A Sin For White Wings

Chapter 1 (ep.2)

I didn't scream. I couldn't. I used the last of my failing strength to shove the girl toward the heavy oak doors. "Run!" I wheezed, my voice a broken rasp.

I turned back to the monsters, taking blows that should have killed a mortal man three times over. I was a punching bag for their cruelty, my weak body failing me with every strike. But I held the line. I blocked the door with my own broken frame until, finally, the Feeders hissed and retreated into the rafters, sensing the approach of the dawn.

I collapsed. The silver in my side felt like a frozen spike.

"Sir! Oh my God, sir!"

I felt hands on me. Warm, soft, human hands. The woman—the doctor—hadn't run. She was kneeling in my blood, her face pale with terror.

I wish I could tell her to let me go if I found strength to speak. I had lived through hollow centuries.

"I’m a doctor," she sobbed, pressing her coat against the wound in my side to stop the flow. "I’ve got you. Just stay with me. You're so cold... why are you so cold?"

She thought I was a hero. She thought I was a man dying for a stranger. She didn't know the "blood" staining her white coat was a shimmering, violet ink that smelled of copper and old starlight.

"I have to get you to the hospital," she whispered, her professional instinct taking over her fear. "Hold on. Please, just hold on."

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. The woman rushed me into Trauma Room 4. She worked with a frantic, desperate energy, her hands trembling as she cut away my ruined shirt.

"He's in shock," she shouted to the nurses. "Get me a line. Start him on O-Negative, now!"

I stared at her, my eyes glazed over, slowly fluttering shut as the panicked voices echoed one last time in my head.