Hathor pressed frantically against him, helpless with craving. When he massaged himself into her parted legs, she howled in beastly approval. His name came from her lips in a panted whisper. Suddenly, she gasped. His gaze met with hers. She stared up at him in confusion from the depths of her cloudless eyes. Her slender arms remained motionless, trapped above her. Her mouth worked, but didn’t say the things she meant to. Hathor’s eyes fluttered into blackness as she passed out.
Servaes groaned, his gaze glowing strangely in physical pain. His body lurched in denial. Slowly, he rolled from her, his heart racing wildly as he lay next to her on the stone. He refused to look at her, blacked out and oblivious to the passion she aroused so daringly within him. He knew that soon he wouldn’t be able to control it. He would take her. He would claim her body and find his release within her. He couldn’t stop it now even if he wanted to.
Shuddering, he sensed the rising of the sun. Weakly pushing himself on his hands and knees, he crawled to the coffin’s opened lid. Grabbing Hathor’s motionless body by the leg, he dragged her to across the marble floor to his side. Then, gathering her up, he dropped her artlessly within the coffin and went forth crawling to the basement, dragging his bed behind him.
* * * *
Again when Hathor awoke, Servaes was gone. She knew he went to hunt and tried not to think on it. He left the coffin’s lid open for her and a hall light on to shine thoughtfully into the dim basement bedroom. Her body was relaxed as she crawled out from his bed. She barely recognized the room he picked for them. It was close to the basement stairs, an old servant’s chamber with no window. A single bed was in the room along with a dresser. Servaes’ coffin lay atop the bed’s sturdy mattress.
Moving to close the top, Hathor frowned. Inside, the white satin was torn and had traces of blood. Vaguely, she recalled being trapped within the darkness, unable to see through her fading eyes, fighting to be free of an intense pain that sunk in her rotting flesh and turned her bones to dust. The pain had been terrible, all consuming. Blinking heavily to erase the memories, she pushed the coffin’s lid down and shut the bedroom door behind her as she left.
The basement was less lavish than the rooms upstairs. But its pristine halls were well kept. The hallway walls were done in a very serviceable caramel color, with matching tiled floor. Inside the comparable bedrooms were a variety of beds and dressers. Some of them had small windows peeking up from the basement, though most didn’t. The hall worked around a large central kitchen completely equipped to handle catering for large banquets.
She turned off the lights as she walked until her path was scarcely lighted by the moonlight coming in through the back door. Quietly, she wandered upstairs. Her stomach growled for food until she realized that she hadn’t eaten for over a day. Everything she felt seemed three times as intense. Taking a pastry from the counter, she ate it in slow bites. The rich food tasted bland and rolled in her mouth like a rock until she forced herself to swallow.
Dreams, seductive and wild, filled the day hours while she slept. She could only imagine that the erotic tendency of them was due to her altered state. Never before had dreams of one man left her aching with a need she couldn’t comprehend. Everything she felt was passionate. Her skin jumped alive at the barest brush of softness, her toes curled longingly into the thick carpet. Even her fingers stayed too long in her hair as she scratched her scalp. Servaes’ life flowed through her veins like a euphoric drug. Her breasts ached and tingled. Her stomach throbbed.
Leaving the house dark, she moved up the stairs intent on taking a shower. Her clothes smelled horrible, of musty earth and sweat. As she drew out of them, she frowned at the red stain covering her breasts and shoulder, where her bloody shirt adhered to her flesh. The linen was glued to her, and the shirt resisted when she tried to pull it off. Yanking the stiff material, she tore it from her skin.
She showered quickly, scrubbing roughly at her skin and hair, shaving her legs and armpits. Then, wrapped in a warm towel, she padded barefoot across the hall to her room. Shutting the door behind her, she looked around slowly. Her bedcovers were still rumpled from sleep. She had only been gone a few days, but so much had happened that she felt like a stranger standing in the middle of the plush carpet.
