Percival stood over Mayme, not entirely sure what to make of the situation anymore. Leeches were meant to be stronger than that, but she was half human. A fact he had not put much thought into before, but watching retch and collapse made it abundantly clear. She wasn’t as durable as others of her kind. He barely touched her! All that tainted blood in her veins and what for? To what benefit? 

 He knew he should just cave her head in while she was laying there unconscious— that his prior plan of getting her to lead him back to more of her leech kind was thwarted the moment she hit the ground. Without intervention who knew how long she would remain knocked out. She was a burden now, completely and utterly. He could not lower himself so much as to aid her. He knew that so deeply that he closed the distance between himself and her. The crunch of debris drowned out her shallow breathing, but for whatever reason it did not sound that way to him. He lifted his boot and pressed his heel against the back of her head, then his joints locked in place and his body refused to move one inch more.

Her breathing still rang in his ears. Her heartbeat echoed through his head. Her voice— her damned voice had etched itself into the inside of his skull.

Percy.

Percy.

Why did she insist on calling him Percy?

That wasn’t the only query he had about her. Why had she not shot him? Or let the beasts tear him to shreds? Hell— he had his back to her for most of their travels, at any point she could have just sunk her teeth into his neck and torn out a chunk. Why had she looked to him for protection? Why did she grab his cloak for comfort? Why, in the last fleeting wisp of consciousness, had she asked him to keep her safe?

He took his heel off her head. Though his lead feet made that feel difficult too, it still came easier than the alternative. He took a moment, half expecting the girl to pop back up, but she did not. She almost looked peaceful. He bent down beside her to gather her up in his arms. Her limbs were as raggedy and as free flowing as the billowing fabrics of her shawl and skirt. They seemed to tangle and grab at him, though it did not hinder him much. He tossed her roughly over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes and kept her steady there with a bloodied hand on her buttock. Something he would have no doubt enjoyed before barely crossed his mind.

Even as deadweight she felt light enough to easily float away. Such a tiny, frail thing. Had all her kin been that way? He tried to think back to the massacre of Sangmont, but the knights he faced all wore thick, heavy garbs with large shoulder pads and extravagant designs made up of gold and jewels. They didn’t strike him as dainty. They all had twisted sneering faces that bared teeth and spat insults ‘till their last breath, they were far more imposing while the girl that laid limply over his shoulder who seemed to do nothing but cower and whimper. They all wore their lineage proudly and would definitely not hesitate to pull the trigger on anyone different from them— both things May was not guilty of. She tried to hide and dismiss her vile bloodline. She backed down immediately when threatened. Why was she so different? Was she just one of the good ones?

He scoffed to himself at the idea. One of the good ones. Nonsense. Yet, that idea stuck out in the maelstrom of thoughts and questions that he found himself mired in. Manipulation did not once pop up as a serious answer in his head, to him her kin were little more than animals and animals were nothing if not sincere. That truly left one thing. She was one of the good ones. That must have been why he was so hesitant on doing away with her. That was the only explanation that allowed his pride to stay somewhat intact. That alone would not guarantee she remained spared, he could not just turn an abomination of Sangmont free, after all. However, he warily accepted that as the answer for his actions for the time being. If only for long enough to get out of the open and get somewhere a little safer to fully contemplate what being ‘one of the good ones’ would mean.

The streets were silent. The beasts had long vanished and prying eyes had left the hastily barricaded windows. Still, Percival could not seem to shake the feeling of being watched. Perhaps it was the moon watching him, as its luminous edge peered out from behind the obelisk in the distance. Perhaps it was the rest of the city’s buildings that surrounded him with dull flicks of candle light within their windows. Maybe it was even God— or maybe it was just Percival himself. It made his guts twist and skin itch, whatever it was. Regardless, it did not stop him. In fact, it probably made him whisk himself and the girl away down a secluded alley even quicker. As much as he tried to stalk away quietly, his heavy footfall reverberated through the streets in a sick melody with the girl's breath. He vanished down a side street and into a wall of black. With next to no light, the twisting and itching still gnawed away at him. He supposed that narrowed the answer to the question of what was watching him down to either God or himself. If he had an ounce of introspection, Percival would have known it was the latter.

He leaned Mayme up against a wall. Her head lolled to the side like a ragdoll’s and her arms limply dropped to the ground. Her lips parted just enough to see the pathetic excuses she had for fangs. Percival knelt in front of her and really, truly took her in. He hated what he saw. The same girl he had found sniffling and scared in the alley by his house. The same woman who reached to him for protection at every turn and sparked a flame within him with her beauty. The same monster he had beaten in the streets. He wished looking upon her would give him some sort of clarity— any clarity. But alas, she remained an anomaly. And so, the only thing there was to answer to was himself and the tattered remains of his pride. The question was the very one he had answered twice over, the very one he had to cease grappling with. What was he to do with her?

She was an animal. However, folks had weaknesses for animals. The loyal lap dog was once a vicious wolf, so who was to say she couldn’t be tamed too? Surely, he told himself, surely he could tame and make use of her. Domesticate her, even. Surely that could still be done righteously.

Surely…. 

He’d have to iron out the details, find a steady source of goat or pig blood, but that couldn’t be too difficult. After all, he wouldn’t be the first to keep a leech of his very own, and his reasons were far purer than those who did so before him.

The twisting and itching faded. Yes. He had finally found an answer to his question and accepted it wholly. An answer that silenced his shame and kept his battered pride intact. He was going to spare her and keep his promise to protect her, for she belonged to him now. It was his duty.

