An Evening Visit (Epilogue)

[Valentina Audley]

There! She exults inwardly. Outwardly she looks up again, smiling tremulously at him.

"If you are sure... You are so good to me darling..." More gentle encouragement in the form of flattery.

She shifts modestly, to allow him to sit next to her on the sofa.

"You should sit down darling, it will do neither of us any good should you faint as well" She laughs ruefully. "What ever must you think of me?"

She looks down again and then back at him. "This is so cliche darling, but, well, um, neck or wrist?" The aim here is to be shy and a little unsure. If he wants to play the role of Heroic Young Man Takes Charge, that's fine by her.

[Jacob Swainswick]

He looked at her; and she, at him.

Now that the moment had arrived - that the situation had progressed from the theoretic to the pragmatic - reality thrust itself upon Mr. Swainswick in a shocking rush. He was uncomfortably aware of how close they sat upon the sofa: the brush of her skirts against his leg; the delicate curl of her hair where a stray lock had escaped from its neat bun.

His gaze fell to her hands. He pictured her fingers deftly loosening his cravat.

Her lips parted slightly, revealing a hint of the whiteness of her teeth.

He imagined that lock of hair falling across his shoulder as she nestled her head against his.

The room seemed suddenly stifling; her eyes were deep, dark, girlishly uncertain beneath her lashes.

He looked again upon those lips, and imagined their chill touch upon his throat.

Swainswick swallowed, thickly, his mouth dry.

"The wrist, I think," he said, hurriedly, shrugging from his jacket and deftly removing a cufflink.


Amendment to add a note to the reader: the following few installments contain an explicit description of the predation of the vampiress upon a young man engaged to her service. Those of a delicate disposition are advised to elide the remainder of this chapter.

Post-post scriptum: he does not die.

Post-post-post scriptum: upon consultation with my collaborator, I am directed to add, '...yet'.

[Valentina Audley]

Actions speak louder than words. So Valentina dispenses with words entirely. She sees where he's looking and the rosy blush blooming in his cheeks. Another day and they'll explore that avenue, but tonight her aim is just to sate her hunger.

She gives him another shy, tremulous, uncertain smile and then takes the proffered wrist, carefully, gently rolling the sleeve up a little.

She runs a light finger over his wrist, finding and checking the pulse point and then raises his wrist to her mouth, hesitates just for a second, then bites swiftly, sinking her fangs in, in one smooth movement.

[Jacob Swainswick]

The young man tensed, inhaling sharply at the first instant of pain.

The initial experience was not at all what he'd anticipated. Indeed, and quite contrary to his expectation, he found it an almost pleasurable sensation; a tingling numbness beginning in his fingers as Miss Audley pressed her mouth over the wound.

Swainswick's eyes widened as he stared at her, hot colour flushing his face. As transfixed as he was by the sight, he did not let the situation master his decorum, instead forcing himself to look away. Almost pleasurable, he repeated to himself, stressing the qualifier.

His jaw was clenching as he fixed his viewpoint on the wallpaper. A seam by the door to the hall was not quite right; he directed his attention at the minor imperfection.

The tingling by now had extended its reach the entire length of his arm; it refused to easily cede the fight for his awareness to a question of interior decoration. He was uncomfortably aware of the goosebumping of his flesh under his shirt. He felt the press of Miss Audley's tongue against his wrist as she suckled there - he could barely bring himself to acknowledge the word, which reverberated at the base of his cranium; the feeling not a delicate touch of its pink tip, but rather the flat of it laving his punctured skin -

By purest force of will he focused once more on the wallpaper seam, that nagging imperfection. It became utterly important to him; he concentrated upon the task he'd have on the morrow, when he'd be able to more closely inspect the -

His companion shifted minutely against him, a feminine murmur escaping her throat that ruined his concentration. His legs were tingling now, too: toes, the soles of his feet, and oh, the inside of his thighs -

His free arm lifted, flapping like the broken wing of a bird. Balling his fist, he ground his teeth, admiring the wainscotting. It was of a slightly older style; perhaps he should suggest a small renovation -

Again his attention was summoned by the soft sucking sound at his wrist -

The gaslight flickered. It was unusual how it flickered. Unusual? No, not unusual at all. Perfectly ordinary. It was an odd thought to have, a throwaway word chosen carelessly. Lambent yellowishness. That was a better phrase; it summarised the light far more accurately -

Swainswick had lost track of how long it was since his tongue had stopped his throat; but now he was acutely aware of the need to draw breath. Perhaps that explained the ringing in his ears. He felt the sharp trace of her thumbnail against his palm as she turned his hand slightly; saw a thin rivulet of scarlet escaping from the corner of her perfect mouth -

"Stop!" he cried. "Oh! Stop! That is enough!"

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina had been dimly aware of his wriggling in the way that a cat notes the mouse in it's paws wriggling, but it wasn't until he spoke that she managed to wrench herself away from the sheer pleasure of feeding and properly pay attention to him.

She notes the blush has deepened and spread, that his legs are trembling as is his free hand. Tellingly he's also refusing to look her in the eye. Could it be possible that her new pet was in fact more of an innocent than might reasonably be expected? My what fun...

She pauses in her feed, lowering his arm, though keeping hold of it with one hand. With her other hand she strokes his cheek gently. "It's alright to enjoy it darling." She smiles at him. "It can be our little secret if you like, but now, you must hold still for just a few moments more."

Without giving him the chance to protest she resumes her feed.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Swainswick's head bowed, eyes clenched tight shut; his free hand grasping the back of the sofa tightly, as though he were a drowning sailor and the sofa some flotsam spar, clinging to it as though his life depended upon it.

"G-d!" he cried, and then with more alarm, "Oh G-d! Miss Audley!"

His whole form locked in rigor, the young tailor's legs tensed to half lift him from his now precarious perch. His eyes shot open, gaze blazing from under a furrowed brow, fixed upon the creature latched upon his wrist.

"Don't -" he barely squeaked the word out of a tightening throat, his plea delivered through clenched teeth: "- don't stop."

[Valentina Audley]

His wrist muffled her laughter, but it was audible as a joyous, happy sound. In that moment he's hers and feeding is pleasant but far, far pleasanter is the feeling of control.

She watches his face carefully, wanting to time the end of her feed just right.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Swainswick opened first one eye, then the second. The room felt odd to him: the ceiling presenting itself at right angles to its accustomed orientation.

He turned his head, groggily, squinting slightly as his eyes focused upon the label of Johnson's Sal Volatile that stood in the shadow of the sofa, next to the wooden foot-stool used for fittings.

He began a slow inventory of his senses. His mouth felt dry. His left knee was paining him slightly; he realised that that leg was folded under him awkwardly.

"Darli..." a voice echoed, as it were from miles away, "... alright?"

Jacob gazed up into the radiant face of an angel.

[Valentina Audley]

She may have misjudged that slightly. Still, he seemed to be having fun and she wanted him to associate being fed on as a good thing. She made a mental note to adjust his shop duties for the next few days, until he was recovered.

He didn't respond to her query merely gazing foolishly up at her. She shakes her head in amusement and unheeding of the blue silk wrinkling, she settles herself on the footstool next to the sofa so that their heads are level as he lays on the sofa.

"Jacob darling, how are you feeling?" She lets a note of concern be heard in her question as she brushes a strand of his hair back of his forehead.

[Jacob Swainswick]

"Quite -" He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Quite alright, Miss Audley."

Swainswick levered himself into a sitting position. He blinked, giddy. "Actually, a little light-headed," he admitted.