As she slid into a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, part of her wondered if the ones who wanted her dead would come for her. Servaes seemed convinced that they wouldn’t, but she wasn’t so sure. She had seen the death in Jirí’s eyes. He was not a vampire she would trust. Although, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was foolish in trusting Servaes as she did. She had seen the bloodlust in his gaze when he eyed her open wound. Besides, what chance was there for a human and vampire?
Taking a brush to her hair, she smoothed it away from her face to hang about her shoulders. She wasn’t tired, but she made her way to her bed anyway. Laying down on it, she spread her limbs, liking the feel of the soft coverlet beneath her and the wideness of the space. Then, seeing the balcony doors, she sat up and crossed over to open them.
The night was cool with the fragrance of fall. The wind blew around her in lonely wistfulness. Looking up into the beautiful night, she couldn’t stop herself from pondering what it would be like to never again see daylight. The idea left her cold and hollow. Quickly, she shut the balcony doors, not wanting anyone to see her -- alive or undead.
"I wondered where you had gone to." Servaes’ words were light as he watched her from the bed. Running his hand over the soft material as if he had been there for ages, he murmured wistfully, "I almost forgot what a bed felt like. Though this is much softer than the one I had so long ago."
Hathor eyed him nervously, "How did you get in here?"
"Surely, you must realize by now that we vampires can travel without being seen," he stated blandly. His hand motioned to her bedroom door that had been shut a moment before but now was cracked open.
She nodded. Weakly, she asked, "Where were you tonight?"
Servaes read the meaning in her eyes and didn’t like it. He saw that more of his blood had been filtered out of her. She was once again becoming more human and less placated in her curiosity.
"You know what I was about," he answered smoothly, his dark accent illuminated by his baleful meaning. "Or were you searching for details? Shall I take you out and show you?"
"Why are you getting angry at me? I didn’t force you to be whatever it is you are."
"I am a vampire," he interjected when she paused for breath. "And now that I have finished my lunch, it is time for you to come and get yours."
"I ate a pastry," she said weakly with a shrug.
His eyebrow raised slightly in amusement.
"I don’t want your blood," she denied feebly. It was a lie. She did want it, and it disgusted her that she could so lust for something so forbidden.
"You have no choice. I will not wait until you are to the point that you attack me as you did last night. I barely had enough strength to get us in the basement and safely put away in our bed." Standing, he strode across the carpet to her. Seeing her fear, he frowned. "Take it, before I decide to force it down your throat … how do you Americans put it? The hard way."
Wrinkling her brow defiantly, she opened her mouth and widened her eyes expectedly. Servaes chuckled. He watched her, never taking his penetrating gaze away from hers. Slowly, he lifted his arm to his mouth and bit into it. A trail of blood crossed over his pale jaw as he held the wound out to her.
Gulping, she slowly leaned forward. She remembered all too well the pain her withdrawal caused. It was a searing fire that tore through her to her bones. She could feel her skin pulling apart, deteriorating with years in only a moment. She recalled leaping out at him with a hunger so intense it shook her to the core. But that was all she could remember. After that she went blank. Eyeing the wound prudently, she asked, "Am I going to pass out again?"
Servaes tilted his head to the side, as if to say, who can tell.
Licking her lips, she watched
his face as she leaned over to him. Looking at his wound she tried to taste it and hesitated.
"Hurry," he commanded, hiding his smile, "before it closes."
Shooting him an angry glare, she put her mouth on his arm. The sweet flavor of him filled her instantly, forcing her to swallow or gag. But, as she tasted him, she found that she liked it. He felt so close to her, her body felt alive with the fire of him coursing throughout. She could hear the beating of his heart, humming inside her own. His scent whirled around her head. Her lashes fluttered dreamily, closing with rapture.
Servaes moaned at her gentle movements, not as greedy as before but like a deep caress against him. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back. Hoarsely, he whispered in a passionate murmur, "Stop."
Hathor drew her lips away in regret. The wound closed before her eyes. Glancing up to him, she saw his upturned face, the trail of his blood having moved over his neck to the base of his throat from where he had bitten himself. Pushing his arm aside, she went to him. Hathor licked the trail from his neck with her tongue. Servaes stiffened as she moved up him in soft kisses.
