War [Mature References]

[Dacian]

This is War. The archers had done their job, their arrows felling the enemy before they even had a chance. We’d watched our first charge take on the French, our footmen felling the enemy that were left as if they were insects below our heels. And now here we were – the English cavalry – our orders to charge. Finally.

The thunder of horse’s hooves on the soft soil of the hill. Rain poured down in torrents, muting the sound of the battle ahead of us. The press of bodies, the excitement, the exaltation. This was what we were ready for, what we had been waiting for. All those days of travelling, all that suspense. There was no time to think, not time to wonder whether we would live or die. We devoted ourselves to our country, patriotic until the end.

I urged my steed onward, a young black stallion, my pride and joy. Specifically bred for this moment, this young stallion would carry me to victory, I knew it. As we neared the bottom of the hill, our horses skidded in the mud but they adapted quickly. One youth to the outside of the group went down, his animal’s frightened squeal almost lost in the deafening row around us.

The enemy were close. In the blink of an eye, we were surrounded by French footmen wielding swords and maces. The bowmen had been defeated already by our own footmen: we were safe but from the pathetic enemy battalion on foot. I trampled the first few, drawing my sword and cutting down more. Blood stained the ground, permeated the air. I smiled a feral grin.
I was a god here. Life and death weighed in my own hands. At the back of my mind, I screamed blasphemy. But I did not care now. I was King, I was God.

My sword took the life of another and another; my horse trampled their bodies into broken rag dolls, buried them in the quagmire. I yelled a battle cry, my fellow men joined. We were winning; we were breaking down what was left of their defences. They were trying to retreat but we took no mercy. We cut them down, harvested them like rotten crops.

My horse screamed. I had no time to see why before I met the sodden ground. My sword arm broke my fall, the bone shattered. I screamed, the sound lost in the roar of battle and the pouring rain. My prized stallion landed on my right leg, pinning me and breaking the bone there too. Panic took me; I lay paralyzed on the battlefield, panting my last breaths.

Time lapsed, sound faded, darkness came. The battle was gone, but I remained. Bodies littered the ground, blood that was not my own soaked through my amour. I’d lost my helmet in the fall; all I saw was a clear night’s sky, the stars blinking down at me. I did not know how I survived. The pain has dulled, I felt nothing now. I knew I was dying. I knew I would not see the morning when it came.

My horse was dead atop me; I had no leverage to free myself. Somebody has wielded an axe at his foreleg. The limb had crumpled, and my stallion had hit the ground nose first. His face was broken; he was suffocated by his own flesh.

I was helpless. A king slain. A god forgotten. One moment I had been a fierce warrior, fighting for king and country. Now I was just so much dead meat waiting for the scavengers.

Shadows danced around me, I followed them with my eyes, wondering which was the Reaper come to claim me. Would I go to Hell? Would my treasonous thoughts in the height of battle damn me for eternity? Oh please God I hoped not. I prayed, begged to be forgiven as I lay in my bloody death bed.

I saw Death then.

He was a nobleman. Tales drew him as a dark figure in a cowl and black robes. But I knew this was the Reaper. He took death in his stride; a dark fearsome aura was about him. I wanted to run, to scream; but I could not. I was stuck, my fate sealed.

He wore fashioned pantaloons made of patterned fabric. Perhaps green or red, I could not tell in the darkness. The same fabric was used for his tunic and he wore a simple hood against the rain. He didn’t seem to care for the mud, using the bodies as macabre stepping stones. He reached my horse, and he frowned down at me. I saw the glint of teeth under the hood and he crouched down on the ribs of my stallion.

“My my,” He said in perfect English, his voice soft and cultured, almost feminine. “A survivor.” He seemed to consider the mud for a while, then shrugged and stepped into it. I saw his shoes were well crafted, his feet were small. He crouched over me, sheltering my face from the rain. A curl of blonde hair fell from under the hood, its shape perfectly crafted and untouched by the rain. I did not like the conclusion I was coming to.

He leaned in close, soft full lips brushing my face. I met her eyes, my suspicion confirmed.

