(Rasher) Fic: Hostage To My Own Humanity

Title: Hostage To My Own Humanity
Fandom: Ray!pire Rasher
Rating: PG
Length: 500 approx

The blood had begun to congeal about twenty minutes ago. Ray sat in the dark, lifeless body slumped against him, blond hair stuck to her skin in sweaty curls, sweaty rivulets stained pink. The blood matted it all; it ran down her neck, pooled in the hollow of her throat, left spidery trails towards her breasts before the soft material of her shirt soaked it up. His fingertips were stuck to her skin and he peeled them off, turned his hand in the dim light to see red prints on every pad, where the blood, her life, had ingrained itself in him. Such a waste. His other hand lay limp on the ground, fingers wrapped loosely around the revolver, relaxed, spent.

Please, no. Please. The first would be the hardest, Ray understood that, and it was. He had been warned, plenty of times. The first would be the hardest. Even when hazel eyes closed they were still visible, staring back at him, framed by youth and beauty, fear. He’d had a hunger in his own that had surprised him, a fear of his own too at the thought of giving in. He had to learn, be taught the lesson, but why her? Why blond and young and on a hot summers day? Why trapped in the darkness? He couldn’t claim he’d been forced by others; he’d had a choice, he’d chosen himself. He’d forced himself.

This is what he’d become. All appetite had vanished the moment blood had been drawn. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. His finger had been shaky on the trigger, reluctant to pull, but her cries, painful, so familiar, had driven him on, left him in silence, a failure. This is what he’d chosen to become. The sinner inside.

The footsteps were slow. Ray rubbed at his mouth, weary, blood smearing across his cheeks. He pulled up a leg, her body sagged further, in his arms, head lolling to the side, neck exposed.

Asher leaned his weight on one leg, hand on his belt, the other on his jaw. Observing. Judging. “You’re not supposed to have that.”

Ray’s fingers uncurled like a flower in bloom, a short clatter ringing out as the gun slipped from his palm to rest on the ground. His eyes found the nearest security camera and stared.

“She tasted like waffles.” The Thirst was almost too much to bear, unquenched, unsatisfied. All he’d had to do was give in, stop fighting it. She lingered in his mouth but not enough, not nearly enough.

Asher picked up the gun, drawing Ray’s gaze. “It’ll come.”

Blond, near perfect. Ray didn’t want to look at him and see her. He closed his eyes as Asher walked away, into the darkness of the vault.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

Young. Blond. Female.

The footsteps paused for only the briefest of seconds. Ray looked ahead, into the darkness, into his future.