was hot against her neck.

“I could kill you..” her lips brushed against his skin. She felt the cool sheen of fear coat him as the words slipped out of her.

“Do it.”

She pulled away from him, her grip on his face loosened as she looked at him; His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes dulled as if he were lulled into a memory of something that haunted him.

She cocked her head to the side. If she was confused, she didn’t show it.

“It’ll hurt,” she warned.

“Get it over with,” he snapped at her as his voice broke.

Well, that was the most consent she’d ever given to her dinner. She placed her mouth over the soft spot of his neck, and felt her fangs puncture through. He gasped and gripped the side of his perfectly tailored black trousers.

She held onto his shoulder and used her other hand to thread through the soft curls on his head. She drank, drank, drank. She rolled her eyes from the delightful taste of his blood.

It was full of sweetness and innocence with a hint of something dark. A shadowy heat churned within each gulp she took. It was thick and heavy, like molten tar struggling to flow. She felt it pulse with a life of its own, an insidious rhythm. She could feel each beat of his heart and swore it spread the darkness further into his blood.

A simmering poison that whispered of chaos and destruction.

She could drain him. Hesitation made her pause midway, and she pulled back and to glance at him.

His eyes were scrunched shut and his forehead was creased. She pushed herself away from him. Her hunger clawed at her to continue filling it up, but she looked down at his waistcoat and then at his hands gripping his trousers.

Without even realising, the back of Joscelyn’s fingers gently wiped away the tears that slid down his cheeks. He slowly opened his eyes, and she found herself drowning in those caramel eyes of his. Full of so many emotions she had never even felt herself.

She pitied him but also envied him.

He cupped her face and used his thumbs to wipe away the blood dripping down her chin. The shock that went through her made her yank his hands away and slam them into the wall behind him.

He winced and looked up at her as she loomed over him. She watched him look down at her lips and then her eyes.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

Suddenly, Joscelyn found herself breathing just as hard as a mortal would when they faced death. Her heart thudded, thudded, thudded against her chest.

She should kill him.

She should drain him empty.

She should..

Her thoughts faltered. Leaving her mind empty.

Had he drugged her?

She let go of his arms and stumbled back, she splayed her fingers over her eyes. Her hunger quietened itself inside her and she walked away. Her cloak swayed from the quick steps she took.

She didn’t look back at him as she turned corner after corner, until his scent completely vanished.

But it didn’t.

It thrummed inside her, danced with her own blood, defrosted her cold heart. She exhaled sharply and looked down at her own shaky hands.

Was her dinner too good to be true?

Karma, she thought.

Her steps faltered and she dared herself to look over her shoulder. Something pulled at her, something began pushing her back towards the street where she left him.

She fought against it and pulled her hood over her head. She needed to find another mortal, something to change the noxious tang on her tongue. She felt her heart beating faster and faster.

It was so late that the streets were now empty. Alley after Alley, she rushed past every bar she could, only to find them locked up for the night.

Joscelyn halted, her breath ragged clouds in the icy air. With one hand on her knee, she pressed a trembling hand to the damp brick wall for support. Her muscles ached and her heart pounded, an uneven drumbeat of urgency and fear.

Paranoia drenched her with cold sweat, she could hear something, someone behind her – footsteps echoing faintly, relentless, closing in.

Her vision blurred for a moment, her legs faltering as the poison coursed through her own blood, fiery and cruel. A fever was building – hot and suffocating despite the biting cold. She forced herself forward, each step heavier than the last.

Snow began to fall, delicate and serene, an unkind contrast to her chaos. The flakes melted on her fevered skin, unnoticed as she clung to the fleeting hope of escape. Turning a corner, she ducked into the next alley, her body screaming for rest.

She couldn’t stop.

Not now.

Not yet.

She should’ve drained him empty.

She repeated it to herself like a mantra. Disappointment and regret lingered in her thoughts as she slowed her steps to a walk.

Her hunt for a new source of dinner was completely forgotten as she managed to reach the inn she was staying at. Just temporarily, until she had stolen enough coins to continue on her journey, until she found her sisters. The note they left her felt heavy in her pocket.

