Scarborough Fair

Me: Hiya all! Here's the next instalment. There is a lemon in this chapter, just so you know, although I doubt it'll stop anyone reading it haha.

Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well,

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,

Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell,

And then she'll be a true love of mine.

Anastasie

"She's not in labour." I looked at him sideways through narrow eyes. "You said don't tell you."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"I'm just gonna go ring the vet – if she'll stand can you get a numnah and an anti-cast roller on her?"

I glanced at the foaling Pippa pacing it around the box and my lip tweaked, the thrashing horse was more than my match. "I can try."

With some considerably difficulty, I managed to catch the mare and fit the numnah and anti-cast roller. I hadn't worn the right shoes for this and there were now bits of shavings and stray hay collecting under my soles and sticking to my tights. I was glad to get out of there and close the door behind me knowing that my toes were still intact. As I kicked the kick-bolt over, I saw Oliver returning down the garden path, the kitchen phone in his hand, along with a large-ish box container and a bucket of what appeared to be hot water.

"Vet says let her get on with it." he said, "And to call him when it's out, or if it hasn't dropped within half an hour, so I'm gonna stick out here for a bit."

"Can I stay?" I asked him, hopeful that he would say yes, "I'd love to watch it be born."

He seemed to be contemplating it. "Why not?" he said with a quick and quirky smile, "If Pippa doesn't mind."

Excitement coursed through me at the thought of getting to watch Pippa's foal coming into the world. All my life I'd grown up in a city, and then come to the House of Night where we were pretty much kept under lock and key, coming to Oliver's was like stepping into a different world. Suddenly there was sea, sand, endless rocky green, the only real trace of the modern world was the main road that outlined the coastline, seemingly separating the sand from the green, but not even that was visible from the house itself. Even though the property wasn't a farm anymore, one of the few ancient outbuildings remained, and around about the garden, you could still see the remains of the foundations of others, you could feel them under your feet as you walked over the grass. I doubted Oliver had ever been from farming stock, but he still kept Pippa, his mother's beloved horse, and seven chickens, with a cockerel. Now all he needed was some spring lambs and he'd be able to open the place to the public as a tourist attraction.

Together we watched as the horse paced around in the box, pawing up the bedding, getting up, down, and then up again, going through episodes of contractions, and then getting up and moving around again. Bags of yellowish fluid began to appear from her vulva, and not long after that, a tiny foot appeared.

After about twenty-five minutes of getting up and down, Pippa finally got down and pushed some more, and I saw a nose, and then a bit more of the head, and gradually, little by little, the foal's entire head emerged, and then the neck. It looked like it was getting stuck at the elbows. Pippa groaned and pushed, but the elbows were still hard for her to get through.

Oliver washed his hands in the bucket of water and Hibiscrub that he'd brought back with him from the house, rolled up his sleeves, and opened the stable door. "Come and help me pull then." He said jokingly. Me? Washing my hands as he had, I followed him and crouched down beside the mare, careful not to get in the way of her back legs.

"Right," Oliver said, "We need to pull one elbow through at a time, so I'll pull mine first, then when I've got mine you pull your leg straight out behind her until that elbow pops through."

I did as I was told, and sure enough, it was easier to get one elbow through at a time than push both through as nature would have it. This was of course the widest part of the foal, and I didn't exactly envy Pippa as she lay there, groaning and pushing.

"Okay, now you need to pull downwards." He told me, "And we'll pull it clear."

"Okay." I said, nervously taking hold of the foal's hot and slippery leg again, and helping Oliver pull downwards, in the direction it was coming naturally. It literally took a few seconds, the foal slid from its mother fairly easily, and landed on the thick straw with a slight thud.

"Watch out." Said Oliver, and I moved out of the way quick enough to not be hit by one of Pippa's hinds as she got to her feet and turned around to inspect her baby. Oliver knelt by the side of the foal, rubbing its side with one hand, and poking the fingers of the other into the foal's nostrils to clear any fluid and to make it sneeze and start breathing.

"Oh look..." said Oliver with a grin, continuing to rub its side even after it had started breathing, "It's a ginge."

"So it is." It was a ginge. It was a beautiful little thing. I knelt on the opposite side of him, out of Pippa's way, straw, juice and muck all over me now. And the best thing – I didn't even care. Steam rose from the foal's body as Pippa began to proudly lick all the juices off it. It was all legs, with a tiny body and feet, and it had a little star on its forehead. Oliver wiped his gunk-covered hands on the straw and appeared to be looking for something.

"Anastasie, could you pass me the iodine?" he asked, it's in the foaling kit?"

"Oh, sure, it's the dark one right?"

