William Lamb used to slide down the bannisters at Eton when he thought the master wouldn't catch him.
As Melbourne stood at the top of the staircase at Buckingham Palace now, he briefly contemplated doing so again.
He was deliciously content. Strength surged through his limbs, euphoria nearly made him sing.
She was perfection.
And he had drunk and drunk from her. Despite him not draining her, she had given the deepest satisfaction and pleasure: an effervescence of replenishment.
As he glided down the stairs (he did manage to restrict himself to the stairs), he revisited it all in his mind: her willingness, her enjoyment, the way her flesh had given way so succulently under his fangs, how her blood seemed to rise willingly into his mouth. Total capitulation and acceptance.
Let us allow him the glow of dominion for a brief moment; it was a feeling Melbourne had denied himself for so long, after all. She had adored it and he had felt her rapture as strongly as his. And he hadn't even come inside her. He almost laughed. Never could he remember a connection so strong.
Again, there were aspects of what they were engaging in that he hadn't been entirely frank about, to protect her, he assured himself. For instance, he hadn't told her how feeding on her would take its toll. One cannot be drained of so much blood and pierced by vampire fangs and not suffer some repercussions. Victoria would be weakened, yet she would crave him more strongly than ever; it would be only in his presence that she would feel energised again. When away from him, a lethargy and malaise would take hold, worsening each time he drank from her. He wished it could be avoided, and vowed to spend as much time with her as he could to fend off her suffering and the speculation of others.
But in addition to not being entirely frank with her, Melbourne was not entirely truthful with himself; that was not the only reason he wished to spend as much time with her as he could. In any case, since he had started them both on the path towards her inevitable turning, there would be an end to it, and so the present difficulties, he reassured himself, were finite.
Guilt niggled, but not as strongly as it should. The heady satisfaction of feeding on her denied it taking hold for the time being. He had forgotten how good it was: the intense ecstasy of a live feeding from one so willing and wanting.
The man holding his carriage door open thought his eyes were deceiving him. The Prime Minister's feet seemed to leave the ground as he approached and he appeared to fly into the carriage. The footman shook his head. He shouldn't have had that jug of ale before coming on duty.
-xoOox-
It was only several hours later, at Brocket Hall, after the effect of her blood had diffused somehow, that regret crept back into the lingering soul which still defined Melbourne.
There was no return, he knew it. She was his now. He had to continue. There could be no regrets from either of them. They would have to tread carefully in the transition time, before she was fully turned. She would be well when he was near, but otherwise would seem lacklustre at best, mortally ill at worst, especially as the moment of turning approached. He would not be able to delay the turning for too long, although he so enjoyed feasting on her living blood. It would be different after her turning.
He had not told her of the precise nature of a turning, that she in turn would have to feed on him. At the mere thought of it his fangs tingled and his cock hardened. His head fell back and guilt was quashed by anticipation.
Oh, the beauty of it!
No one had fed from him for decades. Feeding from a vampire could rarely be done, only after they had live fed so plenteously as to build up enough fresh blood in their own veins and render it pure enough for another to drink. It was then that the turn could take place, when the connection was so strong that the sharing of blood was essential.
He swallowed, picturing it, her soft lips closing on a wound of his own, her willing mouth sucking on him, drinking him in. He groaned and let his fangs emerge. His hand reached into his breeches and he worked himself quickly to an orgasm which confirmed his intent.
But after ecstasy faded, as it did quickly in his solitude, remorse took hold again.
He thought of himself standing in Parliament: the Good Man, the Worthy Prime Minister.
His damp seed cooled against his legs and a sickening wave of shame came over him. It was a common sensation, this cycle: expectation, satisfaction, regret, shame, need … to be repeated endlessly. It exhausted him, and yet exhaustion had no finality for the immortal. There was no end to contemplate, only continuation.
He had gone through times when he had killed and fed mercilessly to try to vanquish his inherent decency. Not for over a century, it must be noted; the 2nd Viscount Melbourne remained, ostensibly, a thoroughly decent fellow. He could never quite let his integrity go, and so he had tried instead to embrace it. Hence the frequenting of the slaughter house (bitter pigs' blood which staled as soon as the animal had been killed) and only occasional feeding from the less admirable in society – their veins often corrupted by vice and noxious substances.
Why not reward himself now? She was willing – oh, so very willing. He closed his eyes and pictured her complete acceptance of him as her head fell back and her eyes closed and she bared her neck and she moaned as he drank from her and she came, pleasure so new and fresh, taking her by surprise yet absorbed so readily. And how much more he would give her.
That was all he wanted through all of this – to give to her – was it not?
