Disclaimer: I own nothing. Incredibly thankful beyond words for the world that Toby Whithouse has created and for the character of Hal that Damien Molony has brought to life. All mistakes are my own.
Thanks to TJ4ev and Saemay for proofing.
This warning might be obsolete, but changing to M rating.
This one is super long, and I was worried it was too sappy, but I haven't had any complaints. :) Enjoy!
Ch. 7 Awkward
"If you say 'I'm sorry' one more time Hal, I shall slap you to the backside of nowhere." Sylvie says only half jokingly as she begins removing the straps that hold Hal down in the chair.
"You do possess quite an arm." He frowns, "And what does that even mean? Will you please stop making up phrases?"
"Well, you weren't being very nice when you said those things about my mother, even if some of them are true. Besides, considering your state at the time I thought a good clout would knock some sense into you. And..." she stops unbuckling to give him a impudent look, "I can make up phrases as I please. You are not my tutor."
"Is this truly how you plan to help me stay sane? If so I was better off joining the vampires."
"I think you are doing very well, despite the torments I've devised for you." She gives him a mischievous grin. "It's all part of the plan. You are too busy fending off my teasing to think too much about... bad elements you shouldn't be thinking about."
He inadvertently glances at her décolletage and quickly looks away. The skin exposed above her bodice does tend to draw his eyes away from her neck. Torments indeed. She seems to have chosen some of her most revealing gowns to wear the last couple weeks. Part of her plan?
"Ahhh, Sylvie. I'm -" At her look he swallows the 'sorry' he'd been about to say and continues, "I wish to thank you for helping me through this." He makes an open-handed gesture to encompass his state. "There is no way I can take back the things you've been exposed to... the hallucinations... I'm not entirely sure what I said -"
Moving to the strap on his other leg she interrupts him, "Hal, I know you think me a naïve girl, but I'm strong enough for this. It's better I know some of the things you've been up to, however difficult it is to contemplate. Besides, you can no longer make the claim that I don't know 'the real you' and now I have ammunition if we ever get into a fight."
Hal makes an irked noise, shaking his head. Then he closes his eyes with embarrassment. "The, ahhh... incident. When I suggested... when I thought you were that... French girl..." His voice cracks as he trails off.
"Well, that." She blushes furiously. Pausing to look at his slender fingers as she unstraps his wrist doesn't help the situation. Oh lord, what he said about fingers. "That was... educational. I did not know any of those things were done... and by the sounds of it, you frequented that...that lady's... establishment on more than one occasion... "
Mentally chastising himself Hal says, "I did not mean to offend your sensibilities."
Biting her lip in a gesture Hal suddenly finds very coquettish, she answers, "Offend is not the word I would use." She's still enthralled by his fingers as she releases his last binding. Then she looks up at him with a barely suppressed smile. "However, it is good happenstance that our hosts ne parlent pas français."
Hal nods with an exhale, "Yes, I imagine that would have been... awkward."
As he stands she says dramatically, gesturing widely, "I set you free! Go forth into the world in peace!"
Hal snickers grimly, "That's not very likely. The last time I 'went forth' the streets in two countries ran with blood." At her raised eyebrow he says, "Sorry. No, I'm fine. I really do feel I have it under control."
Sylvie sighs, "Will you be fine without me? I do wish we didn't have to be apart."
"It is for the best. Normally women's... ah... well it isn't a problem for most of us. But I am.. a bit more... ah... sensitive... Besides, is it not tradition to have a time of sequestering before these things?"
Sylvie gives a little laugh at his discomfiture. "Hal, I don't think that's been a custom for at least one hundred years. You should try to keep up with the times more."
Hal looks up at the ceiling. Her infuriating goading is certainly something he wouldn't miss.
He is surprised at how much he'd missed her, teasing and all, but the day had finally arrived.
Standing in the garden of her father's estate with the 4 humans awaiting, Hal's thumbs march across his fingers behind his back as his mind wanders.
He supposes that when you've lived over 300 years, something like this is bound to happen at some point.
As a human he'd never given it much thought. Growing up in a brothel gave him a singular perspective. Fornication was de régulière in his upbringing, not something he questioned. This had only intensified throughout most of his vampire existence as he had given into his carnal urges with complete relish. If he desired a woman, he simply took her, willing or not; very willing more often than not. However, with Sylvie he is experiencing something new. This - this is something rooted deep in the pit of his belly, an ache for more, an ache that transcends his base desires. He is still bemused by the idea - he, Hal, former Lord Harry, scourge of England and Wales; known to have peasants flayed for looking at him funny; leaving a trail of seduced (and dead) women - had fallen in love.