Death was a woman: how ironic.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

She had death in her eyes; I had no doubts she was here to take me away, to throw me to the depths of Hell.

“Speak, soldier. Tell me your name.” She held my face in her small hands, her eyes boring into mine. I had not noticed before that they were the most startling blue. I could not look away from them now; I was caught like a rabbit in a snare. She was beautiful, oh so beautiful. She was not Death, she was an angel.

I tried to smile, to reach out. My useless right arm screamed a complaint. I used my left, stroking her cheek, leaving a smear of bloodied mud there. She smiled at me, and I knew I was safe. She rested her palm over my heart, and I felt my pulse race. Her smile broadened, warmed, heated.

I used my left arm to bring her to me. Cupping the back of her neck with my only functional hand, I brought her face to mine. I kissed her; the pure ecstasy of her touch brought a sound from my throat.

The weight of my horse was lifted from my leg, and I gasped in renewed pain against her mouth. She pressed against me, her hands moving blindly, perfectly, to undo my armour. I was suddenly without it, only a silk shirt between me and the night air.

“Join me.” She said, voice breathless and needy. I nodded, and she moved her mouth to my neck. A new pain joined that of my arm and leg, a burning white hot pain at my neck. I could feel he darkness closing in. I tried to fight it. The blood loss overcame me.

The last thing I remembered was the taste of blood in my mouth, and then I died.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“No Foalan. I do not wish for your favour. You know this.” Death’s voice, sweet as an angel.

“Precious. I know you only say that to keep Bertoli happy.” A man’s voice, his English tainted with an accent. One I couldn’t place. I tried to open my eyes to see him, but I could not seem to.

“Foalan—“ I heard her gasp, my teeth clenched in sudden anger.

“Beth.” The foreigner again, his voice impatient. “I am I busy man. I have no time for your coyness. You are here for one thing only, whore. Now take my favour, or I shall see you are removed from this court for good.”

I heard her struggle, heard the man’s angered growl.

I raised my arms and felt a tug on my right wrist. I was bound, presumably blindfolded too. I reached for my boot with my free hand, finding it encrusted with dry mud. Groping for a knife hidden there, I was pleased to find it. I lifted both hands, cutting the blindfold.

My eyes streamed against the sudden light, but I got to my feet and orientated myself. The man was pinning my angel against the rough stone wall of the windowless room. Candlelight illuminated one half of his rugged face and I saw her frightened blue eyes through the water in my own.

My sword was leaning against the post of the bed I had been laid upon. I cut the bonds with the knife and grabbed the hilt of the sword. Gripping it firmly, it seemed lighter than usual. I paid little attention. Stumbling, my right leg stiff, I started toward them.

It seemed the foreigner had not noticed me, intent on forcing himself on my angel. Her blue eyes spotted me over his shoulder, and widened some more. I grabbed the man by the back of his tunic, pulling him away from her. Before he could voice a protest, my sword swung and cut clean through his neck.

His head hit the floor and rolled, his body following soon after with a dull thud. Panting, I growled at the slain pervert. How dare he touch my angel! Another wave of anger shot through me, and I stabbed the tip of my sword through his heart.

I heard a sound from behind me, and turned sharply. My angel was watching me with wide eyes, she was frightened. “Angel?” I said, my voice soft, barely a whisper. I reached out with one hand, cupped her cheek. She offered me a trembling smile then her attention was piqued by a sound outside the room.

I couldn’t hear anything, and then came voices outside the room. The wooden door opened, and two broad guards entered. Both carried a falchion in each hand. They took in the scene then glared at me. I readied my sword, gritting and baring my teeth.

I felt a hand on my shoulder: my angel keeping me back. She stepped around me, striding confidently to stand between me and the guards. I started to protest but another man entered the room.

He looked at the body on the floor first, then to my angel, and then to me. “Elizabeth, what is this mess?” His voice was also foreign like Foalan’s but I recognised his as German.

My angel curtsied, and I realised she was now wearing a dress, not her masculine garb. “Clauβ, it was not unprovoked—“ She said his name like ‘Claws’, confirming his German origin.

