Chapter 1    table of contents  

It’s strange in the house tonight, very quiet, and the candlelight is making phantoms on the walls that dance to some ethereal beat that only they can hear. The animals on the posters seem to slink closer, and the plants seem to be growing when I’m not looking. There’s an owl in the woods not too far away and he kept asking WHO? WHO? until Aloysius whispered in his sleep, “Xenaides, the blood demon.” As though it had heard him, the owl grew quiet. I grew quiet, too, fearful of waking him.

I am still recovering from the last session, when I lost more blood than he intended. We made love tonight, and when his mouth was on me, I could feel him wanting to bite, fighting to be gentle. He only hurt me when he came, and then just a little bit, but it’s growing near...the blood demon is coming out, and this will be an intense session, I fear. He grows ever paler, and needs to replenish.

His eyes are beginning to glow silver in the dark and to shine like a cat’s when illuminated. His finger—and toenails have grown just a little, and he’s stopped wearing shoes indoors. His incisors have grown, too. Just enough, so far, to be obvious. When he changes, they will grow much longer.

He takes off his shirt the moment he gets home and paces the house like a panther; later, he paces in only his black boxers, quick and silent but for the occasional hiss or low growl. It’s like living with a very sleek, muscular Siberian tiger that walks upright. Sometimes I feel his breath on the back of my neck and I move away slowly, careful not to show that I know he’s there. Careful not to excite him or show fear. I need a few more days to recover before losing any more blood, and I fear, from the way his eyes track me and the hyperactivity he’s already showing, that I will again lose more than usual.

His hearing, always very acute, has become even keener, and he can smell the least drop of blood from rooms away. I pricked my finger on a rose thorn and he glided in and sucked it until it hurt. I know he was on the other side of the house when I pricked it. Sometimes he stares at my throat as though he can see through to the blood pumping and flowing through the veins and arteries there. I know his lust is growing ever stronger.

Because I can tell when he’s about to change, I could leave and stay away until the change passes. I could be safe and remain unmarred, with no bruises or seeping, smarting puncture wounds. I could come back when I know he’s once again my kind, loving husband, who wouldn’t hurt me for the world, instead of what he becomes...a satyr whose appetite for womanblood is almost as strong as his need for passionately violent sex and domination. I could wait until looking up at him in the candlelight meant meeting the sweet silver gaze I crave, instead of pools of argent fire, so intense they glitter like wet diamonds, just before he penetrates my flesh with his flesh, and his teeth.

I could. But I don’t.

Chapter 2    table of contents  

I shall continue this journal, because I realize that I may not live through one of our sessions, and I do not want to die without any record of what happened to me. I don’t wish to implicate Aloysius. I just want to leave some sort of legacy. I want him to read it when he comes back to himself and see that I loved him despite, or perhaps partly because of, what he is. To see that I did not blame him for anything, and that I was not unhappy with him, for any reason. To know that I would not have given up the ecstasy of his intense, sometimes bloody passion for all the flowery words and gentle caresses any woman ever received. He often speaks in sweet whispers, and his hands and lips are always loving and gentle, except when he changes. I love the pain and the romance equally. I love the man more than life. I need him more than breath.

Darling, if you find this journal, it will mean that I am gone, and I want you to know these things.

***


Tonight I was standing on the back deck, looking out over the water, when I felt his arms encircle me from behind. I did not know he had come home, and I might have been frightened, but there was no mistaking the feel of his arms and hands...the muscles hard as marble, the caress soft as silk. He pressed against me, and I expected him to become suddenly rough, as sometimes happens when a sudden surge of need surprises him. But he only held me, whispering in my ear, “You know the time is nearing again.”

“Yes,” I answered, leaning back against him, covering his hands with mine. The breeze off the water was very cool, but I was very warm where his body touched mine. His metabolism speeds up as the change approaches, and his body temperature escalates. Out over the water, a falcon swooped and soared on stationary wings, buoyed only by the wind.

He was silent for a while, as though considering what to say, or whether anything more needed to be said, or perhaps whether he could say it. Then, “You could go away for a while. You know I will not feed on anyone else.”

“I know.” I turned in his arms and met his eyes. “But I am your wife. I want to give you what you need.”

He studied me. “You have no such duty.”

“No.” I kissed him lightly. “It is not my duty. It is my pleasure.”

He inhaled deeply, pulling me closer. “I fear that someday I will lose control completely. That I will...go too far.”

“Then I shall die as I have lived...in your arms, in love, and in ecstasy.”

“I love you.” He gave me his eyes, the emotion in them so raw that it was easy to understand why he usually kept himself under such tight rein. “I love you so.”

“And I love you.” His words and his eyes had left me a little breathless. “Please...take me to bed now.”

Chapter 3    table of contents  

Sparks flashed in his silvery eyes, igniting into glittering flames that momentarily stopped my breath. I heard his breath catch and deepen. His embrace tightened suddenly, painfully. Then, with obvious difficulty, he relaxed his arms around me, though I could feel his desire, hard and hot against my abdomen. A long hand crept around the back of my neck, holding me captive for his demanding kiss, and I could feel the change in his incisors now, hard behind his soft, searching lips. I could feel the tips of his growing fingernails pressing into me slightly. I knew he was exerting himself to remain calm, and would have to work much harder to refrain from hurting me as the change progressed.

He moaned softly and rested his cheek against my hair. I smelled the warm, musky scent of his skin, kissed his neck. He took a long, shuddery breath, whispering, “Careful...”

