Everything hurts.
That's my first coherent thought as consciousness crawls back like a reluctant tide, bringing with it the full catalog of my injuries. My ribs ache with each breath, sharp little knives of pain that suggest bruising if not outright cracks. My left eye is swollen nearly shut, the flesh around it tight and throbbing. There's blood in my mouth, metallic and warm, from where someone's boot caught me in the jaw.
But I'm alive.
That's the second thought, carrying with it a surge of surprise so intense it's almost disappointing. By all rights, I should be dead in this alley, just another nameless casualty. The knife was coming down. I remember that much through the haze of pain and fear. I remember accepting it, the way you accept inevitability. The way you stop struggling against the undertow and let it drag you under.
Instead, darkness fell like a curtain across the narrow space, and something terrible descended from above.
I try to sit up and immediately regret it as fresh waves of agony roll through my battered torso. But I need to see, need to understand what happened here. The memories are fragmented, painted in broad strokes of terror and confusion, but certain images burn with perfect clarity.
Wings. Black wings spread wide against the narrow strip of sky visible between buildings.
Claws. Silver-bright in the dim light, needle-sharp.
Blood. So much blood.
And her.
She crouches in the shadows like something straight from the old stories my father used to tell, the ones about demons and monsters. Her skin is snow-white, so pale and translucent that her veins show, creating intricate purple patterns all over her body. She's dressed in rags, with black, bat-like wings folded against her back like a cloak.
She's feeding.
The realization hits me, and suddenly I'm fighting not to vomit as I watch her tear her fangs into the flesh of one of my attackers and suck. The boy who had the knife lies motionless in an expanding pool of his own blood while she drinks it as if she's dying of thirst.
Terror floods my system, every instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something other than lay here watching death take corporeal form. But my body won't cooperate. The beating has left me weak and dizzy, and there are two corpses between me and the mouth of the alley. Even if I could run, where would I go that something with wings couldn't follow?
She finishes feeding and wipes blood from her lips with the back of one pale hand, then she turns her horned head toward me, I catch the glint of fangs behind parted lips. There are more patterns around her eyes, darker, looking almost like shadows, giving her the appearance of someone perpetually exhausted from sorrow. Even through the pain and fear I can't help but notice she possesses an otherworldly, frightening kind of beauty.
I freeze. I think she noticed I'm awake. She didn't kill me, so she must have intended to eat me later. Another wave of terror washes over me. What do I do!?
Her eyes catch what little light filters down from above, glowing faintly in the darkness like a cat's. There's intelligence there, sharp and calculating, but also something else. Something that might be curiosity.
We stare at each other for a long moment, predator and prey caught in mutual evaluation. Her claws look more like human nails up close, just very sharp and she's surprisingly young, around my age. But there's a stillness about her that speaks to absolute confidence in her own capabilities. She doesn't need to posture or threaten because she knows exactly how dangerous she is.
"You're awake," she says, her voice carrying the roughness of someone unaccustomed to speech. I suppose this is because she is a monster, after all.
I manage to sit up. I want to answer, want to say something clever or brave or at least coherent. Instead, my throat feels like it's been scraped raw, and when I try to speak, only a strangled whisper emerges.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me with those inhuman eyes. Am I going to die now? Is she going to kill me?
Instead, she tells me about how she attacked Tommy and his gang and they ran.
My mind races, calculating odds and options with the desperate clarity that came to me thanks to shock and adrenaline. She could have killed me already if that was her intention and drunk my blood later. Could have fed on me while I was unconscious, defenseless and unaware. Instead, she fed on my attackers and left me untouched.
Maybe, just maybe, she'll spare me. I had nothing to lose. So I thank her for saving me.
Her expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind those inhuman eyes.
"Please," I continue, desperation making me bold, "please don't eat me. I know that's why you... why you killed them instead of letting them do it. But please, I'll do anything, I'll–"
"I won't eat you," she interrupts, her voice carrying a note of something that might be annoyance.
The simple statement stops my babbling mid-sentence. I stare at her, hardly daring to believe it.
"You won't?"
"No." She rises to her feet with fluid grace, wings shifting slightly against her back. "I told you already. I was hungry. They were convenient. You're not."
"Not convenient." I'm not really sure what she means by those words, but they fill me with relief so intense it makes me dizzy. She's not going to kill me. At least, not right now.
But that relief is quickly replaced by a different kind of desperation as I realize what happens next. She'll leave. I'll be alone again, back to facing the world with nothing but my own inadequate strength. And the boys who ran will be back. With friends. With adults. They'll make me pay for what happened here, for the blood that stains these walls. I'd be alone against however many they could gather.
But here, crouched in front of me, is something that made seven boys scatter like leaves in a hurricane. Something that commands fear in a way I never could, never will.
"Wait," I call out as she takes a step toward the mouth of the alley. "Wait, please. I need... I need your help."
She pauses, turning back to look at me with those purple eyes. "Help?"
"Those guys, they won't forget this. They'll come back with friends, with their older brothers, maybe even some adults. They'll want revenge. I need your protection, please." The words spill out in a rush of honesty born from sheer terror.
I know this is dangerous and just plain stupid. But she's also my best bet for staying alive. I have more of a chance of a monster helping me than Tommy not killing me on my own.
She studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
I'm betting my life on her. I know the odds are terrible, but it's the only hand I have to play.
"Please help me. I'll do anything in return."
The silence that follows feels endless.