Blood Ex Libris Page 9

  “Is there a downside to being am’r-nafsh?”

  “Ei bine, for some, knowing you could not die a normal death, that you would wake to the life of an am’r, is a real deterrent.”

  “Seriously? A lifetime of being, well, superhuman, followed by the promise of eternal life in which you are even more superhuman? That’s a problem for people?”

  “You are not being realistic. Once you are am’r, you must live on vhoon, and you would not prove immortal if slain properly. Indeed, new am’r have a high mortality rate. Without guidance, a young am’r is more likely to be killed by an elder than to become one.”

  “If I become am’r-nafsh, would I sleep all day as you do? Could I eat food? Would I, uh, go to the bathroom?”

  “Ah, micuţo, you have come to the true heart of the matter.” He shot me a toothy grin. “To answer you in order, you could sleep with me through the day if you liked. You would tend to be nocturnal because the sun would be less of a pleasure for you, but you would not lose the ability to operate by day. You will not like the sun, but neither does any am’r. We do not turn into dust, to add to your pile of discarded myths.”

  “Are all am’r-nafsh, er, partnered with an am’r?”

  “There may have been exceptions in the long river of history, but am’r do not vhoon-share with just anyone. It is a powerful thing. I love you. I wish to protect you, and give you the most precious gift such as I can give: to share my life, a hopefully long, long life. In another way, it is a more profound gift, for having an am’r-nafsh makes an am’r vulnerable to his enemies. It is a gift with a cost.

  “As for food and, hmmm, digestive matters. You can, you must, eat food, kee food, but over time, you will become somewhat sensitive. You may lose the taste for strong seasonings. Vhoon will never make you sick, and the more you drink, the stronger you become, although it is a slow process, limited by your living flesh.”

  “And the, um, end result?”

  “My ever-practical Noosh. If you eat solids, you must eliminate the waste matter, like any living creature. But vhoon is different, for both am’r and am’r-nafsh. As I said before, we process the vhoon completely. There is no waste matter.”

  As attractive as never having to go to the bathroom again might be, there were more important things to consider. Like, how do I feel about becoming half-vampire now, with a non-optional future of being a real hundred-percent vampire?

  All the siren songs from years of reading vampire novels sang in my head: never growing old, staying perfect and beautiful forever, being basically superhuman. And the sex—oh, the sex!

  “Sandu! If I become am’r-nafsh, we will be able to keep, um, ‘sharing the most passionate gift,’ right? And, uh, what about after I become am’r?”

  His eyes flamed hot enough to melt me. I had to hold onto him tighter so I’d not fall. Well, float off.

  “Your question pleases me greatly, draga mea. You are thinking ahead to the future time when we as am’r will share ourselves completely for an eternity. It is a dream. It is the most beautiful my future has seemed since…” He looked off into a long, long past. “For many long years.”

  He shook his head as if it were as full of romantic clouds as mine. I could not help smiling at his passion. He might not technically be a living being, but he was more alive than most people I’d known. He was more alive than I’d ever been. Well, up to now. Now, thanks to him, I was passionately alive as well.

  Huh. And if that isn’t a deciding factor—but no, I need to know more.

  “There are, um, changes in me. You said there would be some, and I’m not surprised, but I need to know about what is happening to me. What is going to happen to me.”

  He gazed at me silently for a long moment, then got up and paced in the tub, which was just big enough to allow him a constrained back-and-forth.

  “Draga mea, the first questions to answer are the immediacies, are they not? You have noted an increasing hunger, nu? Well, as long as I drink from you, you will need to replenish yourself, and I have not been feeding you as I should because food is such an,” he looked a bit helpless, trying to find the right word, “an inconvenience. We should be feeding you meat and other foods that will make your vhoon strong, surging vitally inside you.”

  “Iron supplements, maybe?” I suggested.

  He looked startled. “I do not know. I do not know anyone who has tried it. This is why I need your new thoughts and your fresh mind.”