His passion inflamed my own and I could hardly stand still, could not stop touching him, kissing him, wanting him. I kissed his neck again, pulling at his tie, popping the top button off his shirt in my frenzy to reach more of him. I rained hot little kisses along his collarbone, popped more shirt buttons so my lips could reach the middle of his chest. My hands explored the muscles there, then I began kissing my way downward, my hands busy with his belt.

“Please, dearest...be careful...” His usually soft voice was growing huskier, harder.

“I don’t want to be careful! I want you...I want you inside me, now...”

I kissed his hard belly and felt it suck in as he gasped from the sensation of my mouth and the words it had uttered. I looked up. Our eyes locked. He reached down and took me by the arms, lifting me up to him. His eyes dropped to my breasts, where a lot of cleavage was visible in the low-cut, sheer white peignoir I wore. His lips parted slightly and I could see the tips of his sharp teeth, gleaming white in the full moon light. He closed his eyes and turned me to face the water so my back was to him, as though afraid to look for too long at my breasts.

Dusk was rapidly turning to darkness. The falcon was gone, replaced by the occasional bat that dived and swooped, homing in on insects. The water was a vast black pit below us, the whitecaps peaking like chills peak frigid skin in undulating waves. The moon looked down, huge and yellow and serene, and I felt infinitesimal and almost nonexistent compared to the beauty and vast wonder of the night sky. I had always enjoyed that feeling. Then Aloysius pressed against me, still erect, still on the verge of losing control, and his need reminded me that I was important in the universe. Important to him. An even better feeling.

His hand caressed my hair and swept it from the back of my neck. I felt his lips there, and his warm breath, running chills down my back like the peaky waves ran on the water’s surface. His hands found my waist and I put my hands over them and moved them to my breasts. He made a soft sound and touched me through the sheer gown. I reached up and back, finding and caressing his face and hair, the motion raising my breasts and bringing them more firmly into his hands. He cupped them, caressing my nipples with his thumbs, lighting a fire that arced directly to my center. I moaned his name and covered his right hand with my own, guiding it between my legs, stepping outward just enough to give him better access, letting go of his hand to raise the hem of my gown.

He stroked me, dipping his strong fingers lower to cover them with slickness and smooth the contact, beginning to breathe faster and harder when he felt how wet and ready I was. His other hand continued to caress my left breast. His erection, huge and hard, pressed into my lower back. I began to throb for him, to lose control completely. I grasped his stroking hand and pressed it against me harder, pressed his long fingers until some of them slipped inside me, heard myself moaning, “Aly...please...love me...take me...hurt me...”

He growled and turned me again, rougher this time, so that I faced him. I couldn’t bear losing contact and tried to press against him, to throw my arms around his neck. He stopped me, whispering, “Wait!” His voice, like his hands, was growing rougher, more demanding.

He ripped off his jacket, flinging it to the deck, flung away his tie, leaving his open shirt to outline his pale chest. Dropped to his knees. His hair shone like a halo. His eyes glowed silver in the moonlight. His hands caressed my thighs, moved up to cup my buttocks. He nodded curtly at my gown. “Take that off.”

Chapter 4    table of contents  

His words and eyes ignited a rush of heat that flushed my skin and quickened my breath and made the sweet throbbing at my center almost unbearable. I stripped the sheer gown over my head and dropped it to the deck, loving the feeling of freedom. My awareness of the beautiful, endless night sky, the chilly air, and the watching moon melted away and all I knew was the feverish warmth of his strong hands on me, caressing my thighs and buttocks. He laid his cheek against my pubic mound and I whimpered, reaching down to press him against me more firmly. I wanted to open myself and force his mouth against me, but I somehow held back and let him control the pace. I knew he was also holding back, fighting the animal lust of the demon, and I loved him for it, though I couldn’t help longing for it to break free. I knew it would, soon. The time of the change was at hand and even Aloysius couldn’t hold it back.

He moved and kissed where his cheek had lain against me, then turned me gently, so that he knelt behind me. He pressed against me, his hands roaming over the front of my body, then I felt his lips again, at the juncture of buttock and thigh. His lips, then his tongue. He held my hips fast and trailed cooling saliva from my hip to the top of my crevice, began licking his way down the center. I couldn’t breathe until he let up for a moment, then I gasped a breath that became a sob, maddened by the stimulation, needing so much more. I squirmed and he held me tighter with one long arm while his other hand moved to stroke my clitoris, wrenching an uncontrollable moan from deep in my throat. At the same time, his tongue finally reached me where I throbbed so sweetly for him. I caressed my nipples, murmuring his name, then cried out, almost peaking in orgasm, but he stopped just before I could. I felt his body pressing against my legs. His hands reached up to fondle my breasts. He kissed my spine, bit me lightly. I felt him getting to his feet, felt his breath on the back of my neck, and gentle kisses there that became almost painful as his lips moved around to my shoulder. He stopped and turned me to face him.

The tips of his incisors could now be seen with the least parting of his lips, and the intensity in his glowing silvery eyes was almost unbearable to behold. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed, his lips a deeper shade of pink. His white-blond hair seemed a little longer, and a little wilder, like the fur on a dog’s back rising in anger or excitement. Pale stubble on his cheeks had lengthened to silky down. He raised my hand to his mouth to kiss it and I saw that his nails had grown, now protruding past the ends of his long fingers, talon-shaped.

He ripped the shirt from his torso and hurled it away violently, then stepped to me and embraced me, his movements abruptly gentle and controlled again. He tilted my head back and touched his forehead to mine, holding me as though we were about to began a waltz. “I adore making love to you,” he whispered. “I adore you.”

“And I you, Aloysius.”

He pulled me closer and spoke again, directly into my ear. “I love the way you move against me when we kiss, like waves that can’t resist the attraction of the moon...I am your moon...”