Approaching her father had thankfully been a painless affair. The werewolf had come with him to be certain he didn't have a relapse. No sooner had Hal uttered the traditional "I have come to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage." had the other man sighed in relief saying, "About bloody time, my boy!" and they had entered a discussion about her dowry and obtaining a special license to marry within the fortnight.
Mercifully, weddings are handled in a civilized manner in these times. No barbaric rituals, no long drawn out feasts with large gatherings; an official paper procured and a simple ceremony with only her parents and the De La Villa couple as witnesses sufficed. Even their unusual request to forego some of the long, tedious ceremony was granted. The vicar seems to be wary of Sylvie. Hal is sure there is a story behind the man's nervous glances at her, the stammering manner whenever he is forced to address her.
Hal had spent the fortnight apart from Sylvie preparing himself mentally, yet at the sight of her walking towards him in the very gown she'd been wearing when destiny had thrust her back into his life, he feels a renewed flutter of nervous apprehension. He tries to appear calm, but by the amused look her father gives him, it's clear Hal is unsuccessful.
Sylvie gives him a timid smile, quite a change from her usual boisterous self, and they stand facing each other as the ceremony begins. Hal winces at an unbidden memory - the last time he'd attended a wedding he'd eaten half the guests. The irony of the situation is not lost on him - he hopes the Eastern belief of Karma does not exist, or at least does not come back to haunt him.
Soon the vicar turns to Hal with the timeless words:
"Henry Yorke,Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, till death do you part?"
Hal takes a steadying breath trying not thinking too hard about the implications of the last statement. He looks at Sylvie, feeling her strength and trust as she looks back. For once in his very long life he feels he is doing something right. "I will."
"Sylvie Élise Arundel,Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, till death do you part?"
Sylvie's smile widens as she declares, "I will!" eliciting the predictable guffaws from the men and sniffles from the women.
When prompted, they kneel down and Hal takes a ring from his pocket. It is a posey ring, as customary in the time he had been a human. With a small smile at the thought of her reaction when she discovers the hidden message, Hal slips the ring onto her fourth finger and says the requisite words with surprising conviction, "with this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow..."
Then before the clergyman can continue, Hal breaks tradition. He grabs both of Sylvie's hands in his and holding her gaze repeats the poem he'd written as a tribute to her:
Dear thoughts are in my mind
And my soul soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day.
For a tender beaming smile
To my hope has been granted,
And tomorrow she shall hear
All my fond heart would say.
I shall tell her all my love,
All my soul's adoration,
And I think she will hear
And will not say me nay.
It is this that gives my soul
All its joyous elation,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day.
This brings on more sniffles from the women, including the bride. Sylvie hardly hears any of the rest of the ceremony, just stares into Hal's eyes, letting her happy tears go unchecked. Hal's tears go unchecked as well.
After the celebratory breakfast, Federico takes Hal aside in the foyer. "Bueno, la Señorita got her way after all?" He says with a smirk.
Hal replies tersely, "It would appear so."
"Are you ready for this?" Hal is surprised the wolf's tone holds no sarcasm or animosity. During his stay in the chair they had come to an uneasy truce. Hal doubted werewolves and vampires could ever call themselves friends, but at the very least they could tolerate each other.
"Yes. No." Hal admits in a deflated tone.
The other man gives him a pitying look. Then he starts giving him marriage advice. "Here are a few things I've learned as a married man."
Hal's eyebrows shoot up. "You do realize I am several centuries older than you. I have been with a... considerable amount of women in that time."
"Yes but you've never been married to one. You'll find that this will be as different as dia y noche!" The Spaniard looks around to be certain they are still alone and begins, "If she says you forgot something, don't try to argue with her. Just apologize profusely."
Hal lifts his eyebrows. "That won't be a problem. I never forget anything."
"Oh, trust me, she will find something she never bothered to tell you and claim you forgot." He leans in, "It doesn't hurt to bring her a present in this situation." At Hal's uncomfortable look he leans away.
"If she asks you how she looks, dios mío, do not be tempted to point out even one stray hair out of place! If you slip, again, it helps to bring her a present."
Hal stares back blandly.
"Now this is an important one. If she says yes, she usually means no. If she says no -"
Hal interrupts, "She usually means yes? I have encountered something similar in the past -"
The werewolf shakes his head. "No, she still means no."
