Hellfire

Interval Sixteen

Lucius remained where he was, still erect, his teeth still full. His breath was heavy, his mind numb, his body still warm from her touch, her body enveloping, welcoming him.

Susan was awake.

She was alive.

The relief had bombarded him, twisting into vicious need as he saw her rise in his bed, free of clothes, her pale skin glistening in the dim light, and voice coaxing him when she called his name. All he could think of was having her; biting her; pleasuring her. He needed to taste and hear her to know and truly believe she was alive after weeks of holding her limp in his arms - her heart still and her body lifeless.

But she was alive. Her blood and sex still lingered on his tongue, her feminine scent filling his nose. His erection was painfully full as dissatisfaction ruled. His throat was wounded, but full of throbbing bliss.

Lucius reached for her. He needed her back. He wanted her in his bed and not leaving it until he was sated.

And then Lucius felt the fear. The twisting anxiety. The pit of confusion and storm of fear. It grounded him instantly. The man in him rose, shedding the instincts and vampire male drive, and breathed out heavily. He couldn't go to her. Not now. As frustrating as it was, as much as he wanted to hold her, she wouldn't accept his presence. She was too angry with him.

He shoved his hand through his hair, sweeping it back into place as he forced himself to stay put, then placed his palm over the bites Susan had left. Wet blood met him and a sensitivity there he hadn't had before - his fingers sending a jolt of hot electricity to grip his sex. His mind lingered on the pleasure she'd given him. He'd been bitten before during sex, had his fair share of vampire women, but nothing compared to her and those dainty teeth. Nothing.

He'd never felt this...calm before either.

Slowly, Lucius washed himself, and re-dressed. His mind lingered only softly around Susan, his body flexing to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and hold her, but knowing he's just cause greater distress. He had to leave her alone. He had to leave her to Alistair, Samantha, Ella and Miriam. He knew it was now time he had to face the great wrong he'd done to her now - her rage and betrayal.

A wrong he didn't regret and never would.

Lucius was slipping his buttons up his waistcoat as he strode into his office. He'd work. That would keep his mind pre-occupied and stop him from smothering her. Then, his fingers froze over the file he touched, his mind frantically replaying the moment Susan had woken, it dawned on him. He analysed his control. The calm in him. The sense of satisfaction in his teeth. The fact he let her go, alive and whole.

Lucius hadn't killed Susan. He hadn't tried to, nor wanted to, not like before. Before it had swallowed him up, this ravenous desire and sense of starvation that would swallow her whole. And, for the first time since Susan had fed him her blood a decade ago, that hankering, that constant fight against his addiction, was soothed. His teeth didn't hurt. His throat wasn't scraping painfully.

'Sir.'

Lucius didn't look up at Arnold - his mind was fixed on his revelation.

'What is it, Arnold?' He asked dismissively.

Arnold was silent for a moment, but Lucius could hear the heaviness in his breathing, his throat clearing ever so softly. 'She's awake.'

Now Lucius looked up. Arnold was staring, his expression torn between anger at Lucius and sheer relief.

'She's crying right now.' He smiled weakly. 'I didn't think she'd been capable since she was fifteen.'

Lucius' body stiffened. He knew that. He was fighting himself from scooping her against his chest and breathing calm into her mind. Susan never cried, she raged.