“Yes, darling...”

“The way you tilt your head and give me your mouth...and your nipples grazing my chest...and the way you beg me for it...”

We were swaying slightly now, as though to music only he could hear, or perhaps just to the rhythm of his soft, husky voice. A chill breeze intruded off the water, probing like cold fingers in the little spaces between our bodies, between my legs. His voice was hypnotic, and it grew deeper and huskier as he continued. “The way you caress my chest and shoulders and back...and reach down and touch me...until I have to make you stop...the things you say you’ll do for me...your tongue in my mouth...the way you shudder when I kiss your neck...”

He nuzzled under my chin, then kissed me there, and kissed the hollow of my throat, and moved his lips to my collarbone, and I shuddered against him. He laughed softly. “Yes, love...just that way...”

He bent his head and kissed my breasts, lingering on the inner slopes. “Your skin is so soft in your secret places, like normal skin covered by a layer of cream...on your breasts...your thighs...”

He knelt again and directed me to step outward a little more, kissed my inner thighs, licked the juncture of thigh and groin.

“...the ssilkinesss inssside you...” His growing incisors were affecting his speech now, the s’s hissing a little.

He kissed my vaginal area, licked it. His tongue slipped inside me. I touched his hair, stroking it, then, losing control, held his head, moving against his mouth, and he let me, his hands once again on my buttocks, hot and firm and demanding. They moved lower, fingers reaching down and around to open me further, and his lips and tongue slid upward to my clitoris, teasing and flicking and sucking until I cried out softly and rhythmically, my hips and inner muscles working as though he pumped deep within me. With a final kiss, he pulled back easily, despite my hands that were trying to force him to stay, and looked up at me, smiling in delight at my utter delirium as I begged for more.

“Shhhhh....” He held me still with an arm around my hips, reached up to put a finger to my lips. “Shhhhh, darling...”

When he saw that I could stand without assistance, he began to finish the job I’d started, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. His penis, turgid with the fire of the demon, sprang free, and he pushed the clothing down to his knees, sitting back on his heels. “Come to me, my darling. Come to me now.”

Chapter 5    table of contents  

I had never seen anything so beautiful as him kneeling there, his hair and eyes glowing white in the moonlight, his body trembling and pupils enlarged with wanting...me. He was ready, way past ready, and I thought that he would surely explode the moment our bodies made contact. I couldn’t wait to give him that release, that ecstasy. If it meant my life, I would die happy, knowing I had pleasured him.

I stepped to him and placed my hands on his shoulders, those shoulders that were so strong and looked so broad on his slim, muscular frame. Caressed his clavicles, his neck, and ran my fingers through his hair, mussing it wildly. I wanted him to look as feral as I knew he was. Though he still appeared quite self-possessed, I knew he was battling a raging wildfire of need. His resolve not to hurt me would stand strong against his bloodlust for an amazingly long time, and would never allow the demon to have its unmitigated way...but my desire to please him, and to be pleased, to be taken and devoured and relished in the way I had come to crave, would urge me to aid the demon in its quest to overpower him.

I leaned forward and kissed him, taking back my hands so that only our lips touched. He let it be so for a long moment, knowing of my propensity to tease, then rose upright on his knees and reached for me. I stepped back and my body protested with even harder throbs of desire that left me breathless. My nipples were so hard they ached, my sex swollen with need. The cool caress of the wind made me moan softly.

Aloysius remained upright on his knees, his arms still reaching for me. His eyes glowed brighter and I could now see a faint glint of red in the center of his pupils. As I watched, he took a deep breath and sat back on his heels, managed to relax slightly, and the glint of red faded away. He whispered to me, and there was a low growl underlying his soft words. “Come to me, my sssweet...come to me...”

I smiled coyly and took a step closer to him, knowing he couldn’t quite reach me. I tilted my head back and studied the stars, my fingers caressing my breasts and skimming downward to stroke my wetness. I could hear his breath now, faster, and harsh. I knew he could spring toward me and have me in a split second, and that if he lost control enough to do it, he would probably punish me quite severely. I feared it and longed for it. He did not move.

I turned my back to him and bent over, twisting a little to study him from around my right leg. His eyes were on mine, refusing to look where I knew he wanted to. I smiled at his predictable stubbornness and reached between my legs and his eyes locked onto my stroking fingers, his chest beginning to rise and fall more quickly, more visibly. His lips parted, revealing the incisors that had been growing for a while and were now the mature fangs that meant the change was almost complete. Faint glowing redness had returned to center in his pupils. When he spoke this time, the whisper had vanished, leaving only a low, almost inhuman growl. “Do not make me come get you, love. Do not do it.”


“No, darling.” I turned and took another step toward him, let my eyes drop to his rigid penis. “I quite like you just as you are.”

He sat still as stone, waiting, knowing that I couldn’t wait, couldn’t tease, much longer. How well we knew one another. I knew the steel clamps his fingers would seem on my arms, the painfully rigid lance his body would seem thrusting into mine, the sudden exclamation that would escape him when it did. He knew that, though I would writhe and moan in pain, I would rather he tear me apart than stop. We knew one another so well.

I took one more small step toward him and his arms flashed out, one long hand snagging my wrist as I tried to jump back. It was the steel clamp I’d expected, and I could not get away, but I made him drag me toward him until he was able to grip both my upper arms. Upright on his knees, his face was almost even with my breasts, and he pulled me against him, his hot mouth coming to rest on my left nipple, sucking hard enough to hurt, biting hard enough to leave faint impressions. I screamed in reaction, fear leaping high into my throat, and tried to pull away, but it was a reflex. I could no more have pulled away and stayed away than a limb could pull away from its body. I thrust myself against him and tried to grasp his head, but he bent my arms behind my back and held them fast as his mouth worked my breasts, first one, then the other, sucking and licking and nipping until I pleaded incoherently for more.