Hal frowns. "But that's utter nonsense. What does she say when she means yes?"
"They usually don't. And by the way, you'll never want to say to her the phrase 'that's utter nonsense.' Not if you don't want something heavy and valuable thrown at you."
Hal rolls his eyes.
"One thing I have learned is that women want to 'change you for the better'. It might start with little things like the way you style your hair, or your clothes, asking you to do things differently -"
Hal interrupts again, " But I don't need change. That's the very furthest thing I need. She knows this. I need to stick to my routines, surround myself with familiar items."
"Perhaps she won't, this being... special circumstances." Federico looks dubious.
Hal sighs.
"Just remember this one rule above others. La Señorita is always right. Then you'll do just fine." The Spaniard gives him an encouraging grin.
"Well, ahh, thank you. That's quite... instructional." Hal feels even more worried than before.
As they hear the women coming down the stairs, Hal gets closer to the other man and quietly asks, "Do you have what I asked you for?"
Federico nods solemnly now and reaches in his jacket.
As Sylvie reaches the two men by the exit, she sees Federico hand something to Hal, who quickly stashes it in his boot before turning to her. She wonders idly what it is but the thought hardly has time to take root before she's being whisked into the carriage amidst goodbyes from her family and friends.
On the carriage ride over to his home - no, their home - Hal works to suppress his reaction to the sudden loudness of her heart thudding in such close quarters. Catching himself tapping his fingers to that enchanting rhythm he balls his hands into into fists. In theory he can do this - he'd had a few human partners in the past that he kept for a while. However that had been when he'd been on the blood, imbibing copiously to keep the monster at bay, in order to enjoy other carnal pursuits. He remembers each one, so different, yet each with some quality that kept him from killing them the first time, the second time, time measured in weeks, if they were lucky, months... only to end up dead and cold when he finally... STOP! Of their own accord his fingers begin again, tap tap, tap tap...
He'd never done this as Good Hal. And the fact that she was still an innocent maiden... unbidden memories of defiling virgins begin flitting through his concentration. He sighs and forces himself to list all the native trees in England by botanical name, in alphabetical order.
He glances across at Sylvie who is uncharacteristically silent, barely acknowledging him. Apart from the looks she gives him up and down - he feels like a cock being measured and weighed for supper. He most definitely refuses to blush at her blatant looks. And her giggles. Most definitely. The way she's acting reminds him of a few lusty conquests and his eyes travel to her neck as he remembers those encounters, as he remembers the taste of arousal-spiked blood... STOP! Hal begins recounting Chaucer's Tales to pass the time and belatedly he realizes his error. Desperately he switches to multiplying prime numbers. Numbers should be safe. Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.
Sylvie keeps glancing at Hal while he's lost in thought. He looks like a man going to face the gallows. Skittish as a colt, white as a sheet. Apart from surprisingly red cheeks and endearingly red ears. Sylvie feels she should say something to comfort him, but only nervous giggles escape her. How can she say anything when her heart is lodged in her throat, and she alternates between feeling faint and wanting to throw herself at him. This is a night she's only ever dreamed of, in a vague way since no one had ever told her anything about what to expect. She is fortunate to have found her new friend - the supernatural world seems to be less inhibited than the norm. Gemma had given her some information, in broad terms, and now she didn't feel completely ignorant. Her eyes are drawn to his fingers tapping rhythmically on his lap as she recalls Hal's hallucinated words, what he said he would do with those fingers and the other French things he'd said. All that escapes her are giggles.
When they arrive at the house, there's a moment of pause when he opens the door. Hal motions her forward but Sylvie looks at him expectantly. Sylvie breaks the silence. "Hal, are you not forgetting something?"
"Am I?" Hal is genuinely perplexed.
"It is customary for the groom to carry the bride over the threshold. It's bad luck not to."
"Is it? I did not know that."
"But you thought women had to be sequestered before the wedding?"
"I'm afraid I'm not au fait with matrimonial matters. Let's just say it hasn't exactly been an area of interest."
He approaches her uncertainly and swoops her awkwardly into his arms. Putting her hand to her head and blinking she lets her head sink to his shoulder. Worriedly Hal asks "Is everything alright?"
"I just felt dizzy for a moment. You move very fast."
