Every bite you gave left a mark

Deirdre curled into a ball of yarn shoved against the window. Midnight's chill blissfully conducted itself from thin glass to her thin body. "Something isn't right. Something isn't right." Her guts longed warmth. Her mind beamed with the previously memorized image of that great blue eyed wolf. He had rescued her from the deceased culdesac. And she was unsure whether she loved or hated him for it. She could still feel his warm body pressing against hers. Lungs rasping, regardless of the cold; wild inhuman heart beating crinsom blood. She could feel the same fire-like blood pulsing through her own fingertips now. It burned every vein it traveled. She shuddered, touching his rough skin and matted hair. Her coneas flashed errotically with thought of his pained concerned eyes.
Then, like a needle to a helium balloon, he was gone, replaced once again by the window's frigid blank sheen. She fitted herself into a cramped fetal position; her fragile fingertips brisking their way over bare legs in attempt to wane the chill. She could feel several raised crescents in her skin.
His brand on her.
His love on her.
His carelessness on her.
His bitterness on her.
His hurt on her.
All on her.
Yes, of course he had saved her.
But he expected her life and ever present devotion in exchange.

I cheated.