He looked up at me, smiling, and his fangs glistened like his silver-white eyes. He continued holding me fast, smiling up at me as I writhed against him in a frenzy of lust, leaving my own glistening wetness on his chest. “Are you finished teasssing?” he asked, and I could only respond with whimpers, straining to move. “Then come to me, come and take it, take it...” and he gripped my buttocks, pulled me down, and impaled me.

Chapter 6    table of contents  

As wet and ready as I was, a bolt of sweet pain still shot through me—but it was a good hurt, so good, and I gasped, trying at once to lift myself slightly to lessen the reaming and to steel myself for more. My moans blended with his short, growling cry, almost like the ones he emitted during his most violent workouts.

We grew still, fused and trembling, knowing that if either of us moved, we would climax immediately. My hands, resting on his shoulders, crept around his neck, then my arms, and I pressed into his warmth, my breasts pushing softly against his chest, my parted lips seeking the fragrant skin of his throat. I wanted to kiss every muscular, dangerous inch of him, to kiss and lick and taste, to make him feel the way he’d been making me feel with his fingers and lips and tongue. But this was not the time, and I knew that, before I could begin to make love to him, he would be overcome and, out of control, he would be the one doing the tasting. I craved that moment, but I also wanted to make this one last as long as possible, so I settled for planting soft, open-mouthed kisses around his lips and on his neck and shoulders.

He shuddered. “So sssweet...” His voice was almost unrecognizably deep, a rumbling sigh.

My answer was a kiss on his open lips, and I could feel the hard length of the fangs behind them. I lightened the pressure and licked softly at the corners of his mouth, then, tentatively, at the points of his fangs. My hands moved to his hair, running its silky length through my fingers, caressing the back of his neck, the soft down on his cheeks. My heart was bursting with love, my body bursting with lust, and I whimpered into his mouth and moved on him, unable to remain still a moment longer.

He gasped a breath and let it out as a moan, crushing me to him, bearing me down on him until I cried out in pain and ecstasy. I let go of him and he let me lean back, dizzy with the sensations coursing through me and the swirling heavens above. He held me, strong hands hot on my back, then suddenly lowered me to the floor and stretched atop me, still buried deep within. He let me take more of his weight than usual, pressing me into the cool boards, and wrapped his arms around me, fusing us even more tightly together. I could hardly move, and the delicious idea of being trapped and held down and taken in a frenzy of passion blanked my mind to everything else. I tightened my legs around him, writhed against him as best I could, tried to undulate my hips, and felt the small muscles inside me clasping him harder, caressing him.

He was propped on his elbows, his forearms beneath my shoulders, his hands buried in my hair, cradling my head. I felt his fingers slide around my neck, stopping on pulse points, and I knew he could sense where the blood rushed through me, where every vein and artery throbbed beneath my skin. I knew the demon would demand an artery. I knew that Aloysius would allow him only a vein, and not even a major one...unless he lost the battle of wills. I was betting my life on my husband’s ability to overpower the demon’s death lust, and I felt safe. Such is his force of will, his strength, and I love him for it.

“You...are mine.” His breath was hot in my ear, his voice now a soft, growling moan, each exhalation a husky pant. “You belong...to me.”

“Y—yes,” I breathed, barely able to draw enough breath to expel the single syllable.

“...kill...the man who...touchesss you...” He raised his head and his eyes blazed into mine. “Any man who...looksss at you...”

I could not speak. His eyes were glowing silver and red through the white curtain of his wild hair, and his lips had pulled back enough to bare his fangs. The demon was speaking. Aloysius was losing control, overcome with lust for me, and the sight of him in that state sent waves of unfocused orgasm radiating through me. I sobbed in ecstasy, still wanting more, trying again to move against him, and he finally gave in and let himself go, raising his hips until he was completely free of me, then thrusting into me so hard I felt my back slide a little on the smooth boards. He pumped hard enough to hurt, angling himself higher to better massage my clitoris with each movement, whispering in pants and groans.

“...ssso...tight...hot...yeah...yeah...”

I could only answer with a joyful cry as the sweet throbbing increased to unbearable and kept increasing until bolts of quaking, rending pleasure shot through me, now localized and focused in my sex, which felt like a pool of hot, turbulent fluid, and I felt his explosion, felt his fluids pumping into mine, heard the howl of the demon, looked up into a beautiful blazing visage of mad passion, saw his head dart toward me, felt his keen fangs penetrate my throat, and came again, screaming, because it was too much, it was overload, it had become wonderfully painful and painfully wonderful and I bucked beneath him as he sucked at the punctures in another kind of orgasm, moaning and growling and lapping, and I turned my head to give him better access, wanting to give him everything, needing to give it...and I finally felt his muscles bunch as he steeled himself to stop...felt his fangs slip from my flesh...heard his deep inhalation and the shaky exhale that followed. But I knew it wasn’t over.

The night was young, and the demon was loose, and would focus its lusts on what Aloysius wanted. Aloysius wanted me.