“Foalan is dead, Elizabeth. I want to know why.”

My angel – Elizabeth – bowed her head in apology. “Foalan was harassing me, master. My changeling, ah, dispatched him.”

The German’s icy blue eyes turned to me. I gripped my sword tighter. “This cannot be true. He is barely turned. He could not have done this. Foalan was one of my best fighters.” He snorted and I snarled. “He’s obviously deranged. Guards, kill him.”

The two guards advanced on me, pushing Elizabeth to the side. I reached to my boot, retrieving the second knife. I aimed for the first guard’s eye: the knife flew true and he fell.

The second roared with anger and rushed forward. I blocked the first swing of his left falchion, kicking the second out of his hand with a speed and accuracy that surprised me. He swung at me again and I parried it away, hurling my sword and bringing it down on his wrist. The bone shattered, and he dropped the blade. He wheeled back in surprise, and I kicked him in the abdomen and sent him stumbling back against the wall, his head hitting the stone. He grunted and slumped down to the floor.

The first guard was coming at me again, one eye bloody and blind. I did not question how he had survived the hit, instead stabbing my sword at his heart and watching in satisfaction as he fell to the ground.

I looked up to the German in the doorway. He held Elizabeth by the hand; I had not noticed my angel going to him. I started toward them. My angel spoke to me. “Stop.”

I stopped.

They left the room and I heard the door bolt from the outside. It took me a moment to get my wits back. Why had I not gone after her? I kicked the door once in frustration, noting there was no handle on the heavy oak door. Of course there was not: this was my prison.

For the first time since I awoke, I took in the prison. The walls and ceiling were rough stone, clean and cold. The floor was tiled with smooth flint flagstones, quality stone. Tapestries adorned the walls and a rug spanned the centre of the room. The bed I had been tied to was a grand four-poster monstrosity with draperies of lace and silk, patterned to match the other woven decorations.

A grand dressing table of French design – one similar to that of my mother’s – sat against the far wall, the reflection in the mirror’s giving multiple angles of the slaughtered bodies on the floor – their blood leaking slowly into puddles on the smooth stone floor.

Despite the lavish furnishings, this was nothing but a cell. No windows, only one door with no sign of a handle ever marring its surface. I suspected this was a basement room, the walls thick and buried under metres of soil.

I still held my sword, the handle a familiar shape in my hand. I gathered the scabbard from where I had discarded it on the floor and sat myself on the bed. I sought a clean cloth with which to clean the blood that was already congealing on the blade: I must have spent longer observing the room than I thought. I still wore the heavy wool leggings and my silk shirt, ruined by the mud of the battlefield. I strode to the dressing table, stepping over the second dead guard. I opened each drawer in turn, finding a clean handkerchief in the third compartment.

I started to stand, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My face was caked with dry mud, my skin pallid against the almost black grime. I tore the ruined silk shirt from my chest, using it to scrub away the muck from my face. My eyes – the same dark brooding brown as always glared back at me. My hair, tousled and messy was the same dark brown, almost black. It was brushing my shoulders, curling naturally in loose ringlets. I studied my features, high cheekbones, straight Roman nose, lips thin and set in a hard line. I’d been informed by my mother than I was not altogether unattractive, and the ladies in the area talked about me with praise. ‘Dark and handsome’, they said.

My eyes dropped to my neck, a pair of puncture wounds set in a rosette of bruises almost like a bite. I frowned, brow creasing. I suddenly looked to my right arm, holding it out in front of me and flexing it. There was a little stiffness in the forearm, but it was not broken! My leg had healed too, a little bit of bruising showed where the break must have happened and again, stiffness in the muscle but I was healed!

How long had I been here, bound to that bed? I thought I had died. No, I was sure I had died. I put my hand to my heart, and after a moment of panic I felt my pulse there, slow but present. My stomach gave a rumble, assuring me that he was present too, and deprived.

Clutching the handkerchief in my hand, I navigated over the bodies littering the cell’s floor and sat myself on the bed. The blood on my blade had dried, so I wet the handkerchief with my saliva and started to clean. I would have to polish the blade properly later, but removing the blood would do for now.

