She retraced her steps from the day before to the small grove where she’d found the fawn. She sniffed harder at the air. There were no fawns nearby, but there was larger prey. For a moment she was afraid. She’d never killed anything so large. But the hunger was driving her.
A doe came into sight.
She dropped to a crouch, and her talons came out. She circled it, getting upwind of it and staying as silent as possible. Her fangs slipped down into her mouth, ready to bite and rend.
“More blood,” she whispered so quietly that not even the deer’s sensitive ears could hear her.
It wasn’t a young deer or a small one. It was a fully grown doe, as large as she, with long legs ending in powerful hooves that could break bones if they hit and powerful teeth that could tear her flesh apart.
Ruxandra didn’t care.
She crept closer to the beast, hoping it wouldn’t see or smell her. A deer’s first instinct was always to run, and Ruxandra didn’t want to chase it down. She wanted to catch it fast, drink it down and go back to the stream. She would wash herself off and get dressed and see him again, and it would be fine, because she wasn’t going to be hungry at all.
A twig cracked beneath one of her feet.
The deer took off like a bolt shot from a crossbow. Ruxandra snarled and leapt after it. It dodged in and out of the trees, raced across any open ground it found, and slipped through the bracken and underbrush like it wasn’t there. Ruxandra raced after, bouncing off the trees and tearing her flesh on the underbrush. The deer broke into a clearing and took off at a mad sprint, racing faster than Ruxandra imagined possible.
It wasn’t fast enough.
Ruxandra caught up to it halfway across the clearing and leapt, trying to sink her claws into the doe’s back. It whirled at the last second, and she went over. She landed on her feet, skidded and leapt again. This time, the doe was ready, up on its hind legs. It smashed out with hooves, hitting Ruxandra in the face and sending her backward. She hit the ground hard, landing on her back. The deer took the moment to turn and run, but Ruxandra was already up and springing once more. This time she got a claw into the beast and dug deep into its flesh. It let out a scream of pain and whirled again, hooves flashing.
Ruxandra dodged and leapt a third time. Her claws dug into the doe’s chest, and she shoved her mouth forward, latching onto its neck. Her teeth ripped in deep, and the deer’s big vein exploded with a gush of blood. As much spurted out onto Ruxandra and the ground around her as got into her mouth. The deer kept struggling, throwing itself forward and back and trying to drag Ruxandra against the ground to get her off. She kept clinging, kept drinking.
The doe’s motions grew more and more feeble until it could do no more than lie there gasping. Ruxandra kept drinking, even though her stomach swelled from all the blood. When the last of the deer’s life faded away, she let it go and stood.
She had never felt so full before.
She staggered her first few steps then righted herself. “I’m not hungry anymore. I won’t be hungry tonight. At all.”
She stumbled into the forest, picking up her pace as she ran. The deer blood turned sticky and hard as it dried. “I’ll need to stop at the den and get the soap.”
She looked at the sky. It had grown darker and not just from the setting sun. The clouds grew thick and heavy and in the distance, rumbling thunder. “I better not be so late that I miss him. Not tonight.”
She picked up her speed, moving faster than the growing wind. She got back to her den, retrieved the towel and the soap and then went to her deep spot in the stream. Getting the blood off seemed to take forever, and getting dry took even longer.
It was dark by the time she reached the pond. She was clean and smelled of lavender. Her hair was still wet from the bath but was untangled and free. She had on the dress and chemise and regretted not bringing the cloak. Water spat from the sky, large drops smacking hard against the leaves. The wind grew more ferocious with every second.
Neculai stood by the pond, holding a lantern and turning in circles, looking. The water of the pond rippled and shook, a miniature ocean, rolling in the oncoming storm. As soon as she saw him, she ran straight to him. “Neculai! You shouldn’t be out here!”
“Neither should you!” He yelled to be heard above the roaring of the wind. “It’s going to be a bad one.”