Chapter 7    table of contents  

I awoke suddenly because of the jostling. My body was bouncing up and down, my stomach taking a beating, and for a moment I had no idea where I was or in what position. I was aware of the cool night surrounding me and the rush of air over my buttocks and back and through my hair, which seemed to be hanging down over my face as though I hung upside down. Then I felt the viselike grip that encircled my legs and realized that I was upside down, hanging over Aloysius’s shoulder, and that he was carrying me and running through the forest as though I weighed no more than a Barbie doll. I managed to raise my head enough to see that the moon still glowed brightly enough to show me that we were on a path and that the trees were dense enough to be several miles from the house. Aloysius had never before taken me anywhere while under the influence of the demon, and the change in routine was alarming.

He slowed suddenly and veered off the path, his bare feet crunching softly through the dry, dead leaves. I heard water running, then saw a stream that wound around and between huge rocks that were flattened and smooth and leaned against one another at various angles. I knew where we were now—an area we’d found on one of our many ventures into the forest, an area we called Music Rocks. We’d often brought a picnic lunch and sat in the peaceful lull of the water for hours at a time, talking quietly or sharing comfortable silences in muted sunlight that shimmered down through thick, protective leaves. But tonight those leaves would cast moving shadows, like wraiths, upon the earth, and only the cold, uncaring moon would witness what took place here. I wondered what the demon had planned for me.

He leaped effortlessly across three feet of water and landed on the biggest, flattest rock, the one where we usually spread our picnic and then lay holding hands, watching the clouds float by. I yelped as the demon flung me from his shoulder, then quieted as Aloysius caught me and lowered me gently to the moss-covered stone, soft against my back, and cool, but not uncomfortably so. I looked up into my husband’s eyes, knowing my own were as full of love and trust as always. The demon stared back, greedy, lustful sparks glowing redly from eyes that usually regarded me with the most tender respect, admiration, and love. It didn’t scare me. The eyes had changed, but Aloysius was still behind them. I was not afraid.

He brought his face close to mine, inhaled my breath. Moaned softly, like a hungry man getting his first whiff of a feast. I didn’t notice the rawhide thongs around my wrists and ankles until he grasped the first one and tied it to a small but sturdy tree that grew between the rocks. A thrill of apprehension trickled through me as my other limbs were similarly spread apart and anchored, rendering me open and helpless to his whims. The small creatures that chirped and scurried and whispered in the woods at night, having quieted as we invaded their home, began their nocturnal symphony anew. I wondered if they sensed what crouched nearby in the shape of a man. I wondered if they saw me as his prey. If, before the sun rose, they might be right.

I looked up at him, naked and so very pale in the moonlight, his hair, usually combed back so neatly, now animal wild and long enough to obscure his eyes. As though reading my thoughts, he tossed his head, flinging the fine white curtain from his eyes, and smiled with bared fangs. Lowered his head to my belly. I tensed for penetration but felt only his lips on my skin, kissing, then sucking, harder and harder. When he raised his head his lips were dark with blood. I raised my head and looked down at myself, at the dark suck mark from which one tiny drop of fluid spread itself thin and ran down my hip. The blood looked black in the moonlight. The suck mark smarted faintly.

Aloysius trailed his long fingers in the chill water and touched my left nipple lightly, leaving a fat drop that poised momentarily on the tip, then started to stream away. He quickly bent his head and caught the drop with one tantalizing lick, repeated the action with the other nipple. I bowed my back a little, pushing my chest toward him, hoping for more of the same, but this time his fingers caressed my lips, leaving them wet, and he met them with his own, gently, searchingly. He moved over me, his bare chest touching my breasts, and gazed at my face as though memorizing it. His eyes held no crimson, no expression of greedy hunger, and I knew that, for the moment, he had overpowered the demon. He whispered to me, and it was his own soft, sweet voice. “Love you, wife...”

But the last word trailed off into a growl. He held my face between his hands and kissed me again, this time deeper and harder, almost painfully so. His lips moved over my skin, a kiss here, a lick there, his breath stirring the fine hairs on my arms before he settled his mouth on my inner elbow and began to suck again. It went on until it became painful, and when I whimpered and tried to move my arm, he sank his fangs into it and held it fast.

I sensed the internal struggle just before it became obvious, as, with a short, sharp cry, he wrenched his fangs from my arm and forced himself away from me. For a long moment, he knelt beside me, eyes exploring my body, coming to rest between my spread legs. His lips parted and his eyes flashed silver in the moonlight; then flames bloomed again in his pupils, and it was like looking at little vents to hell. I shuddered in a strange kind of delicious trepidation. He’d never before tied me down, had never felt the need to fight the demon so fiercely. Again I wondered what would happen if he lost the fight; what torturous perversions the demon had planned.

He began behind my ear, licking with quick, light, flicks of his tongue. Sucked at my lobe. Let his fangs just graze the skin over my carotid artery. I tensed, but he moved on, his open lips moving around to the hollow of my throat. I smelled his hair, the subtle fragrance of shampoo; smelled his skin, the warm, captivating musk of the male in heat. Each flick of his tongue, each brush of his lips, affected me more than the last. My skin was growing so sensitive that the least vapor of his warm breath was enough to raise chills of delight and force a low moan from my lips. All my erectile tissue, down to that contained in the smallest hair follicle, was almost painfully firm and throbbing with need.

He buried his face between my breasts and sucked at my flesh again. Now I could actually feel the blood bursting from the capillaries and rising to the surface of my skin, could imagine its warm coppery taste, feel his dark joy as he swallowed it down. He nuzzled my breasts and I tensed for a bite, but he only licked and kissed until orgasmic chills radiated through me, then leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Ssso sssucculent...”

He raised his head suddenly, seeming to sniff the night air, silvery eyes darting about, and I heard a low growl, saw him see its source, saw his upper lip pull back, saw his fangs flash and heard his answering growl as he sprang away from me, ending in a crouch between me and the huge timber wolf standing on a neighboring rock.

