Bloodmark

33: A Vampyr's Kiss

[first draft; feedback, critique, and comments welcome; please point out any typos] 

Alone in my room, Belef's earlier words ricochet in my mind: "You seem happier." Is that true? Am I happier?

A resounding yes answers. Of course I'm happier. I have gained the friendship of Bloodmarks, from the Siervs to a lustful yet listless Feeder. And I have fallen for a kind vampyr—the King at that. My left arm brags the unique Mark of Atlas: the jagged lines of fangs and crowns and lightning. My wardrobe overflows with the finest fabrics in bright colors. My stomach is always satisfied, full of hearty foods. Surrounded by friends, interests, and luxuries, I have grown comfortable and confident.

How ironic, that once, I considered life in the Royal Court of Vampyrs as imprisonment. Shiny rock walls that pretended not to be prison bars. For so long, it represented the festering hole of my fears. But now, it has become my sanctuary, the place that erases my fears.

In Lred, I had wandered the streets in necessary solitude, head down. My existence was defined by non-existence. I couldn't leave a footprint—a crumb—behind, lest someone discover my bloodmark. What a lonely, frightened life.

Now, my fingers brush aside my hair. The clip latches, keeping my hair off my face. Squinting slightly, I dare to glimpse at my reflection. The pool of blood fills the outer half of my right eye. It spiderwebs in faints lines of blue and russet brown. Speckles of pink dot it. It gives me a sort of permanent sleeplessness, insomnia etched into the white of my eye. Diseased.

But my eyelids relax, eyes widening. It's easier to gaze at my reflection. For my bloodshot eye no longer implies imprisonment, disgust, rejection. Rather, when I look at the mirror, I see Atlas. His warm smile beams at me. His total acceptance, and even celebration, of my bloodmark swells something inside me. It allows me to keep the hair clip in my hair, despite merely lounging about my room.

When someone taps at the door, I turn on the vanity stool and tell them to come in. Atlas smiles at me. His smile widens when he spots the hair clip he'd gifted me attached to my hair. He remarks, "You're wearing it even now. I'm glad."

I brush it, a smile playing on my mouth. "It's become a prized possession."

He sweeps into a playful bow. "I'm honored." When he straightens, he approaches me at the vanity, and I rise to my feet. While he stands several inches taller than me, forcing my head to bend to stare into his golden eyes, Atlas is not exceptionally tall. Not compared to Savion, whose head dares to touch the sky.

Atlas's gaze roves my face, his hand hovering as though to touch me. Like a moth to a flame, my body leans into his phantom touch. The bond between our blood is both a curse and a blessing. With him standing so close, my skin prickles with wanton memory and illicit fantasies. My face warms. I fix my stare on the pins hooked to his jacket.