Chapter 7: Communion
Background: Even as a little girl, Myka showed a strange reaction to Hector's blood. It almost had a mind-controlling affect probably similar to a vampiric thrall state when it was ingested. This was exacerbated by her natural, pervasive craving for blood and her fascination with it. This could have suggested that she was more than a mere werewolf or was becoming such. He still keeps her secluded at this point while he shapes her into a more submissive pet.
The vampire entered and began to walk around her cell. "Don't you ever talk?" Hector asked. Myka continued looking down silently. "Well, this won't do. You must talk sometimes or I will get bored. And you wouldn't like me when I'm bored." He exhaled loudly. "For God's sakes, say something!"
She looked up cautiously. "I don't know what to say."
"Perhaps a "thank you" would be a good start." He gazed at her coolly. Myka opened her mouth but quickly shut it again. The phrase tasted bitter, and she swallowed it back down. He had given her water. He had stopped beating her. But was that really worth praise? As if he could read her mind, Hector frowned. "Well, if that's what I get for gratitude, I think I'll take your food and water where it will be more appreciated."
"Thank you." The words tumbled from her mouth. They didn't even sound like they came from her voice.
"I'm sorry, that little flurry of speech was hardly convincing." He cupped his ear.
Myka became very frustrated. "What do you want?!" Hector was taken back a little by her shout. Her eyes blazed. "What's with all these games? Why don't you just lock me up with the other werewolves? Why do you insist on torturing me?!"
Hector sighed. "Torturing you?" He shook his head. "No. No, I'm training you."
"Training?" She scoffed. "Why me?" Myka questioned angrily almost coming to tears.
"You." Hector looked at her intently with his unsettling smile. "You're...special. You aren't just any werewolf, my little pup." He turned away from her and paced the floor. "Andrew died for helping you escape." Myka hung her head. "He knew there would be severe consequences for stealing away one of my most prized possessions, and yet he did it anyway. I often wondered what could motivate him to behave so foolishly." He turned at looked directly at her. "You were almost thirteen, weren't you? Ah, huh. Somehow he thought he could protect you from me." Hector laughed. "I see now it was a valiant effort, if incredibly hopeless. He had to try and protect the poor child from an evil monster like me. But you know all about monsters don't you, Myka? Funny how innocent a little girl can seem. You're not so little anymore, and Andrew can't save you." Hector paused and just looked at her doleful face, her peridot eyes staring wistfully at the stone floor. Her dark golden hair fell down the sides of her face and rested upon her stooped shoulders.
"You're a monster not worth saving." He knelt down in front of her. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Well, that's what you are to them. A monster just like me. We're not as different as you wish we were. We both have the same drives, vices, and lusts. We are beyond normal people, weak and pathetic as they are, and giving into our desires is what makes us more powerful. You feel that, don't you? With each kill you find yourself growing stronger, and each drop of blood begs another." Myka remembered her teeth tearing hot flesh as blood poured from the wounds just like the screams from her victim's throat. She recalled her muscles straining as she broke his bones and heard them snap. The first kill from years ago was as real and vivid as the last. Her eyes burned. She swallowed her gathering saliva, and her jaw tightened.
Hector's eyes glimmered. He took in and studied her expression, watched her transformation. It was not a change as drastic as when she became a wolf but a very apparent shift to him nonetheless. Golden eyes, sharp teeth. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out a knife. Hector raised the knife up and pressed it into his chest. He closed his eyes and exhaled painfully as it entred. He pulled out the knife and let it clatter onto the floor as he covered his wound. Hector threw his other hand behind Myka's head and pressed her to his chest. The blood flowed into her mouth, and she closed her eyes nearly hypnotized by the taste as she licked the wound. Hector felt the blood pouring from his heart. His eyelids fluttered and he gasped. He pushed her away and held his hand over the wound. Myka's hand came up almost as if in a trance and pushed the blood around her lips into her mouth. Hector sat up straight and grabbed her hand. He looked paler than usual. He licked her red fingers clean of blood. Then he released her hand and leaned towards her. He sniffed the blood about her face and gently licked the blood from her chin up to her lips. He sucked the the sanguinary remains from off her bottom lip and let his tongue slide over her teeth. Myka felt her mouth involuntarily opening as his lips pressed against hers. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth, tasted the blood, and began sucking out the metallic flavour. Myka had never felt quite this way. Hector's lips were shockingly cold, but she couldn't seem to pull away. It was like some invisible force was controlling her. And she didn't care. But she did! She pulled away, panting, her eyes wide. Hector straightened himself.
"What?" He looked at her terrified expression. He laughed. "Ah. I don't think you have to answer. Your face says it all." He smirked. "'I shouldn't have done that.' That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Why is that, I wonder?" Myka raised her hand to her forehead and held on to the roots of her hair as her eyes darted from one stone, to another, and then back again. Her face was riddled with perplexity and apprehensiveness. "Hm." Hector looked at her. He smiled. "Are you scared that you actually liked it? Would that be so awful to admit?" Myka hardly even heard the words he was saying. Her mind was spinning. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, all conflicting and building off of each other.
"Well?" He looked at her. He sighed. "You were more open as a child. Do you remember?" She tried to forget. "Just for curiosity I gave you a little taste of my blood." He laughed. "I could make you roll over and play dead. You were a little scared of me, I think, but you were very obedient with the blood. Like it was a drug. It was after that was the problem. Clearly, that's still the case. Can you be obedient without?" He leaned in and kissed her. She didn't look at him; she looked past him motionless, fighting carnal desires. "Still scared. I'll have to work on that."
She wanted to speak. She wanted to scream. But it was like she was mute, like she couldn't even move. She just sat there wishing she could yell at him, "Why are you doing this? I don't understand! Why do you get all touchy with me? Why can't you just leave me alone and throw me back in the cellar with the other werewolves? Why do I get this unwanted attention?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked somewhat weak. If there was a time to attack him, it was now. But she couldn't even if she could muster the will, the strength. She saw his hand start to shake. He coughed.
"Well, you have things to think over. I'm going upstairs for the night." He stood and exited.
He left her there, alone and chained in that cold, dark room. She realized why he was spending time with her. She was his slave. He was going to make her into what he wanted her to be: his possession, devoted to him body, mind, and soul. With each drop of his blood, little bits of him were being integrated into her being, corrupting her, sculpting her. It was a more painful and frightening change than when she transformed into her wolf. This change could last forever.
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