There have been tales of vampires and werewolves for as long as humankind has known to think and imagine. In the Middle Ages, during the rise of chivalry, there were as many fair maidens captured by bloodsuckers as by dragons. More often than not, knights had to seek help from the lycans to defeat the foe and win the lady's hand, turning themselves
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That he was alone.
It wasn't like he minded it though; he'd been alone for the past couple of years, and it wasn't a problem at all - less headache for him. Or so he'd like to think. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice someone (or, something) was following him.
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Who would be able to sink their teeth into that pale, exposed neck to change him.
One of them slid closer - completely not unusual, save for the citron color of her irises as she stalked her chosen prey.
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That reflected his stalkers - plural, sadly - whom he could see from his peripheral vision. A female was walking closer to him, and he didn't like his own idea that involved strange creatures- Stop, damnit!
Suddenly the air felt too cold and too suffocating to his liking. He quickened his pace, and why is the apartment so damn far? For safety purposes, he pulled his gun out from the back of his pants. With this, he could be a little at ease. He hoped.
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She fought the urge to laugh as she slid up behind him and held him under the chin - the other arm locked around his waist, holding him tightly - almost tightly enough to crush his ribs as she jerked his head to one side and let her teeth slide over his throat. A snarl in the back of her throat - an angry dog - and grinned against his neck.
"Hello, beautiful," She cooed, before letting her teeth sink into his throat, her two companions joining her to help hold him still.
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He was losing his blood, even though it wasn't that severe - someone managed to save him before it got too far; someone he knew so well, because that power reminded him of one person and nobody else.
Hearing the familiar voice behind him, he turned around to see the Chinese man that was once his companion.
"Han..Geng..." he managed to rasp out, coughing a few times before the pain got too much to bear. Henry winced and groaned as he fell onto the ground.
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Breathing heavily, he managed a small smile at Geng's words. It is so dramatic, indeed, he thought as a veil was pressed against his wound. The other's voice was unbelievably calm, but then again it was his usual tone of speaking. He shook his head mentally; the older man hadn't changed at all, it seemed.
"I won't die... Geng..I won't die," he whispered, his voice raspy and dry. He stared into Geng's eyes as he added, "not in front of you.."
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He smiled seeing the tension on Geng's face though; he didn't think he'd see the other with such expression. Usually he was calmer, more collected, and more..distant. So Henry took Geng's hand and traced a word with his finger on the older's palm.
Go.
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He heaved a sigh. Closing his eyes as he felt more and more unconscious.
When he opened his eyes (because the older Chinese's voice kept invading his ears and because his hand kept on patting his cheeks), all he saw was a ceiling. That was when he realized that they were back in Geng's apartment. Henry had lost consciousness for a while there. Offering Geng a small smile -to show him that he was conscious and, well, still alive-, he whispered loud enough for the other to hear.
"You're too nice... I don't even know if I'd be able to stay conscious..." he gave a pause to cough, his throat felt like it was burning. The process had started. "Geng... You shouldn't keep me with you... It's dangerous..." With that, he sat up on the bed and turned his head to face the other man ( ... )
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