A pressing reminder of the little time she had left.

She barely made it up the stairs. The keeper’s snores from the floor below still lingered in her ears as she used her sharp nail to unlock the door.

She instantly scrambled to the rotting vanity; her hands shook as she crushed brittle leaves together and stirred them into a murky paste.

She poured a few drops of water into the paste and lifted the mortar up to her lips. The sharpness of the herbs sent a shudder through her.

Her heart raced and raced. She sat on the edge of the stiff mattress and leaned down to grab her smallest dagger from within her boot before laying on her side. The rough hilt pressed against her palm. Its familiar weight as reassuring as a childhood toy.

Though it grounded her in the stillness of the night, her keen hearing played tricks on her. She watched the shadows from the trees sway, heard the branches snap like broken bones, heard the howling wind carry whispers that weren’t there. Every sound seemed magnified, every creak of the floorboards or groan of her room a threat lurking in the dark.

The dagger’s hilt was steady in her grasp, but her pulse continued to race, a rhythm of doubt and unease. The room felt alive with unseen eyes, the weight of the night pressing against her chest as she struggled to convince herself it was only her imagination.

What exactly was in hidden in that blood, so concealed that even she couldn’t smell it? Couldn’t sense the impending danger waiting for her.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she wasn’t sure how long she had drifted into the void of unconsciousness. When she snapped them open, the familiar damp chill of the alleyway greeted her. The stone walls loomed around her, slick with moisture, and the faint smell of decay clung to the air. Her heart pounded as disorientation gripped her – has she ever left, or was she trapped in a waking nightmare?

She squinted her eyes, trying to glance at the blurry figure from afar who was slouched down by the entrance of the alley with his head resting on his knees. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes found hers. She watched them darken. And he rose from the ground.

~

Hands stuffed in his pockets; he kept his gaze on her as he kicked the money jar aside. His shiny black shoes crunched over the shards of glass as he made his way towards her.

“Already back for more?” His voice was deep and dark as the wisps that swirled around him.

~

She remained frozen. Is this what fear felt like to mortals?

She managed to grab the handles of her daggers right as he stopped in front of her. The trail of his blood had dried, only to be cut short by the fresh marks of her fangs on his neck. He seemed taller than he had moments ago or was it hours?

~

His hand gently tucked the strand of her silver hair behind her ears. Wispy shadows swam through his fingers. His hand travelled to her nape.

His eyes, the same colour of grey clouds in the sky on a foggy day.

Cold, dull.

Where had those warm, brown eyes gone?

His once gentle hands had her wrists in shackles up above her head; the rough, cold surface of the dead-end wall bit into her skin as he pressed her hands against it, desperation driving her movements. The jagged stone scraped against her knuckles, leaving behind faint streaks of blood and raw patches that stung in the chill air.

Every frantic swipe and push against the unyielding surface sent tiny shocks of pain through her hands, a sharp reminder of her growing hopelessness. The wall felt alive in its cruelty – alive with a subtle, unnatural hum that grated her senses – grinding against her flesh as though mocking her efforts to escape his firm grip on her.

The air grew thick, oppressive, and for the first time, she felt it – his influence seeped into every corner of the alley, like a weight pressing down on her chest. The wall behind her felt different now too, no longer just cold, and rough. She knew, instinctively that this wasn’t the real world anymore. Everything had slowed – her heartbeat, her breaths, the snowflakes, the wind, the very moment of time – like he had wrapped them in an inescapable loop, a space of his making.

Every scrape of stone against her skin seemed to stretch on forever. The pain was real, the blood trickling from her knuckles was real, but it wasn’t the pain that gnawed at her. It was the suffocation, distorted stillness around them.

Nothing was as it should be.

Even her own thoughts felt sluggish, like they were trapped in this twisted, suspended moment. She could feel it; his power was twisting reality, bending it to his will, creating this warped, unrecognisable world just for them.

Her heart thudded, thudded, thudded.

