Deadly Beautiful - Vivian Vargas (me reader txt) 📗

Morgan

Everything was still, as though time had stopped. The night seemed to draw itself out, longer, unchanging. I felt as though I was taking the same breath of air over and over again. It was highly unsettling. I wanted it to stop. I wanted this to be over with already. I was sick and tired and I felt as though every ounce of energy has been sapped from me.
I was lying in my bed, wide awake. It was nearly twilight because the sky outside was just starting to see the navy blue of morning. I could repeat myself over and over again on how my heart continuously beat as though it were running in my chest, but it was nothing compared to now. My heart was pumping like it was going to burst from my chest in a spray of gore. It felt like it was going to jump from throat and cry abuse. I was waiting for Liam.
He hasn’t told me an exact time. He just said he was going to come and change me before morning came. And morning was coming quickly, and he still was not here.
I started crying. Every emotion I had felt all night came exploding through my eyes in a horrid gust of tears. I sobbed so loudly that if anyone was outside my door they would surely hear me, I was sure of it. I wailed till my chest hurt, if it can hurt anymore than it was now. There was no release to it. No reprieve. It just brought more and more pain.
Liam betrayed me. I knew this because the sun, yellow, not blue, was just starting to peek out from my window. I was angry now. Very angry. I got up from my bed, prancing my room like a maniac, fisting my hair in my hands. There was no hope for me now. I was going to die, sickened with disease, and Liam let it be so. Liam, Liam, Liam. How I hate you Liam, for not keeping your promise. You promised me. You swore to me. What did that kiss mean to you? How dare you? I wanted to scream and curse be to God. I wanted the most horrid things, that if I weren’t so angry, they surely would have scared me.
Then I felt a cold, stone-like hand cover my mouth. I nearly screamed, but the hand muffled it. My pulse shot up. A bead of sweat erupted from my hairline. My breast heaved a non-existent breath.
“Why are you crying, darling?” said a voice, a voice as sweet as honey, a voice that angered me so much that my face turned red, a voice that made my knees liquefy. I moved my face from his hand and turned around to greet him. His red eyes sparkled, and pity etched on his gloriously handsome face. I did not want the bloody vampire to feel bad for me because I cried. He was the reason that I cried like this in the first place.
I slapped him in the face. Surely it didn’t hurt him, but he still stared at me with surprise. He was silent for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, as though he could not form the right words to say. He took a breath, as though that would clear his head and help him assess.
“Why did you slap me?” He mumbled finally, but I noted he was more curious that hurt. He even started to grin, as though he could not help but find it humorous.
“Because you late.” I replied through tightly gritted teeth, “You made me believe that you were not going to come. You had me… you had me…” I was no lost for words, and I broke down, tears streaming from my eyes like a water pump. He had me by my shoulders before I collapsed be his feet. He lifted me back to my feet again and then swept me off the floor, carrying me in his arms. Then he carried me to my bed and set me there, while lying down next to me. He gently brushed away tendrils of my damp brown hair and tucked them behind my ears, his cold fingers traced the angles of my faces, swept over my lips. He leaned in to kiss me.
It was not like before when we were in the forest, that it had caught me so off guard. I kissed him like I would die if I did not. His hand fisted my hair, his icy smooth lips punished mines with glee and passion. He ran a hand along the curve of my body, inserting his tongue in my mouth. I accepted it with welcome. He tasted delicious, something hearty and whole, like a rare sirloin meat.
It must be all the blood he drinks.
He took both my wrists, staring at them. His thumb was on my pulse, which was thrumming like hummingbird wings.
“If I do this, there is no going back.” He said, his face serious, slightly pained.
“If it means spending an eternity with you, I would gladly do it.”
I meant it. And he knew I did. Something in his expression changed. His red eyes watered. Vampires cry? I did not know they can. I thought they were like dead bodies with no real human functions. But surely, tears filmed over his eyes, falling from this eyelashes and streaking down his cheek. But they were not just any tears. They were not clear. They were pink, like blood diluted with water. The more he cried, the more red his tears were. He was crying blood.
“I waited for so long.” He said. Then he slashed his own wrist. He produced a blue washcloth and kept the steadily dripping blood from touching the sheets as to not leave any evidence, which was quite thoughtful. If Sue or anyone else happened to find blood on my bed sheets they might become suspicious. His blood was darker than mine, and the smell that came off of it was intoxicating. It was not like anything that ever came across my nose before.
For some reason, it made me so thirsty, and I was not yet even a vampire. My mouth instantly filled with saliva.
“Our blood is supposed to smell and taste good to you, Morgan. Think of it like a procreating hormone, to make you want to drink it. If you drink my blood, you will be a vampire.” He commented as he noticed my ravenous expression.
I could not help but blush. The rising heat flushed from the tip of my toes to my cheeks in a raging, sensual fire. The closeness of his strong, lean body had me feeling emotions I only felt when he drank blood from me. I felt aroused, erotic, devilish, I sat up and licked his earlobe; he moaned quietly, running his hands up and down my back. I arched to the movement of his hands, like a cat dying to be petted. I felt like I could purr, especially when his chilling lips cascaded soft, sensual kisses along my throat, gently scraping his fangs on the rapidly thrumming pulse point there. I felt daring. I felt alive. I felt like a different girl, special than I have ever been before. I was about to be everything I was not.
And I was in love with Liam Gogh.
He lifted his head from my neck, bringing his fingers to my lips. I kissed them. This was sinful, ungodly, the way his bright red eyes shimmered with lust and sensuality and stimulation. This was fornication, a terrible indulgence! But Lord, it was dreadfully powerful. It was temptation of the worst kind. This pruriency I experienced would surely have my mother fainting.
He brought his bleeding wrist to my lips.
“Drink.” He commanded. I may not have been a girl to take bossiness lightly, but I found myself bringing my lips and drinking, drinking in the elixir of immortality, feeling the power, the hatred, the love and lust, the loneness, the pain, the supremacy, the atrocious strength, the inhumane weakness. I felt it rush down my throat, delicious and cool. I can even feel it changing me in the inside, destroying my disease, also killing my human body.
But this death, coming slowly to me as my body got weaker and weaker, my feeble immune system trying desperately to fight off the foreign substance I consumed as it transformed me…
Was the kind of death that I always dreamed of.

