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I struggled to grip both my bow and my crutches with my right hand without falling on my face. The roots and bumps of the mini-forest didn’t help. I come out here a lot, to this secluded area behind the apartment building, just to practice some shooting and to uphold the contract. Most of the time it isn’t this difficult. But then most of the time I don’t have a broken leg. I decided that I had walked far enough and threw down the bow in exasperation, followed by the crutches. Today had already been a long day: Joel had caught something from daycare and had been throwing up all morning until he passed out. I guess this is the perfect time for him to get sick, seeing as I’m not going to school for the next couple of days. But I have to go to work. I can’t afford to lose the money.

I want to smoke so bad.

Easing myself onto the ground without twisting my leg the wrong way, I plopped down with a sigh, adjusting the quiver into a comfortable position on my back. Quintenn doesn’t usually come late, so there was no point in starting to practice until after.

Sure enough, no sooner than I had set myself down than from out of the shadows I see a thin, tall figure slip slowly closer. Black hair tinged with red catches some of the dying sunlight, and pale blue eyes glint against milky skin. His smile used to unnerve me to no end, so that I couldn’t even look at it. That used to make him happy, like he took delight in seeing me in such discomfort. But now it’s become a normal sight and my reactions are reduced to slight shivers.

“My, my,” his rich voice said dryly as he smirked at my cast. “It seems we have taken a tumble?”

“Yeah, I did it to myself.” I sighed and fidgeted with the stupid cast. My fingers itched to hug a cigarette. “It was either my leg or someone’s face.”

“Who is so special that you would sacrifice easy movement, running, basketball, most things you excel at, for this person? Is there someone else whom I should protect as well?” He crossed through the trees and lowered himself down next to me, already clawing at my jacket to take it off. I guess he’s had a rough week.

“Nobody really,” I mumble. Why should he know? “Just a friend I didn’t want to make hate me.” I unzipped my coat and pulled out my left arm, exposing it to the harsh fall air. “Has there been anything suspicious this week?”

“No,” he whispered, crawling over my body to reach my arm. I don’t know if he does it on purpose to creep me out or if he doesn’t realize that he so penetrates my personal space, that I can smell him and feel the freezing air radiate from his body, his skin inches from my face. He stared at my arm with such intensity, reaching out slowly and cautiously to touch it with a single finger, then to caress it like it was the only source of blood left in the world.

Quintenn is a Strigoi. He’s kind of like a vampire in that he doesn’t age, came back to life, and feeds off of human blood. Three years ago he tried to attack me in the woods when I was practicing my shooting. I was going to kill him, but I felt bad for him. He was starving and just desperate for some food. And being a demigod who didn’t live at one of the protected camps, my family was in danger. My blood also happened to be exceptionally tasty, I guess. I don’t know his whole back story, but he did tell me his chances of becoming a Strigoi were greatly increased when he killed himself in 1768. Every year since, we’ve formed a contract: I allow him to feed off of me if he protects my family. Joel comes first, of course.

He took a knife from his belt and shielded my sight from the arm with his body. Once again, the territory of my personal space had been crossed. I lay down to put some space between my face and his shoulder. At least he smelled good.

A second later I felt the knife slice down my forearm followed by his tongue tracing the cut. His moan pierced my ears, an indication that he’d been pretty hungry. The cold had numbed my arm enough that it felt like pressure just pushing down on my arm. I had already gotten used to it by now. His body progressively relaxed onto mine as he lapped up my blood. The thick, metallic smell permeated the air, so that I was feeling a little nauseous.

He paused to look back at me, blood covering his satisfied smirk. “If you think about it, this is very… seductive? Vampiric-”

“Parasitic,” I cut in bluntly, closing my eyes like that could erase the image of his bloody face. “I’m feeling kinda weak.”

“Just…” He sucked at my arm desperately, moaning in desire and wont and pleasure. “Just a little… more…” I lay there in silence, letting him have his fill. I could feel the blood dripping down the curve of my arm onto the ground. I felt drained. I wanted to smoke. To reenergize.

He finally pulled away, a little reluctantly, and licked his lips, eyes glazing over and still glued to my forearm. I dragged myself up into a sitting position and took some gauze from my jacket pocket to wrap around my arm. The cut was already beginning to clot, but I didn’t want some monster smelling it while I walked back.

“Allow me,” Quintenn purred, taking the gauze. He unraveled some, ripped it with his teeth, and bent down to slowly lick the remaining blood with his freezing tongue, smirking up at me with those cold blue eyes. I rolled my eyes at him, and he just continued to clean up the blood and wrap my arm.

“I don’t really feel like shooting today,” I sighed out, ignoring the headache forming across my forehead. “I’m just gonna go home.”

Quintenn helped me up and put me back on my crutches. He carried my bow as he walked beside me back out of the trees. I stared at the floor pretending to focus on stabilizing my crutches and he stared at me unblinkingly the whole way back. I tried not to shiver under his gaze because that would just be like giving in. He’d stare even harder and smirk even wider and gosh darnit I’m not gonna give him that satisfaction just for creeping me out.

At the edge of the woods, a few yards from the apartment building, he handed me back my bow. I ignored the way his cold hand lingered longer than it had to, and refrained from meeting his eyes. “So I’ll be back next week,” I said, adjusting my bow.

“I look forward to it,” he whispered. And then he was gone, back in the shadows.