Dame practically winced with every card the woman before her drew, because which one was going to be the one she wanted? Dame thought cards only held weapons. If this woman was not going to harm her, why was she going through weapons?
But it was resolved when the woman produced a knife and set to the rope that bound Dame.
Deuce, huh? She’d made acquaintances with a Deuce fitting this one’s description over the Internet not long ago. Maybe it was the same one? The moment her arms were free, Dame tried to move them, careful for the damage done her ribs, and her wrists; her struggle had rubbed them raw. She had to stand up. Get to a hospital, get going.
But there was only so much a battered woman could do on her own. With great, laborious effort, she wrestled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth and biting back tears. GPI damnit, she was as hardboiled as any dame came! She could handle some pain.
“M’name’s Dame,” she answered, when she was finally to her feet and catching thin, painful breath, “but y’can call me Hilly.”
“Oop! Hey you shouldn’t do that!” Deuce protested, putting her knife and gun back into the deck, running around to the side Dame wasn’t favoring and gently put her arms around her, thought being ginger with her burned hand. “If your ribs break for real it’s gonna hurt a LOT worse you know. You can lean on me too.”
Dame…Dame why did that sound familiar? She squinted trying to remember. DIdn’t she meet a lady that called herself that online? Oh well.
“Okay HIlly. You can just call me Deuce. You really oughta go to the hospital. Do you want me to call you an ambulance or something?”
Oh, that was what they all did. The struggling, the scratching for their weapons, and it only made Snow clutch at the small woman more desperately. Had Deuce not moved, this would have gone so much more easily.
Too preoccupied by that delicious ichor flowing to her lips—oh, it was orgasmic, her fangs buried to the root and pressured by the pulse—Snowman did not register exactly what Deuce was looking for. She had no way of knowing Deuce kept anything of the sort, really. But Deuce was fighting against her, and Snowman did not like it.
Incapable of speech, the vampire gave a bestial growl, her hands moving down to pin Deuce’s arms by the elbows so she could not search her deck. It was a wonder her grip did not bruise her flesh. A purr was rumbling deep in her chest as she fed, such distasteful, tawdry pleasure derived from drinking from Deuce.
Pulling away, Snowman lapped at the wound, blood still trickling for the anticoagulants in her saliva. “Hush,” she simpered, voice deep and rolled in the purring, “hush. It will all be over soon.”
And she continued to drink.
Deuces fingers finally found a card that felt different from the others, metallic paint scraping off on her nails as her fingers scrambled through the cards, but Snowman clasped down on her, yanking her hand out of her deck, scattering a few cards on the balcony.
Distantly Deuce wondered if her magic burned blood tasted different from other Dersite blood, but she pushed that thought away, it was stupid and distracting.
For a moment, she thought Snowman was done and Deuce let herself relax, she was freaking out for nothing. “Snowy…” She started quietly, only to be cut off by her words. “Snowy!” Deuce protested, trying to pull back, but with no where to go, pinned between Snowmans body and the railing. “It hurts!” She whined, starting to feel a little sick. A little more and her fingertips started to feel cold. “Snow-…let go…I can’t..Briory you’re taking too much.”