Touch

“Move!” Christian shouted thrusting me back into the shadows. We hit the ground. I felt the burn diminish instantly. A covering of fine dust graced the surface of my skin. I sat up and stared at my arms. My eyes were fixed on the dust-like layering that coated my skin. Ashes, I thought to myself. My ashes. And as I brushed the ashes away I couldn’t help but feel a little like Cinderella without the slippers of course. 
“Are you okay?” my dark prince inquired. 
I ran my palms along my skin. 
“Hope,” he insisted. “Are you okay?” 
“No,” I said. “Not really. It’s like a continual cremation...like I’m dying over and over again.” I looked up at him. “I’ll never be able to run in the sun again will I?” 
He pulled me into his arms. “Of course you will. In time. You’ve not yet built a tolerance to the sun. It just takes patience.” 
“Patience,” I groaned. “I was never very good with patience.” I buried my face against his chest. The sweet scent of his skin enlivened me again. 
“And you’re not dead,” he said. “We have a heartbeat.” 
“Slowly living.” 
“Exactly.” 
The scent of his body was divine. I nestled my face even harder against him. 
“What are you doing?” he asked. 
“You smell so good,” I said. “Good enough to—” 
“Eat?” 
“Don’t tease me Christian.” 
He guided my face to his with the gentle sweep of his hand. I looked into his eyes and grinned. 
“Are you sure Bambi won’t mind?” he whispered mischievously. 
I bit my lip. I loved it when let himself act like a teenager instead of the prudent two-century old Englishman that he was. 
He ran his lips along my collar bone. “You smell good too,” he uttered, his voice raging with juvenile enthusiasm. 
I giggled and closed my eyes. A moment later I felt him reaching for my hand. He traced the scar in its center with the tips of his fingers. The scar was evidence of a blood pact we made together when I was just a child—a blood pact that seemingly triggered my progression into becoming a vampire.