Then, slowly, he gave a short nod. With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned part of his sleeve, pulling the fabric aside. The sight beneath made her stomach twist, the wound deep, ugly, still bleeding.
"Oh God…" she whispered. Without thinking, she tore a strip from the hem of her dress. The fabric ripped loudly in the quiet alley, but she ignored it, pressing the cloth carefully against the wound.
Her cheeks flushed red noticing the sharp lines of his abs. "Are you not afraid?" He asked again, voice cold and deeply intense.
"Obviously I am but....," her voice evaporated like it was useless when he interrupted.
"You should be, don't you know the history of vampires and still yet you are blindly helping one, I could kill you if I were able to stand." His voice sent shivers to her spine.
"Why should I be, besides you are in a very bad shape to even drink blood right now, like you said you can't stand?" She asked rheorically.
"Do you know that....drinking blood would help me heal faster...." He trailed when his nose caught the scent of her fresh blood, it smelled exquisite.
"Are you trying to scare me off?" She asked him, pressing the injury intentionally to make him since softly.
He wanted to kill her here and now but at the same time he held himself back and just said curtly, "Leave."
"What? Why?" she cried. "You need help!"
His fingers clenched into the stone beneath him, knuckles white, veins standing out along his arm. His face twisted, retraining himself from using his fangs on her, since they were starting to extend.
"Leave," he snarled, voice strained, barely holding together. "Now." She stared at him, stunned.
How rude, her first, foolish thought flashed through her mind. "You're bleeding," she said weakly. "You'll—"
"Leave!" he roared. The command hit her like a physical blow. Her hands dropped.
Breathing hard, shaken and confused, she stumbled backward, clutching the torn edge of her dress. She turned and fled the alley, her heart pounding, shame and fear tangling in her chest.
Behind her, he grabbed the torn fabric she had dropped and pressed it against his wound, breathing harshly. The scent lingered. "Curse those witches." Since it was a witch that staked his stomach with a wood that contains, Bloodbane substance.
Bloodbane are magically altered substances that block vampire abilities, such that injuries caused from these substances, makes healing slows drastically.
Her blood was intoxicating, not like any other human. His gaze followed the direction she had gone long after she disappeared.
Caelith slowed only when she reached the main street. "That was… strange," she muttered, forcing herself to breathe. "Was he trying to hold back himself, from taking blood from me, what is a vampire even doing here?" She thought about him for half a second longer than she meant to.
Then she shook her head, forget it, not your problem, She turned toward the tailor's shop thinking of the moment of how she was supposed to see the male lead.
Just as she stepped forward, a hand seized her arm. Before she could scream, another hand pressed a cloth over her mouth and nose. A sharp, unfamiliar scent flooded her senses.
She thrashed, arms flailing, heart hammering wildly. "Mmph—!" their strength over throned hers.
The street blurred, her knees buckled. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was her cloak slipping from her shoulders, landing forgotten on the road.
Two men lifted her limp form swiftly. Within moments, she was placed into a waiting carriage, the door shutting and the wheels turned as the horses neighed.
Morvex stood from the floor where he had been trying to help himself with the fabric the unknown human gave him, he removed the cloak hood, revealing his shiny grey hair.
Highlighting his face, his red eyes were demanding and emitted aura from it, how he walked was superior.
He came out from the alley, his wound slowly healing since the poison effect was failing out.
He searched everywhere hoping to see the crimson haired girl, but all he saw was nothing but his saw a cloth, laying opposite the clothier shop.
Upon glimpsing the cloak, he initially turned to depart, intending to leave the garment undisturbed. Yet, some nameless instinct halted him mid-step, drawing his thoughts inexorably back. He lowered himself beside it, fingers brushing the fabric with reluctant reverence, before lifting it into his grasp.
Raising it to his face, he inhaled deeply as though the scent woven into the cloth might offer him answers a knowing smirk playing upon his lips. Without another glance, he departed, the cloak clutched firmly in his possession.
Her mere arrival had shifted the tale's very foundation. Morvex wasn't the name of the male lead of the story, It was the villain now bearing that name, who was now the male lead of the story.
The supposed male lead was now his younger brother, Draven. The names have been switched and so were their roles.
The villain was now the protagonist and the supposed male lead was now the antagonist.
_____________
The carriage moved swiftly. When it stopped, they descended into a quieter quarter of the city, one less concerned with appearances. The building before them was squat and broad, its stone darkened by age and neglect. Iron bars covered the windows, and the air about the place carried a stale, metallic scent that did not belong to any honest trade.
One man rapped twice upon the heavy door. It opened inward.
Inside stood a broad-shouldered man of indeterminate age, his hair thinning, his expression settled into permanent appraisal. His coat was well kept, though worn at the cuffs, and a ledger rested beneath his arm.
The warden scratched his beard, "What's her name again?" Waving a careless hand towards the harmless sleeping beauty.
One of the guards answered flatly, "Caelith Morwynne, my lord....." noticing the man blank expression and quizzical gaze, he continued, "....the one sold to us by lady Eleanor.
He remembers faintly but gave a curt nod as he nonchalantly said, "Take her to the cell." He had received the money from the people bringing the girls to him, nothing matters to him anymore.
The law's excuse for the slave market was simple; they did not snatch the girls by force. Instead, their owners sold them like cattle, trading coin for flesh as if human lives were mere commodities. And that was the fate of caelith Morwynne