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Whitney

I have once heard that when you sleep, your brain unconsciously produces millions of images a night. I have always thought the reason why the brain does this is so that it can remember everything from the day before; and if it doesn’t, then we might as well have memory spans of a goldfish. When I don’t remember things, I blame it on my brain, who didn’t reproduce the memory while I was asleep. But I almost never remember my dreams. Which is kind of backwards, if you get what I mean.
Last night I had a dream that I remember clearly. I really wish I hadn’t. It left such a bloody impression on my mind that it has me going crazy. A haunting, terrible impression that I simply could not forget, no matter how hard I thought about something else. I wish that I had a memory span of a goldfish. That would have been so much better.
I had a dream that I was on the streets again, wearing my usual whore garb of skirts so tiny even if I didn’t bend down you can see my ass and shirts that looked like bras. But the outfit I was wearing was unbelievably glittery. Everyone who passed me could not help but turn and look. But these people turning to look at me where everyone that I ever knew.
It was George who passed by me first. He was leering, his glasses askew, his face unusually gaunt. When I peered closer at him before he went away, I noticed that he was clamping a hypothermic needle between his teeth, and I doubled back in horror when a strange hunger enveloped my stomach, and I longed to reach for it. Then Sasha came. Her face was red and puffy, but there was something horribly wrong with her eyes. It was like they were not there at all, and those things peering back at me were empty sockets –empty sockets dripping something that looked horribly like molten silver.
My mother was next. She wasn’t walking. She was floating. She didn’t walk by me like George and Sasha did, she floated right to me. She looked like her normal. Fat, short, with rollers in her hair and a cigarette in her mouth. She looked condescending, towering over me, staring at me with disapproval. I have never seen that expression on her face before. The only thing that usually twisted her features were –well, nothing. My