Allura's skin had gone ashen in the flickering, reflected light of the old television. Keith had left the set on for background noise before he'd closed the door to the motel room behind him; it remained on the channel he'd set it on, replaying some ancient budget horror movie(more) from decades before he was born.
She lay silent in the bed, unmoving, still as death. Keith turned on the bedside lamp and flooded the room with fake yellow light - her skin tone looked no better illuminated, her cheeks sharply defined and eyes sunken behind their lids.
"Holy shit," Lance said, hovering just inside the door. "Is she dead?"
Keith sat carefully on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. Very tenderly he brushed some of her lank white hair from her face and realized he couldn't remember if she breathed, if she had a pulse. Vampires were dead - but then again they weren't.
"No," Keith said, and rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. "I don't think she is."
He blanched in pain when he bit his wrist open, and Lance made a noise of genuine alarm, moving away from the door and toward Keith. Keith held out his uninjured hand palm-up toward Lance to stop him, and tilted his wrist over Allura's face, as fresh blood ran down his torn flesh and dripped slowly onto her mouth.
Long seconds ticked by, before Allura's tongue darted out and cleaned the blood from her lips. Keith exhaled in relief when suddenly Allura lunged forward and latched onto his wrist, dragging his arm down to her face greedily.
"Hell," Lance yelped as Allura, with fangs extended, yanked Keith bodily onto the bed, rolling on top of him in a flurry of bedding. "Sleeping Beauty she ain't!"(less)