Chapter 8    table of contents  

I turned my head, saw them square off, and froze, feeling as though my body were trying its best to sink into the rock on which it lay. I had never felt so vulnerable. If Aloysius lost the battle for me, the wolf would need only stalk a few steps and tear out my throat, or my belly, and I wouldn’t be able to move an inch or raise a hand to stop him. But if I saw my husband killed, I wouldn’t want to.

They circled, neither taking his eyes from the other as they stepped agilely over crevices and ridges in the rocks. Aloysius leaped lightly across a four-foot tributary and the wolf coughed a vicious barking growl and charged a few steps forward, then backed quickly toward me as the demon went to all fours and responded in kind. Aloysius rose and retreated immediately, his eyes flicking to me and back to the wolf, and I knew he was trying to draw the wolf away from me. The wolf followed him, stiff-legged, fangs gleaming, continuously growling. Each time the wolf stopped, Aloysius made as if to rush it, then backed away again, each time drawing the wolf a little farther into the forest, farther away from me. But after only a short distance, the wolf’s eyes flicked to me, also, and it refused to be drawn any farther away. The tone of its growl changed subtly, deepening, intensifying. It was going to move on Aloysius. He sensed it, and his muscular body flexed, like that of a runner awaiting the crack of the starter’s pistol. He fixed his silvery gaze on the wolf and I saw his pupils begin to glow red as he gave over almost complete control to the demon.

The wolf’s growl grew louder. I saw its body tense. It was only about ten feet from Aloysius, and it would reach him in one good leap. I yelled as I saw its powerful hindquarters bunch, but it did no good. It made the leap.

The demon sidestepped the lunge but the wolf was whirling even before it landed, and it immediately came at Aly again, rushing low. The demon hurled itself into the air, somersaulting, and the wolf reared, following it up, slashing Aly’s back as his body flipped in the air above its head. The wolf, lightning fast, was already going for him before he landed, and when he did, facing his adversary, the wolf sprang onto his chest, fangs grazing his throat before he even regained his balance. Blood flew. The demon straightarmed the wolf and threw itself backward. It managed to get a foot under the wolf and propel it away as Aly’s back hit the ground. The wolf went flying, landing in the leaves a few feet behind the demon, who came off the ground with one lithe movement and whirled to face it again. Blood streamed thinly down Aly’s chest from a slash near his clavicle, and bloody scratch marks adorned his cheek and stomach.

I sobbed in fear so great it was suffocating. The most compassionate, kindest person I’d ever known—the one least deserving of pain, who’d already withstood so much—was being attacked and injured, perhaps killed, before my eyes, and I could only watch in an agony of helplessness. Though usually respectful and loving of everyone and everything, especially nature, I was aware suddenly of a hatred for the wolf so dark and bitter that my stomach churned with it. Seeing my husband’s beautiful face marred in such a way intensified the hatred into a fierce, desperate loathing. I was choking on it. I wanted to get my hands on the wolf, to rend it limb from limb. I imagined its hot blood splashing over my naked body.

I realized suddenly that I could smell blood in the air, could smell everything—the musk and rage of the wolf, my husband’s sweat and blood, my own fear. I could differentiate between the smells and trace each to its source in the body from which it emanated. I could hear the whisper of leaves caressing one another in the air overhead, could hear the universe turning on its axis, feel its magnetic field and the pull of each force working within it, sense the gravitational changes as galaxies flew away from its center. Could hear each of our roaring heartbeats, and that of a rabbit that cowered in the bushes nearby, then broke madly for better cover. I sensed the wolf sensing the rabbit, sensing me sensing it sensing the rabbit, and caught a psychic whiff of deadly purpose and single-minded resolve. Instinct told it to fight. Nothing else was possible or even considered. It would fight to the death. I intuited the same purpose, the same intention, in Aly, wished it for myself. Wished desperately that I could summon that strength of will, the strength to break my bonds. Again I imagined what I would do if I could.

My fear dissolved, leaving only rage. Something new, or perhaps only heretofore unnoticed, reared its head and took a look around. I felt it awaken, felt its cold joy as its hungers awakened also. My head rose of its own accord and my eyes locked onto the thongs that bound my hands and feet. I was seeing them through my own eyes and the eyes of the alien within me. I jerked my right hand and the leather thong stretched, bending the small tree to which it was attached, then broke with a pop. The other three thongs followed. All this happened in the blink of an eye, and when I rose to a squat and turned in the direction of the battle, the combatants were squaring off again, the wolf now with a trace of blood shining wetly on its muzzle. I could see the red slickness of the blood in the moonlight, could make out the wolf’s eyes and the expression of solemn determination on my husband’s face. Could see each leaf and stick caught in the wolf’s pelt.

The wolf screwed its hindquarters down onto the rock, preparing for another leap, and I saw Aly notice me suddenly, saw that I had distracted him at the worst possible moment. In the second it took him to gauge my condition and glance back at the wolf, it had become airborne. It slammed into Aly and I saw his strong arms encircle its body. Then they fell together.

I heard an unearthly howl, realized it came from my own mouth, and felt my own muscles bunch just before I found myself sailing through the air. I landed on my feet just behind the wolf, which was burrowing for Aly’s throat. The demon held it off, eyes glowing like fire coals, and I felt an answering warmth bloom in my own pupils. The wolf darted its muzzle forward. One more thrust and its teeth would reach Aly’s carotid. It made the thrust and I hurled myself upon it.

My strength startled me, but held no surprise for the creature that I was becoming. With no hesitation, it grabbed the wolf’s head and twisted. I saw Aly’s arms tighten around the body. The neck broke with an audible snap. The back legs kicked feebly for a moment, then the huge furry body went limp.