Leaning his head down as she passed over his chin, he didn’t move to hold her. His penetrating gaze watched her face. Her eyes were closed to him. The tender strokes of her mouth were a very unfamiliar sensation to his skin. Her mouth went to his lips, licking every drop from his warm flesh. Her tongue lapped inside his parted lips, stopping when they felt the barrier of his fangs. She pulled back from him with a confused jolt of surprise.
Backing away, she swallowed hard, "I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that."
Servaes frowned. His eyes bore into her as they glinted in silver, purple and green slivers. If he had been human his lungs would have panted uncontrollably for air. Finally, he nodded. "It is fine, Hathor. Think not on it."
Her limbs felt alive with energy. Her heart thudded out of control. She could still feel the press of his mouth against hers. Servaes sat down on the bed, weakened. He lowered his head.
"Are you all right?" she inquired.
"I will be."
She went to him. Gently pulling his arms, she laid him on her bed. Servaes glanced at her in astonishment. She smiled gently with tender concern. Whispering, she said, "Lie and build your strength."
Servaes did as she bid, moving gracefully back onto her pillow. She looked down at him questioningly.
"No," he said.
"What?" she questioned in surprise. "I said nothing."
He chuckled. "You were wondering if you could get me anything. The answer is no, not unless you have a willing sacrifice that I could feed on."
"Can’t you eat cows or chickens?" she inquired softly. "Does it have to be human blood? I might have some steak in the deep freeze. There should be some blood in that."
"Ugh," he wrinkled his face in disgust at the very thought. His pale hand moved to fall over his eyes. The long fingernails pointed up at the ceiling. "The blood must be fresh. I could eat live animals, and I have. But it would be like you trying to survive on nothing but bugs. Not very filling, not appetizing, and after awhile you would start to get malnourished and weak. Only with us, the pain is greater and we would never die from it."
Hathor stood quiet. She couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming over him. His body was well toned -- lean and hard. His movements were graceful and defined. He crossed his legs leisurely at the ankles. Her hands itched to grasp the side of his calf and explore up his inner thigh. Her breasts were heavy with the need to rub their naked tips to his bare chest. Her flesh longed for his flesh, her mouth for his mouth, her body for the force of his body. She wondered if he could even claim her as a man. His body was not like hers. Assuredly, it couldn’t ache for her the way she did for him. No, what he ached for was her blood -- her life’s liquid to fulfill his needs. He had no other uses for her body. The thought left her faint.
"How do you choose? Do you hurt them?" she asked softly, trying to understand him, his dark world. Her words were not accusing. She knew she should hate him and his kind for preying on mortals, but humans preyed on themselves for much less. At least he needed to kill for survival, whereas her kind did it often for sick pleasures.
"There are those of us that try to make it as pleasurable a death as possible," he admitted. "Choosing is not hard. Almost any will do so long as the blood is fresh. It is much like you deciding what you will have for your supper. Only we decide if we would dine on passion or fear or self-contempt. There are any wide varieties of emotions that flavor the blood. Then you have your modern medicines and drugs. They too flavor the blood. As does one’s heritage. Besides, not all humans need to live. Some of you aren’t very kind."
"But how do you know which ones?" she wondered aloud.
"My particular tribe is very good at reading thoughts and controlling actions. We can delve within the mind and learn what that person has done, what they are doing and thinking. I have heard it said that some of the older ones, older that I, can read far into person’s future -- to an extent. That is why you intrigue us so, that is why the others wanted to kill you. Your mind is closed."
"So you are our judge," she concluded, "like with Franklin?"
"One of them, I suppose." He lifted his hand from his eyes but didn’t look directly at her. The wondrous light still stirred in his gaze but was beginning to fade. He kept himself steady, as not to attack her and force her into his bed. Slowly he sat up, reaching a cooling hand to her cheek. Calmly, he murmured, "At first I had a hard time of it. I could remember what it was to be like you. But, as the years passed, I realized it is a food chain. It is our survival. If there is a reason for you to be here, than assuredly there is a reason for me."