And thus William Lamb justified his actions and continued on the path he was treading. This way, he told himself he had some choice in the matter.
In truth, free will had been denied him 256 years earlier.
-xoOox-
Victoria did not feel very well that evening, but then, she didn't suppose she would having had much of her blood sucked from her.
Lord M had told her she should rest, so she did, and sleep claimed her early, although she remembered in time to put on the high necked night gown to hide any wounds from prying eyes. She did not notice the staff and Lehzen fussing around her, wondering what could be tiring her.
The morning was difficult. She lacked energy and asked for breakfast to be served in bed. Her mother was most displeased and insisted she get up. And so, with heavy limbs (and a broad diamond choker once again hiding any inconveniences) she forced herself to dress and appear downstairs. It was a Wednesday, and due to questions in the House on this day, Lord M did not usually appear until late afternoon. This made her yet more despondent.
Her head was thick and dull and conversation tired her. Any attempt by her ladies to engage her in a game was met with a rebuke. They soon left well alone.
Victoria could think of one thing only. She yearned for him, she longed for his touch, craved the time he could sink his teeth into her again, that sweet piercing penetration which gave such glorious agony. And more – he had said – he would have her the other way too, the way she dreamt of, the way she imagined when she lay at night so ready. This was not new. Victoria had known since her body had gone through its adolescent changes that she was curious and needy. Never did she think her latent passion would be awoken and appeased in such a bewitching manner.
Her legs instinctively clenched together to try to relieve some of the tugging tension that pulled at her there. She let out a little sigh as she did so.
'Ma'am … Ma'am!'
As if from afar, she heard Harriet's voice calling her. She turned blearing towards it.
'Ma'am? Are you quite alright? You seem most at odds.'
'No, I am not alright. I feel very headachey and tired. I did not wish to rise today but Mama insisted on it.'
'Well, some activity may do you good.'
Victoria knew exactly what would do her good.
Her embroidery was placed in her hand. She tried vaguely to attend to it but found herself studying the needle in her hand and wondered if it was as sharp as the teeth which had pierced her neck the day before. Without a thought, she held it tight and pressed it deeply into the soft pad of her left forefinger.
'Ma'am!' exclaimed Harriet, quickly summoning a servant for a handkerchief and some water. 'Be careful!'
She thought it not nearly as sharp as Lord M's teeth, but she watched riveted as the deep red of her blood oozed out and began to drip from her finger onto her embroidery. It stained a little white dove she had been working on.
'Oh, Ma'am, your embroidery is spoiled!' Her Ladies didn't know what to do with themselves. Victoria found herself quite immune to their distress.
They fussed and attended to her while she held up her finger quite unaffected.
While they were doing this something happened. Something changed.
Her blood seemed to grow faster inside her, hotter even. Her energy was replenished and her senses suddenly so attuned she could hear the workings of the clock on the mantel.
She stared straight ahead of her, unblinking.
'He is coming.'
'Ma'am? Whomever are you talking about?' Harriet tutted as she bound her finger.
'He is nearly here. I can feel it,' she murmured to herself.
'I don't know what you mean, Ma'am,' said Harriet, barely listening. 'There. That should suffice, but please take care. Those needles are sharp.'
It was only three o'clock. Lord M never appeared until after the clock had struck five on a Wednesday, but she could now sense his approach so acutely, she felt she could draw a map of his progress.
And so it was a surprise to everyone except Victoria when, at five past three, the door opened and the Prime Minister strode in.
She stood immediately, enlivened, her energy restored. 'Lord M,' she said, hastening towards him. He knelt and kissed her hand, his mouth lingering on it for some time before he stood. When he did he searched her eyes, genuine concern evident.
'Ma'am … how are you today? I came as early as I could.'
'I am very well now. I am so very well.'
Victoria's mother approached, her face sour. 'The Queen is under the weather today, Lord Melbourne. It would have been better for you to stay away.'
'I am not, Mama. I am absolutely fine. Now …' Victoria turned to everyone present and dismissed them. 'Leave us. We have much to attend to.'
If she noticed the glances across the room, she did not care. Soon enough, they were left alone.
They fell into each other, hands reaching, searching, mouths open and meeting.
'My darling, my love,' he breathed against her skin. 'Have you been unwell? Tell me.'
She held him to her, but noticed he resisted grazing along her neck.
'I felt so strange earlier, so at odds with my body, lethargic and melancholy. But not when you came. As you were arriving I sensed it and I was awakened again. You're here now, you're here and it is all so very, very good again.'
He was kissing her again. He couldn't not.
