by Jasmine Arch
Branches snagged my hair and lashed my face as I ran through the darkness amid the trees. Frigid air rasped at my throat with each ragged breath.
If I could make it to the clearing, there would be houses. People. Safety.
Behind me, the rhythmic thump of heavy boots came on, louder, closer. I pushed to run harder. Moonlight trickled down as the trees thinned, taunting me. Almost there.
Without my realising it, the woods had fallen silent, from the eerie cricket song to the heavy footfalls chasing me. My breath came in short, agonising pants as I slowed. Leaning into a tree trunk—the bark rough beneath my fingers—I looked over my shoulder.
Not a leaf on the trees stirred. I held my breath, straining to hear, but there was nothing. With a sigh, I let my shoulders slump, and turned back towards the clearing.
Someone—something—grabbed my hair, yanking my head backward. Hot breath fanned my cheek as he nuzzled my hair and breathed in with a sigh.
“Your scent—sweat and pure terror—is addictive, ma petite. More intoxicating than any perfume.” His voice was gravelly.
A shiver crept up my spine as he rubbed his face against me. His tongue slithered along my neck, leaving a trail of ice and fire, until he bit down on the soft flesh just below my jaw.
I cried out and pushed the blankets off, jolting upright in a warm, soft bed. Warm legs against mine, a head of dark hair on the pillow next to me. The little mole below the left earlobe that I’d kissed so many times. Next to it, a pounding pulse.
With a moan, he rolled over, facing me.
“Hmm, you alright, baby?” He wrapped a long, sinewy arm around my waist.
“Had a nightmare. Someone was chasing me.” I licked my lips, trying to bring some moisture to my mouth.
“Just a dream, honey.” He laid his head in my lap. “You’re safe.” Another artery, in his arm, throbbed against my thigh. “You’re so cold. Come back under the covers.”
My stomach rumbled, and I eased myself out from under him. Grabbing a T-shirt off the floor, I padded downstairs and into the kitchen. When I opened the fridge, the scent of food made my stomach turn. Bile rose in my throat as I gagged. I ran for the bathroom, vomited what little I had in my stomach.
I rinsed my mouth and drank cool water straight from the tap, but my thirst only grew more intense. It was all I could think about.
Goosebumps rose on my arms as I leaned on the sink and stared at my face in the mirror. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes. A bite mark below my jaw, bruised and purple, with two puncture wounds. Already healing.
I thought of my bed, warm and familiar, and the warm body in it, pulsing with life. My thirst swelled, crashing and sweeping away every thought but that pulse.
Writer, poet, narrator and podcaster JASMINE ARCH lives in a green corner of Belgium with four dogs, two elderly horses, and a husband who knows better than to distract her from her writing. Her work has appeared in The Other Stories, NewMyths.com, and Hybrid Fiction, among others.
You can find her on JasmineArch.com and on Twitter as @jaye_arch.