"Yeah."

I passed him a spray bottle containing dark brown liquid, 'Tincture of Iodine' printed on the label. Oliver lifted the foal's hind leg, and sprayed the iodine onto its naval.

"Well, it's a boy." He said, replacing the leg and letting Pippa get on with it. He checked that Pippa had milk and made another phone call to the vet, before dropping onto the deep straw in the corner beside me.

"Aw look it's so gorgeous." I said, wiping my hands on the straw again for good measure. The foal's ears were so wet they looked plastered to the back of its head, its little body trembled as its mother cleaned it up. If that wasn't the sweetest thing I'd ever seen... "Isn't it just magic?" I whispered, my heart melting at the tiny creature there in the straw.

"Magic." Oliver whispered back, "A miracle."

I tore my eyes away to look at the foal. His eyes were filled with an innocent excitement, his face lit up, like a young child opening their presents on Christmas day. For the first time in months, even if it was just for one small moment that would revert as soon as he stepped inside that house a sibling short, I saw him happy. I saw him shine again, I heard his heart leap for joy. And as I did I became even happier too, at how well earned this simple moment was. His lips twitched, trying to hold back a smile or trying to decide what to say, and deciding not to say anything at all, but rather to savour it while it lasted. Oh Oliver, you sweet man, I thought to myself, you brilliant, caring, loving man. May this joy last a long, long time. I stared at him in awe, and prayed to whatever god of goddess that would listen, that life would be fairer to him, that he would get what he so deserved.

Suddenly, too quickly for me to react, he turned his head sideways and saw me looking at him. His brown eyes sparkled. "What?" he asked, eyeing me with discern.

Then, I took a really bold move. I couldn't explain it, the moment he said 'what?', it was like I fell off the edge of something. Like I had fallen off the cliff defining sanity and into the deep and violent waves of a trance. As I sank, trying to clear my clear and yet fuzzy vision, I came through it, and I saw something. I saw something in him that I hadn't seen before, something that made my action completely and utterly plausible, and it made perfect sense. In one easy motion, I swivelled to face him, leant forward and planted a ripe kiss on his mouth, leaning into him as he was somewhat taken aback by it. I expected him to grab my arms and push me away, tell me I was too young, tell me he was my teacher, I waited for it.

But it never came. I felt him kiss me back with an eagerness that made my head swim even more. He did place his hands on my arms, but they wandered from my arms and stopped holding me like a child, and started caressing me like a lover. I let my hands travel all over him – I could feel his muscles through his clothes, and what struck me was that none of this felt strange, or wrong, or awkward, as much as I was aware it was, it felt almost familiar, and God it felt so so good, all of me ached for him. In a split second he wasn't my teacher anymore, he was a man. He broke away gently, and I felt his cheek brush my neck, sending small tingles up my spine. It felt like he was going to kiss me, and for a moment it felt like he had, and then I felt a really sharp sting in my neck, which throbbed for a few seconds like it wasn't going to stop, which I worried would get worse, but it didn't, it throbbed, and then the pain slowly faded away into nothing. He was drinking from me. I never expected it to make me feel drowsy, but that's exactly what it was doing. The moment I felt his mouth come down on the cut on my neck, something deep inside me changed, a little bit like a gravitational force shifting. I made myself breathe and relax as he drank eagerly from the cut, his hands firmly on my arms. It started out as a pleasant tingling feeling, and I kept breathing as it got stronger, but I felt so sleepy, so light-headed, I leant my head against his as he drank, wallowing in this overly pleasant feeling. It was good – like a gentle ache that made my skin tingle. I closed my eyes and sat there as I fell deeper into the land of this beautiful stupor, I let my breath come deeper and faster as sexual energy filled me from head to toe, there was nothing else to think about – just him and me. We wriggled closer to each other, I let out a sigh as this feeling got a little bit stronger, and for the first time in my life I think I was horny enough to admit that I was. I could feel him catching his breath occasionally, I knew he was going through the same thing. His lips moved back to mine and I ravished them hungrily, not knowing if I would ever have this chance again. I knew it was wrong, so very deliciously wrong. It wasn't just the sensuality between us that stopped me from breaking it up. The reason I didn't want to stop, was because here, now, with him, I felt indescribably, inexplicably happy.

I don't know how long we were there, but it wasn't long enough. It only ended when we heard someone clear their throat loudly at the door. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Oliver

Anastasie and I shot apart, both of us as red as a beetroot. I was fairly sure that I had never moved so fast in my life. I was up and ten feet away in a second. "Adrian." I said, angry, terrified, and annoyed all at once, "That was very quick."

