Pretty When She Dies (2 page)

Her fingers slid down over her features, then over her neck, down to her breasts. The piercings in both nipples glinted in the florescent light. Slowly, she turned and looked over her shoulder to see her back was still adorned by angel wings, her freshest tattoos. Her waist tucked in above her full hips. She ran a hand over her curvy right cheek slowly.

Need to lose weight
, she thought.

For a moment, she was filled with self-loathing. Her upper body was long and lean, with shapely breasts and a small waist. Her lower body was fuller, but her legs seemed too short for her body. Endless jogging, avoiding potatoes and other starches had never rid her of her wider hips.

She started laughing. It was a startling sound to her ears when she heard it, and she sank against the wall, cold and wet.

I'm insane
, she thought.
I've lost my mind
.

Forcing the crazed giggles away, she dried off, then checked the mirror again. The tiny diamond tucked into the side of her nose twinkled back at her. She slid her dark hair back behind her ears. The six hoops in each ear were intact. Her fingers pulled back her hair and she studied her roots intently. A faint line of gold was visible along the part.

She would have to dye her hair again soon. At least her eyebrows were naturally dark.

Her legs were a little shaky as she walked into her room and pulled a pair of jeans out of the laundry basket resting on the cluttered dresser.

A pair of pink bikini-briefs came with them and she pulled both items on. Rummaging around in the basket, she found a white tank top and shrugged it on. Collapsing onto the bed, she leaned over and opened the refrigerator. The tiny thing creaked open and revealed it was empty, save for a soda and bottled water.

She was hungry. Very hungry. Famished.

Shoving the door shut, she ran her hands over her damp hair and stared down at her feet. The chipped red polish on her toenails was the norm. They were cut short and slightly ragged. Shrugging, she leaned down and snagged a pair of battered Bettie Page heels. She always tried to wear heels to make up for her shorter legs.

Her stomach coiled tightly as she stood. She gasped in pain. Her vision swam and she stumbled forward.

She needed to eat, and soon.

Looking up into the battered mirror above her dresser, she stared into an empty room. She gasped then, suddenly, her reflection winked into view. Blinking hard, she watched it blink out again, then shimmer back slowly.

Terror gripped her. She grabbed her keys off the floor and rushed to the door. She would eat and then she would be fine. She'd stop feeling like this and she would understand what had happened to her.

She just needed to eat.

That would do it.

Yes, to eat. That would be salvation.

She just needed to…feed.

***

Amaliya felt weak as she maneuvered down the stairs, then trudged down the long dim corridor to the outside world. Beyond her feebleness, she felt strangely unreal. It was as if she was moving through a dream where nothing felt connected to her in any way. Her surroundings seemed faintly familiar to her hazy mind, but instinct drew her toward her destination, not memory.

Her high heels clicked against the sidewalk as she moved toward--

She stopped for a moment, her thoughts shifting, then she remembered.

The parking lot lay beyond the jumble of buildings nearby. And she had a truck, a beat up blue truck. She nodded and started walking again.

A door opened to a nearby building, where a young Asian man hurried out. He didn't even glance at her as he moved around her, hastily walked toward one of the far buildings.

Turning slowly, she stared after him. No, she didn't know him, but he made her feel warm inside. She considered following him, but then shook her head.

He was not enough to make her hunger go away.

Frowning, unsure of her own thoughts, she turned her attention back to her destination and started walking again.

The old, red brick buildings of the college rose around her, imposing in their aged facades. A few more modern buildings were tucked back behind them, squat and ugly. She looked at the darkened windows with trepidation

Turning a corner, the long sidewalk wound between buildings. In the distance, she could see the lights that illuminated the parking lot.

Rubbing her arms with her hands, she moved through the shadows.

Music, jarring with its tribal beat, glided on the night wind, where it swirled around her. Tilting her head, she listened. The music grew louder as she concentrated. For some reason, she felt drawn to the pulsating beat. Turning toward the source, she saw that it was one of the fraternity houses that sat on the edges of the campus. The windows were darkened, but music still drifted from the building.

