I have Lucius and others to consult with.
Yet I also have my old fears. Plus, Eilidh’s so young! I haven’t asked that, but she looks barely nineteen, so she can’t be more than twenty-three or -four. Even if she does come to love me, what right do I have to turn her, willing or not? What right do I have to deny her the sun?
What if she wants children? That’s not something I could ever give her. I mean, we could visit a fertility clinic, of course. But then she would need to raise our children. I couldn’t turn her before they were grown and deny them their mother.
Children are the most beautiful, breathtaking heartache. I was present when my two remaining children died, the first in his forties or so, after an injury turned gangrenous. I came to Eochaidh in the night even as the infection ravaged his body. I told him who I was, and that I loved him, and then released him from his pain as I cried. He’d already fathered five children, three of whom survived to adulthood.
My other son, Sealbhach, survived to a rare old age back then, when he finally succumbed to what I suspect now was cancer. He died peacefully and naturally in my arms, slipping away in the middle of the night with me whispering my love.
For centuries, I lingered in that area, keeping watch over my family line, helping when I could, in the ways that I could, without exposing myself. Hiring humans to help me.
Protecting them as best I could.
I finally sleep, my thoughts filled with Eilidh. When was the last time I thought about anything but Robert or work when lying in my daily imprisonment?
Her sweet rounded curves, how her body fit perfectly against mine—when was the last time I was blessed with pure contact like that?
Cuddling.
I’d thought there was no greater thirst to be had than when I’m overdue to feed, but it turns out there is one even worse.
Skin hunger.
It’s tempting to beg her to come work for me. To tell her that her only job is to stay alive, and healthy, and snuggle with me.
That would be enough.
Of course, I would want more, but even if that is all she ever gave me, I would gladly take it, without question.
If asked about my fantasies?
Oh, I imagine her in my collar and cuffs and nothing else, kneeling on the floor in front of me, her spine perfectly rounded as her forehead touches my feet.
My hands leaving pink marks on her ass, enjoying every gasp she lets out as my flogger kisses her flesh.
Rubbing away the sting of a cane slicing across the backs of her thighs.
Sliding my cock inside her as my teeth pierce her neck—
Fuck. Now I’m hard again. And I wake up way too early and alone in that dark room and fist my cock, stroking, unable to help myself. This orgasm is totally unsatisfying because my fangs have also extended, hunger breaking through.
Once I’ve spilled all over myself, I go clean up and then retrieve a bag of blood from the small refrigerator in the bedroom. Ripping the corner of the bag with my teeth, I drink it cold, straight from the bag, like an animal.
It’s barely satisfying.
Dammit.
I desperately wanther, and that means I must be even more careful. I don’t know why her and why now, but if I ever hurt her, I’d rather walk into the sunrise than live another minute.
* * *
Somehow,I manage to go back to sleep, even though it took a second bag of blood and another orgasm to fill my stomach and drain my balls.
When I finally awaken a little after four, I check my phone and find that John has sent me a text telling me he’s on his way to pick her up.
Moving carefully, I kick the doorstop out of the way and ease the bedroom door open, just a little. The suite’s living room is still safely dark. I walk over to the door, remove the doorstop and unfasten the safety bar and deadbolt, then retreat to the bedroom and replace the doorstop.
That done, I text instructions to Mark, confirm what I want him to get us for dinner, and that Connie, as she’s asked me to refer to her, is to be escorted into the suite’s living room and left alone after instructing her not to touch the windows or open the curtains.
