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.
If anyone is still reading this, forgive me for such a long delay. England trip - Yay! - meeting Damien - double Yay! and then crazy life after had my muse hiding. I think it's sorted now, wont be very much longer...
Thank you saemay for beta input.
Ch 18: Push and Pull
"Hmm hmm hmmmmm...
hmmmm hmm hmm hmmmm..."
Eyes closed, arms draped casually over the sides of the tub. Water steaming, cleansing, soothing. Her presence in the bath with him familiar. Her voice; he allows it to lull him into a complacent state.
"Hmm hmm hmmmmm...
hmmmm hmm hmm hmmm..."
A deep inhale. Her scent. Contentment.
"hmmmm hmm hmm hmmm...
hmm hmm-"
Thud-thud.
Breath in. Breath out.
"hmmmm hmm-"
Thud-thud.
Eyes open to gaze at the back of her neck. Relaxing forward easily, nose and lips coming in contact with warm, lush skin.
"hmm hmm-"
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
Hands move, fingers caressing her arms. Head tilts instinctively, lips skimming laterally to settle on the pulse point that reverberates with the provocative sound filling his ears.
Thud-thud.
She reclines back with a sensual "mmm..." Leaning in further with a low, guttural sound, thigh muscles squeezing hers between them; arms circle around, locking in an embrace. Nuzzling her neck in soft, slow passes.
Thud-thud.
Deep, aromatic inhale. Giddy weightlessness.
Thud-thud.
Long, lazy exhale. Dizzy heaviness.
Thud-thud.
Eyes locked on veins beneath pale skin. Sensitive lips feeling each minute tympani. Her heady human scent filling his lungs. Her life-giving rhythm drowning out all other sound. It echoes loudly inside his skull, nerves vibrating in time to it.
Thud-thud.
Sight. Feel. Smell. Sound.
Thud-thud.
A giddy, dizzying combination.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
Words echo from afar, trying to penetrate the heady haze.
Thud-thud.
"Hmm?" a reply - instinctual, involuntary, and listless; lips remaining on her skin.
Thud-thud.
All that is lacking is taste.
Thud-thud.
Words echo from afar, muted. They cannot compete with the sound of her heartbeat.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
Breathing speeds up. Pupils dilate.
Thud-thud-Thud-thud-Thud-thud-Thud-thud-
Movement. Air replaces skin against his lips. Steam dilutes her scent.
A rush of sound as the bubble bursts.
"Hal? Hal, love, are you well?" The words are crisp, present.
He gasps and leans back, blinking, pupils contracting as his vision focuses. Her brown eyes pierce quizzically at him, brows creased with concern. She'd leaned forward, turned to look back at him.
He lets go of her, confused. "Forgive me, what were you saying just now?" Something flits at the edge of his consciousness, but...
"Hal, do vampire talents include sleeping with your eyes open? I said, I very much like what you are doing; that is surprisingly pleasant." The crease between her eyes deepens. "But perhaps you should not be doing it. You have always said it is better to avoid the temptation."
Temptation? He takes a deliberate breath, testing, drawing the mantle of careful control tight around him. The bloodlust is in control. Something had been happening... "No, it is tolerable. Actually, more than tolerable."
Keeping the confusion from showing, he smiles reassuring at her as she shifts around, turning to kneel in front of him. He pulls his knees up, gripping them, severing all contact from her. Something...
"Hal, have I ever told you how knobby your knees are?" He grips them tighter. She is forever teasing him. But her next words are serious. "It has been easier, has it not? The tension," she strokes his arm, causing him to look down momentarily, "I could see it, you know. Feel it. Despite masking your words and actions, it had been an almost permanent fixture in the very fibres of your body. Well, not after I have worn you out in our bed, of course." A saucy smile makes an appearance. "But even with that, the strain was ever present. Now..."
Her last words barely register. Something... something... He tries to grasp the elusive thought, but then the feeling evaporates. With a relieved expulsion of breath, he lets himself forget it as he answers her. "Yes, the bloodlust has been easier to manage. After London. Those two days I felt as if I were experiencing all the circles of hell. If I can resist under those conditions, any temptation now pales in comparison."