The rather short large animal vet looked at the both of us like one of us had bitten him on the nose, and then he leant his head back and chuckled, his hand clutching his stethoscope to stop it falling off the back of his neck.

"I was at the surgery." He said, "What does surprise you that I was working this late?"

I raised a brow with sarcasm. "Not really no."

He looked from me, to Anastasie, who had got to her feet in the mean time and was, sensibly, leaving the stable at quite some considerable speed, and then back to me again. "Is it better if I don't ask?"

"Absolutely." I answered stoutly.

"Alrighty then."

Waiting for Adrian to examine the mare and foal was one of the most painstaking processes I had ever had to stand through. He listened to its heart, looked at its limbs, before pronouncing both mare and foal perfectly healthy, and to ring him again in six hours if she hadn't cleansed – passed the afterbirth – by then.

"Good stuff." He said, taking his stethoscope out of his ears and hanging it around his neck. "Well, when she cleanses I'll want to see it just to check there's no bits of it retained, so stick it in a bucket of water, and give me a call. If she hasn't passed within six hours, we treat that as an emergency, risk of pyometria you see, so yeah, let me know and I'll probably still be at my desk then."

"I don't doubt it." I said. "Thanks Adrian."

He waved goodbye and I wondered what it was I was thanking him for, checking my horse or keeping his silence. I doubted that vets heeded by patient confidentiality... I removed the anti-cast roller and the numnah from Pippa, and refilled her haynet and water, waiting until I heard Adrian's Mitsubishi Warrior go up the drive and down the road before I made my way back to the house. I wasn't even sure if Anastasie would still be here, for my own sake I hoped that she wasn't. I cringed inside again – I had drunk from her, it was her blood in my veins now as well as my own, and for the first time in a long time, I felt refreshed and strong. It clashed fiercely with the guilt and fear that was also clogging my arteries. Inside me, there was a very powerful desire for her, one, I realised as of twenty minutes ago, I did not have a handle on as I thought I had. I needed to go and stick my head in the freezer and cool it down – it hadn't quite sunk in yet, what I had just done, it was the shock that was tiding me over for the vet, the aftermath, I knew, was yet to come later this evening, collapsed on the sofa with a bottle of wine, which I would probably be praying to remove all memory of this evening. The tingling pleasure it had brought me was still too fresh for me to even think straight. I made a mental note to myself to find myself a good shrink in the morning.

As I closed the kitchen door behind me I had been fairly sure that I would be drinking tonight away, and if I lost any of my sorrows along with it then all the better. Just as I was about to reach for the fridge door to retrieve said drink, my eyes darted to the clock – one-thirteen am. But just as they did so, I saw I wasn't alone.

Anastasie was still here, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the sideboard, having removed her shoes and attempted to brush most of the straw and crap off of herself. Her nervousness struck me like a smack around the face, it was much like my own. Her hair was tangled and had the occasional piece of straw in it, her cheeks were rosy and she seemed a little out of breath.

"Er, hi..." she said.

"Hi..." I replied.

She stared.

I stared.

She stared. Oh God...

The sight of her lit me on fire and sent shivers up my spine. We collided in a cascade of ravenous kisses, hungry for each other in far too many ways... And Christ I was attracted to her, she had no idea how she controlled me. How I couldn't tear my eyes away from her when she walked away from me, how thoughts of a distinctly more sexual nature flashed before my eyes when I did feeling inside me intensified tenfold when my lips touched hers, and she didn't reject me, Jesus I was turned on! My hand took on a life of its own and ran down her thigh, drawing her knee past my waist. I kept thinking about the part of me that was normally in control, how he wouldn't want this to be happening, but I couldn't care less. I could smell her blood, hear her pulse, feel her hands in my hair. My stomach knotted itself into a thousand knots as she clasped my hand in hers and slid it up onto her right breast. And if that wasn't a shock, it certainly was when she placed her hand on my crotch and rubbed. I almost yelped and jumped out of my skin, but for it I could only kiss her harder.

"Come upstairs..." she breathed, pausing to moan, "The kids are asleep come upstairs..."