"Can you turn back?" she inquired. Her eyes dipped under the long tips of her lashes. Her cheeks colored with a blush.
"No, there is no way," he answered in a soft tone. "My body is long dead."
"So you don’t miss it? You don’t miss being human?" Her gaze captivated him. He wondered at the sadness in her.
"There are things -- sunlight, warmth, waking next to someone warm and naked in my arms." His eyes dipped to her parted mouth, her breath even and low.
"But --" she hesitated. Her body stirred and pulsed with longing. His soft, melodic voice filled her head. She wanted to succumb to him, to his charming movements, the soothing tilt to his soft voice. Though, inside his eyes she saw a lingering hardness that not even he could hide.
Whispering, he leaned closer to her. His nose brushed alongside her nose, the side of his mouth murmured into hers, "Touching flesh with no desire to bite it."
Hathor turned her face away. Her fingers dug into the bed. Her throat became dry.
"And there is the loneliness, more unbearable than you could imagine. Whole worlds pass you by. Lifespans slip by within an instant." His voice was distinct and clear. His gaze never left her face. There was sorrow in his confession. "To me you will be dead in only a fraction of my life, and soon this moment will become a hazy dream until it fades altogether. And no matter how hard I cling to it, it will eventually fade."
"I am the next meal on your menu then?" she asked, unable to stop the thrill the idea caused. She could feel the energy of him swirling in her head. Her body shook, desperately wanting to be known by him. But her mind held back, frightened that he couldn’t feel as she did.
"No," he stated, pulling away. His gaze misted, as he murmured huskily, "I will not harm you. At least, I will try my best not to. But I do want you. I want to feel your body. I want to see your naked flesh. And yes, I do want to take your blood. I want to feel myself inside of you. I want to feel your blood within me. I want us to join."
"But, I thought vampires … you couldn’t have se -- do that sort of thing," Hathor stuttered. She leaned away from him, frighteningly aroused. She stood and moved from the bed. Her feet stumbled in her weakened haste. He followed her with the floating grace of a weightless feather.
"What? Sex?" he questioned in bluntly spoken amusement. "Why
ever would you think that?"
"Well, in books, movies," she defended delicately.
"Ah, oui," Servaes chuckled. He could smell her desire as she tried to suppress it. Her breasts heaved under her cotton shirt. He could see the lacy design of her undergarment outlining the shape of her breasts. She was not immune to his words of lust. "It is sometimes rare, but we can. In fact, it is more pleasurable for us in some ways."
"How?" she inquired before she could stop herself. She gulped, moving farther away as if she could escape him by running through the cracked bedroom door.
He glanced over her shoulder, knowing what she was doing. He continued to follow her around the bed. "We feel more. We taste and see more."
"Then you’ve done … do it often?" she probed. She glanced behind her. The doorknob was close. Her fingers trembled. His eyes dared her to try. She jolted for the door. It slammed shut before she could reach it. Her hands stopped in mid-action, never bothering to test the latch to see if it would open. Instead, she turned and ran into her dressing room to the other side of the vanity. He followed her easily, gliding towards her without effort.
"Not for years," he said continuing the conversation with poetic ease. The light of the hunt found his eyes.
"But Ginger said she saw you take a woman on stage," declared Hathor, running for the dressing room door hidden by the side of the vanity. She made it through before he could stop her. With a grin, he went after her, liking the chase.
Hathor made it to the staircase, skipping steps as she raced from him. Then, seeing him at the foot of the stairs, she halted to a stop halfway down, nearly tumbling forward as her feet slipped. She grabbed the rail to keep from falling and pulled herself back up. Servaes grinned up at her, a devilishly handsome effort. Unhurriedly, he stepped up, one leisured movement at a time. Hathor backed away, shaking her head in denial of his pursuit. It didn’t dissuade him.
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