Something dark and desperate whispered through her mind that she needed to go there. It was important. It would make her feel better.

It would make her feel real.

Scowling slightly, she moved across the wide green lawn, toward the old Georgian style house. Her heels sunk into the damp earth. The smell of dew filled her nostrils. Her drying hair flowed around her shoulders and down her back as she walked.

Again, a slow chill slid down her spine and she turned sharply. Only shadows trailed over the sidewalk. There was no sign of anyone anywhere, and yet, she knew, deep inside, she was being watched.

With that horrible feeling tormenting her, she made haste toward the fraternity house. Ducking under tree branches that lined the side yard, she maneuvered cautiously over the roots gnarled at the base of the trees. Her heels crunched across the gravel drive as she followed the sound of the compelling music. Moving into the darkness looming around the structure, she easily found the side door to the imposing house. It opened easily for her and she slipped inside. A large, very dirty kitchen greeted her, but it gave her no feeling of belonging.

There was no sense of familiarity at all. And yet she felt drawn to go deeper into the house.

She stepped into the hallway that led from the kitchen and looked up as she realized the music was coming from above. Moving through the darkness, she found her way to a staircase and slowly ascended.

Another tremor rolled up through her body. She gripped the banister as her vision swam. She needed to eat soon. She was famished. Her stomach clenched inside of her. It hurt so terribly she could barely concentrate.

If I'm hungry, I should go to the kitchen.

But the driving force inside of her told her otherwise. She began to climb the stairs again. The hallway at the top of the stairs was dark and empty. All the doors leading off of it were closed. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, not sure where to go. The music was louder now, but all she could hear was its heavy tribal beat.

This place was not familiar, yet she knew she had to be here.

Something here held the answer to what was happening to her.

Turning her head, she suddenly knew where the music was coming from. She could feel it in her jawbone and in her fingertips. The sensation was odd, almost painful.

Walking down the hall, her gaze fell on a large oak bookcase at the end of it. It was loaded up with books, DVDs and magazines. As she drew near, she felt the music began to pulse in her chest. She slowly ran her fingertips over her lips. Looking behind her, she stared down the hallway to the other end. The door on the other side was closed and solitary.

Her gaze returned to the bookcase. She reached out to grip the side of it. She pulled and it slowly swung forward, like a door. Though not visible from the front, there were wheels under the bottom of the bookcase. As it rolled away from the wall, a doorway became visible.

Biting her bottom lip, she touched the doorknob. She could feel the beat of the music pulsating through it. Gripping the knob tightly, she tried to turn it, but it resisted. She tried again, and still, it resisted.

Desperation gripped her, nonsensical but overwhelming. She banged her hands against the door.

“Please,” she whispered, but did not know what she was asking for.

The door swung open from within. A striking black man stared out at her. His brow crinkled as he studied her, obviously mystified by her presence.

“What the hell are you doing here, freak?”

She parted her lips to answer, but the words would not come. She wasn't even sure why she was here. All she knew was that whatever was in this room, she needed it. Reaching out, she gripped the back of his neck with one long hand and leaned into him. He looked startled, but did not resist her.

“I need,” was all she could manage to say.

“Damn, girl. What are you on?” He stared at her face, into her eyes, then slowly smiled. “Well, who invited you?”

His skin felt warm and inviting under her hand. She slowly became aware of the fact that he was only wearing a very skimpy silk thong.

She stared down at the obvious erection pressing against the fabric, then slowly dragged her gaze over his muscled chest, up to his face.

“You,” she answered.

Grinning, he drew her into the room and shut the door.

“Well, I always thought you looked kinda freaky with all your tats and piercings. But tonight, damn Amal, you look hot. What did you do to yourself?” His hands were sliding up and down over her body as he pulled her further into the room.