“My place is shielded enough.”
“So is mine.” He grinned. “But I didn’t want to be there without knowing you were safe.”
“Well, I am.”
“And so am I.” He looked up. “And we are about to get very, very wet.”
As if his words were their cue, the clouds opened up and dumped their burden of rain. Neculai grabbed her hand. “Come! Quickly!”
Ruxandra let herself be pulled through the whipping branches and down the path. The rain sloped sideways with the wind, denying them the cover of the leaves and plastering their clothes to their skin. The lantern went out before they were halfway down the path. Neculai kept running, his feet swift and sure on the path until they broke free of the dark forest to the clearing around his hut. He didn’t let go of her hand until he had pushed the door open and pulled her inside, out of the rain.
He slammed the door shut against the wind and turned the bolt.
“Wait a moment.” He reached onto a small shelf holding a tinderbox and a flint. “I’ll get the fire started.”
Of course, he cannot see. “Get dry first. Otherwise, you won’t be able to light it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”
Steel sparked against flint three times, then four, and on the fifth caught. He blew on the tinder and lowered it into the fire pit. The kindling was already stacked, as neatly as it had been by the pond. Ruxandra watched him squat beside the pit and get the fire going without dripping water on it. It was very impressive given how small a space they were in.
When the kindling was crackling and the fire was licking at the bigger logs, he stood and looked at her. Then he laughed. He covered his mouth but couldn’t stop. “Oh my, you are soaked.”
Ruxandra looked down. Her dress was plastered to her body and was dripping enough to leave puddles on the floor. He was no better, his clothes soaked and stuck to his skin, his hair matted down over his forehead and sending trickles of water down his face.
She laughed too. “So are you.”
“We can’t stay like this,” he said. “We’ll catch our deaths.”
The butterflies flew back into Ruxandra’s stomach with a vengeance. “Then . . . what do you suggest?”
He blushed and cast his eyes around the room. “Right. I have two blankets and my spare cloak. You get the cloak, I’ll use one of the blankets, and we’ll use the other one as a towel. I promise to keep my back turned until you’re changed.”
She wanted to say he didn’t need to turn around, that he could help her undress, but it was too forward. She nodded instead. “Thank you.”
He thrust the cloak at her and reached past her to get the blanket. As she took the cloak, her hand brushed his, making her stomach flutter all the harder. He smiled at her—a quick, nervous grin—and stepped to the other side of the fire pit. He put the blanket on the table and began peeling off his shirt. The wet fabric clung to him at first, then gave way. Ruxandra watched as the shirt slid up, revealing the strong, thick muscles of his back.
She desperately wanted to undress.
The fastenings on the dress were hard to get undone, and the sleeves stuck to her body. She was acutely aware that he was only a few feet away, and she was stripping away her clothes. Her hands shook, making the ties on the dress even harder to undo. She got them free and let the dress slip down. It fell to the floor in a sodden lump.
Her chemise was soaked through too. It clung to her, showing off every inch of her body. She struggled to pull it over her head without tearing the fabric apart as she had with her old dress. Had it only been a few days ago?
Then she was
naked, and the cool air in the cabin slipped across her skin, raising goose bumps and making her nipples hard. She grabbed at the blanket and rubbed at her flesh until she was something close to dry. Then she picked up the cloak and slipped it around her body.
Ruxandra took a deep breath to steady herself and gripped the cloak shut. She turned around and saw that he had wrapped the other blanket around his waist, leaving his back bare. She swallowed hard. “I’m—I’m done. Did you want to dry off?”
“Yes, please.” He turned and reached for the blanket they were using as a towel.
His bare arms and chest were strong and muscular and glistened with water. His skin was light brown, his nipples much darker. They were hard, like hers, from the cool of the room. There was little hair on his chest, though a small trail of it ran from his navel downward, disappearing beneath the blanket.
Ruxandra wrenched her eyes up and shoved the blanket forward. “Here!”
