Though he did not have his powers, he could practically hear her heart flutter at his touch, at the way that he moved. The coppery taste of his blood was sweet in his mouth, familiar, and deep down inside of himself he found himself wondering exactly what hers might taste like. It would be so easy to knick her fingertips now against his sharp fangs, just the slightest bit, apologize to her, and know for certain. But no, he could not do that to her, of all people, he could not do that to her. He loathed himself for even entertaining the thought as he silently cleaned her fingertips and then let them slip from his soft lips, watching the way that her pink tongue caressed her perfect lips, then pale white teeth sunk into them.
Soft blue eyes widened lightly with surprise as she spoke softly of having a boyfriend, but he held back the wince that came with added guilt for what he had done. What she must have thought of him. Boyfriends were, as he understood it, like a suitor of old, which meant that he was essentially doing this to a woman who had been promised to someone else. Thank the heavens that she was apologizing and stepping back the way that he had suspected that she might. But it was her words of apology for digging up something in his past that hit him where he did not expect it. If she only knew what things that she had brought up from his past, simply by being who she was.
When she took a step back his foot lifted ever so slightly as he prepared to take a step towards her and try to force a kiss upon her lips. It would put the final nail in the coffin. After all, only a scoundrel would make such a daring action to a woman who was trying to politely leave. It would just take a quick motion forward and she would never come within 20 feet of him again, and there would be no temptation, no friendship that could blossom into something more. There would be nothing and he could live here with the peace of mind that if he saw her, anywhere, he could politely excuse himself from the situation and have people understand. Hell, he might even look like a reformed man for doing such.
Dammit, just do it fast. Don't think about it, don't hesitate. It's like killing a vampire, if you hesitate like this, you're as good as dead. But she was stepping away, and he was letting her. His blue eyes stared quietly after her, but he didn't move, instead watched her as she walked backwards, his hands at his sides, gloves making a quiet popping sound as the leather stretched when he clenched his hands into fists, tighter with each step she took until they were shaking violently.
His fingers burned as he pushed gravelly dirt to finally cover the last of dirt over her grave. There was no shovel and so he had dug with his hands until they bled, and then kept digging as they had healed, causing the wound to reopen over and over again over the long hours that he worked on the grim task. The physical pain was a welcome syncopated beat to the dull hum of the anguish inside of him. Every time he had seen actors on stage in the throes of a similar situation, they had made motions of bawling, crying to the heavens, and yet here he was. And there was just.... nothing. He just felt... nothing inside, and he realized that he didn't want to rectify that at all.
As he closed his eyes he imagined her lifeless body there in the ground below him. Quietly, his blue eyes looked to the side of the mound, and he pondered for not the first time, digging a hole for himself. If Vampires were dead things, as a half-breed did that not make him half dead as well? And dead things belonged in the ground, not out walking amongst the living, pretending they were alive when they were really not. That was what he had been taught, that was the way that he had lived his life for... he couldn't remember how long anymore. If he was supposed to hunt vampires, then what happened when there was no more vampires left to hunt? Should he then just drop into the ground never to rise again?