The demon’s fiery eyes burned into mine. It pushed the wolf’s body away and rose. It regarded me silently, then reached toward me. My husband turned it away, kept its eyes averted until he overcame it, then turned his own calm, concerned eyes back to me.

But my eyes were drawn to the blood on his face, his chest. I stepped toward him, closing my eyes momentarily to better enjoy the heady, brassy scent. I opened my eyes and reached for him. He stood still. I stepped closer and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then lick at the blood that still oozed from the scratches there. The taste was sweet, metallic, and intoxicating. I whimpered and it turned into a soft growl. I lapped again and again, until the bleeding stopped. Looked into his eyes. Kissed him lightly. He responded gently, but did not move to hold me. He only waited, expectantly.

I looked down at his body, at more blood that still ran from the slash near his clavicle, from the scratches on his stomach. Suddenly I was breathless with lust—for him, for his flesh, his blood, his fluids. I clasped his shoulders and put my mouth to the deepest slash and sucked. Impatient with the trickle, I moaned desperately, trying to suck harder, to draw more from him. He touched my face and I felt my teeth sink into his flesh. My incisors. My fangs.

He gasped softly but held still, allowing me my hunger. I drank ardently, finally forcing my fangs from his sweet skin, forcing myself to be content with licking the punctures, then the salty essence of his perspiration. I could taste the condition of every organ in that precious fluid, could calculate his electrolyte balance and feel the rhythm of cell production in his marrow. In awe, I raised my head and looked at him.

I could see every beautiful inch of him more clearly than I usually saw him in the brightest daylight. Could feel every muscle contraction, hear every beat of his heart, every spurt of blood that jetted through every valve, with senses that were not only heightened, but supernaturally empathic. I bent my head and once again tasted his blood, this time from the scratches on his chest and stomach. When I had licked it all away and sucked the wounds dry, I could still smell blood. I remembered the slash on his back and slunk around him, visiting the same hunger on it. When no more blood rose to my lips, I stepped back and looked at him, keeping my hands on his elbows, realizing I had been holding them in a viselike grip. I let my highly tactile new vision roam his strong shoulders, his back, his muscular buttocks. Caressed him. He did not protest, merely stood there. He knew what I needed, and was giving me time to take it.

I moved back around him, looked into his eyes, saw only patient orbs of silver. No redness glowed within them. His lips parted and he started to speak, but the site of his fangs so overwhelmed me that I stopped his words with my mouth, sucking at their hard whiteness and at his lips and tongue, my own growing teeth sometimes bumping and grazing his with a sensation that tore eager moans and whimpers from my gasping mouth. I wanted more of him, more of his flavors, his essence. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth.

A soft moan escaped him and, in his surprise, he touched my face as though to stop me. I grasped his buttocks and sucked harder, letting my lower teeth just scrape him slightly, letting my lips form a rim that caressed his length while my tongue flicked and licked and moved on him until he grasped my head again, this time in passion, guiding my rhythm, matching it with his thrusting hips. The taste of his flesh impelled me to bite, but I contented myself with the knowledge that it would not be necessary—he would feed me again momentarily. As the thought manifested, his hands tightened on my head and a sharp cry escaped him. As always, I swallowed his emission, but more hungrily than ever, trying to suck him as dry as I had sucked his wounds. He moaned rhythmically as he spurted, then whispered my name and sank to his knees in front of me.

For a long moment he gazed into my eyes, and I knew he saw the same crimson passion I’d seen in his. I licked my lips and smiled, baring my fangs for him, knowing they would leave no doubt what I’d become. He shook his head slowly, eyes closing, and I saw his lips tremble. He spoke in a voice so low and choked that, even with my new preternatural hearing, it was hard to pick up. “Oh, my darling...what have I done to you?”

“You did nothing,” I said, loving the feel of my fangs caressing my inner lips as I spoke. “My love and need to sssave you did it. And I love it, Aly...I love it...”

I laughed and lunged for him playfully, then felt my teeth locking onto his throat. I tried to stop, but something was driving me, pushing me, forcing me, and I could not. I screamed in terror as I bit down, then in delight as I felt his blood spurt into my mouth.

Powerful hands pried me gently from his throat, then closed painlessly around my own neck in a way that sent me instantly into the dark void of unconsciousness.

Chapter 9    table of contents  

I awoke on our bed, alone, naked under a light chenille throw. One small lamp cast a circle of soft light around the bed, leaving the corners of the large room dark and mysterious. My inner clock told me it was no later than three in the morning. Rising onto my elbows, I looked around. Listened. I heard only the soft trinkle of the waterfall and, somewhere outside, the call of a whippoorwill. It seemed that the alien presence inside me had abated. My fangs had diminished somewhat.

Aloysius entered the room, silently as always, carrying two cups on a silver tray. He was still nude, and dirty and bloody from the fight. But it was the sight of the thick pressure bandage on his throat that took my breath away. The world dropped out from under me and I turned away from him, drawing into a tight ball of miserable guilt and sorrow. I would have died rather than hurt him, and look what I had done.

The mattress canted slightly behind me and a gentle hand stroked my hair. “Do not berate yourself, darling. I’m fine.”

I tried to stop the tears and couldn’t, then turned to face him anyway. “I’m so sorry, Aly.” My voice broke and the force of my sobs shook me.

He gathered me into his arms and lifted me onto his lap, holding me close, petting my back, rocking me gently. “Shhhh. I know what you are feeling. How many times have I said the same to you? And yet you say you want it, even that you enjoy it. That you want to give me what I must have. You are my love...my friend...my wife. Do you not think that I want to give to you?”