"I imagine you felt right at home in the second circle, with all the sinners of the flesh." she teases him more, her hand straying to his chest, trailing downward.
He winces. She had been privy to details, even if only a minute percentage of the truth; it feels odd that she can make light of it; odder still she is not repulsed by him.
Gratefully, she stops molesting his abdomen, suddenly looking away thoughtfully. "Through contrition, confession, and satisfaction by works of righteousness your sins are cleansed from your soul. You will know the joys of Paradise as you ascend to the ethereal realm of Heaven.' Do not give me such an incredulous look, I am a properly educated lady." She sticks her tongue out at him.
"I wasn't aware The Divine Comedy is considered proper education for ladies."
She hangs her head, chagrined. "Fine, if you must know, Father favors that passage. When my brother and I would get up to no good... Let's just say I heard it enough times that even without a vampire's memory it is ingrained into permanence."
Hal lets out an amused huff. "Sylvie, you are quoting a fictional poem. However, you forget, even in this mythology my curse would supersede. 'You have escaped damnation and made it to Purgatory, a place where the dew of repentance washes off the stain of sin and girds the spirit with humility.' There is no escaping damnation for my kind, there is no 'washing off the stain of sin'."
"One thing is certain, there never will be any girding of your spirit with humility."
Another huff, but his amusement is short-lived. "There will never be Paradise for me. My sins can never be cleansed from my soul; the stain on it is too great, too deep, too rooted. Even if my soul still belonged to me, a thousand years of repentance could not undo the three-hundred already bathed in blood." He can see the denial waiting to part from her lips, intercepts it, taking her hand and softening his voice. "But, I will continue to fight, with contrition, to keep you, and the world, safe from me. If this life here would be my Purgatory, I would gladly remain here forever. With you."
A pause. She looks away. The acceleration of her heartbeat catches his attention.
"Hal, have you considered how much easier it would all be if..." A deep sigh. She still does not meet his eyes as she whispers, "Jacob told me. How it is done."
He stiffens, heartbeat forgotten with the icy shock that hits him, as if he'd suddenly been thrown into a frigid sea. He shouldn't be surprised. She had never shown interest, but it was only a matter of time. Sylvie's curiosity. Human curiosity. "Is this your wish?" The words escape through his teeth.
She meets his eyes. "We do not have forever, as things stand."
"Is this your wish?" A hint of cold anger now, jaw clenching. He drops her hand.
"If it is, would that make a difference?" she counters.
Relief. She isn't asking. But he climbs out of the tub, uncomfortable, and wraps his robe tight around himself. She jumps out, catching his arm before he can walk away.
"It would be an advantage, would it not? It would mean forever. Is that not what you wish?"
"You do not understand. What you are proposing, it would change you. Your humanity is the only thing keeping me from becoming the monster I fear. Your hope, as misguided as it is, keeps me trying to become human."
The flash of her emotions is immediate. "Always, this will always be about you. You would deny my wishes!"
He remains silent, his clenched jaw the only sign of emotion. There she stands, dripping and carelessly nude, the scars standing prominently against the flush of her skin. A fire lighting her eyes; ferocity in her voice. The kitten that would be a lioness. The human that would be... No.
"We shall not discuss this matter any further." Hal turns away, grabbing his clothes and stalking out of the room.
Sylvie sighs as she watches him through their bedroom window. As the weather had cleared he'd almost finished the intricate spiral, plying away at his stone puzzle with singular patience and precision. It is quite beautiful, the design stark against the barren ground, the size and colour variations of the stones blending into a harmonious interweaving sequence as it spirals out of and around the base of the tree. It's also maddening. He spends hours out there. Then hours more at all his other routines.
After months apart and heartache endured, they had clung to one another in their isolation. Through the long winter, through rain, snow, then rain again. Through the endless hours of darkness. Hal is quick with words, but not the ones that reveal the inner workings of his heart. Those he guards behind his stone wall. But in the security of their bed his defenses had eased. In the security of their isolation, he had changed. She had been looking forward to springtime, opportunities to explore their new home together, a gradual re-introduction to the outside world.