  I thought about teasing him about liking me only for my blood and my body, but he continued, “You should now feel yourself glowing with vitality. At least, draga mea, you look as if you do.” He eyed me to see if such a sally would lead to my distraction. I tried to look implacable.

  “You will find yourself a little stronger, with more stamina. But you have not had any trouble sleeping, have you? Your body has been getting used to a different, ei bine, nutrient, and you need your sleep.

  “But we have gotten off the point. I do not think you understand what I am trying to say, so I will tell you again. This will be the third time, and it is like a fairytale; this time the magic happens, you might say. If you do not want this change to be unalterable, we cannot share blood ever again.”

  I didn’t answer out loud. I didn’t even answer in my head. He was right; I wasn’t hearing him because, well, it was just too much. I was two-thirds of the way to being a partial vampire, and one more bout of hot sex would alter me forever.

  I was already changed, too, and although so far, I hadn’t seen any downside to those changes, it did add to the overwhelmation. To be honest, my most immediate concern was that we couldn’t have sex again?

  I was silent and withdrew into my thoughts. Sandu left me to it, not staring at me, but silently letting me know he was willing to meet my eyes if I looked at him.

  Now was the make-or-break moment. Here was this man who said he loved me. At any rate, he made me feel better about myself than anyone else had ever done. Sure, I didn’t know enough about him in practical considerations of whether he’d be a good partner to live with, or even to date long-term. However, I’d just had my first real taste of mad, passionate romance, and I didn’t want to end or otherwise ruin it by overthinking. I’d had a life of being realistic, rational, and sensible.

  Don’t I get to just go with it the one time life offers me wild passion? If I let practical matters get in the way of a romantic dream come true, how much will I regret it for the rest of my boring life?

  On the other hand, “living vampire.” Condemning myself to a life of, well, I didn’t even know what. I didn’t have enough information. I’d been too busy fucking or being fucked to have gotten more than dribs or drabs of useful information.

  I should get a list of all the changes that will occur in my body. All the pros and cons. All of it. Before having sex with him again.

  Even as that sensible conclusion moved through my brain, part of me rebelled against it. In fact, the sensible bit could claim not more than twenty percent of cerebral real estate. Maybe ten percent.

  It’s time to just fucking live for once. If I can only live by accepting a certain amount of, I don’t know, “undeath,” well, you have to work with what you get. If I turn this down, if I ruin it with fearfulness, I deserve to go skulking back to my stacks, pull on shapeless “I’ve given up” sweats, hang unattractive spectacles off my nose, and devote myself to a life of celibate boredom.

  Now was the moment where I could shake off the restraint and risk-avoidance that had so shaped my existence until now. Instead of reading about it, I could be the heroine in my own story. I was at the most important crossroads in my life: Do I become spontaneous, fearless, and free, or do I stick to the same-old and plod along, safe, responsible, boring old Noosh?

  I knew the answer. It was time to throw my inhibitions to the wind. Bungee jump first, and find out how far down it was later. It was time for a new Noosh.

  I swam over to him.

  “I choose life. A new life,
” I told him, “and I choose you.”

  His eyes glowed. Not just metaphorically with emotion; they seemed incandescent, like an FX trick. Joy and delight radiated off him like heat. He did not move for a long moment, just gazed at me. I looked back at him, high on my dangerous decision.

  “You do not do wrong, draga mea, dragă Noosh. We will have time later for me to answer your every question, but now, join me in this vitality. See the world as I see it; live and never die with me, sufleţel—my soul!”

  As he spoke, he pulled me to him, my legs straddling his underwater. His cock was caught between our bodies, as tumescent and turgid and tumid as any romance heroine could ever hope for. I thought he would start there, since his need was obviously great—my own not far behind—but he ignored the great throbbing thing, and kissed me.

  It was pure passion: rough and intense. He bit my lips and my tongue, sharp raw pangs of pain flashing through me, and spread the blood around with his lips and tongue. I guess I was pretty used to the taste of blood by now: the viscosity and the salt and iron tang could no longer make me feel sick or repulsed. It was part of sex, part of this new reality, part of decisively being alive.

