Rainy nights (Kim Namjoon fan fic)

Chapter Sixteen: Part Two

Okay I think I have a problem. I started watching Gilmore girls last night at like midnight and now it's 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm on episode 12. Okay anywho here's the second part, sorry I got distracted with Gilmore Girls.

Clara's POV
Warm air whipped around my body... Only it wasn't air, air didn't burn.

I forced my eyes open, my senses slowly adjusting along with them. My ears heard the cracking of the fire about the same time the dirt next to the wrecked car clenched under boots. I couldn't see what boots they were through the smoke, but I guessed it was the fire department. My back was up against the cold metal of the road railing. Three meters from me lie my family's car completely enveloped in fire, but it was too blurry for me to make out anything else about the scene.

I looked down at my body, buzzing blotches of red appeared on my everywhere on my skin. The only thing clear to me was that my clothes were ripped and I was in pain.

I tried to push myself off of the gravel, but found that the agony in my entire right side was too much and I collapsed back to the ground. I looked up at the man in the black boots, my dripping red hand outstretched towards him.

"H-" my voice cut, my throat closing on itself from the burning air in my lungs, "help, p...lease." I choked on something in my throat. Whether it was blood or just spit I couldn't tell.

My sight darkened - everything appeared to slow down as my breathing began to fail me. The man crouched down to me - but what was probably a single moment, seemed to last almost a full hour - his blue eyes pierced into mine and I realized that he was not a man. His black hair was strapped down with a breathing mask on his face, and his crystals studied me from soft features behind the glass of the mask. This man was a boy no more than a year older than I, but as he grabbed onto me, he was not a boy, he was my savior.

My head was throbbing. All the memories I burned out, harshly came back with the sight of Blood. There was no use holding it all in, but at the same time it hurt to let them all flow out again. Memories of my families death, memories of all the crimes I committed. Everything that I had killed within me was coming back. I was a demon then, a reaper. Collector of the tainted souls that I deemed fit for the taking. My humanity was not something I could bargain with back then, and now just as I'm regaining it, my past comes back to steal it from me again.

I had been trapped within my own mind for god knows how long now. If we're being completely honest, it sucks. At first it wasn't that bad, but now it's both a literal and metaphorical endless battle with myself. My craving to spill Blood's...well...blood is intense. Yet I know that if I start with her, it will all come back to me. The blood lust, the want to kill. The fine line between what's good and what's evil will be blurred to me again and I won't be able to tell the difference between jumping off into the pit of oil or jumping into the pool of water. If anything, after so long I'll probably dip my toes into both and purposefully choose the black.

"You're my Panther, Clara." The intense voice glowed from the darkness, "the lion is claimed to be the king of the jungle, but we both know this is not true. You are the leader, you are the King and the Queen and the Knight. You are everything."

I drew my gun, pulling the hammer back. I looked deep within the darkness. The corners of the room looming over me like a judge, because they were. Tonight was either the night I died, or the night I gave up my soul. Those corners were the devil, the victim as well. This gun the pen to sign my death contract, and also the weapon.

"Tonight," he called once blood had run that night, "the panther will feast."

I couldn't breath. It was like my entire body was fighting against itself - fighting to kill itself. I yelled, I begged for the strength to die. Not to live, to die. To quit breathing before I could breath in the deaths of those around me.

It had taken years of therapy and hiding in silence to finally become sane again. For two years I was fed and taught to be a murderer. A serial killer even. After the first few kills it became a high for me, and it took from the moment I was sixteen to now to finally convince myself that I had no desire for the taste of blood. Yet now that the glass was so close to my finger tips, and I smelt the red liquid, my entire existence wanted it. I knew it. Blood knew it. There was no doubt in me that the ghost definitely knew it.

I was a slave once again.

I was a slave and I hated it.

Blood's POV
The hospital was quiet. Not even the sound of people breathing. It made me smile. I hated people breathing. It took all of my concentration for me to not cut out their lungs.

My black boots treaded lightly down the hall. Actually who am I kidding, I was basically skipping down that hall like a little girl on Christmas. I wanted my present, even if I had to rip it out from under the tree and tear into the wrapping and force the gift out. I wanted Clara! I wanted her skills her demotic thirst for blood. I wanted a leader that I could control, and after almost half a decade, I knew I could finally dominate her.

"Blood." Kayden's strict voice made me stop dead in my tracks.

I spun around just as Kayden was settling into a stance. He was older now. Obviously. And he was much more attractive.

I smiled at him, "Kayden. What a pleasant surprise."

"I wish I could say the same for you," his hand rested on his gun as he took a step forward, "but it's never pleasant to see a psychopath."

I laughed, "awe. You're making me blush."

Kayden pulled his gun from his holster, "leave. Before I make you bleed too."

"Poor Kayden, he doesn't even know what he's dealing with." I crossed my arms, "you wouldn't be able to kill me even if you weren't alone."

"Watch me try."

I sighed, "well, A for effort, but a D for death. Oh well, it's been fun catching up, even though you're always two steps behind."