Page 20 of Blood as Sweet as Roses

Crimson

The water in the sink turns maroon as I wash the dirt and blood from my hands. There’s a crisp knock on my office door.

“Enter!” I shout.

I hear the sound of Sabina’s sharp, clicking heels on the hardwood floor.

“What is it?” she asks. “I was fang-deep in a wonderfully tasty bear shifter, so you’d better have a good reason to have asked for me…”

“Waylan is gone,” I tell her, rubbing a splinter out of my palm.

She’s silent, for a change.

Sabina was the only one who knew Waylan as long as I did. The only one old enough to have been around when he was created. I still remember that day. But it’s dangerous to think about it, to dwell on those memories, no matter how rare.

I turn off the faucet and dry my hands on a rose-embroidered, black hand towel, then I can’t put it off any longer. I turn to face her.

There’s the smallest line between her eyebrows, a tiny crease at the side of her mouth. “You did it?”

“I did,” I reply, crossing my arms over my bloodstained chest. “He attacked one of my breathers. Was going to drain her. I’d warned him, and it was the final straw.”

I don’t know if the words are for her benefit, or for mine.

“You buried the body?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She swallows. For a moment, she looks as exhausted as I feel. But she quickly composes herself. “That’s that, then. Is there anything else you need me for?”

“Yes,” I answer, gritting my teeth for what I need to do next.

Sabina’s face hardens, her lips pressing together tightly. But she waits for me to speak first.

“I will ask you this question once, Sabina,” I tell her, my voice as stony as the angel statues in the courtyard. “Are you absolutely loyal to me, and to me alone?”

I don’t need to flash the red in my eyes, or drop my fangs. If she didn’t know it before, then she knows now what I’ll do to cement my power. She can fall in line, or face the same fate as Waylan.

Her eyes fall to the ground. “Yes,” she says, a whispered hush.

“Try again,” I hiss.

“Yes, my king,” she answers.

“Good,” I reply, with bitter satisfaction. “You may go.”

She nods, and crosses to the door. But then she hesitates, and turns back toward me.

I open my mouth to bark an order at her. But then I catch the expression on her face, the rim of red at the crease of her eyes, the slight quiver of her lips. I’ve never seen her like that.

When she speaks, her voice is hollow and pained. “Roslyn, I…”

The sound is more than I can bear. I won’t listen to her false apologies, her meaningless pleas. What’s done is done. I snap back at her. “Leave, immediately.”

With vampiric speed, she slinks out of the room, closing the door with an abrupt slam.

I turn back around to the sink. There’s a streak of blood along its ridge. The last remnant of Waylan. His body will turn to dust now, decomposing finally, after over three hundred years.

I still remember that day.

I place my hands on the edge of the sink. And with a momentous roar, I rip it straight out of the wall, tearing the plumbing like it’s paper, and I throw it across my office.

It topples onto the couch, knocking it over, clanking loudly onto the wooden floor.

Looking up at myself in the mirror over the sink, I see there’s a streak of blood running down my cheek. I take the hand towel and rub it away, as though it was never there.

I’m about to call Leah to request a plumber, when there’s a soft knock on my office door. It’s so quiet, I almost disregard it.

“Enter,” I command.

The door opens slowly, and a shy head peeks in. It’s the new donor, the one I just rescued from Waylan. Her heart pounds sweetly in her chest, her blood smelling like the roses from the garden.

Not a comparison I want to think of right now.

“I didn’t call for you,” I say. Usually, this would be enough to send them running, but she enters my office boldly, closing the door behind her.

“I know you didn’t,” she says. “But I wanted to come see you.”

“You don’t come see me,” I retort, irritably. I’m in no mood to pander to her. “When I’m hungry, I summon you.”

But as soon as the words leave my lips, I know it’s a lie. Because she summoned me already tonight, even though she probably wasn’t aware of it. It’s been decades since I’ve been called like that, and even longer since I’ve heeded such a command.

She sees the mangled plumbing behind me, and then spots the disembodied sink, ass-up on the floor. “I wanted to check on you,” she clarifies. “I thought you might…need someone.”

She fidgets nervously with the hem of her white dress.

It’s a simple thing, plain and pure, but it looks absolutely sinful on her.

Does she know what she does to me, with the little heels she wears, the form-fitted dresses?

Does she know what she brings out in me, with the subtle tilt of her head, the dewy pout of her lip, the innocent way she gazes up at me with those round, brown eyes?

Perhaps I do need her. I need the distraction she can provide, the gravity of her pounding heartbeat, the nourishment of her rich, sweet blood.

“What’s your name?” I ask, surprising myself.

“Paige,” she answers.

I survey her, enjoying the way my gaze brings a pink hue to her cheeks and a floral aroma to the air. “And did you enjoy our time together the other night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And would you like to do it again?”