And then he had pulled away from her again. Bloody stupid girl! She wants to kick herself; she settles for kicking over his shiny boots in the corner. She shouldn't have mentioned Jacob. She should not have mentioned the knowledge, whispered amongst all the horrors. Having come to terms with what had happened - with his past, with her feelings for him - a peace had built between them. Too fragile. She had seen it in his eyes, his addiction to a certain sadness. She saw him pull it, almost gratefully, around him; his armour. The wall always trying to rebuild itself, no matter how much she chips away at it. A part of him hopes she will give up. A part of him hopes she will fail.
She narrows her eyes, her mouth set in what Hal calls it her stubborn look.
The more he hopes, the more she will push.
She goes rummaging in his desk.
"Hal, this will not do at all!"
Hal glances up from removing his wet, muddy boots by the front door. Sylvie comes rushing at him, wildly flashing a paper at his face. His most fervent wish is to be left to his evening soak, some supper, quiet reading, and cleaning his boots in preparation for the following day... He narrows his eyes as he catches a glimpse of the writing on the paper. His list of routines.
"Sylvie, as you are clearly informed by the very paper you brandish so wildly, I need not remind you that you are interrupting the evening's schedule. In particular, the one thing I have anticipated eagerly for the last two hours. Now, if you will excuse me -" he makes for the stairs, unbuttoning his damp coat.
"No, damn it!"
He pauses on the third step, fingers hovering over a button, and turns towards her. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are not excused. I dislike this bloody list immensely and we must have a talk on it at once."
Under his breath he says, "I dislike a great many things, but I suffer them all the same." Then he takes a deep calming breath. "Sylvie, it has been a long day. Can you wait until I have bathed and had supper?"
"No Hal. Each time I endeavor to engage you in earnest conversation, you run. In this, at least, I will make my opinions known."
More sharply he continues "Sylvie, might I remind you, you chose to come here. You agreed to be a part of my... rehabilitation. Crucially, this involves going along with my list. You know this is how I control it."
"This damn list can burn in hell! At night, you whisper sweet words in my ear, tell me that I am what keeps you in control, then in the daylight hours you all but abandon me in favour of your routines. I am not your whore, I am your wife. Let me actually be part of your rehabilitation."
This pulls him up short. He swallows thickly before treading heavily back down towards her. Hands pressed against his thighs, he says quietly, "Very well, air your grievances."
"Oh Hal, my words weren't meant that way. I just... I just feel that we are forever circling around back to the beginning. I gain a foothold, you cleave at it."
"Have you given any thought to the fact that I might do so for your own safety?"
"No. I believe you do it to protect yourself."
He glances away quickly before he can meet her eyes again. Through pursed lips he reminds her, "The list? Or shall I continue on to my bath?"
She stares at him before breaking the tension with a brisk tone. "Yes, let us address your formidable list. I had been convinced before, there could be no possible way to drain all spontaneity out of life. I stand corrected."
He doesn't deign her with a reply.
She sighs then continues, "Right. The first thing I notice is your time for shaving. Does it really take forty-five minutes? Surely, even without the aid of a mirror, you've become so adept in your three-hundred years that the time can easily be halved -"
"It isn't simply shaving, it is a system, a ritual. It helps me prepare, mentally, for the day ahead. Besides, you are usually still asleep. The length of time should not impact you in the least."
"It does impact me. If we can save time in some areas, we can make time in others." She glances down at the list. "Shoe shining. Twice a day. Is that absolutely necessary?"
He glances at the boots by the door significantly.
"Once, Hal. Once at the day's end is all that is requisite, really."
"Fine. You can cross the midmorning one off."
She smiles triumphantly. "10:35-10:45 two-hundred lunges. 10:45 - 10:55 change garments... wait, I need to go back," she mumbles, "6:00 - 6:08 three-hundred press-ups, then shaving, wash and dress... yes that is understandable... 1:52 - 2:00 three-hundred situps... 2:00 - 2:10 change..." She trails off scanning the page. Then looks up at him. "Hal, I understand these intervals for brisk exercise, and may I say, you are quite precise in your times. But, what sort of person changes their clothes six times a day? And schedules that as an activity?"
