“No thanks. I’ll wait, we’re almost there anyway,” I say quietly, slowly losing the battle to keep my eyes open. That’s the last thing I can remember saying before I wake up in my bed, underneath the fluffy softness of my duvet, wearing only a t-shirt and underwear. A wave of confusion slips over me before I realise that I must have fallen asleep in the car after all. Silly. Silly.
I turn over and my heart stops. There is a very real man lying stretched out beside me. My hand falls on his bare chest. I pull it away instantly, but he grabs me by the hips and drags me closer to him. I struggle in fear for one, two, three seconds before I see the golden hair, and then the face, and realise that the man is Ethan. Ethan wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. My fear transforms into anger.
“Let go of me!” I hiss, failing to break his iron hold.
“Hush, go back to sleep beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickles my ear. My brain goes on a brief holiday. It feels good. He feels good. And warm. His almost naked body next to mine, our legs touching. I refrain from struggling.
“Why are you in my bed, Ethan?” I ask, a fraction less angry now – more something else.
“I wanted to lie with you,” he answers, voice low.
I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Ten to three. I cough despite the fact that my throat isn’t scratchy in the slightest, and then bury my head into the duvet. The moment seems to go on forever. I’m about to open my mouth and order him to leave when I realise that I kind of don’t want him to. It’s been so long since someone’s held me like this. His arms completely surrounding me. It’s definitely some sort of screwed up nourishment that we all pretend not to need.
I lift my head and rest my cheek against his collarbone. A sigh. From both of us, I think.
“You can stay,” I tell him. “But no funny business.”
“Funny business?” says Ethan, testing the phrase out on his lips with humour. It sounds like he’s never had occasion to use it before. But of course, English was never his mother tongue. “What’s that?” he continues. “Is this funny business?” he asks, as he trails fingertips along my inner thigh.
“Don’t…” I whisper, but before I know it he’s flipped me onto my back and is leaning over me.
His lowers himself, and dips his nose to the inch of skin between my t-shirt and pants, brushes his lips over my stomach.
“You smell so good,” he breathes. I exhale on a shudder and try to pull myself together.
“Don’t distract me Ethan. I need to sleep,” my voice is almost pleading. I struggle on. “S-some of us aren’t lucky enough to be nocturnal. Some of us have to get up in the morning and go to work.”
My scolding is tragically half-hearted. Who could resist this man? Even the fact that he’s some sort of monstrous alien species doesn’t deter my skin from rising in goose pimples at his touch. He presses a hard kiss onto the thin cotton of my pants, causing every tiny hair on my body to stand on end.
“You still want me to stop?” he asks, face pressed into my most intimate of places.
I gasp. “This isn’t fair, Ethan,” a squirm. “You know it isn’t – fair.”
At this he nips the cotton material softly between what I assume are his fangs.
“I never agreed to fairness,” he replies, and I can imagine his smirk, hidden beneath the covers.
Suddenly he emerges, and looms over me, eyes glittering, chest rising and falling steadily. His lips are open and his blade sharp white fangs are peeking out. He looks like some male model doing a horror themed photo shoot. He looks like trouble I could do without, but can’t help wanting.
“Let me bite you,” he whispers.
The words Ultimate Power drift at the back of my consciousness. Two words. Two little words that mean Ethan can never drink from me. At least, I can never allow him to. If he does he might not stop until my weak human heart fails to beat.
“Honey, you can’t,” I whisper back, and my use of affection surprises me. Saddens me. I don’t know if it’s my tone, or my face, or his extra perception, but Ethan’s eyes tilt down in understanding. While not knowing why he understands.
He draws near, presses his face to my throat, and breathes in. “You smell like every summer day I’ll never enjoy,” he speaks into my skin, and the sound vibrates through me.
I know that a single drop of my blood could possibly give him those summer days to enjoy. And I can’t tell whether it’s fear, or selfishness, or simple self-preservation that causes me to withhold this gift. Keeping it secret. After all, how do I know if Ethan even deserves such a gift? How many lives has this beautiful creature ended, if not at least shortened? If my mother went to the trouble of hiding the truth about me then surely it is vital that it remains hidden.
Ethan brushes my messy hair away from my face, and his touch is soft, private, intimate. It makes me want to spill my guts out to him. Tell him all of my secrets and let him decipher the mess. Do what he will with the base facts of my existence.
“I love your black hair,” he breathes, eyes travelling over me, mapping me out, “and your big, bottomless, bright blue eyes.”
I shift beneath him, and a question both strange and completely logical passes my lips. “Would you ever end me?” I ask.
Ethan twists a lock of my hair around one finger. “Never,” he answers, not for one second frowning in confusion over what I have asked him. He gets it. Gets my misgivings. My wariness of his nature, his capabilities. That fact that he doesn’t blather on about “extreme circumstances” or what have you brings forth a sliver of peace in me. Perhaps he really would never kill me for his own benefit, or if push came to shove. If things got messy. Perhaps his admiration for me means he could never bring himself to hurt me, even if the occasion called for it. Or perhaps he’s just an exceptional liar.
“Promise.”