Her eyelashes flutter. “Yes, sir.”

My eyes trace her silhouette, and I can hear the wonderful hum of her timid heartbeat.

“Do you like this dress?” I ask her.

“Um, yes…do you not like it?”

“I mean, is it one of your favourites? Is it meaningful to you, somehow?”

She blinks, confused. “No, not really…”

“Good,” I reply. Then, in a flash, I’m before her.

Her heart skips a beat as I bend down and capture her mouth with mine, feeling her soft, warm lips.

She moans in surprise and delight, pressing herself up against me.

The heat of her body is grounding, the sound of the blood coursing through her veins invigorating.

I allow myself to escape into her, to enjoy the touch of her, but it only makes me hungrier, more impatient…

I move my hands over her, down her back, and then I hoist her up. She squeals, grabbing onto me with her legs and arms. I love how she squirms against me, how her breasts rub up against my chest.

I carry her swiftly to the desk, setting her back down so that I stand before her as she straddles me. Then I take the bosom of her dress in both hands and I rip it, cleanly in one motion, down the center.

She shrieks as she’s exposed, revealing a white, lace bra and matching panties. I’m glad she came to me in my office, so that I get to have the sight of her to myself. There will be time for others to watch, but tonight, she’s only for me.

I click my tongue. “I thought I said no panties.”

Her face reddens. “Did you? I just thought…you might like these ones…”

“You’re right,” I reply, reasonably. I drink her in with my gaze. “I wasn’t clear. And for the record, I do like them. But I’ll like you out of them even more.”

I lean over her, knocking everything off of my desk behind her.

“I’m sorry about your dress,” I hum, my fangs elongating as I think about everything I’m going to do to her. “And I’m sorry about your bra and panties, too.”

She gasps as I hook my fang into the clasp of her bra, slicing it off of her. Then I do the same with her lace underwear, ripping through the crotch like it’s tissue paper.

She’s a wonderful sight, laid out before me across the desk, her breasts bouncing freely, pebbled nipples standing erect. Her delicate mound is smooth and dripping wet, its lips slick and sensitive.

But the real treat is the longing in her eyes, the parting of her ruby-red lips.

I bend down over her again, kissing her assertively, making sure she feels the press of my sharp fangs against her tender mouth.

The flutter of her pulse tells me she does, but I want to hear her submission more directly.

“Who do you serve?” I ask her, tracing a line down her neck and across her chest.

She shivers. “You, my king.”

“And who makes you come?”

A glorious, red flush graces her cheeks. “You, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Her chest heaves a sigh at my words. I pull her easily into a glamour, swift and sweet, the way she likes it. I fix my gaze upon her breast, and she understands my intentions.

“Oh, yes,” she moans, wriggling her body to offer herself up to me. Her breasts quiver with anticipation, her rosy pink nipples tightening.

What did I do, to earn such a delicious feast, in such a tantalizing package? She’s like an angel, sent down to hell for me to corrupt…

And I’m going to enjoy every second of her descent.

I plunge my fangs into her breast, the juicy flesh parting as I sink deep inside of her. The blood floods my mouth immediately, and I lap it up greedily with my tongue, keeping my fangs inside of her so that I can savour the feeling of penetrating her this way.

Her blood tastes of roses, and ambrosia, and the rarest of rare wines. It’s sweet, like her beautiful face, her soft voice. It’s pure, like her gentle touch, the graceful batting of her eyelashes when she gazes up at me…

I reach down to find her, wet and waiting, smooth and tender. My fingers glide easily over her, playing with her like an instrument that was made for me. She moans and moves in tandem with my touch, oscillating against my hand.

I pull my fangs from her breast. Blood spills out and over, but I enjoy the carnal sight.

“You respond so well,” I say, her blood still fresh on my fangs. “I can’t wait for you to take my strap.”

The parting of her pink lips and her sharp but gentle inhale makes it clear she feels the same. I can feel her quiver against my hand.

Now it’s my turn to moan. “Oh, you’re perfect.”

Her eyes find mine, and a sweet smile dawns upon her face. She looks up at me, not with fear or terror, or even lust. There’s something else in her expression, something softer, deeper.

She came to find me, after what happened. Knowing I would be upset. Knowing I would be raw. She knew that, and she came to find me anyway. Why? Why would she put herself in my way like that?

There’s something about her. She may be sweet, and possess a submissive gentleness, but…there’s a boldness to her, too. One that I can’t help but respect.

And somehow, I knew it was her, immediately, when she summoned me earlier tonight. I’ve never experienced fury like I did when I saw Waylan attacking her.

I knew in that second that I would stake him for hurting her, no matter what it meant.

There’s a hitch in my throat.

As though something inside me has come undone.