The widow was not surprised to find out Remmick was a vampire that night. In her saccharine presence he couldn't help himself caught up in the highs of blood-frenzy his beast proceeded upon her flesh.

.....................

"Re... Stop..."

Remmick ceased drinking from her, his eyes fixed on her face. Her skin was paler now. Her lips tinged blue. He could feel her breaths coming in short, shallow pants. 

A muscle flexed in his jaw, his eyes darkening. He looked like a man caught between two equally powerful urges. His unnatural hunger and a want to stop, perhaps.

Then he heard her heart stop.

Remmick's entire body seemed to go rigid, his face hardening into the cold mask he usually wore. His eyes flickered red, anger and self-disgust flashing in their depths. 

He lowered her limp body to the ground, letting her rest gently against the brick wall. He straightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

For a long moment, he just stood there. His breath came in deep, harsh gasps, like he was trying not to shout. Or sob. 

Finally, he knelt beside her. Carefully, he touched a cool hand to her cheek.

The widow's skin was eerily still under his fingers. Unmoving. Cold. 

Remmick swallowed hard, shutting his eyes a moment. His jaw clenched. 

"I am sorry." He murmured, his voice barely audible. He lifted her into his arms again, cradling her limp body against his chest. He cradled her as if she were a child. Fragile. Precious. 

He leaned his head down, burying his face in her neck. His shoulders shook.

For a moment, he just held her there, the cool press of his breath against her skin. Then he drew back, his face composed again, the cool, unreadable mask back in place. 

He lifted a hand, gently pushing her hair off her brow. He traced his fingers over her closed eyes, her nose, her lips. Memorizing her.

Then her eyes opened.