Loving Merritt Forever

Loving Merritt After 36

Merritt awoke at sunset. Her body completely restored as though yesterday's suicide attempt had never happened. She put on the only shirt left in the cottage now that she had burned one to scraps. Tying a cord around her middle to make it seem like more of a dress than just an oversized shirt. She had company now.

Merritt could hear that her guest was still here. His heart rate and breathing were strange in her ears. Then she smelled blood. Merritt flung the bedroom door open. Looking around to figure out what she had missed while at rest. It did not take long for Merritt to figure out why she smelled blood and why the man's breathing and heart rate were wrong. He had been hurt, badly today.

Merritt ran to him as he sat by the fire. A pot of stew on the hook near the fire, a freshly killed rabbit on the hearth. The strange man sat on the chair. Skin looking ashen, lips blue grey. He had taken off his shirt, revealing the marbled pattern continued over his entire body. He had a towel folded and pressed tight against his abdomen. Red staining the outside.

Merritt reached out to take a look at the wound. Stopping herself before she touched him, making eye contact trying to see if he was ok with her taking a look. He nodded and moved his own hand that had been staunching the blood. Merritt lifted the towel quickly, there were two, deep puncture wounds in his gut. The kind of injury that would slowly kill a man without surgery. "How?" Merritt asked, knowing he couldn't understand her but not willing to do nothing.

The stranger pointed to the rabbit, then moved his fingers like walking legs. Then the legs fell down, onto his other hand that were raised like spikes. He had been hunting, and fell into a trap. Merritt looked into his eyes, she could tell he was intelligent, he already knew this was an injury that would kill him.

Merritt was conflicted. She knew exactly how she could save him. A mouthful of her blood would heal his body. Save him like he had saved her yesterday. Even the scales between them. Except, Merritt did not want drug him against his will. Did not want to lie to him like she had been lied to when Levi had given her his blood. Certainly did not want to risk him dying while he had her blood in his body, Merritt wouldn't ever sire another vampire. Her heart could not take the pain of losing anyone else.

Merritt's attention was pulled away from the dying man as Marisol teleported into the cottage. Holding a small suitcase, and a new cooler with blood inside.

For the first time since Merritt had known Marisol the succubus revealed her true face to Merritt hissing as she grappled Merritt's arm away from the stranger and pulled her across the room. "How did he find you? What have you done!" Marisol accused.

Merritt didn't understand Marisol's reaction. "I tried to meet the sunrise yesterday. He stopped me and dragged me back into the cottage, he went hunting today and was hurt. He's dying." Merritt countered. Couldn't Marisol see that he was in pain? Weak and slowly dying as his own bowels poisoned his body and blood. Why was she acting like one man was as much a threat as the demon.

The stranger weakly raised his hand, a greeting. Quietly saying a few words in the language Merritt did not understand. By the look in Marisol's eyes, she might know the language.

"N'dea par lequis?" Marisol spoke to the man, his eyes briefly lighting up to hear his mother tongue.

"Cispat. Unison cispat. -" Holding up a single finger.

Merritt had no idea what anyone was saying now. Marisol grumbled low in her throat, announcing she would be right back.

The stranger looked at Merritt, pointed to himself, "Ver mort." His eyes sad. Merritt knew he had just told her that he knew he was going to die.