It was full of people in various states of undress or just plain nude.

The smell of wine, pot and sex filled her nostrils. A red glow filled the room. She realized that the source was all the crimson light bulbs in the lamps and overhead lights. The sheets on two massive king-size beds shoved together were also crimson. All around her bodies were writhing and intertwining.

She smiled. This was exactly what her father thought college was.

One big orgy.

The young man nuzzled her neck and ran his hand up her stomach to cup her breast. She tilted her head away from him and closed her eyes as his lips played with her skin. A shiver of excitement swirled through her as he licked her throat, then nibbled.

Yes, this is it,
she thought.
What I need.

Gliding around in his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a long deep kiss. His strong arms enfolded her. His hands grabbed her buttocks, drawing her sharply against him.

Her sense of reality was weakening. All she could feel was a terrible ache in her mouth and stomach. She licked his lips.

“You're a total freak, aren't you?” the young man said with delight.

She smiled at him and said, “You say freak too much,” then she buried her face in his neck, breathing him in. Her nails dug into his back as she took a bit of his flesh between her teeth. He shuddered.

“Oh, yeah, bite me, vamp babe,” he said huskily.

And she did.

Before she knew it, her mouth was full of his flesh and she was sucking hard. Rich, thick warmth filled her mouth. He staggered back, gripping her tightly against him. They hit a wall. He moaned with delight as she pulled harder on his neck.

I'm so hungry
.
This is what I need.

She took more and more from him as he writhed against her, grinding his hard cock against her belly. His blood filled her, overwhelmed her, but she needed more. She was so hungry, so very hungry.

He was spent and gone the next minute, her t-shirt wet where he had come hard as he died. She turned and looked into the darkness of the room.

Yes, what she needed was here.

She moved easily across the room, stepping over people, moving toward the bed. In the midst of desperate, crazed sex was the quarterback of the school with a pretty little blond. Gripping his shoulder, she yanked him off the girl. Startled, he began to protest.

Then she was on him, her mouth consuming his in a hungry kiss. His hands gripped her to tear her away, but then he melted into her touch as she overwhelmed his senses. Beneath them, the girl twisted and screamed at them.

Amaliya ignored her and pulled the young man's head to one side, biting deeply. She hit his jugular. Blood sprayed the blond. The angry girl let out a startled sound, then realized what was happening and began to shriek.

With deadly swiftness, Amaliya gripped the girl's throat in one hand and dragged her upright. Without hesitation, she bit the girl as the quarterback fell back from her grasp.

It was then the others in the room realized what was happening. They saw the raven-haired girl perched on their leader, drinking hard from the throat of the blond, and the body of their famed quarterback with his throat ripped open. The stampede to the door began immediately as screams filled the room.

But a darkly garbed man who smiled with feral delight met them at the door as they drew near.

“Now, now,” he said in proper British tones. “You mustn't leave. She's not full yet.”

Amaliya gasped with delight as her body was finally sated. The hunger was gone and she felt wonderful and strong. Arching her back, she knelt on the bed, running her hands over her blood soaked clothing, up over her breasts.

Strong, cold hands gripped her thighs. She gasped as a long tongue trailed up her stomach before biting one nipple through her top.

Those same hands gripped her hair and dragged her against a strong chest.

Mesmerized, she gazed into the dark blue eyes of the man holding her.

His white-blond hair fell over his brow as he peered down at her.

“I know you,” she whispered softly.

“Yes, you do,” he answered.

Falling back on the blood soaked bed, she wrapped her arms around the one who made her. She clung to him as he hastily undressed her.

Her drunken mind struggled to understand, but she could not fully comprehend this insane, wild dream.

He had made her; she was his.

He was so lovely, with short fair hair, pale skin, and beautiful eyes.

He kissed her body, then bit her neck. His body was so cold when he pushed deep into her, making her drink from him.

This isn't real
, she thought.