Instinct
"I have no idea what I'm fucking doing!" she said, as surprised at the snarl in her voice as Simon was not.
"You're thinking too much," he replied, soothing, honeyed tones that had been part of the reason she found herself in this predicament in the first place. "Let your instincts guide you."
"I don't have instincts for this!"
"You do now."
All she felt was hunger, a gnawing, desperate, dizzying, blinding hunger. A need so great it scared her, because this wasn't normal, there must be something wrong with her.
Simon's hands smoothed down her arms from behind, cool and calming. "Breath in deeply," he said. "Catch the scent. Let it fill you up. There. You have it, don't you? You can taste it on the air. I can feel your skin prickling. Your heart beat is speeding up. It's all right, let it. It won't harm you. Now. Part your lips, give yourself room to grow."
Her eyes had closed while he spoke, and with them still closed she did as he said, letting her mouth fall softly open. As if opening a floodgate, her fangs dropped down from her gums, pain like pressing a bruise drawing a small moan from her at the same time.
"Now," Simon said, stepping back. "Let it guide you."
The part of her that still thought it was human found this strange, unnatural; but there was another, stronger part of her now, and she let go of her control and followed its lead. Her gaze narrowed in on the man in front of her, clad in black leather and hands bound, head already bowed in willing supplication.
She followed her senses to the root of the scent, the pulsing vein beneath the skin of his neck. The vein she suddenly realized she could see clearly, could hear pulsing in time with his eager heart.
Her hands slid over his hot flesh. She marveled at how hot the living, human flesh seemed to her now, a furnace enticing her to come closer, to touch more. But she did not marvel long. For then his vein was under her nose, her teeth, and her fangs were digging into his neck as though they had done it before, sure and steady and calm.
He made a small noise of pain at the first cut, but then she heard no more. Everything was blotted away by the rush of his blood into her mouth and the pounding of his heart fighting against it. She pulled him close, cradling his head in her hand, drawing deep from the fount of his vein.
It was impossible, it was insanity that she was doing this, that this was real and not a story. But every fear and doubt and human misgiving faded away like so much dust into the air as Iona drank her first as a vampire.
"You're thinking too much," he replied, soothing, honeyed tones that had been part of the reason she found herself in this predicament in the first place. "Let your instincts guide you."
"I don't have instincts for this!"
"You do now."
All she felt was hunger, a gnawing, desperate, dizzying, blinding hunger. A need so great it scared her, because this wasn't normal, there must be something wrong with her.
Simon's hands smoothed down her arms from behind, cool and calming. "Breath in deeply," he said. "Catch the scent. Let it fill you up. There. You have it, don't you? You can taste it on the air. I can feel your skin prickling. Your heart beat is speeding up. It's all right, let it. It won't harm you. Now. Part your lips, give yourself room to grow."
Her eyes had closed while he spoke, and with them still closed she did as he said, letting her mouth fall softly open. As if opening a floodgate, her fangs dropped down from her gums, pain like pressing a bruise drawing a small moan from her at the same time.
"Now," Simon said, stepping back. "Let it guide you."
The part of her that still thought it was human found this strange, unnatural; but there was another, stronger part of her now, and she let go of her control and followed its lead. Her gaze narrowed in on the man in front of her, clad in black leather and hands bound, head already bowed in willing supplication.
She followed her senses to the root of the scent, the pulsing vein beneath the skin of his neck. The vein she suddenly realized she could see clearly, could hear pulsing in time with his eager heart.
Her hands slid over his hot flesh. She marveled at how hot the living, human flesh seemed to her now, a furnace enticing her to come closer, to touch more. But she did not marvel long. For then his vein was under her nose, her teeth, and her fangs were digging into his neck as though they had done it before, sure and steady and calm.
He made a small noise of pain at the first cut, but then she heard no more. Everything was blotted away by the rush of his blood into her mouth and the pounding of his heart fighting against it. She pulled him close, cradling his head in her hand, drawing deep from the fount of his vein.
It was impossible, it was insanity that she was doing this, that this was real and not a story. But every fear and doubt and human misgiving faded away like so much dust into the air as Iona drank her first as a vampire.
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