The handkerchief dried so I wet it again. The taste of blood stopped me. My stomach jolted, saliva gathering in my mouth. My jaw ached and I felt a growl rise in my throat. I tasted the handkerchief again, and the temptation to suck the blood from it was in the forefront of my mind.

My eyes drifted to the bodies on the ground. I found myself crouched over the nearest puddle of blood, about to lap at it like a cat with the finest cream. I jerked away, stumbling backwards, tripping over the beheaded body of Foalan. I snarled and the ache in my jaw built.

The door suddenly opened, a young man was pushed through and he fell to his knees. The door slammed shut behind him before he could retreat. He was trembling, whimpering words in a foreign language as he backed away from me. The fear in his eyes spiked another wave of hunger, and I felt a twin pain in my lower lip as my canine’s sharpened.

“Non, non! Laissez-moi dehors! Aide d'aide! Je suis désolé! LAISSEZ-MOI DEHORS!” The terrified French youth pressed back into the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible. I was in front of him in the blink of an eye and he cried out, tears streaming freely down his face.

I dropped to my knees, hand grabbing his neck and pulling him up. His throat, the pulse was so captivating. It mesmerised me. The offering continued to whimper, the acrid smell of urine filling my nostrils. I lifted my top lip, letting instinct guide me as I bit into his neck. The prey thrashed and struggled, making my new fangs slip and tear the skin of his neck. I tightened my grip, feeling his wind pipe crush under my thumb. His whimpers turned to gargles and the sound only encouraged me. I bit harder, the blood flowing down his neck, dripping down my chin and onto my bare chest.

This blood, this was the ambrosia cream. I lapped at it, the youth’s struggles ceasing as his heart slowed, a combination of suffocation and blood-loss. I knew when his mind fired its final thought, when the body I held died.

My hunger sated, I left the body on the ground with the rest and made my way in a blissful state to the bed. I curled up in the middle of it and slept.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Clauβ, no!” I woke to a weight on my chest. This time I was not blindfolded, but the rope bonds had been replaced with chains. I tugged at them; they were not yielding for another few centuries yet. I looked down, seeing my angel curled next to me, covering my heart with her chest. She was staring up at the German, her bright blue eyes fixed on his.

The German looked to me when I growled my protest, the guards surrounding the bed inching closer. They all held weapons, some swords but mostly wooden stakes. The German held his hand up, and the guards held their positions.

“He is a Savage, Beth. Capable of death and destruction only. He’s a danger to us all, I cannot allow him to live.” He said, voice soft.

“No! No Clauβ.” She pleaded. “Let me teach him – you saw him fight, he’ll make a perfect guard, maybe a Champion, the Royal Guard! Just give him a chance, please.” I saw her jaw set, felt her tremble. I wanted to protect her, but bound like this I could only watch the exchange, watch her fight for me.

The German turned his gaze on me again; I glared back into his steely grey eyes. “Beth—“He started, tone apologetic as if he was about to repeat his decree.

“I’ll do anything, Clauβ, please?” Her voice broke, and I struggled to be near her, touch and comfort her.

The German sighed. “Alright, one week. That is all.” He gave a sharp gesture with one hand and the guards backed away, flowing out of the single door after their master like the retreating tide.

My angel let out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto my chest. She wore the same gown as before, though her hair – always so perfect – fell in disarray. Strands tickled my chest, and she must have felt me squirm for she sat up and pushed back the rebellious tresses.

I watched her, and she smiled down at me. A warmth filled me, my angel’s smile filled me with it. I struggled against the bonds until she laid one dainty hand on my chest under which I stopped immediately.

“You have to stay tied for another few days – it is the Law concerning changelings. We cannot let you free until we can be sure you are not Savage.” She told me, her voice perfect, English with a hint of Welsh.

I tried to speak, but found my throat raw. I coughed a few times, and found my tongue. “You say ‘savage’ like a name, a curse.” I rasped. “They think I am Savage, I heard him.”

Beth nodded, “Do you remember why?”

