The Raven Queen woke from a dreamless sleep, covered by nothing but her black sheets and her pet's arms. Surrounding her, as usual, were the dark granite walls of her bedroom, the chandelier twinkling in the early morning light. Sunlight filtered through the red glass of the arched windows, scattered across the stone floor, played across her pet's back and her own shoulders. With a gesture of Kraehe's hand, a raven flew to one of the windows and nudged it open. A breeze flowed through the room, rustling the black hangings on the bed. The fragrance of the roses on the nightstand mixed with the heady scent of sex and blood from the night before.
It was a perfect morning.
Her pet was fast asleep, his head pillowed against her breast, his breath slow and even. He always slept with her like this, with his arms tightly wound around her waist and his body pressed as close to her as possible... like a man slept with his lover. Like a child slept with his mother. Perhaps, Kraehe mused as she watched his sleeping face, the two were not so different for him. He was completely dependent on her, helpless, like a chick in the nest. Without her, he would wither from lack of sustenance as quickly as from lack of love. But then, it wasn't quite his fault. He could hardly find food on his own. And Kraehe didn't mind nursing him.
She nudged the man in her arms gently. "Wake up, my pet. Time for breakfast."
His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked at her a few times. Kraehe recalled amusedly when he had had to scramble for his glasses every morning before he could look at her properly. "Good morning, my queen."
Without replying, she reached for the knife on her bedside table, drawing a line across her palm. Her pet's eyes widened, and he reached for her wrist, but Kraehe batted him away irritatedly. "Not yet, dear. You know I prefer to feed you directly."
Her lips fastened around the cut on her palm, and she drew the red liquid into her mouth, savoring the taste of her blood. It was quite good, if one were in the mood for thick, coppery things--which he always seemed to be--but she swallowed very little, holding the majority of it in her mouth. With her unwounded hand, she cradled the back of his head, pulling his mouth to hers. The blood poured from her mouth to his, and he swallowed greedily, his tongue tangling with hers in her mouth.
She smirked as she pulled back, traces of blood marring both of their faces. "Good morning, Autor."