"Sorry." he says chagrined. He carries her through the doorway. Once in the foyer he pauses, uncomfortably considering whether he should put her down. But he decides to keep her in his arms and slowly carries her up the stairs to his bedroom. He stands her with care by the bed, then turns back to close the door. He pauses there tensely as the mere sight of her by the bed already begins inciting lust. Must keep control. He steels himself, turns and approaches her, determined.
"Sylvie, I have a present, of sorts, for you. I thought it prudent to take precautionary measures."
He takes from his boot a small vial filled with a red liquid. As he holds it out to her, Sylvie's eyes open in alarm but she takes it as offered. Hal closes her fingers over it, squeezing her hand around it gently as he explains, "This contains wolf blood. It is toxic to vampires. I want you - no I need you - to keep this on you at all times now that we shall be living together and... " He trails off uncomfortably. Taking a steadying breath he continues more strongly, "If I cannot control it, if I... manifest, you must fight me Sylvie, fight with every ounce of strength you have, and shove this into my mouth. The glass will break and the blood... will have its effect on me."
Sylvie frowns. "What will it do to you?"
"It will eat my organs from the inside out and turn me into dust." Seeing her shake her head in denial and open her mouth he intercepts, "No Sylvie, there is no negotiation. Promise me you will keep this secreted upon you at all times, or close to the bed when we are... intimate. I will always give you the opportunity to hide it in a random location you can reach. You mustn't hesitate to use this. Nothing else has a chance of stopping me. Even with a stake you might miss. This is a surer way. Swear it, on the love you bear for me, swear it."
Sylvie eyes well up with tears. How dare he put his life in her hands. But what choice does she have - she's putting her life in his. This is the price they have to pay to be together. She nods and whispers hoarsely "I swear it."
Hal lets go and turns to give her privacy. After a few moments she says "It's done."
When he turns back he avoids her gaze as he methodically begins removing his clothes, folding each garment in turn and placing them on the chair near him. He leans over to do his boots and has to hop awkwardly.
She stifles a giggle.
Hal looks more nervous that she feels. Sylvie is too busy enjoying watching him to feel nervous - watching his fingers as they undo each button, watching his hands as they fold the fabric, watching the play of his muscles with each move. Even the awkwardness of removing his boots is fascinating.
When he gets to the buttons of his trousers she makes an involuntary squeak, and he proceeds speedily with a "let's get this over with" look. She suddenly feels very flushed as she sees the bulge in his drawers. Clad only in his undergarment and a blush, he approaches her and turns her around abruptly to undo the buttons down her back. Sylvie feels his fingers shaking so badly that she offers to undo her own buttons and laces.
Hal breathes a sigh of relief and looks down at the floor, wincing slightly as her dress, chemise, corset, garters and stockings are thrown in a puddle on the floor. He realizes he's been staring down at them for longer than necessary and she's making no move to tidy up so he brings his eyes up quickly but not before catching a glimpse of her nakedness. This causes the bulge to get larger. Must keep control. Hal reaches with shaky fingers to remove the pins that hold up her hair.
"Oww."
"Sorry."
Pulled hair.
Flustered he gathers her hair forward as it falls to cover her neck and shoulders. That should help with the temptation, though there's nothing to drown out the sound of her blood flowing. Then closing his eyes he leans down to kiss her.
"Oww."
"Sorry."
Smashed noses.
Opening his eyes he kisses her again. When he feels himself relaxing as she brings her arms around his neck, he places his hands on her waist to pull them slightly apart, resisting the urge to pull her closer. Must keep control. He breaks the kiss and quickly scoops her up to lay her on the bed.
"Oww."
"Sorry."
Banged her head on the headboard.
Stupid, stupid, slow down. But keep control. Sighing, he removes his drawers and, ignoring her gasp, quickly climbs in next to her pulling up the covers over them. He leans over her and kisses her again - it's the safest course of action. She reaches to pull him closer but he resists. Instead he goes to move her slightly away and ends up shoving his hand into her armpit.
She giggles.
He pulls back mortified. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" He asks, barely waiting for her nod of acquiescence before he rolls to the end of the bed and sits up, turning away.
At a loss Sylvie resorts to her normal way of handling uncomfortable situations. "Hal, you have done this before, have you not? It's only that, well I haven't, but I am fairly certain it should not end that way."
He laughs nervously at the absurdity of her statement.
"I'm sorry, I should not have said that."
"No, it's fine. You're right. I'm just..." he huffs, "this has not gotten off to a good start."
