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Vagaries	By : viciousv Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 2100 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood or any of its characters, and I profit in no way from this work. Blood play, violence

Chapter List
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Her face was a mask of rage. Her mouth contorted into a snarl. The bittersweet smell of human adrenaline was a familiar in his nostrils. He’d felt her vengeful anguish when he’d held that drunk, meaty human in place for her fists. The memory tasted sweet in his mouth. He remembered the first moments, the curiosity, the electric thrill of being close to her. Her despair and her pain was so raw it glistened. He wanted that back. He wanted her to want him, to feel what he’d felt, that delicious sensation of promise.
You don’t understand, he wanted to tell her. But he couldn’t. He could hardly see through the blood tears of rage. He wanted to shake her until she was sorry.
The arteries in her neck thrummed against his hands as they circled her neck. One second, two seconds. The pressure on her throat was too much for her to speak, but those black eyes said it all. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
He keened, watching her through a red film of blood tears. He had to ask her why, why do you want to die so much. Why do you want me to kill you. Her answer was like a twisting knife.
“Because the second I’m gone, I’ll be rid of you forever. I’ll be free. And you’ll have nothing.”
That was when he’d seized her neck and screamed in her face. That was when he knew she needed to die. He could not let it stand. She had to die.
He put his face close to hers. His words thickened through his fangs as the blinding, intoxicating scent of her fear filled his head. “Your heart is beating so fast. I want to feel it stop.”
He moved closer to her, let her feel the pressure of his body. He could sense traces of his blood, the blood she’d asked for, had torn out of him, calling to him. He could feel her resolve starting to crumble, her knees going weak as his hands crushed the life from her neck. All of a sudden, he opened them and she tried to breathe, a sobbing inhalation that rasped like a death rattle. All of the fight went out of her, and her face changed, tensing as though to ask why, why he had not done it. She hissed in breath, and whimpered- with pain, he thought, from her dislocated vertebra. The eyes that had looked fire at him now burned with a longing for for release, for mercy. For an end to it.
He held his face in her hands, and turned her head. His fangs, when they slipped into her throat, were gentle. Her sudden sigh was almost contented. But the fire was still there, in her blood. It burned through him, warmed him in the pit of his belly. Stolen life, streaking through his veins, soaking into the heart that didn’t beat.
Tara. Tara. You taste like chocolate, and tequila and despair. Did you really think I was going to let you go?
She was barely conscious when he carried her to the car. Her eyelids sunk over her eyes, but those eyes still watched him, half accusing, half resigned. They did not blink. They watched him in the rearview mirror him in the rear view mirror as he drove west. The sun was two hours from rising, and he needed to find the right place, and quickly. Her heartbeat was sluggish, and it would not be long before it halted altogether, without enough blood to fuel it. But he was determined to have that moment, have it all to himself, before he did the thing he ought to have done on the first night. When she had been willing. When she craved death.
Childish, really. This fickle game he’d played for the better part of a century. I’ll make you immortal, oops, so sorry, changed my mind- but then there was no one left to apologize to. He didn’t even remember their names. All of them had bored or annoyed him in one way or another, and he’d murdered them for that crime. Tara was the only one to have escaped. Well, for a little while, anyway. He couldn’t let this one, this one that was so special, slip through his fingers.
Twenty minutes out on the parish road, he spotted what he was looking for. A tumbledown farm with a battered old for-sale sign nailed to the post. He knew at a glance it was empty, so he lifted her into his arms, and walked through the tall grass towards the sagging barn. A rusted old shovel was stuck into a moldy pile of hay, and he laid her down in the grass. It took him all of five minutes to make a suitable grave, carving it out of the ground with vampiric speed. Tara, meanwhile, tried in vain to crawl away. She was as helpless as a newborn, and she made a low noise of distress. It warbled into a sob, but she was too drained, and too broken to give it real voice.
He tossed the shovel away, and went to where she lay dying. Her eyes widened as he went down on all fours, covered her body with his. He stroked her hair, stroked her cheek, kissing her dark smooth forehead. Her skin was rapidly cooling from lack of circulation, and her heart beat reduced to a weak pulsing of the major valves.
“Why don’t you just let me die?” she asked, in an infinitesimal whisper.
“Because,” he said gently. “You want me to.”
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Vagaries