Whitestripe

Chapter 11

I got a better look at Firewing while he was tending to my wounds. He was taking his time almost like he was enjoying the attention. He was tall, not just tall. He was tall tall. Like over 6 ½ feet tall, and he had very broad shoulders. Not as built as Roberts, but almost. His hair was long and white. Not white like fluffy cloud white or old person, like whiter than platinum blond, it was tipped blue. Like the tips of his hair actually were blue, and for some reason, I felt that if I cut his hair, the blue would appear wherever the end of the strand was. It was tied behind his shoulders with something that resembled a strand of leather. His hair probably was almost as long as mine was just a bit tousled from his rush to get to New York. He also had a lot of it if the size of the ponytail was anything to go by. The color of his hair was confusing to me, typically; vampires had the hair color typical of a human because at one time, they were human. I’ve never seen a human with his shade of white hair. Shifters have different colored hair. For instance, a wolf shifter’s hair resembled their fur. If they had patches of different colored fur, their hair would be different colors in the general areas that the patch was. If a horse shifter was a pinto, they would have hair that was white and whatever other color their fur was. As a tiger, my hair was striped black and white. I don’t mean like stripes going horizontal across my hair or anything, but where the white in my fur is, there is white in my hair. It just looks like an awesome highlight job, really, but it never goes away. When it grows, it grows out black and white. My hair was mostly black with the highlights of white in it instead of vice versa.

White tigers were rare in the world, but not completely unheard of, just like in nature; white tigers are rare. I’m rarer than a regular white tiger because I’m more black than white. I still have the white stripes, but instead of having white fur and black stripes, I have black fur and white stripes. As such, my hair is black with white highlights. Firewing’s hair puzzled me. What I remembered of his file is that he is a vampire; what I didn’t understand is that he resembled some sort of shifter, and on top of that, he had a heartbeat. Vampires’ hearts stopped after they were turned. They were cold to the touch and had no heartbeat. When I fell into him I was close enough that my advanced hearing could hear his and since I was touching him then and he's touching me now I could feel the heat off of him and confirm his heartbeat. Actually, he's warmer than a regular shifter in general. It made me question what exactly he was. Was he like me?

I couldn’t just come out and ask him, like me, he probably wanted to keep his secret well.. a secret. He knew my secret though, he called me a little hybrid. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to offer up the information about himself, though I could almost guarantee it. He was wearing a white tuxedo with an orange tie. The vest under the white coat was black. How in the world was he able to keep that thing white? Every time I wore something white, it seemed like I was a magnet for messes, whether it be blood or coffee. It always seemed that something that couldn’t come out would get spilled on me, so I just stopped wearing it. However, this guy can not only wear white, keep it clean even through teleportation, or whatever it was that he did to get over here, have me bloody face plant into him, and is cleaning blood off of my face and still managing to keep it off of him. I have to ask him what his secret is!

He had finished cleaning out the wound on my forehead, and then he went to start on the back. I could feel the blood caking my hair, so when he reached back there, I shook my head. “I got this.” I went to stand up but was forcefully pushed back down. “I insist” was all he said as he pushed my hair aside to see if he could see what the damage was. “You sustained these wounds by one of my brothers, I’m obliged to help clean these wounds up.” I was about to comment about advanced healing, but for some reason, I don’t think he would have listened. He was leaning over me with both arms around the back of my head. If I wanted to, I could lay my head on his chest. He was so close and so warm. He smelled amazing. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, though, but I inhaled quietly, taking in his scent.

He was prodding at the wound on the back of my head, bringing out a hiss from between clenched teeth. The wound wasn’t healed yet, which means that it was worse than I thought. I usually heal pretty quickly if it's not that serious. The sting told me that it had healed up some but not enough yet. It should heal up by itself by tomorrow without help. Firewing straightened up and grabbed one of the chairs, and propped it against the sink. Coming back to the table, he grabbed my arm and directed me to the sink. “Sit,” he said as he faced my back towards the sink. He lifted up what was left of my braid and began to undo it. “I’m serious, I can do it,” I said, trying to take the braid out of his hand. He wasn’t having any of it and moved out of my reach. I gave up and just enjoyed not being dead, I’ve never had a man wash my hair. I guess he was used to long hair, so he knew how to handle it and undo the braid, so it didn’t tangle worse than it was. I felt him put the majority of it in the sink as he turned on the water. After ruffling around in the drawers, he pulled out a couple of bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and a couple of fluffy towels. Seriously, what was this room used for? The cages put me on edge; I don’t know if I wanted to find out. Standing in front of me, he put his knee on the front of the chair and pushed it flush with the cabinet. Grabbing my chin again, he leaned my head back. Our eyes met as I followed his direction. He wanted me to lean my head back into the sink. Alright, I’ll play along for now. Firewing tested the water to what he felt was sufficient, then he pulled the nozzle out of the sink and wetted my hair. The warmth of the water relaxed me; my eyes fluttered shut. After my hair was sufficiently wet, he returned the nozzle back to its resting place and picked up what I assumed was the shampoo bottle. He started massaging the shampoo in my hair, starting at the ends and working up. It felt like heaven when he started massaging my scalp. He was careful to avoid the wounds. “Are you purring? I didn’t think big cats purred.” He said, not stopping. I jerked awake. “No! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Blue eyes met an amused red. “you’re hearing things!” I felt the embarrassment creep into my face, and my cheeks were on fire. He just chuckled and continued to work the blood out of my hair. This time, I sat tense; I wasn’t about to be caught dozing off. Seriously? Purring? Who does he think he is? I don’t purr. Okay. I do, but I'm not going to admit that!