Wednesday's Child - Marked by Tears

Jane blinked furiously and forced her eyes to focus. The pain was gone. That agony that had been tearing her apart was just gone. “What did you do?”
Her saint sagged against the wall as if he lacked even the strength to sit upright. Despite his size, he looked weak and helpless. How could she fear him? Why had she feared him, when he’d done nothing to hurt her? When he’d in fact saved her life, and then healed her at an obvious cost to his own welfare.
When he didn’t answer, didn’t even open his eyes she crept closer, fighting her fear of the unknown. Whatever he was, he couldn’t be bad. Reaching his side, she pushed back the black mop of unruly hair, revealing his scarred face in the dim light. “You can’t die. I don’t even know your name.”
Minutes passed, the only sounds the faint beat of distant music and the occasional rush of a passing car. She searched his face for some sign of the monster she’d seen in the alley, but there was no change. His hair concealed no horns. His cloak, just rough fabric and not some living, squirming entity like it had seemed to be earlier. Not monster, this . . . just another broken soul in a world full of forgotten people.
When his weight sagged to the side, she lowered him as gently as she could, resting his head in her lap. She petted his cheek, offering what little comfort she could.
She chewed her lower lip. If that thing found them they were as good as dead. She couldn’t go back to the shelter. The monster might look for her there. She couldn’t go home, either. She’d be alone there. The police? Maybe, but how would she get to them with that thing out there looking for her? Even if she did make her way to the nearest precinct, would they believe her? Probably not. She couldn’t call anyone for help, either. Her phone was in her jacket at the shelter, and even if she managed to find a pay phone, who would she call?
She studied the face of her saint. His mouth looked different. Something . . . no! Two tiny points. “Oh my God.” Fangs. Her saint had fangs.
Of course he had fangs. In the alley, he’d been like the other one.
He wasn’t human.
It had all been real. Everything. The creatures fighting in the alley. The biting. She felt her neck and found two bumps, scars, that hadn’t been there before. That thing had bitten her, fed on her blood.
Vampires.
Her nameless hero was a vampire.
And he was waking up.