Sylvie sits up and puts a reassuring hand on his arm. "Hal, I know you're frightened of losing control and that is why you're so... well, awkward. I understand. We don't have to do anything you are not comfortable with. Perhaps... just... holding each other? Anything more can wait. It can wait a day, it can wait forever. I love you and will take whatever piece of you I can have, whatever you're prepared to give."
Hal twists his torso to look at her over his shoulder. The complete sincerity he sees in her eyes makes something clench around his heart, makes him want to weep. He doesn't deserve her. Softly he says, "In all of my long life, I have never met a single person that did not want something from me."
With a teary smile she reaches over and caresses his cheek. "Until now."
He gives her a tender smile that melts her heart.
"Until now." Hal affirms, experiencing an epiphany with just those two words. Until now his life had been ruled by dissatisfaction. It had led him as a young boy to leave his home, once his last mother had died; to seek adventure at sea, to become a mercenary, to go into battle. It had led him to make that fateful choice, to accept the vampire's gift even if it came at a price. It had led him to embrace that curse, to become the epitome of it . Until now every person, every encounter, every emotion has been a pale fragment of what he is truly searching for. Until he met her. Until now he's never experienced completeness.
Sylvie drops her hand from his face and half turns away, her eyes scanning the room. "Do you know where the servants have put my robe?"
If he ever stands a chance at beating the monster it is now. Rather than overthink each step, each move, he will let his heart guide him. Hal takes a deep breath as he lets his death-grip on control slip.
Sylvie moves to get up but is stopped by Hal's hand on her wrist and his firm, "Don't."
Turning back questioningly, she is surprised to see a change in him, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes soft.
He turns his whole body to face her and as his gaze travels down the length of her body she feels instant heat suffuse her in time with the path of his eyes. As his eyes come back to her face he looks at her through his long lashes, the green within the hazel heightened with the desire she sees in them.
Seeing his look as an invitation, she gazes at him, drinking in the flexed muscles of his arms as his hands push down on the mattress, the taut ridges of his stomach, the very obvious state of his arousal. Her eyes go wide with some panic - that isn't going to fit. But that thought flees as he reaches for her.
Ever so gently, as if she were a spun glass figurine, Hal lays Sylvie back, and follows down to lay at her side, putting his weight on his hip and elbow but letting his torso and thighs touch her. With one hand, and his eyes, he begins to caress her body. Avoiding her neck he begins at the outer arm just below her shoulder and lazily brushes just the tips of his fingers in small circles, working his way down to her fingertips. He pauses at her hand to gently intwine his fingers with hers, looking back at her tenderly as he traces circles along the pulse at her wrist with his thumb before going up the sensitive inner arm just as lazily. Trailing across, just brushing the tops of her breasts, he begins caressing her other arm in the same fashion.
Sylvie's eyes follow Hal's progress, her skin on fire everywhere his cool fingers touch. He lets his fingertips move down her ribs, pausing at her waist to turn her slightly towards him before tracing the sensuous curve of her hip and thigh. When he gets to her knee he gives her a wicked look that sends a sharp shock of desire into her. His fingers snake to the sensitive back of her knee and he gently lifts it up to gain access to her inner thighs. She holds her breath in anticipation.
As his gaze sweeps back down he feels his desire rise, the pressure in his groin starting to become unbearable. Silently counting backwards from one thousand to keep his lust in check, he trails his fingers up her inner thigh, stopping to caress the soft skin at the edge of her pelvis, teasingly skimming the hairline.
Sylvie, feeling restless at both his intimate touch and his hardness against her hipbone, undulates her hips but he only switches to her other thigh, repeating the tease.
Hal notes with satisfaction her muscles quivering under his touch. His inner count is disrupted when he notices her toes curl - it is at once endearing and erotic, making him think of all the ways he can incite more toe curling from her.
Beads of sweat break out throughout his body and with a ragged breath he forces his attention back up to start his next torture. Shifting his weight and cradling her neck with his hands he kisses her deeply this time, moulding their parted lips together repeatedly. Letting his experience guide him, Hal touches her mouth tentatively with the tip of his tongue. He brushes his tongue across her upper lip, licking and caressing it back and forth multiple times before tugging on it, sucking gently.
Sylvie whimpers as she feels electric tingles and when he nips at her lower lip playfully then slowly slides his tongue in exploratorily, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
With languid strokes he slides in and out in an echo of the pleasure to come. He tilts her head in the direction best to guide the dance of their tongues as his fingers trace whisper soft circles along the sensitive line at the nape of her neck. He feels her shiver under his touch.
