Marked

She stood up. Her dress was torn and dirty.

Max scrambled back. He tried to stand. His legs were weak. He wiped his mouth again.

She reached out. She stopped his hand.

-Don’t, she said.

Her eyes were dark.

-That mark means you’re mine, she said. Forever.

Max swallowed hard. The rage evaporated. The fear came back. He looked down at what he’d done.

-Am I... he stammered. Am I a vampire now?

She smiled.

-No, my sweet, she laughed. You didn't drink enough.

She leaned in.

-You’re just bound. Tied to me.

Max shivered. The sensation was confusing. Terror. Excitement.

-You’ll learn to crave it, she whispered. The fear. The thrill. They taste the same in the end.

Max turned his head. He looked for the tombstone in the dark.

Buffy grabbed his chin. She forced him to look at her.

-Don’t look at her, she hissed. She’s dust. A memory.

She squeezed his jaw. Her nails dug in.

-I am the only thing that is real. The hunger. The cold. Me.

Max slumped.

-I’m yours, he whispered in resignation and shame.

A tear rolled down his cheek. She caught it on a finger. She brought it to her lips. She tasted it.

-Yes, she said.

She stepped back, into the shadows. He ran.

-Run home, little mortal, she said. Her voice carried on the wind. But you’ll dream of my cold touch.

She vanished into the dark.

-I’ll be waiting.

Max ran. Three blocks.

He stumbled up the two flights of stairs. He fumbled with his keys and finally got them into the lock, pushing the door in.

The apartment was quiet.

He stripped off his clothes and threw them in the corner. He stood under the shower.

He couldn't get the taste out of his mouth. Blood.

He collapsed onto the bed. He buried his face in the pillow. He cried himself to sleep.

Outside, the darkness moved.

She hovered at the window. A silhouette against the moonlit glass.

She watched him shake.

She raised a hand. Her fingers traced the wound on her neck. The skin was broken. She shivered.

-Sleep, my sweet, she whispered. I’m right here.