I answered with another kiss and she pulled me towards the stairs. Trying to climb old creaky stairs silently was bad enough, trying to hold back our laughter at the same time was harder. As soon as my bedroom door was closed we were pressed together again, pulling our clothes off like a couple of drunkards. How long had it been for me now? Not since uni? I'd thrown myself into working and providing for my siblings, and the stress had turned me into an asexual being. I'd forgotten how damn good it was. Was it wrong to want this? Answer: Yes. She must want me – why would she do that to me otherwise? And her sense of humour isn't sadistic enough to do it for a laugh. We fell roughly on the bed, rolling and writhing and thrashing. She squirmed beneath me and I was ashamed to say I enjoyed it. Her blood was delicious. I stopped drinking to kiss her neck and she tilted her neck and bit me. It caught me by surprise - I hadn't been bitten in years, actually not since school, I'd had a few relationships at university, but they were with humans, and since leaving I hadn't even had the time to contemplate it, and Anastasie was almost an adult vamp. It's different, when you're the drinker you feel the sexual pleasure but you also focus on the taste of the blood, the actual drinking itself, the feeling as it goes down your throat, and when you're the donor, you don't have that to distract you, and it's bloody good. I eased my knees back and lowered myself on top of her gently. When she sensed my movement she stopped drinking, and let her head loll.

"Oliver..." she murmured, and for a moment, she was that sweet, sane person that I knew again, not the sexy sultry one I saw now. "I like this."

"What is this?" I asked her. I cringed inside as the internal conflict I'd been having with myself for ages returned. I should not feel the way I do about her. I couldn't even begin to contemplate it when I could barely acknowledge it to myself. And yet the moment I had acknowledged it, the only thing I could tell myself was that I could keep it to myself and it would all be alright. I was in love with her, but that didn't mean I had to touch her. I didn't have to lay a finger of her, I could keep it to myself with no harm done. And it had worked with some success. But the more she waltzed around in my life as if it were her own, the more pathetic I became, until I was desperately in love with her, and that wasn't enough. I badly wanted to express what I felt for her, I couldn't do it through that. My desire to give her everything I was was laced with a repressed sexual undertone that was also becoming overpowering. At the moment all I could think about her body beneath mine and how much I wanted her, the sheer pleasure I wanted to give her. I'd tried to push it to the back of my head, because the more I thought about who she was and who I was, the physically sicker it made me feel. I kissed her neck, and as much of her chest of her fairly low cut shirt would let me. Was the small size of the chance that we would be caught in the act enough to defeat me? And was she even ready for that? I felt her hands run over my hips and clasp my arse firmly and I wondered...

"It's wonderful." She smiled, "It's all I want..."

I kissed her mouth and pressed myself against her, our tongues fighting quite violently. She must know I want her, I was starting to get noticeably hard, she must know. She pulled my body towards her, and I tensed as she raised her knees either side of me.

I broke the kiss and leant my head on her shoulder. "Anastasie..." I whispered, "This is wrong..."

"I know..." she replied, "And I don't care... It's all I want... You're all I want..."

I sighed into her collar. "I want you..." I said, my voice deep and rasping, I didn't want her, I needed her. I drank from her neck again, my need going from rational to feral and uncontrollable.

Her fast breath passed by my ear and made me tingle. "I want you..." she whispered back, "So much..."

She rubbed her hips against mine, the short yet heavy friction between us drove me mad. I was stalling – trying to see whether or not I could actually conjure the strength to do the right thing and stop. I couldn't. I was mad to be doing this. She was mad to be letting me. The moment I tasted her blood on my tongue, I wasn't a person anymore, I was a vampyre. A lustful, sex-craving vampyre. The shame that had always burned into me for craving her, making me wish I'd never met her, but also, strangely, making me thankful I was alive, sat in my stomach as ever, but now it was becoming lost amongst the other nauseating feelings, completely drowned out by the sheer anticipation. Suddenly there was nothing strange about drinking her blood, it wasn't about the future, it wasn't about consequences, it was about fulfilling desires, and my brain was hazing over with desire. Suddenly she wasn't a pupil anymore, she was a woman, a beautiful woman with voluptuous curves that made me weak, with large breasts and full thighs, smooth skin, long blonde hair. Christ I wanted her, I wanted to do so many things to her my head reeled in and out. I wanted to make her orgasm again and again until neither of us could walk, I wanted to make her scream my name, beg me for more. My hands left her arms, tracing her figure as my body filled with lust. She did the same to me, sending shivers through me. Ah damn it how could something so wrong, so twisted feel so right? She began to moan, every little sound multiplying my own pleasure into infinite numbers. I let myself groan as I drank, God I didn't know if it was her blood or merely the sight of her, but she was making me even harder. I knew it was wrong! I knew, I knew but I couldn't stop. I kissed her mouth hard and I lost all sense of reasoning. Aahh, she was wet and I could smell it, fuck, I was going to make her mine! I didn't have enough hands to enjoy her properly! Pushing one up her skirt and past her knickers I slid my fingers into her. She stifled a groan and bucked as I stroked and stretched her. The door was thick but we would still have to try and be quiet.

