[cw: Biting, blood, vampires, violence, trauma, implied assumption of metaphorical assault, hurt/comfort]

Sword caused sizzling wounds in the baobhan sith’s side like cold iron, and it stepped away with a hiss. Milija put a knife in it’s back, and when he pulled it away there was a spurt of too-bright fey blood. One of the sylvan constructs grabbed the rogue and pulled him away from it’s master, throwing it into a tree.

The killer struck hard at Izalith with it’s claws. She blocked with her prosthetic, but the blow was so strong that it broke something in the casing and threw her off balance. The red headed man grabbed Izalith and held her with it’s claws at her throat. He reached down to pull at her arm, tearing it out of the housing.

Milija slashed the animated bundle of vines, splashing viscous green sap all over himself, then turned to deal with the false vampire. “Izzy!”

“Ah-ah,” it said, swaying with Izalith in its harms, a single sharp talon pressing into her jugular. The creature strokes Izalith's face, scratching along her freckle scales. “You don’t want these pretty shiny cheeks to get hurt, do you?”

Milija stopped in his tracks, gripping the daggers and trying to think of an opening. “Let her go and I might not slit you from crotch to chin.”

“Mija, don’t wo—” Izalith started, before the nail at her throat dug hard enough to draw blood.

The baobhan sith sniffed at her hair, drawing in a deep breath. Like someone smelling a good meal. “You should worry, actually.”

With that, it sunk it’s fangs into Izalith’s neck. She’d felt that same feeling maybe a dozen or so times by now, but this time it was different. This time there wasn’t the sense of pleasure. It didn’t feel good, it wasn’t arousing like with Mija. She didn't feel close to the false vampire. She whimpered. It wasn’t like her. She kept her grip on Sword, but it dipped down. The monster drank her blood and it felt wrong. It was taking a gift she was saving for someone else. As her vision became a tunnel, she turned her blood to venom. The false vampire drank it up, and it burned going down.

“You stupid viper slu—” It didn’t get to finish the slander. Milija rushed forward and put a dagger in its throat. Blood gushed all over him, and Izalith stumbled.

<You got it,> Sword reassured her, before slipping from her hand.

She didn’t see what happened next. Her eyes closed. The forest loam was soft as she fell into it. Distantly she heard Mija calling for her. He sounded so far away.

That was almost two weeks ago.

Izalith was shaky those first days. She was woozy from the blood loss, and she took her prosthetic off and kept it in her bag so that it wouldn’t break any further. Sword didn’t like her being one handed, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it. It wanted her to do training exercises, and she did a few, but nearly passed out.

“That stupid sword of yours doesn’t know what it’s like to have blood loss,” Milija had said with a suck of his teeth. He was hovering, and kept rubbernecking around the forest whenever they were stopped. Which they needed to do more often, with Izalith drained. Milija started to carry Sword.

<This feels unnecessary. You can carry me just fine,> it protested. When Izalith relayed it’s complaints, Milija insisted that she wasn’t going to fight. Not that it came to that.

By the end of the first week, that wasn’t a problem, and Izalith was recovered. But still, every night when they lay down for camp, Milija would go out to hunt his own dinner. He seemed distant. Even aside from babying Izalith, he only gave curt answers with as few words as possible whenever she talked. He never held her at night, and if he slept at all she didn’t see it.

After what felt like a dozen days, Izalith confronted him about it.

“You can feed on me tonight,” she said, tugging her tunic to show off her neck. “I’m fine. Fully healed.”