I shook my head, opened my mouth to answer. A flash of memory. Rage and triumph, my opponent slain. Screaming, pleading, my teeth, the ambrosia. I shivered, realising I was still coated in their blood. “Angel.” I breathed, the revulsion I felt for myself threatening to expel the blood in my stomach.

“Shh, shh.” Her hands stroked my face, pushed back my hair. “It is all right, my soldier.” She rose, clambering over me and crossing the room to the dressing table. I watched her. The bodies were gone now, but the blood remained in viscous puddles on the floor. She collected a bowl and a clean cloth from the table then returned to my side.

She sat next to me, dipping the cloth in the bowl and I felt her wipe the blood on my chest away with the warm water. I could not watch, so I stared blindly up at the canopy of the bed as my angel bathed away my sins.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

She’s left me to sleep and when I awoke, I wished for a window to see the sun. I was clueless to how long I had even slept, or what time it was now. Where was my Elizabeth? Was she sleeping elsewhere, would she be along soon?

I pulled against the chains and looked down at myself. I still wore the woollen underlay leggings from the battle, stained dark with mud and blood. My shirt had been taken and if it had not been for her gentle cleaning of my face and chest, I would be ashamed to be seen in such a state before her.

The guards had gutted the room, leaving only the bed I was tied to. Apparently Savages didn’t even warrant the façade of comfort in their cells. That word, Savage. What did it mean? Who were my captors, and why did my angel grace them with her presence? Where was I? So many questions and no one to ask.

I lay there, the endless questions circling in my head, confusion mounting as the more I thought, the less everything made sense. I started to tug at the chains, mindlessly pulling again and again until my state of mind turned from confusion to anger. I thrashed and rebelled at the restraints, needed to get up so at least I could pace and vent my frustrations in some way rather than lying here stewing.

When I started shouting, it wasn’t long before the door opened and a guard came in carrying a limp body over his shoulder. He dumped it unceremoniously on the floor and left. I found myself staring at the body. It was a male, , dressed in rags. His hair was greying, and the week of stubble on his face was pure white. He looked malnourished, skin taught over bones in his arms and legs. He seemed to be sleeping, though the steadily darkening lump on his forehead suggested he had not done so intentionally.

I watched his breathing, surprised that I could hear it rasping in his chest. He was weak, too old for life. Nature was leaving him to her wilds, and they were closing in on him. I looked to his neck, fascinated by the pulse I could see nestled just under the jaw. I stared at it and after a while the sound of his heartbeat was a rhythm in my ears. My jaw began to ache, and I caught myself from drooling.

The strain of the chains at my wrists and ankles stopped me from becoming entranced by it, and I was able to think briefly. It was like that first boy they had sent in here. I’d been unable to stop myself from biting him, from drawing blood, sucking it out of him until he died under my grip. I’d killed him, and I’d enjoyed it. It was bloodlust. I felt the same in battle, the urge, the need to kill. It was that, but magnified. I had to kill that boy they’d given me, feel that delicious sensation of his skin breaking under my teeth, his warm blood surging into my mouth and down my throat. I relived it, feeling every frantic thump of that boy’s heart until there was no blood left to push.

I could hear this old man’s heartbeat now like war drums in my head. It was if the sound was calling to me.

The door to my cell opened with the scrape of wood on stone, and Beth stepped in. My own heart thudded in my chest, and my attention swung from the prone body on the floor to hers. She was magnificent, her voluptuous body contained in the bodice of her navy blue dress. The garment swept the floor, the sound of it as calming as the waves on the sea shore. Her hair was neatly curled again, and the dark blue of her dress made her eyes shine like cobalt stars.

She came to me, and my blood rushed south. I growled, but it was not a vicious sound. She sat beside me and I could rest my cheek on the curve of her waist. I placed it there until my loins calmed and I could think again. When I laid back, she touched my cheek with a feather-light brush of her finger tips. I smiled up at her, and she smiled back.