I pulled back a little and touched the bandage. “You have never wounded me like this.”

“I have had longer to learn to control it. But you will not have to learn, angel.”

I searched his calm silver eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Later. Let’s get you feeling better.” He started to hand me a cup of tea, saw my hands shaking, and held it for me while I sipped, letting his own stand. It was so like him. I told him I’d had enough, insisted, so he’d drink his own before it grew cold.

He kept one arm around my shoulders and used his other hand to drink his tea, much faster than usual. I knew better than anyone how he loved savoring pleasant tastes, moods, and feelings, but now he gulped the hot tea as though taking medicine, then set the cup back on the nightstand and lifted me, striding toward the master bath. He bypassed the shower stall and carried me to the huge sunken tub, setting me down on the edge as gently as if I were made of the most delicate crystal. I saw that he had already run a bath. The shiny black interior of the tub made the water appear much deeper than it was, and the contrast of the black tub and other shiny black fixtures against the multicolored glass tiles set into the walls and floor of the room was beautiful.

Aloysius stepped into the tub and held out his arms for me, and I slipped off the side, clasping my arms around his neck. He sat down, holding me once more on his lap. The water was very warm, almost hot, and it stung my puncture wounds like bees for the moments it took to get used to it. I thought how it must be hurting Aly, with his many scratches and bites and cuts, and turned my face to his, kissing his lips to distract him from the pain, noticing as I did so that his fangs were much diminished, also. He cupped the back of my head in one long-fingered hand, his mouth moving against mine with almost reverent softness, his other hand stroking my neck and shoulder lightly, almost moving to my breast, then returning to my shoulder. I wondered if he was afraid of awakening the demon in one or both of us, wondered what would happen if it did awaken.

He pulled back a little and smiled down at me. “Do you remember the first time we sat in this tub together?”

“Yes. We had been arguing.”

“We never argue, love. Sometimes we merely hold lively discussions.”

“We argue.”

“Semantics.” He laughed softly. “What were we...discussing?”

“Men never remember. We were arguing about your going to Utah to investigate that case, remember? The guillotine case.”

“Ah, yes! Severed heads, the work so precisely done that it could’ve only been accomplished with one quick blow from a very sharp blade.”

“You tried to tell them what it was.”

“Yes, I did. They couldn’t believe it.” He sighed, rubbing my back slowly, softly.

“Nobody comprehends how brilliant you are, my darling. Not until they meet you and see those eyes.”

“And why would seeing my eyes make a difference?”

“Because...your eyes are like silver mirrors, reflecting all the wonders of the universe.”

He smiled again. “Not true. But it’s gratifying to know you think so.”

“I do.”

“Let’s not discuss it.” His voice held that light, on-the-verge-of-laughter tone. I love that tone, love seeing him happy. Sometimes he seems so sad, is so sad, though he usually denies it.

I remembered the time he had not denied it, the time he had told me about his family; then the visit we’d made to the Riverside Drive mansion. I had beheld so many wondrous things, had been dizzy with the shock of knowing that this incredible man, whose exotic beauty, wisdom, genius, compassion, and bravery were almost beyond belief, was also the owner of the most fascinating museum I’d ever seen or heard about.

We had known one another for about two months at the time of that visit, and after we’d toured the curiosities, he’d led me to the library, sat down beside me on the sofa, and told me that, though he’d thought he would never find love again and had not been looking for it, he had found it—with me. I remembered the surge of joy that had shot through me like a skyrocket, remembered kissing him again and again, on the lips, cheeks, chin, and his own joy, his laughter. Remembered making love for the first time on the sofa, and how thrilled I had been at the beauty of his lithe, muscular body; how shocked at the horror of his scars. How his eyes had burned into mine while his body plunged into mine. The rending passion beneath that calm, cool exterior. The breathless scream when he came, crushing me in arms that felt like steel bands around me until he regained control and handled me once more the way he always did, as though he handled fine china. The way my love for him had flamed through me with almost suffocating power, leaving me trembling with overwhelming emotion and awe.

The first time he’d come to my studio, gathering information in an investigation, we had faced one another in front of the row of large windows and I had looked up at him, almost shivering with déjà vu. He hadn’t seemed to feel it, to feel anything, until he turned to leave. He had taken one long step toward the door, then stopped and turned, gazing at me, his eyes like arrows that pierced mine so deeply that I had to look away, out the windows, where the open, airy freedom of the sky relieved the intense, penetrated, almost trapped feeling that his riveted attention had inflicted. When I’d glanced back, he’d been standing in front of me, close enough to touch. I had not heard him move.

In my surprise I had stepped back, almost tripping over a chair, and he’d reached out and caught me with the speed of a striking cobra. His touch, his proximity, his towering presence that somehow implied a strength not first glimpsed in his slim, graceful form, had so overwhelmed me that I’d closed my eyes and just stood there, afraid I would swoon like a twit in a black-and-white movie. He’d remained silent, just holding me gently, as though he sensed the possibility of an impending faint. When I’d finally opened my eyes, his own had softened, and I looked into them and feel comforted, and he’d whispered two words: “It’s you.”

From that day forward we had been inseparable.

Remembering, I laid my cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, to his slow, steady breathing, and felt safe again. Whatever was happening to me, to us, he would make it all right. He always did. I had no way of knowing that his plan for doing so would wound me as nothing ever had. As joyous as our union had been, it was about to change into the most tortuous trial of my life. I rested in his arms, mystified but content. I’m glad I enjoyed that sweet contentment, because it was about to end.

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