He took it and began drying the water from his chest and arms. Ruxandra watched. He turned and began rubbing the towel across his back.
“I can do that for you!” The words were out of Ruxandra’s mouth before she could stop them. “If you like, I mean.”
He looked over his shoulder, his brown eyes piercing into hers. There was nervousness there and anticipation and desire. His smile was more tentative than before. “I would like that, yes.”
She stepped forward and took the blanket from his hands. She placed it on his back and with gentle, easy circles stroked away the water. He sighed as her hands rubbed tenderly over his skin. She found herself coming closer and closer until there were only inches separating her flesh from his. She breathed deep, and his scent filled her head. It was muskier than before, like an animal in rutting season. It was enough to make her drop the blanket, though her hands didn’t stop moving on his skin. She leaned closer and closer, then kissed his bare shoulder.
Rainwater. Sweat. Flesh. The salt tang. The—
Neculai turned around. His arms went around her waist, drawing her tight to him. The cloak slipped open, and she felt the bare skin of her belly touching his and the rough wool of his blanket pressing against her. He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow and gentle. She kissed back and their tongues played together. His fingertips ran down her back, going lower than they had before. He cupped the curves of her backside and used them to pull her even tighter to his body.
For the first time, she became aware of his sex. It was pressed against her belly, long and hard, like the men in Adela’s pictures. Though not that long. Valeria was right.
Ruxandra ran her hands up his chest and down his arms, up his arms and down his chest and his belly to where the wool blanket formed a dividing line between innocence and desire. She knew she should stop, knew a lady would step away, but she wanted to touch him so badly.
She let one hand slip past the border of the blanket and rub the length of him. Silky. Hot. He groaned with pleasure. She caressed him again then stepped back. His eyes were wide with passion and desire. She continued backing away, continued moving until her legs touched the bed. The cloak was open, right down the center. Her breasts were half-hidden, but he could see her belly, see the hair between her legs. His eyes lingered there. She felt her sex liquefy, melted by the warmth of his gaze.
She didn’t care about being a lady anymore.
His eyes flicked back up to hers. Her lips parted at what she saw there.
She reached up and pulled the cloak off her shoulders, feeling every breath of the cool air moving over her skin, outlining her body.
Neculai moaned with pleasure. He fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed her breasts, caressing the pale nipples with his lips and his tongue until they became harder than ever before. He rose, and their mouths met again. His heart raced. His face and chest were flushed red. His breath came in short, hard gasps between kisses.
The blanket fell from his waist to the floor.
Ruxandra ran her hands over his bare backside, over the sides of his thighs. She reached between his legs and touched him, feeling the hardness and the softness of his length. His pulse beat through it in a strong, steady rhythm. She glanced at it. It was large, and it was her first time, but she wasn’t scared. She wanted it. She kissed him and fell back and pulled him close.
“Please,” she whispered. “Now. Please.”
His chest pressed against hers as he reached down with one hand. She felt his heartbeat through his chest, felt the blood racing through his veins as he caressed her, making her cry out. She felt his sex pushing against hers. Then he moved his hips forward, and she gasped, and then his pulse beat inside her.
There was no pain. Nothing had ever felt so good.
It wasn’t only the pleasure. It was the closeness. She’d been so lonely. He was not only with her but in her, and she gave him pleasure too.
This was what people—lovers—did, night after night. The thought filled her with a golden fire, like the sunlight she once enjoyed. Like the first mild, sweet May morning of the year.
She pulled him tight to her, wrapped her legs around his waist. She gasped in rhythm with his thrusts. It was as if they were one being. Everything is right. She had to kiss his lips, had to kiss his cheek and his hair and his ear. This is what lovers do.
She needed to kiss his neck and feel his heart pounding.
Oh God.
Needed to put her lips against his flesh so she could feel his blood racing.
God, no.
Needed to sink her teeth into his flesh and drink and drink and drink.