His lips – that she craved only for a split second – placed themselves against the soft of her neck, his free hand roamed her waist. He unbuckled the belt that held her weapons. They clunked onto the ground.

She was stiff, her mind yelled, screamed, shouted at her to move, to overpower him with the strength she knew she had.

His warm breath fanned over a spot on her neck and his lips brushed against the skin, before the sharp pinch of his teeth pierced through, she could do nothing but roll her hips against him.

Horrid shock coursed through her at the motion of her body taking over her mind.

She felt him unbuckle her long cloak and felt the weight disappear as it pooled behind her.

Her eyes fluttered open and found themselves drowning into those grey eyes of his. She was swimming into his desire.

Her sharp nails tried to claw at his cold hands as his knee parted her legs.

A sharp chill whipped down her spine.

His hand roamed tantalising lower and she could do nothing but thrash as she watched herself through her glossy eyes. Blood thrummed through her burning ears.

Joscelyn’s heart banged, banged, banged against the view her eyes forced her to endure.

Her mind was captured, her body was chained to the ground. The buttons of her shirt popped one by one.

His slender finger curled under the hem of her cotton fabric, and she could do nothing but watch as the sheen of her fear coated her skin with a glisten that lured him closer to her.

Her mouth turned dry as she recalled his own fear coated on his skin when she had drunk from his neck.

He dragged the fabric down and she felt the icy panic settle into her. The shiver that lifted the hair on her arms had him releasing his grip from her wrists.

Her arms landed in a loop around his neck, he nipped the bottom of her lip, and her nails scratched down his nape.

His hand rested on her hip before it slid down and settled on her lower back.

Unable to resist her.

Hands roamed up her back, claws gripped the back of her head, and he tilted her at an angle. His lips landed on the two punctures on her neck once more.

And then his lips found hers and she could taste her pain, the earthy taste of her blood. It left a tingling sensation on her tongue.

He kissed down her chin, and then down her throat as she swallowed hard. Over her heart, between her breasts, over each rib.

His claws gently scraped down her sides and rested on her hips. Her hands were lost in his fiery hair.

Where had those soft, brown curls gone?

He pushed her further into the wall as he knelt down.

And at that exact moment, something within her cracked. She forgot her name, forgot herself – forgot everything.

His eyes darkened as he looked up at her. Nothing shown in them. Absolute emptiness.

He nipped at her thighs, and she watched the violet patches bloom, bloom, bloom across her alabaster skin.

Her breath hitched as his warm breath hovered over the most intimate part of her. He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and her back willingly arched against the movement.

Her soul was paralysed beneath his touch and yet her own body betrayed her, leading him on, reacting to him in a way that made her heart fracture and her soul weep.

Her head fell back against the wall with a thud as pleasure coursed through her.

She looked down with lidded eyes and they lingered over the dry bloodied marks of his lips that blotched down her body. Her nails scraped against his hair harder and pushed him further into her.

Warmth enveloped her as she shuddered against him, the tightness of her body snapped as he broke her down.

Her head swayed in cloudiness.

He loomed over her once more and cupped her burning cheeks. His lips found hers again and he welcomed her with the taste of herself.

He stepped back and took in the sight of her messy, dishevelled self. He drunk up the view, licking his lips.

His knuckles brushed over the tears sliding down her face.

She watched his features frown, and he turned on his heel. She slid down and gripped her hair with shaky hands.

She blinked, and he was gone, leaving behind a trail of sinister, wispy shadows – a haunting reminder of what had just happened.

He left her with nothing but her guilt-ridden thoughts.

She hugged herself, trying to soothe herself, trying to feel warmth, warmth, warmth.

She pulled her knees to her chest and felt the stickiness of her blood smudge against her bruised thighs.

She could feel the foundations of her strength fracture within her, each piece of her resolve splintering into irretrievable shards.

She was nothing but a broken shell of an immortal, she felt the fear and panic overcome her.

She let herself drown in her self-loathing.

Let it consume her.

And though everything was happening to her, she knew, deep down, that she wasn’t entirely here.