"Women -"
"Seriously Hal, you are worse than most women. Certainly myself. You dress in the morning, I can see you changing to work outside, then bathe... surely the count can drop down to three times a day, four at the maximum. Yes?"
She takes his raised eyebrows as acquiescence.
"Shall I continue?"
"Mmm..."
"Reading-"
"God God woman, what do you have against reading?"
"Reading is lovely, I do not suggest we that abandon altogether. However, I have already rifled through every volume we own -"
"You could try reading them."
She ignores his barb. "- and I I feel that now, as the weather has turned, we can convert at least one of the four hours allotted to reading into something else."
He huffs. "Is this going to take much longer?"
"You may as well sit down Hal."
Rolling his eyes, he crosses the room to the settee and sits ramrod straight to await her other 'opinions'. She promptly sits on his lap, giving him an impudent smile.
"What is this 'vocal exercise'? As in a singing? You have adamantly refused each and every time I have tried to engage you in song."
"No, it is what it says. Vocal exercises. Also performed whilst you still languish in bed."
"Do you suggest that I am lazy? I need the sleep! I am far from complaining, but I do not have your vampire... fortitude... You keep me up half the night with your ravenous-"
"Sylvie!" He clears his throat, fidgeting, trying to dislodge her as the housekeeper enters the room. Sylvie looks up in time to see her curtsey.
"My Lord. M'lady. Will you still be wanting supper at the appointed time?"
Sylvie ignores Hal's pointed look.
"Ruth, forgive me, only a slight delay. I shall come advise you when Lord Hal and I have finished our little conversation."
The servant courtesies again with an agreeable smile before exiting back to the kitchens.
"Sylvie, you must mind your words. The servants, they overhear things."
"Oh my dear, you worry unnecessarily. I have already made excuses for your odd behaviour. And they think certain words are simply pet names I have for you. My little vampire." She pats his cheeks, much to his horror.
"Is there anything more?"
"Yes. Perhaps you can alternate some of these other activities rather than do them daily. Calligraphy, poetry, paper folding... some you do while I devote time playing the piano-forte, which is fine. It is a shame you do not have the aptitude for painting, we could do that together..."
"My artistic skills are above reproach. I simply choose not to engage in an activity with such a high probability of getting dirty. Particularly as I am being denied the opportunity to change..."
She rolls her eyes. "Hal, I have seen your attempts. But I suppose you cannot be good at everything. Now where was I... yes, the stones."
"No. There will be no change in that."
"Hal, you are now nearing completion of your design, what more is there?"
"I will allocate as much time necessary to maintain order. It is symbolic. If I can keep the nature from encroaching on them, then I can keep my nature from encroaching on me.
Sylvie considers him carefully. "Very well, I will concede on this. But, I expect it will not take two hours daily."
His patience is at an end. He attempts to get up.
"Wait, one more thing. Horses."
He stares at her puzzled. "Horses? We do not have horses."
"Precisely. You may attribute it to your routines, or it may be my influence, we shall, for now, not enter into this argument. Regardless, you have been doing well. We should have horses, so that we may go riding, exploring. Another diversion."
"Sylvie, you know why there are no horses. I might divert myself straight to the nearest humans... And it would also mean more servants to avoid. I draw the line at mucking stables."
"I shall be riding with you. Easy to keep away from the village, there is plenty of empty land between here and there. And it will be only one more servant. This is how we make sure that you can bend, not break. Incremental exposure. You saw that the housekeeper had no problem with a tiny change in the schedule. Adaptability is a fine human trait you would do well to adopt."
Hal closes his eyes, sighing deeply. When he opens them again he finds her face mere inches from his. Brown eyes stare pleadingly into his. "If you try complete rigidity, if you do not learn to persevere through small changes, you will break." Before he can retort, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him, butterfly soft and sweet. "Please."
