By TJ Dimacali
You cried that night you told me the truth about who you were and why we couldn’t be together. You would always be torn apart, you said. You were scared that the truth would eat at me. It would consume me, you said. Gnaw at me.
I was a good man, you said, and I could never fill your hunger. Your eyes glistened, deep and black under the moonlight. I held your hand as I wiped your tears. I couldn’t resist holding your face. Your skin felt cold to my touch.
I kissed you, cutting my lip on your teeth. You moaned at the taste of me. You tried to hold yourself back, but the pull of blood was just too strong. You sucked at me hungrily, yearning for so much more than I could give.
I touched your breasts and you shuddered at my warmth: I, too, could be unrelenting. I slid my hands down to your torso and you steeled yourself in expectation. I found your navel with my thumb and dug deep, tearing you open like a madman peeling at ripe fruit.
You reached your tongue deep into my mouth, down to my belly. Your innards, wet and hot and steaming, pushed down on me.
I knew I could never be the prey you wanted me to be.
I lay down beneath you as you surrendered yourself to the inevitable. The moonlight shone pale through the membranes of your wings as you tore yourself away. And I watched helplessly as you ascended the midnight sky, lusting for newborn blood.
I knew I could never be the prey you wanted me to be. But that would never stop me from offering myself to you, over and over again.
And I am still here, waiting for you to devour me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TJ Dimacali is a science journalist and a fictionist specializing in science fiction. His latest story contribution can be found in The Sea Is Ours: Tales from Steampunk Southeast Asia.