She held a key in her hand, and after a minute of watching me, she unleashed me from my bonds. I sat and stretched, standing to ease the stiffness in my legs. She stayed sitting, so I knelt in front of her, taking both her hands and looking up into her eyes for direction. “My angel, how can I serve you?” I asked, voice hushed in reverence.

She smiled, looking away from me as if flushed. I brushed my lips on her knuckles and she stood, leading me to the man on the ground. “I have much to teach you, we have only six more days before Claus passes judgement upon you.” I nodded once, though her words made little sense.

Reaching on dainty hand to the old man’s shoulder, she rolled him onto his back. “You fed on the first prey we gave you, so you know the basic procedure.” She looked up at me, eyes wide and earnest. “I must tell you many things, and you may reject them at first. But it is important that you believe what I tell you, and you accept it, because none of it can change back and if you refuse this knowledge, you will surely turn Savage.”

I nodded, “Yes, I will believe what ever it is that you tell to me. Every word you speak to me I will hear as truth.”

My angel smiled softly, stroking my cheek with those dainty little fingers. “You are my first Changeling. Tell me your name; I was rude to neglect to ask it before now.”

“No, I was rude not to introduce myself. Please accept my apology. My name is Dacian.”

“Dacian.” She breathed my name, and it sent shivers down my spine. “When I found you on the battlefield, you were dying. I asked you to join me and you agreed. I bit you, drank your blood until you barely had enough. Then I gave you my blood. You died, Dacian. You died on that battlefield. I took your body, and I brought it here. My blood repaired you; it brought you back from the dead.”

I stared, her words echoed in my mind. Back from the dead? “So, I am alive again?”

She tucked a curl back behind her ear. “Somewhat. You are one of our kind now. Nosferatu.”

I swallowed, my jaw slack. “Vampire?”

She nodded, and I looked down at the body. “I am damned, Satan’s child.”

My angle took my hand, lifting my chin with her other. “No. We are not devil spawn. Am I Lucifer? You are my child now. We are all children of the Night.”

“No angel, I did not mean—My angel. You are my angel. You are God’s creation, his perfect model.” I cupped her cheek in my hand, running my thumb over her perfectly crafted cheek bone. Her skin warmed just a little under my touch but still she did not blush. Her eyes cast downward though as if she were, so I reached over the body and placed a kiss on her forehead.

A smile lighting her eyes from within, she looked at me with an expression I could not discern before she cleared her throat. “You must drink blood to survive. You can drink water, wine and other liquids but they will give you no strength. You will be unable to eat solid foods, your stomach will reject them. Blood is your only sustenance, human, vampire or otherwise.” I nodded, letting her know I had assimilated these facts.

She propped up the old man, dragging him with surprising ease. I recalled that my horse had been lifted from me. Had it been her? “How strong are you?” I asked ashamed at my bluntness.

She only smiled, “All of our kind inherits great physical strength. You will feel it grow over time.” She had propped the man up, sitting him in front of her so his neck was level with her mouth. “To simply bite the throat makes feeding difficult or unpredictable. There’s a technique. Come behind me, look over my shoulder.”
I stood, obediently moving to her back and kneeling behind her. Her curls were so elegantly arranged, I could not help but stroke them as I leaned in closer. My breath was chilled against the side of her face and I took a moment to collect my thoughts after the sight of the curve of her neck scattered them. Oh God, she was beautiful.

I heard her breath catch, and I rested my hand on her shoulder, the feel of her calming me until I could stay so close without wanting to kiss her all over.

She shifted the old man’s weight and he moaned. “Its easier to demonstrate on unconscious prey. Ordinarily, we do not kill when we eat but Changelings often cannot stop themselves once they start feeding. We use expendable victims for these times. Do not worry, they deserve this death. They are all criminals, wife beaters, gamblers, thieves and rebels.”

I nodded, then spoke when I realised she would not see the movement. “Yes.”

“Your teeth will grow at will, or when you must feed before you learn to control them. You need to pierce the throat where the blood runs close to the surface, but do not bite too deep or the blood will come too fast to drink.” She tilted her head and I watched in rapt attention. “Like this.” She whispered.