Anastasie

The feeling of Oliver's fingers inside me was so weird, and shocked me in a way that almost made me freeze. Weird but good. I breathed and relaxed as this new feeling spread through me. He didn't let me pause for thought. I'll admit, I've daydreamed about this moment, and yet whenever I've daydreamed about it, I've got to this stage, and my nervousness kills everything, I freeze. I suddenly feel ashamed for thinking about it, but whenever I have, it's been my imagination making it up, I would know what was coming, and now it was his, I couldn't predict it or rewrite it, and it was better than I could have daydreamed it. He had been right, it wasn't just a little sexual stimulation that occurred in blood-drinking, it was like sex. But it wasn't just the blood. The blood was only repeating to me what I knew in the first place. But I loved him, I shouldn't love him, he shouldn't love me, and yet I loved him more than I thought possible. My clumsy fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Our bodies told us we needed each other, that we were desperate for it. Oh God... I leaned my head back and pressed myself onto him - for the first time, without a shadow of a doubt or an ounce of worry, I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted him inside me, I wanted him to fuck me absolutely senseless. I felt like one of those sluts - I would throw myself at him for it. His lips moved from my cut to my mouth, then down my neck. He undid my buttons with his other hand and continued kissing me, over my chest and stomach, sliding down my body, and sliding my skirt up as he did so. He began to kiss the inside of my thigh, moving upwards and inwards. His dark brown eyes met mine for a moment, shining lustfully in the dim light. He gave a groan through closed lips.

"Oliver..." I started, his name slurring into a sigh as I felt his mouth – and tongue – on the fabric of my knickers. I can't believe this is happening... His tongue darted to skin at the edge of the fabric and back again, taking deep slow sucks. I closed my eyes and kept breathing – he was being slow, tantalisingly slow, and I knew he was doing it on purpose. Come on Oliver give me more... he continued for a moment, before rising up and ferally pulling my knickers off, practically falling on me again. I let out a small moan and then I couldn't stop my voice from sounding – his tongue was hot against my skin, and even hotter inside me. Oh my God – what he was doing was akin to magic! He went deeper and deeper in and all I could do was lie there writhing as my pleasure multiplied and spread like a fire inside me, as it slowly and painfully reached a peak and exploded. I cried out and panted as it filled me like a warmth. This was the first orgasm I'd ever had, and damn, now I knew why everyone was so obsessed with sex. Oliver wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leant up on his elbows and looked very pleased with himself. I had to laugh between exhalations, he was like the cat that had the cream. And oh, sorry, that wasn't supposed to sound like that... He crawled back up on top of me looking much like a predator coming in for the kill. I'd probably kiss him and taste nothing but myself for the rest of the night, but at this point I really didn't care. As soon as I could reach I yanked his shirt off his shoulders and reached for his belt, roughly undoing it and unzipping his trousers. I pulled them down with his boxers as well, while he pulled off my skirt, and then pulled my shirt off completely. I felt his one hand unhook my bra, and then relieve me of it all together. I sighed – we were completely naked, our skin sliding with the sweat we'd worked up. He caressed my breasts, leaning down to kiss them, his tongue making my nipples hard. I rubbed my hips against his – Christ we were so close! I clamped my thighs around him and put a hand down there as I rubbed, as I teased him my joy became ecstatic at his cries of 'oh God' became dangerously loud. I guided him into me, holding onto him for dear life as he filled every single part of me. The pain was momentary, replaced by an all new calm, a new level. He kissed me again, our tongues entwining, as he began to gently swing his hips into me. My body tightened around him, causing him to moan and cry out more. We thrusted harder and harder, losing ourselves to our desires. It was beautiful, wonderful, indescribable.

He came just before me, that burning of semen inside me set me off. My hips kept working desperately to make the feeling last longer. He collapsed on top of me, and I felt relaxed, I felt satisfied, I felt like a woman. I wrapped my limbs around him – I didn't want him out yet. I never wanted him out now. I felt his breath on the side of my neck as we panted for air, him leaving butterfly kisses on my neck.

"Anastasia..." he breathed into my ear, like it was the last word he would ever utter. I didn't want to correct him. If he wanted to call me that I would give anything for it to be my real name. It was like both of us were in a drunken stupor. Fully coherent but not coherent at all, trying to pretend we weren't who we were. So we weren't teacher and pupil, we were lovers. I was so tired, I wanted to sleep, and yet I didn't. If I slept, I would wake up and we would be teacher and pupil once more, having to live with what we had done, and if I didn't sleep, one of us would knock themselves out of this eventually, sleep meant to lie next to him for longer. We lay there together, sticky sweaty and completely exhausted, not saying a word.

We'd deal with it tomorrow.

Tomorrow...