  The blood lubricated the kiss, our lips crashing against each other’s, mashed by teeth and tongues thrusting forcibly against each other. His hands moved on my back and ass and legs, rubbing, kneading, scratching, tugging the flesh into handfuls. I echoed his touch on everything I could reach on him, grabbing the muscle under the smooth skin, dragging my nails satisfyingly roughly into his unnaturally smooth skin.

  I suppose it could have been categorized as “just making out,” but in the moment, it was sex enough for me. Genitals’ demands were forgotten, mouths and hands became the sex organs. And sex was more than pleasure, more than pain: it was trying to become one through violent physicality, cramming our separate selves into one whole.

  I guess all things must come to an end. But, for once, there were at least as good, even better things to follow, which they could only do after our almost-devouring of each other had come to completion. But I did not feel complete: I was a thing made of hunger. And, looking into Sandu’s eyes, I saw nothing but hunger: no love, no intelligence, only endless, bestial hunger.

  I should have been scared, but what could I do? Run from the predator, making myself into extra-tasty prey? Nor had I any desire to run, since my own needs made me feel equally predatory. There was no room for fear. Perhaps Sandu’s eyes were the mirror of my own.

  He stared into my eyes as if this was as much a part of the sex as the kissing had been. I met the gaze and held nothing back. I put everything in me into my eyes, pushed it at him—take all of me now!—as if vision could somehow be penetration.

  He did not flinch away from me. Perhaps, he would never flinch away from me. But somehow it spurred him to take things to the next level: lifting me up and lowering me down and showing me he could indeed still be the Impaler.

  I made something between a gasp and a scream, a pretty strangled sound, not worthy of the sensations I was feeling. Salt water is nice to soak in, but does not a good lubricant make. His hands forcing my hips downward while his cock pushed unrelentingly upwards could have been profoundly uncomfortable, if I’d been in a different state of mind. As it was, I helped along this impalement as best I could. The extra-buoyant salt water took away much of my work, but I did a useful wriggle here, held my hips in the most effective angle there. He had taken all of me into him—I could do no less.

  When we had finally worked me down onto that which was impaling me, Sandu met my eyes again, giving me a meaningful look...except I did not know the meaning. He reached to the side of the tub, and picked up something I’d not noticed him putting there when he disrobed. It glinted in the moonlight: a short, sharp knife, more prettily curved than a scalpel, but obviously just as sharp. He held it to his neck, not hesitating, knowing just the right place from years of practice.

  I was made of hunger, yes, but still not used to such things. It woke me up for a moment, back to the Noosh I used to be. For just a moment, I watched the blade slice horribly deeply through skin and muscle, until blood spurted out. Holy crap! was my main thought. But Sandu grabbed my hands in one of his, and put his other hand around the back of my neck, and pressed my mouth to the flow of the blood: I had no choice but to gulp down the rich redness.

  Nectar, I thought, after the first (somewhat forced) swallow. The hunger had retaken me, and I was guzzling his blood as fast as my throat could work. His wound started closing, and I was working my tongue into the wound to keep it open, keep the flow of nectar from drying up.

  I became aware of him moving under me, moving in me, moaning my name and “Sufleţel, sufleţel!” In the strangest way, I distantly became aware I was orgasming, the pleasure from drinking was in no way different from the spasms shaking the rest of me. It was a glorious pleasure, but I was far above it, enjoying the view from someplace superior to mere physical pleasure. I looked down to enjoy the tingling in every nerve ending in my body, the rush of pleasure through my arteries and veins. I felt a golden wave rush up my spinal column, and I swear I could feel it enter my brain and jump from synapse to synapse. I could feel chemicals changing resplendently: colors swarming, tastes dancing, scents spinning, sounds painting themselves in Post-Impressionist swirls I could reach out to and feel their flavor and frequencies.

  Everything went black.

