Not a scratch is left on my skin, not even a scar, and I haven't found anyone with the balls to put more there, to bite down and tear until the blood trickles its way down my neck, my shoulder, my side. Nothing I've done since then compared to even Pazuzu's last teasing touch, where we'd both been too spent to go again, where even the thought of standing any longer was impossible and he'd still snagged my skin between his teeth, torn me open just enough to make exhausted aftershocks ripple through me and draw one last lazy moan from deep in my throat.

“This is all I can give you.” His parting words still echo inside my head, and even the memory of his voice wakes a tingling along my skin, gets my heart beating faster, makes me ache for more. Maybe his words were meant to be a warning, but I didn't expect him to stay and wrap himself around me and murmur sickly-sweet empty promises into my ear. We were  exquisite electricity, something chemical and visceral and ravenous, and what the hell more could I want than exactly that?

Well, and more of the same.

Mmm, I could certainly want that.

The last few days, a restless, aching, snarling itch has been building; not exactly the electric charge Pazuzu wakes in me, though I'd be willing to bet round two would scratch that itch for a while. No, this has me baring my teeth and pinning my ears at strangers for looking at me wrong or breathing too loudly, or in one case landing a solid kick to the chest of some guy whose only offense was to walk too close behind me. I almost feel bad for the guy for the utterly confused look on his face when I glanced over my shoulder and ogled him, admiring hard planes of muscle as an inviting smile warred with my angry expression. I still don't know if I would've fucked him or lashed out again if he'd taken me up on that half-invitation instead of running as fast as he could. Or both, probably both.

He couldn't have kept up anyhow, not if one little kick was enough to chase him away.

Still, I've spent enough time alone in my life and I need something to do. Or someone. So once again I'm stalking through the meadow, looking for something to shake up my day and scratch this new angry itch. My eyes linger over a few possible targets, admiring the arch of this guy's neck, the breadth of that guy's chest, the curve of her ass—wait, I know that ass. There's something familiar about the splash of white on brown, the way that patch hugs her hip; her tail flicks, and that silvered out hair just thinly veils her oh god that's my sister.

A wave of nausea rolls through me and I shudder, wondering if my body is going to defy biology and find a way to throw up the little I've eaten today. Well. That certainly doused any interest I have in getting laid today. Maybe I can just keep walking and she won't notice. It's not like my coloring will stand out against the backdrop of green, right? Blue and violet totally blend with – actually, there are at least a few others out today with similar garish coloring. So I hold to my briefly-interrupted course, dark brown eyes deliberately seeking out anyone else to stare at, even if the leer is a little hard to mean right now.