A Bad Evening

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina smiles sweetly.

"We shall need a knife darling. Small, but sharp. I assume there is such a thing in the kitchen?" She pauses and looks down, admiring the way the pale blue of her dress contrasted so nicely with the white of the lace and pulled a face. Let's not ruin a perfectly serviceable frock now darling, she tells herself firmly. "And a wadded pad of the undyed calico, of a reasonable size please darling."

She seats herself gracefully on the chaise longue, smiling expectantly at him.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Swainswick was, for a moment, speechless at this unusual request; it seemed to him something of a non sequiteur. "At once, of course," he said, a thread of curiosity in his voice.

After a minute or two's bustle he returned with a sharp paring knife and the calico, as he'd been directed. These he proffered to her, one atop the other.

"What are we about?" he asked. The conversation had taken a novel turn - as was often the case with Miss Audley - and his interest was now quite piqued.

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina carefully sets the knife to one side and starts arranging the calico on her lap, smoothing and folding it until it meets her liking.

"You know darling, that vampires drink the blood of others, yes?" She smiles up at him briefly. "What would you say if I told you the blood of a vampire has... certain unique properties?"

She pats the calico one final time and picks the knife up, placing it tidily in the centre of the calico. "Quite simply, if you partake of my blood then you shall be bound to me and to me alone. No other could hold sway in your mind. Of course..." She shrugs silkily, "if you are not as devoted to me as you claim then the very thought will fill you with horror and you will not doubt balk at the thought."

She stares up at him, solemnly, awaiting his response.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Let the reader exercise discretion: the following dialogue dallies with blasphemy.

"My dear Miss Audley," the young man replied, dropping to one knee before her, "you surely have not forgotten what I said as we were under steam for England? To be bound together was my greatest desire. That has not changed. As your situation puts a marriage in the sight of God beyond us, why then, let it be by this means.

"Only -" at this point his hand closed lightly over the knife, "what does fill me with apprehension is the thought of a blade marring your perfect skin. We are neither of us strangers to the prick of a pin. Is but a taste required, or a deeper draught?"

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina pulls a wry face. "Given the current situation I've not the pins to waste on pricking myself with darling. No, the knife will do very well and it will not be that deep a cut." She continues, closing her hand gently over his on the knife. Moving it gently she slips her other wrist underneath it, ready to be cut.

"I heal with reasonable rapidity, so there is no need to fear a scar. But in order for it to work fully, you must pledge yourself then make the cut and drink. You must do so of your own free will and intent." She lets go of his hand and sits up a little straighter, perfectly composed and with a faint smile hoovering at the corner of her lips.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Swainswick nodded once, picking up the knife. He held its sharp point against the delicate skin of Miss Audley's wrist. The skin dented slightly under the pressure of the blade, but did not break.

They sat like that as the seconds stretched out between them. Swainswick licked his lips; the pressure of the blade eased slightly. His hand was trembling; he blinked a couple of times. His mouth felt suddenly very dry.

Looking up into her eyes, he seemed quite unmanned; dewy beads already caught in his long lashes.

"Oh, Miss Audley," he cried, "I cannot bear the thought of harming you!" He stared again at the knife in his traitorous fingers, forcing deep breaths into his lungs as he husbanded his courage.

[Valentina Audley]

She closes her free hand over his, giving him a gentle squeeze of encouragement. Her earlier ire is forgotten in the amusement of the game and she smiles angelically at him.

"Courage love" is all she murmurs. Jacob really was such a fun plaything. She's definitely not ready to share him just yet...

[Jacob Swainswick]

This was it, then.

He glanced back up at her, his jaw clenching, then back at the knife.

"With this knife," he began, but it seemed ridiculous even as he said it. He turned the blade again.

"I give you my heart, Miss Audley," he looked into her eyes, his own large and blue, "and my soul. Gladly, and until the day I die."

The blade lanced a little deeper than he had anticipated - and yet, it seemed to the young man that the wound he'd made was dry; for several heartbeats nothing happened, before Miss Audley's very vitality welled hot and red at the cut.

"Oh!" said he, letting the knife fall onto the calico, before he raised her arm delicately to his mouth. A thin rivulet was already running over his fingers. A drop fell, and a second, expanding into a little pair of pink flowers upon the cloth. With one final look for confirmation, he licked tentatively at the welling trickle before sealing his lips upon her wrist. She felt the pressure of his tongue, almost ticklish. Swainswick closed his eyes and - after another agonising pause - swallowed, thickly.

[Valentina Audley]

Thank goodness she'd remembered the calico. Heaven knows blood was one of the hardest stains to get out of clothing. Not to mention it was such a waste of good food...

She stares dispassionately down at his bowed head as he fed from her, counting the seconds in her head. When she feels him swallow she gently tugs her wrist away from him, raising it to her own mouth and licking her wrist clean, then placing her hands in her lap and smiling down at him.

"There now darling, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

[Jacob Swainswick]

Jacob ran his tongue over his teeth. He wasn't sure how he felt. Thrilled, to be certain, that their relationship had taken this strange next step.

Her blood had had an unusual flavour - truly, it was the sweetest thing he had tasted, more heady than the finest wine. The taste caused something deep inside him to resonate in response.

It was only then that he realised, with a hot blush, that he had been attempting to mimic the manner in which Miss Audley kissed him, in their most intimate and sanguine encounters. That his attempt had not elicited from her that reaction which she so easily brought forth in him when their roles were reversed, caused him an instantaneous pang of disappointment. It was a base, churlish thought: one that he immediately attempted to reject. Nonetheless, that tantalising carnal notion refused to be so easily put aside.

I'll have to try harder next time, he was shocked to find himself thinking.

"No, Miss Audley," he replied. "Although it pained me more to put a knife to you than it would have to open my own arm. Do you believe me now when I say that I am yours and yours alone?"

And he lifted her hand to kiss the back of her fingers.