I will break, regardless, in time... "Very well, we shall try it your way."
"Mistress Sylvie, perhaps it is not my place, but you did say to come to you if I ever noticed peculiar behavior with Lord Yorke..."
Sylvie, whose mind had been sleepily wandering as Beth braided her hair for the night, suddenly comes to full attention. She turns to look at her maid sharply. "What is it? Did he hurt you?"
"No, nothing improper as that. He does come over all queer at times and he is quite particular, but as you have said it is part of his special condition? No, I just observed him the other morning before you awoke, when he was outside taking his morning constitutional."
"Yes?"
"Well, he was quite a ways away, down by the river, I am certain he thought himself alone, and I of course did not mean to overhear..."
"You can speak freely, with me."
"Well, Lord Yorke, he was making strange noises. Not too loudly, mind, and at first I worried he was choking, but then he got good air in his lungs and belted out louder. I never heard anything so peculiar in my life."
"Oh, you must have heard his vocal exercises. Apparently he has been lying to me this whole time about not singing."
"I do not rightly know Miss Sylvie. It did not sound like any music I have heard before. I told my mum that night, so the next morning she accompanied me to see. Just to be certain it was something I should come tell you about, mind. Well, Mum can be a bit superstitious at times. She worries Lord Yorke was doing some sort of chanting, and not like any chanting heard in church. Could Lord Yorke be into some sort of wicked dealings with the Devil or the like?"
At her words, Sylvie turns away to hide a smile. If she only knew the truth...
"Thank you, Beth, for coming to me with this. Rest assured, dealings with the Devil are the least of our concerns. However, I will investigate the matter."
In the morning she follows him.
She finds him by the river. And he is most definitely... what is that noise?
As she approaches he notices her, and trails off sheepishly.
An arched eyebrow. "Vocal exercises?"
Hal huffs nervously. "Yes."
"And is there a name for this type of vocal exercise?"
"Yodeling."
The eyebrow arches higher. "I can see why the housekeeper and maid are worried that you are chanting worship to demonic forces. That noise is infernal..."
A wince.
"Although, it sounds more like cats yowling at night."
He purses his lips.
"Well," she turns to leave. "We certainly will not be adding singing to your list..."
Per Sylvie's insistence, horses arrived shortly after their 'talk', along with a groom to care for them. She had argued he would do much better if he could get out of the confines of their isolation, still away from humans, but given a chance to seek more sources of distraction. In truth, he suspects she used that argument as an excuse to fill her own sense of adventure. He is content, for the most part, living in his self-imposed cage; she is like a bird beating its wings against a window, able to see the freedom and longing to fly. But once they begin exploring the empty expanses of the peaks, he sees the wisdom in her suggestion; it is hard to dwell on the chaos, fury, and darkness within when out in nature.
They agree he cannot go unsupervised so Sylvie accompanies him. He is content on a set path, at first, but slowly gives into her requests to be more exploratory. On one such excursion, where they had stopped for her to collect bluebells, he voices a decision that he'd been mulling over for weeks.
"Sylvie, there is a task I must do. In Wales."
"Is this task one I shall be privy to, or shall it remain a secret?" she says sharply as she straightens up. There is still some friction between them; by Sylvie's words and actions, the wounds between them had healed, but for Hal they had only just scabbed over, fragile, easily picked at and exposed. But he had centuries of burying his wounds. Or at least masking them.
"Actually, you have already ferreted out this one. My acquaintance. The ghost."
She had been prepared to hear no more from him, her surprise evident on her face when he enlightens her.
"The one you killed?"
He winces. Her words always cut straight and deep. "Yes. I am expected. I made a promise to visit her yearly, and it is a promise I intend to keep. Otherwise, there could be unintended consequences." He pauses, then begrudges, "I think it best, as a precaution, that you accompany me."
Sylvie is nonplussed. Hal, voluntarily letting her into his past, when normally it is like pulling teeth to get any information from him. "To meet the ghost?"