  At first, it was an empty black. Sometime later, it became a rich black of all the colors combined. It became a velvet blackness. It became a warm, safe, soothing blackness. Eventually, I felt the hot water lapping my body and Sandu under me and in me, his arms wrapped around me and my arms wrapped around him.

  I was alive, and the world around me was alive. The water teased my skin, as did the night air where my body was not underwater. My nerve endings tickled happily where I pressed against Sandu and where he pressed into me. I looked up and around and the night was full of color. The flowers were like gems, and their scents were jewels of fragrance. I could smell the saltwater and the cedar wood of the tub and the perfume of Sandu’s skin and blood. It was not just smelling anymore, it was experiencing.

  I brought Sandu’s face back into focus and found him smiling fondly at me, contentment exuding from his pores. “Draga mea, esti a mea,” he said, and when I tilted my head at him, he explained, “You are mine.”

  I found that for once, I did not mind his possessiveness. “And you are mine,” I replied. A witty rejoinder was not beyond me at this moment, but I felt the simple reply was best suited for the occasion.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “we are.” He was fully healed. Maybe there was blood smeared all over my face, but if there was he didn’t seem to mind. In a world so wide open and full of options, all I could do was ask, “What’s next?”

  Sandu started laughing. I would never get tired of hearing his laughter. The corresponding movement reminded me he was still inside me, and still as hard as if the most astounding sex ever in the history of the world had not just taken place. I laughed too, and started moving on him. “So next is—more?” I asked.

  In answer he threw his head back and let me use my core muscles to ride him in the water. Lubrication was not wanting now, and it was a slick, satisfying trip up and down him. It was arousing, but just a pleasing, simple sensation. It could lead to orgasm, eventually, but right now it was just an uncomplicated pleasure, enjoyed at its most basic level—although with my newly upgraded senses, even basic things were now enhanced and novel. After we did this for a nice pleasing while, he lifted his head up and looked at me, and his eyes were gleaming. “Hungry?” I asked him.

  “Da, ca un lup!” he replied, and he rose up, pulling me off of him and disappointing me, as I’d been enjoying having him in there. Before I could complain, I was leaned back against the side of the tub. “You have given to me a greatest of gifts, dragă Noosh, even as you took from me my vhoon. Now, I will give you a little gift, and drink a little of the nec
tar flowing through your veins.” He reached for my hand, and I was distracted for a moment, remembering my own perceptions of his blood as nectar, just a little while ago.

  I was brought back as he brought my palm up to his mouth, and began kissing it. He kissed up to my wrist, licked with seductive promise. He continued up the delicate skin of my inner arm, to the inside of my elbow, and again he licked, sending shivers up my spine. When his questing tongue seemed to have found the right spot, he bit, and the pain made me cry out and arch my back. I might have pulled my arm away from him, but he held it fast. I decided to do the opposite and pushed my arm against his mouth. He moaned in appreciation, and dug his teeth in deeper, worrying the wound to let the blood flow. It hurt more than any other bite he’d given me. Thinking back, he’d always been distracting me with pleasure when he bit. But my feelings about pain were no longer as clear-cut as they used to be. I pressed my arm to him again: I needed to move it in some direction, any direction. He moaned again, and I felt his hips thrusting helplessly against my side, under the water. I wished he was inside me still, and wondered what “gift” he thought he was giving me.

  But the gift was still to come. As was I. His other arm slid down my body, pulling me up so I floated in the buoyant salt water. He curled his hand up from under me, his fingers playing up and down my labia. He eased off a bit on my poor arm, and I could take in the delicate sensations. After exploring the exterior with his fingers (the lapping water adding its own interesting sensations), he slid in one finger, two, and twisted his wrist to curl them at just-the-right curvature. He proceeded to move those two fingers ever so slowly. I started laughing in delight, but was soon beyond the ability to make any sounds except moans and gasps. Meanwhile, Sandu went back to worrying the wound, but this time the sensations mingled perfectly: the pain adding zest to the pleasure, the pleasure adding an arousing depth of sweetness to the pain.