My sisters turned to their own rooms, and I went to mine. It was surprisingly open, though I remembered I had closed it before leaving. It meant that he had returned and, yes, when I opened the door, I saw Butch sitting on the couch, watching television. He looked up when I entered, and anger blazed in his eyes.

"Where were you?"

His voice wasn't angry, just…hard. I closed the door behind, buying time before I had to look at him. "Um…I was with Ramesh and his family. My sisters were there with me too. We hung out for some time on the balcony. Butch, are you alright?"

Anger had drained from his eyes, but he still looked pissed. "Yeah," He said, shaking his head as if to push the anger out. "So you went to meet the Ramesh family?"

"Yeah," I answered him, pulling off my shoes and sitting down next to him. "It was just, Krimmy, Josh, Sam and Sheila with me and my sisters. We set up a lounge on the balconies, drinking and you know…chilling."

"Sounds fun," Butch said bitterly, turning off the television set. I touched his forehead, pushing back the hair I knew irritated him by coming in his face. The same hair, I had to admit, made him look mysterious and very sexy. Apparently, he knew this too, because he hadn't ever had them cut. His forehead was burning.

"You seem to have a fever," I said. This was almost the first time I had seen any of the ruffs having a fever; the last time Butch had a fever was because of the various medicines he was taking after the second war. Butch shrugged, unconcerned.

"I'm serious, Butch," I said. "You're not well. Your forehead's burning up."

"Doesn't matter," Butch said. "I not being well don't matter to my big brother. He just wants to freaking kill me with work and load, just 'cause I will be the King after him."

"Okay," I said, jumping over to get him a glass of chilled water. He took it from me, and drank it in one shot. "Should I get you something? Some blood?"

"Blood would be nice," Butch admitted, "But I don't want a feeder's blood. Not anymore, no way."

"Why not?" I asked, perplexed. Butch looked adamant and irresolute, and he turned up the television again, not answering me.

"Butch," I said, grabbing the remote from him and muting it. "Tell me. I can ask someone to get you a jug of blood if you want."

"I said I don't want some freaking feeder's blood," Butch said crossly. I stood in front of him, putting a hand on my waist.

"And I asked why not," I said.

"Because Brick, the King has been too nice to tell me that I am utterly and completely dependant on him for everything, including blood. That I drink from his feeders."

"How long since you had blood?" I asked Butch. He continued to look irritated, and for a second I thought he would not answer me, but he did.

"Awhile."

"Great, that explains the fever," I shut off the TV and sat down on the couch next to him, grabbing a hair band and tying my hair in a knot, baring my neck for him. "Drink."

"What, I didn't mean –"

"Butch, you said you won't have feeder's blood because they were Brick's. Right? Well, you can have my blood, as I am your mate, because you totally need that blood, all right? I do not mind," I said, getting in his lap and showing him the curve of my neck.

I could feel his breath on my skin, and then his arms, holding me closer. "Okay, fine," He said, though the anger had drained off his voice, and he pressed his lips on my skin.

Butch's POV

It seemed like a really long time since I had had blood from Buttercup. I remembered once, about a year ago, when we had mated. It had been a dreadful, painful memory, but at least this time I knew it wouldn't be painful. This time I was aware this activity would bring both of us emotions that would range from pleasure to disgust and whatnot. It was one of the reasons why neither my brothers nor I fancied drinking blood from our mates much – the experience would become excruciating, though yes, a pleasure as well.

Inch by inch, I savored her, careful, meticulous. Never had I been so careful while feeding, because never had I freely drunk from my Butterbabe. The anger and spite I had against Brick melted away instantly, as I bit her neck. The sweet fire of her blood exploded on my tongue, and emotions so strong and deep stirred inside me, that it took me all I had to keep from groaning loud.

Buttercup moaned, her hands reaching up for my hair, tangling, pulling. I was hardly aware, I was so thirsty, and her blood was like heaven to me, better, stronger.

Feeding from sick whores and feeders had no pleasure, whilst drinking from my mate had the best feeling in the world. Buttercup was taking rapid, long breaths, her back arched, her eyes closed, her hands still messing up my hair.

"Butch," She moaned. I was almost afraid she was going to ask me to stop – I didn't want to, not now. But I had never forced Buttercup to do anything, and I knew if she disliked it, I would find a way to stop myself. It would be hard, but I'd find a way. "Butch, Butch."

Her fingers clutched my back, her nails digging in my skin. I didn't stop, because I could not, the craving I felt was too intense. Nothing could compare to this blissful blessing, nothing could stand against the sensations I felt. I drank deeper, carefully but completely.

"Yes, yes, yes."

Thank God, I thought. If she had asked to stop me, I did not know how I would've done it. I would have stopped, but it would have taken all the power I had. I dig in deeper, until I knew, I had had enough.

I pulled out, licking my teeth, my lips. Buttercup sat frozen in front of me, her chest rising with effortful breathing, her eyes closed. Finally, she looked at me, her lips closing in what was unmistakably a smile. "Want more?" I asked, teasingly.

"If it did not mean draining my life force, then yeah please," Buttercup said, and closed her eyes and arched her neck, as if asking me to really drink more. I grinned, leaning towards her neck, kissed her at the spot where I had bit her. Slowly, I healed her, and once she was totally healed – and I had made sure no drop of blood was left on her – she turned in my lap, kissing me, hungrily.

Did I say nothing could compare to me feeding from Buttercup? Scratch that. Kissing her could actually compete well with drinking her. She was sweet, hot and awesome. She fell under my weight, as I climbed on top of her, holding her down from my mouth. She smelled and even tasted funny, as if of vodka, beer, and scotch.

I would not have stopped, if Buttercup had not pulled away from me, laughing, and grinning. "Butch," She said, mockingly.

"Hmmmm," I muttered, going down to her neck, kissing the spot where I had sucked not so long ago, finding her warm and soft skin comforting and welcoming.

"Stop it, Butch," She was still laughing, I knew. I didn't answer her, lifting her up and half a second later dropping her on our bed, climbing up next to her. Before I really had the chance to feel her, she grabbed my hands, interlocking our fingers together.

"I mean it," She said. "Stop, please."

I stopped, lying down next to her, watching her breath in that stunning way she had. She smiled again, and this time, she climbed on top of me, pushing me back and lying down over me.

"How do you expect me to stop?" I muttered, cupping her face from my hands. "You smell of licorice and whiskey, so does your tongue."

Buttercup touched my forehead, and instantly she relaxed. "Your fever's gone," She said, as if that answered my question. She then got off me, and sat down, facing the window outside. "Butch, I… I had to tell you something."

"Ya think?" He asked, conversationally.

"Butch I…I think…" I took a deep breath, and felt his eyes leave my face, travel down my body. Fear and anxiety filled my heart. I bit my lip, preparing for the worse. "I think I am going to die."