No!
And then her teeth tore through the flesh of his neck and he started screaming.
HE BUCKED AND THRASHED as he screamed. His hips rammed hard against her in a grotesque parody of his gentle movements only moments before. Ruxandra’s claws sank deep into the flesh of his back. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her mouth was clamped on his neck, and she could not make herself let go.
Please, God. Don’t let me kill him. Stop. Stop!
But it didn’t matter how loud she screamed in her head. It didn’t matter how she strained at her muscles and her joints, how hard she tried to pull her mouth away, or how many tears rolled down her face. She could not let go.
His blood—hot and rich and so much better than the doe’s blood—poured down her throat. Her mouth sucked harder and harder, trying to get every last bit of it out.
He weakened. His struggles faltered and were easier to contain. His screams faded, becoming small and plaintive, like the cries of an exhausted child.
No. Oh God, no. Please, no.
She tried again to make her body let go, tried to pull her mouth from his neck. Nothing would move. His life started to fade. She could almost see it in her head, as if he were dissolving in front of her.
No!
She reached out with her mind and grabbed hold of him, pulled him to her and wrapped herself around him. His body groaned; his muscles went limp. His heart slowed and stuttered. His body grew heavier. His sex went soft and slipped out of her. But she could still feel his spirit—feel his soul—wrapped in hers. It was like wrapping a new kitten. It struggled and squirmed, wanting to be released. She clung onto it instead, praying with all her heart that she could keep him alive.
Once I stop drinking. Once I have control of myself again. I’ll put his soul back into his body.
She didn’t know how she would do it. But she knew she had his soul, held inside of her. So she would find a way to save his body, to put him back, and to bring him back to life. Just as the angel did to her.
And then what?
He will not forgive me. He won’t let me come near him ever again.
But he’ll be alive.
He stopped breathing, and Ruxandra had control over herself again.
She shoved his limp body off hers. It bounced on the side of the bed then slid to the floor. One arm fell into the fire pit, where the flames licked at his ha
nd. Ruxandra grabbed him and pulled him up onto the bed. He seemed to weigh nothing, and he practically flew through the air. His head hit the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Ruxandra whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you’re here with me, right? You’re still here. So go back. Go back to your body.”
She closed her eyes. His soul was terrified. It wanted out, to be free. She pushed at it with her mind, trying to send it back where it came from. Terror rose as he realized what she wanted. It wouldn’t go back to the body, wouldn’t budge at all.
“I know you’re dead.” She put her hands on his still chest. “I know I killed you. But you can go back. Just go back for me. Please. Please, go back.”
It wouldn’t move.
“Dammit, go back!” The scream came out raw and loud. Inside her head, she shoved as hard as she could, trying to drive the soul out of her and back into its body. The soul’s terror was palpable. He tried to grab at her, to hang on, rather than be returned to the corpse.
She screamed again.
And pushed again.
And still, he wouldn’t go back to his body.
Because he’s dead.
Because I killed him.
Because I’m a beast.
Except she wasn’t. Not anymore. She had stopped being a beast the moment his blood started flowing into her throat. The mad desire that had possessed her had vanished. She no longer craved being touched. No longer needed to feel another’s company. She had been like a cat in heat, desperate to be filled.
Except it wasn’t sex she had wanted, not really. Most of it had been her body’s way of drawing her close. What she wanted—what she needed—was blood. Human blood. But her mind had been too dulled to realize that. Or too naive. Her animal desires had taken over, coaxing her into proximity, seducing her to touch and to kiss and to let him enter her body, all so that she could drink him dry and kill him.
Surely that wasn’t the only reason? She’d been happy, before. But the happiness had slipped from her grasp, like she didn’t deserve to remember.
Inside her, his soul squirmed again. He didn’t reach for his body though. He didn’t reach for anything that Ruxandra could see. But he was reaching. He wanted to be let go, to be set free to continue his journey.