"Ah, no. That would not be advisable." He says, clearly nervous. Of course, she should have known. He would not let her in that far. She looks at him askance. "I see. I am still the secret."
The only reaction to her words are a tightening of his lips. "You could visit your family. They are there, after all."
This comes as a surprise. Federico had not known where they had gone, had only ascertained that they indeed had fled her childhood home, sold the house in London as well. "In Wales? How do you have this knowledge?"
"It is... it is the location I advised them on, when I wrote them, before coming here."
He is full of surprises today. "When were you planning to tell me this? And how is it that you wrote them, without Federico's knowledge?"
"I have informed you. Just now." He has the decency to look chagrined. "Ahh... there were several matters I had to address through the post when we made arrangements for this place, for transferring of assets. It was a simple thing, to slip a letter to them. The werewolves are not exactly experienced in the matter of keeping captives."
She slits her eyes suspiciously. "What else have you slipped past them?"
His sudden impassive face betrays nothing.
Fine. "Why Wales? Is it safe? And do you know exactly where my parents reside?"
He ignores her first two questions. "I included the contact information for a qualified agent to help them in these matters."
"An agent that you yourself have a continued relationship with, I take it. And my other questions? Wales? Safety?"
He rubs his thighs in a nervous gesture. "Let us just say the unfortunate events that brought Lady Mary to her current state, and the aftermath, is not one the vampires will soon forget. Not something they wish to be reminded of by going anywhere near those parts."
His look makes it clear the book is closed on this.
Humans really are a malodorous, clamorous, uninventive, insufferable lot. At times like these he would gladly do the world a service and slaughter them all. His mouth waters at the prospect.
Despite strict instructions sent in the letter preceding their arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Arundel had insistently invited all of the gentry of this backward corner of Wales to their home. A fortnight spent with these buffoons parading in and out. Too many people; it felt like hell all over again. Thankfully it would be over in two days. If he survived. If they survived.
He would have gone to his task and quitted within a day of arriving if not for Sylvie, the pleasure he saw in her face when she was reunited with her family. The vibrancy in her demeanor. Surely he could give her a small measure of time before whisking her away selfishly back into isolation. He could do this. Hands behind his back, his fingers whirl.
To avoid the temptation swirling around him at this ball - thankfully the last social engagement Sylvie's evil parents had arranged without their knowledge - he concentrates on her, watching as she dances yet another reel. She glides and twirls, as if on wings, light and effervescent. Breathtaking. His lark belongs in this world, not his. She passes from partner to partner and back. Hal growls under his breath. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. The air practically shimmers with the sound of hearts beating, pumping blood forcefully as the dancers speed up their efforts. He swallows and closes his eyes. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand... he opens his eyes... drowning... Looking away from her, scanning the room for a distraction; all he sees are the veins of the people around him. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud... an end... Thud-thud-Thud-thud-Thud-thud-Thud-thud-
"Hal!"
He swings his head back to find her in front of him, flush and smiling.
"Come with me." She extends her hand, and he gratefully grabs onto it, a life rope in a sea of blood.
She leads him out of the estate, to a far corner of the garden. Silently she pushes him against the high wall and begins unlacing his breeches. Through the fog he manages woodenly, "Sylvie, what-"
"Oh Hal, surely this is not the first time you escaped out of a ball to have a quick tug." He hears her voice, but the sound is low compared to the beating of her heart. She releases him from his undergarments. His hands grab at the wall to steady himself as she strokes him, then he drowsily watches as she kneels down and... he moans loudly, earning him a 'shhhhh'. The pressure builds up incredibly fast, the tension seeking release...
He stops her abruptly and as she straightens up he grabs her, spinning around and pinning her to the wall. He hikes up her skirts, lifting her by the hips as she grabs his shoulders. His fingers dig into the undersides of her thighs as he thrusts into her. Her gasp is loud, even through the heady fog that has gripped him, and it's his turn to shush her. As he draws out, he whispers in her ear, "Not the first time, but I warn you, it never ended well for those girls." She giggles. She thinks this is a game. He rams back into her as he stares at her neck, the pulse jumping at him, the rapid beating of her heart loud in his ears, drowning out another gasp. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud...
