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His anger was overwhelming and delicious, it pushed at her, battered at her and she leaned into it like the wind, lost and overwhelmed by the sensation. When it suddenly cut off she all but stumbled. Her core muscles which were well-toned and her natural grace kept her where she was, arms tight around her belly as if she could keep contained the pain and terrible hunger inside her. She hated what she was, how her life had been stolen from her in what had seemed like a random assault but which she now knew was calculated and planned though the motives remained unclear. All this aside she could have tolerated her unlife better were it not for the feeding. That she was driven by the base, primal need to feed that was unlike the hunger she’d known as a human. Unlike even the hunger from when she was younger and her mother had kept her food intake small to control her weight, to keep her small. This hunger that filled her was terrible and made even more so since the increase in her power after the theft of the piece of eight. 

In the middle of this struggle to hold herself back she was scooped up by preternaturally heated arms and held against a strong body she had not touched in months. It was a body she had not touched since that night. She fought. Not just his arms around her but herself, her very nature. She felt a tingle in her fangs so strong it was almost pain and her mouth flooded with the narcotic saliva that made certain her feedings were pleasant for all. Her hungers were not just about food and she was very cognizant of being somewhere public, her hunger witnessed and not by drunken boys she could make forget her. But her body didn’t care, it smelled him, it felt him and when he whispered into her ear, his voice ringing with his own dark power, power directed at her she felt her hard won control begin to crumble. 

He was right, she needed to feed. She’d kept herself dry, feeding just enough to keep herself going, not wanting to glut herself and taint her memories of that night. She’d been too busy tending to Veti to do more than that in any case. But she hadn’t done as much with her powers as she had this night in all that time and she’d run dry. She was a liability if she did not take in fuel. She was a risk. But still she struggled, her tiny body shifting, wriggling in his arms in a futile fight against herself, his containing arms, her very nature. 

Then with one word he crumbled all of her defenses. [i]“Please.”[/i] 

At the brush of that heated word against her skin she made a soft sound of surrender and opened her all black eyes as she looked up at him. It was like her eyes were a screen and across them danced images of that night, as they played across it she parted her frosted rose-petal lips and pressed her tiny fangs into his demonic flesh and began to feed. She drank deep and long, holding herself as still as she could, not wanting to make a spectacle of herself. Despite her efforts and tight control, the restless shifting of her tiny form and the soft greedy sounds that slipped from her mouth spoke of her struggle, of her hunger for him that was more than just a need for blood. 

Finally, her skin glowing with a paradoxically dark light she forced herself to disengage, her mouth slipping from his flesh with a soft, wet, sound. She was breathing heavy, her eyes half lidded as color, a mix of fluster and demonic blood colored her cheeks. Embarrassed she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest, hiding her face and her shame momentarily. Her tiny hand lightly resting over the beat of his heart, pale fingers curved and splayed, further shielding her face.

“I’m sorry.” She breathed against him. “I shouldn’t have come so depleted.” She could make excuses, lots of them, Veti, heartsickness, but none of them really excused her and so she didn’t waste his time or her breath. 

She didn’t want to get up, to slip from that pocket of him and back into the trouble they were in, or the eyes that would have seen her feed but there was no helping for it. She simply hoped they were too occupied with their own troubles to have paid it much mind. She pressed a soft kiss to the small wound on his neck, tasting the tang of his blood and then slipped out of his arms, swaying a little drunkenly as she stood. She closed her eyes, forced herself to breath slowly and opened her eyes to assess the situation. 

She saw that Henry was whole though it looked like he’d had a bit of a pique and that Dr. Kinnon was slung over his shoulder. She saw that that Raleigh was still wearing her scarf as he looked their way, his eyes meeting those of Atticus and she flushed and looked away from him, embarrassed that he’d seen. Her eyes fell onto Reginald Hoyle who was striding away, his injured sister slung over his shoulder who was presumably still alive. His manner was stiff but efficient. As he disappeared into the dark she knew he would leave them if it came down to it. They had best get going. 

“Did I take too much?” she sheepishly asked Atticus as she waited for him to stand so that they might follow their employer.