Vampiric Interdiction

[44] Syx's Son

Long, silvery locks fell down over the elna’s broad shoulder as he released it from the satiny tie that had held it at the back of his head and out of his face. It tickled the skin of his chest as it fell and lay flat again, dripping down like a liquid metal mixed with ivory. The ends of the strands collapsed over his now fully healed wrist and Villahr looked to it as if he thought there might be a mark —though he knew any trace would now be gone — inspecting the area carefully.  The flesh was pale, clean and unmarred a gained, free from the faintest of bruisings that sometimes managed to form with rough play, in this case from the pressure of Denaii’s fingers as he relieved blood from Villahr’s veins. 

He had let a vampire feed off him. “Why?” was something he found himself wondering a lot since, and the same response came to him. The tiny voice in the back of his head answered, “Because you wanted to,” and Villahr tried hard to ignore it. 

He shivered, not because he was cold, but it inspired him to pull his comforter up over his body so his legs were no longer visible and he flipped the switch on the temperature bar atop the cord attached, to cold.

Villahr had done it without ten thinking so Karolinna didn’t have to, there was no debating that, but the reason he had let Denaii feed for so long was much more than his curiousity to see how much bloodless he could withstand. Villahr felt a dizzying numbness wash over him for the briefest of moments and that’s mostly why he hadn’t made any more physical attempts to herd Denaii from the room, choosing to rely instead on rhetoric. Ignoring the fact that the room had been swaying a little and he had to use the door to keep himself from toppling over to one side after the vamp had finished, he had to admit, that afterwards, he felt — fantastic. Better than he had in months when he had last been able to properly let. This should have alarmed him but for some reason it didn’t.

Villahr glanced around the room in search for something sharp after reaching to his chest and finding he hadn’t clasped the chain holding his infradai back around. It must still be in the bathroom —where he put it to have a shower he told Karolinna was to wash away Denaii’s “vampire filth.” She had rolled her eyes almost automatically.

This was an action that once upon a time he found himself doing to her after one of her feeble and totally unbelievable excuses for why she was just stepping in half an hour before sunrise. She hadn’t believed him this morning when he used the vampire as his reason to excuse himself to the tiled cabin he now stood in, but what reason did she had not to? She was the queen of deceit, not him. At most he might say he was a jester, and if not that then he would surely be working in the culineria.

The blade he searched for was likely hanging from the rack by the sink over the fluffy white tile that always appeared to be there fresh and smelling of lemon. He was none too pleased with the scent, but it faded after the first day to a tolerable whiff so he didn’t feel the need to complain to the maids about it.

The veins beneath Villahr’s wrists seem to pulse faster under his watch, their bluish tinge making them standing out against his milky pallor more than usual. Without even being sure why he was doing it, the male brought his fingers over from his left hand, extending them until his flesh was dented by the protruding tip of a sharp nail. He pressed down until blood blotted.

The marks were small, but still bled a good amount, and Villahr pressed the pads of his index and middle fingers to the fluid, spreading out the silver fluid around them as the blood in the centre of each drop was displace by his digit. WIthout realizing he had punctured exactly where Denaii’s fangs had earlier been, as if an invisible map tattooed there drew him to the spot.

The fare male drew in a deep breath and relished in the scent of his mandarin shampoo as he trained his ears on the faelna a few rooms down the corridor.