And then she wrenches his face up, forcing him to stare at her. "You forget, I am not one of those other girls. I am your wife."
The bubble bursts in a rush of rustling wind and birdsong. He pauses, frowning, before trying to pull away. "Sylvie, this is highly inappropriate," he protests.
But she kisses him, her legs coming up to grip tightly at his waist and then he is kissing her back hungrily, as he surrenders to the pleasure of being inside her, the tension seeking release with their exertions. When the pressure reaches the point of almost pain he breaks the kiss, burying his face in the crook of her neck to muffle his cry as he tips over the edge. And yet there is no thought to anything more. They remain thus for a long moment after their shaking stops.
He finally loosens his hold on her thighs and she unlinks her legs from his waist. He steps away, laces himself up and straightens his jacket before turning back to her.
She beams a crooked smile at him. "Feeling better?"
He ducks his head. "Much."
"Only a few more hours of this before we can tell them all to piss off. You have it under control?"
"Quite."
She extends her hand and he lets her lead him back inside.
In the guest room at her parents' house they lay with legs entangled, Hal's arm holding her firmly to him as he lazily nuzzles the back of her neck. Sylvie sighs sleepily, almost a purr, her toes curling at the pleasant tingles his action evokes, despite her weariness. She should stop him.
"Did you tell her about me?"
"Hmm?"
He continues to nuzzle, lips parting so she feels his breath on her skin. More tingles. She really should stop him.
"Your ghost friend. Did you tell her about me?"
"Hmm?"
Now kisses, soft and wet. A delicious shiver runs down her spine and she unwittingly tilts her neck so he can have better access. A slight tightening of his arm. She needs to stop him.
She pulls away and flips over. Eyes clear, no fangs. Hair mussed, lips plump and rosy, parted, his jaw slack. His eyes oddly vacant, staring, no reaction to her movement.
"Hal, you have fallen asleep with your eyes wide open again."
His vacant stare continues a few more moments before he blinks his eyes rapidly and brings them in contact with hers. Had she not been in tune with him, she would have missed his slight look of confusion. Then his hesitation, the guilt to be read in his eyes.
"I do not think she is prepared to learn about your existence."
They had spent the day apart, she saying her goodbyes to her parents, tidying the last of the orders made for supplies that would accompany them back to their remote home. He had finally gone on his secretive mission to see Lady Mary. Despite his assurances that he was perfectly in control, the temptation to follow had been substantial. She told herself it was out of concern - what if he needed her? - no other reason. Yet when he left, she had remained behind.
"Do you think she will be ready next year?"
He stares at her impassively. Closed book.
The temptation to push him flares, but she lets it go. If he visits Lady Mary once a year, as he intimated, to make peace with his past, then she thought that a good thing. She works hard to keep him from dwelling on the past - to mix past and present might undermine her efforts. She changes the subject.
"It has been a challenge, but you did well, all things considered."
"Yes. With your help. Thank You." A genuine smile.
Do not say anything. Do not. "You would not have to try so hard. I would never have to drink blood. We would help each other." She tenses, holding her breath, waiting for his outburst, expecting to be pushed away.
Instead there is just sadness. "It is not as simple as making a choice. The hunger becomes unbearable. It would be an inevitability. To be ruled by blood and death and destruction - I would never condemn you to this curse. I could never forgive myself."
They stare at each other silently, then she breathes out, "How do you bear it?"
"The routines..."
"Humph", she flips away, vexed.
After a few seconds he pulls her tight against him, with a small chuckle. "And you. You make it bearable." She melts, unable to remain vexed at him. Not when he treats her to that happy sound.
"Hal."
"What now?"
"At the risk of more laughter, I must confess, I have missed your routines. There was a time or two I would gladly have throttled some of those bloody people and my only recourse was to excuse myself and go read a book..." The chuckle deepens and she smiles. Happy sound. For long moments they share the space contentedly.
"I am ready to go home." A whispered breath before drifting off to sleep.
"As am I."