The elderly man made a whimper of pain as her teeth sunk into his neck. That soft sound of skin breaking under her teeth started my heart with a jolt. I found myself nuzzling her hair as she drunk, drawing myself as close to her as possible. My jaws were aching, and I felt my canines lengthen while the sound of her swallowing brought my breath quicker. She stopped drinking, but the man’s pulse was still beating albeit erratically. “Your turn.” She said, voice deep with something. Her eyes were dilated as she turned, moving away from me to prop the man in front of me where she had been. His skin was soft and wrinkled, ugly. I wanted to sink my fangs into her neck, feel her body against mine.

I growled and sunk my teeth into the man’s throat, drawing on his blood to dampen the need for her blood. My first few bites did not bring much blood until I fit my teeth over the marks of hers. Her canines were closer together, so my teeth broke the skin again and as I sucked to bring his blood into my mouth, I could feel blood coming through her bites as well.

I drunk until he was dry, yet I still did not feel sated. I bit down harder on the dead man’s throat, trying to eek out more of the life-giving liquid. I felt small hands on my shoulders, and I pulled away from the corpse reluctantly. “You’re still hungry. The first few weeks you will need a lot of blood as the Change completes itself. She stepped over the body and led me to the bed. I shied a little as she picked up the manacles. I did not want to restrained again! Instead, she shifted them off the bed so they hung to the floor.

She sat on the bed, curling her legs up underneath her. “Join me.” She said, gesturing for me to sit on the bed with her.
I complied, crawling close and resting my head on her thigh as if I were a tired child. She stroked my hair, and I nuzzled into her lap. Her heart gave a push, and I heard the blood rush through the artery inside her thigh. My freshly fed heard responded, pushing my blood through my veins and to my groin.

I heard her lips part over her teeth and when I looked up at her, she was smiling. “Claus would leave me to the sun if I allowed you to drink from my leg, or my neck, but I can offer you my wrist if I can trust you to stop when I instruct you.”

I nodded fervently, climbing up on my arms until I was face to face with her. “You can trust me, Elizabeth, my angel.”

“Call me Beth, Dacian.” She said quietly, lifting her arm. I turned my body, sitting to her left and taking her pre-offered right forearm in both hands. I kissed the pulse, resisting the bite while I revelled in the delicious feeling of her skin against my lips. She gave a soft sigh, and I bit into her wrist, careful to bite down slowly, sink my fangs around the sinew and into the minor blood vessels. She uttered a surprised moan and I could barely resist pushing her down onto the bed and covering her with my ready body.

Her blood was rich, like exotic food that melted in my mouth and slipped slowly down my throat. It was dark and rich, coming sluggishly as I fed. It sent my heart racing faster than it ever had in life, and my breathing was ragged when I pulled myself away before I lost myself.

She was sat loosely, her head thrown back and eyes closed. Her chest heaved, bosom straining against the corset. Oh God how I wanted to bury my face between those breasts. To rip of that corset, hike up her skirts and—

All manner of profane thoughts raced through my head, encouraged by those azure irises reduced to thin rings by her fully dilated pupils when she opened her eyes to look at me. I gripped the sheets of the bed in my hands, shuddering to control myself.

“No bite ever made me feel like that before.” She said breathily, the words broken with deep breaths. She rested a hand on my shoulder and instead of calming me as her touch usually did; it only inflamed my desire which left little to the imagination under the front of my loose leggings. I grunted and fell away from her, rolling from the bed and stalking to the far corner.

“I apologise, my manner was most rude. You undo me, Beth.” My words were calm, but their delivery was coarse. “Please, I can not lay eyes on you now, your presence… it strips me of all sanity!”

I heard her clamber from the bed. I looked up as she hesitated at the door. “They will want to restrain you again once I leave. Do not struggle, you would only make it harder for them to accept you.”

I nodded solemnly and walked stiffly over to the bed. No sooner had Beth closed the door and I had positioned myself on the bed ready for the manacles did three guards enter the room, one aiming a crossbow while the other two clamped the bonds back around my wrists and ankles. They left without a word, leaving me alone with thoughts of Elizabeth.