 He tugged his crunchy, stiff sleeve up and looked at his wounded arm. The slash was red and puffy with irritation, the skin around it appeared rusted with his dried smeared blood. The gash itself had clotted at some point, but all it took was pressing it with his thumb for the flimsy beginnings of a scab to give way. With gritted teeth he brought the bleeding cut to Mayme's lips and tilted her head back with his free hand. Blood dribbled down her chin. She sputtered and choked, but Percival wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to go about feeding her so he kept at it until the wound’s weeping ended once again. Then, he sat. He watched her eyelids as he waited for a twitch or flicker. She was only half leech, but a leech nonetheless. Monsters known for their durability and ability to bounce back with just a little blood in their stomachs. So, he watched. He waited. Never with concern, if anything his face read annoyed. Miffed that his kind, generous action wasn’t met with immediate gratitude. Minutes ticked steadily by until she scrunched her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

The world was still enveloped in a fog, Mayme’s eyes fluttered open to just see a murky, swirling darkness all around her. They drifted shut swiftly after, too heavy for her to keep up. She thought for just a moment that she was dead, but the dull throbbing sensation of pain that slowly crept back into her consciousness told her otherwise. She thought she heard a sound, though it was far too muffled to understand. It was as if her ears were under water as the dizzying currents danced around her. The first senses to truly return to her were her smell and taste; or perhaps they just worked in tandem so well she could not tell they were too lacking.

The sick, bitter taste of bile and stinging tinge of stomach acid that left a metallic aftertaste was most prominent on her tongue, but her nose could only smell iron. No, not just iron, it was blood. She thought it was her own, that made the most sense. She paid it no mind. She wanted to go back to sleep, but the muffled sounds grew louder. Words. The sound had been a voice. Booming, not in volume but in tone. It felt like a deep rumbling. Finally, in the slurry of nonsense she heard it:

“May–”

There were words around it, but she did not hear them. Her eyes fluttered open once again. This time she saw blobs in the mist. A featureless face framed by long dark hair, though she did not need features to know who she was looking at. A strange mix of relief and freight washed over her as her eyes flicked down to try and make out if he was clothed. As far as she could tell he was. She squirmed to try and feel if she was too, her skirt drifted lightly over her calf with her movement. She was thankful, but wasn't given a moment more of reprieve.

“Get up, May, you're fine!”

Finally her ears made sense of the man's barking. She clumsily forced her limbs to move, she slapped at the ground and wall to get her bearings. She made a push to rise to her feet with as much grace and steadiness as a toddler. Her whole body felt like jelly, in fact she was surprised it could hold her weight at all. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been, given her monstrous nature. It was simply something she had never had to test before. At the very least, this awful excursion had taught her something about herself. 

“Greedy thing, how about a thanks?” Percival hissed. He glared down at Mayme as she tried to shrink away from his judgment.

“Thank you,” Mayme barely managed to rasp out.

“For?”

“Not killing me…”

“And?”

And? Mayme looked at Percival, perplexed. She squinted to force her recovering eyesight to see him clearer. His visage pulsed with each heartbeat, but that did not stop the details from falling in place. His sleeve was scrunched up to reveal the gash. It looked irritated, had it always been that way? She pressed her lips into a thin line, they were wet. That stench of blood she had so easily dismissed before suddenly became overwhelming. That metallic aftertaste she assumed was from her last meal suddenly began to make a lot less sense given how she had not eaten since morning. No, it was from her last meal, but the last time she ate was not in the morning. She slowly brought the back of her hand to her mouth and wiped. In the dark it looked like black had been smeared across her hand, but she knew better. It wasn’t black, it was a deep crimson.

It was blood. His blood.

Her jaw went slack and her vision blurred completely again— only for a few moments. Her quivering hands clawed at her tight corset fabric. The relief she felt earlier vanished and freight overtook her. The very thought of his blood in her stomach almost made it turn. He was, in a sense, inside her. It was violating, but it undoubtedly helped her. Her fawning had worked flawlessly no matter how clumsily she had gone about it. He wasn't only sparing her, but actively caring for her. So why did she feel so disgusted? Had she not asked for this? Had she any right to be so upset over this?

“W…why?” The question tumbled uselessly from her bloody lips, she wasn’t even aware it left her mouth since her head was asking it over and over again ad nauseam.

Percival scoffed and yanked his sleeve down. His face was still twisted in complete annoyance, but the question did dust rose over his cheeks.

Accepting that she wasn’t getting that answer at that moment, she finally gave him the thanks he had asked for, “Thank you Percy, for the blood.”

“Right. Now, we need to get a move on.”

“Where?”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and began to walk away. “Don't fuss, girl.”

Still holding her stomach, Mayme did as she was told. Each step took every drop of willpower within her, but she managed to trail after him. Her eyes caught the glint of her gun that sat snuggly in his belt. She knew better than to try anything now, but it was nice to know Elisabeth was still so close. She lamented the fact she hadn’t let it protect her before. Truly, she should have shot Percival. But, then again, she didn’t think she’d have the heart for it. Not now, not after seeing just how devastating a gunshot could truly be. If she did, she had to remember to hit him centre mass. He’d be more likely to survive, but at least she wouldn’t have to witness another head explode.

“Percy…?” She rasped timidly.

“What?” He grumbled back.

“You're my first,” she said barely above a breath, knowing exactly how that first sentence sounded, “I’ve never had a human’s blood before.”

He glanced back at her, but she could not read his expression. She thought it wasn't as stern or hateful, though. That was enough. She swallowed back the building bile in her throat and grabbed at the tail end of his cloak. That simple action seemed to slow his pace to something she felt more manageable. At least she had some control.