Feeling Hal's tongue in her mouth triggers a pressure deep inside her and she grabs his hair to tangle their tongues closer, wanting more.
As she begins to writhe, her legs seesawing with nervous energy, Hal slides one of his palms down between her breasts, over her abdomen and down between her thighs. His whole body tenses in anticipation as he reaches the triangular patch of hair, and he waits a moment, enjoying the feeling before he crooks his fingers exploratorily, stroking her, feeling the nub harden under his touch. The thought of the blood rushing there, his sensitive fingers feeling her swelling with it, causes a pulsation in his mouth, the pressure from his fangs starting to build. She breaks the kiss and he captures her startled "Oh my god!" against his lips with a smile.
Her eyes lose focus as she feels his fingers evoke sensations like nothing she'd ever imagined. He expertly undulates his long fingers and soon she closes her eyes, arching her back and and tilting her head up, inadvertently exposing her delicate neck. Hal's eyes are inexorably drawn to it and he feels the blood lust start to take hold. Trying to dispel it, he forces his eyes closed and concentrates on what his fingers are doing, venturing lower down and in, feeling her wetness and heat. When she lifts her hips and buckles into him with a moan, twin urges fire and pulse like lightning through him: the need to be inside her, the need to taste her.
Breathing heavily to control the conflicting lusts he continues to tease with his fingers for a minute before bringing his hand up and shifting himself on top of her. His own gasp mingles with hers at the feel of their skin touching the whole length of their bodies, her heat enticing him further. Sylvie arches her body to feel maximum contact.
He touches his forehead to hers, fighting to hang on, barely keeping the frenzy at bay. He needs to fulfil one urge before the other can overtake him. He nudges her thighs apart with one knee and with supreme slowness settles himself against her.
Sylvie is lost in the feelings of desire overwhelming her, a throbbing ache building. When she feels his hardness press against her, her knees fall apart instinctively to allow him better access.
Hal hears her heart hammering, the blood rushing enticingly. Her quick shallow breaths caress his face and her body is straining against him. He can't hold back any longer. He reaches down to cup her buttock, tilting her and lining up their bodies before easing himself in minutely. Groaning he unconsciously lifts his head to stare at her neck, mesmerized by the pulsing artery, the pressure of his fangs too much to fight as he plunges all the way in.
Her startled cry of pain brings him back from the brink. He blinks, to clear his vision, to dispel the hazy feeling of all the lust coursing through him, returning to the realization that he'd broken through her maidenhead. He anxiously looks into her startled eyes, both of them tense and breathing hard. He remains motionless to give her time to recover, to give himself time to master control. With difficulty he sheathes his fangs and drops his forehead down to hers once more whispering, "I'm so sorry. The pain will pass."
Though tears leak from her eyes Sylvie acknowledges his words and actions with a small nod. She had been told to expect it, but it was still a shock. And when she'd opened her eyes, she'd caught a glimpse of black in his eyes before he cleared them. Oddly his fangs don't scare her, but it is a relief when they disappear. Concentrating on just breathing she puts her trust in him.
When he feels the bloodlust well in hand and he finally feels her calming down he smoothes back her hair and nuzzles her nose tenderly. He begins placing tender kisses along her forehead, kisses away the tears at the edges of her eyes, kisses her cheeks, her jaw, the corners of her lips. He resists the urge to trail kisses down her neck.
When he feels her body relax he whispers her name to get her attention and he begins the process of arousing her once more. Passionate kisses and roaming hands start to work their magic. He reaches between their bodies to stroke her again. Only when he feels her move does he gently rock his hips in a slow tease. Her breath quickens and he hears her heart pump faster. He keeps his eyes on her dewy face, determined to control his hunger as he guides them into a gentle union.
Sylvie once again feels an ache building, threatening to engulf her and she arches into him wanting more. As he speeds up she matches his moves, losing all coherent thought as she's suddenly lost in waves of pleasure.
When Hal feels Sylvie tighten and spasm, he lets himself get lost in the sounds of her gasps, he drowns the bloodlust with the sensations of their lovemaking, finding his own release...
As their breathing slows and their bodies cool down, Hal rolls off of her and gathers her to him, pulling the covers over them and tucking her head on the hollow of his shoulder. Neither speak as the sensations and emotions of the long day give way to sleep.
A posey ring is a promise or wedding ring inscribed with a short love poem, or poesy. They were popular in Shakespeare's time and mentioned in his writings, but originated in the 1400's. Don't worry, Sylvie's will be described in a later chapter.