She held his head to her and guided it down her neck but he drew back, his eyes darkening but his body resisting.
'No, no, not yet, I cannot today. You have not recovered. We must allow time.'
'Oh, but I can't! I need it! I want you, I want you!' So he kissed her again but when he felt his fangs prick he dragged himself off abruptly.
'I will not today!' He pulled away, almost with a roar, and paced practically to the other side of the room. 'If I bite you now, I will take all of you, and I said I will not do that yet.'
She stood, her blood pounding, her desire raging. She was quite truthfully panting with longing and stared across at him fixedly. He stared back, looking at her over his shoulder, his back half-turned.
'Then what? What can you give me today?' she announced.
He frowned a little at her meaning. 'Give you?'
'My need is too great, my desire demands it … please.'
'Victoria …' His head fell.
'Please.'
He met her eyes again, and slowly began a measured walk back to her. With each step closer, her belly twisted and screamed its need.
'You are my angel … my fire and fury …' He coiled his fingers through her hair. The strands caught and tugged and made her gasp but she did not remove her gaze from him. He opened his mouth to draw in much needed air and she saw the tips of his fangs gleam white. 'Yes, Victoria … I will give to you.'
Still he held her head hard, and she inclined it, willing to offer her blood to him again.
'No, I told you – I will not feed today.'
She opened her eyes enough to look at him. Despite his assertion, his fangs gleamed in the reflected light from the fire, and his irises were flecked with tell-tale red.
What then? What would he do? She practically sobbed with the denial.
But she had her answer. Still holding the back of her neck with his left hand, with his right he reached down and took hold of her skirts. Not breaking eye contact, he drew them up, reaching down under each layer of silk and satin and cotton until she felt the warm strength of his arm right underneath, grazing her legs.
She sucked in a breath and took a step to steady herself.
'Shh,' he warned, still holding her firmly. The red in his eyes deepened and when he opened his mouth to draw in his own breath, she stared fixedly at the sharp points of his fangs.
But his hand was finding its way, his fingers edging through the slit in her drawers.
'I …' she tried.
'Shh, I said,' he cautioned again, and his voice left no room for dissent.
And then, his fangs still revealed, the corner of his mouth curled up the merest amount. He had touched her.
Her eyes widened and her breath was held.
He barely grazed her at first, just stroked so very lightly along the slit which was so wet already, and up towards that tight little nub which she had saved for him. She had touched it herself often, but never enough, never quite enough to carry her through. The first rapture she had known was when he bit her yesterday, and now he would give her more another way entirely.
Melbourne started stroking harder, running the length of his forefinger down through her, testing her opening the merest amount, coating his fingers in her dripping desire, then dragging up and over that place again. She whined and closed her eyes without barely realising.
'Look at me,' he declared, and she dragged them open to meet with his gaze again.
The vampire in him had fully emerged – his eyes red, his fangs sharp – but still he merely touched and rubbed and stroked her, giving, only giving.
Pleasure threatened to make her stumble, but the steadying grip he had on her neck remained.
'Don't you want to bite me?' she murmured between little gasps as he built her ecstasy. He circled her tight bud, firm, controlled circles, with a rhythm matching the beat of her heart.
'Yes,' he said, that was all.
But he didn't bite. He just rubbed, harder now, faster, then slowing and softer, before building again.
It broke in her. With a rasping cry, her pleasure crashed through her and she flung up her arm instinctively to steady herself on him. He kept his fingers there, he didn't stop, and it continued until it almost hurt but didn't quite.
As her slight body bucked with the last of her climax, Melbourne himself threw his head back, baring his fangs yet more, and released a cry of his own, not of ecstasy this time, but of tormented frustration. When it had washed fully out of her, he released his hold and took several staggering steps back. Victoria could do no more than let her knees give way and sink to the floor.
He stood with his back still turned, his breathing laboured. If Victoria could have seen his face, twisted and tortured from the anguish of self-denial, fear would have struck her, there is no doubt. But, as it was, she sat in calm post-orgasmic repose while Melbourne fought to cage his demon once again.
After some time, he succeeded, and when he turned back to her, his fangs had retreated and the red of his eyes had dimmed. He looked down and offered his usual assuring smile.
'Are you well, Ma'am?' asked Lord M.
She stared up, almost in disbelief and could only offer a sated smile in reply.
'May I help you up?' He came over and offered her his hand. Victoria took it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She practically fell against him and searched his face for meaning.
'How do you do these things to me?'
'Well … I have had one or two years practice, Ma'am.'
She grinned slyly and kissed him in response, drawing back to murmur the most sincere 'thank you' against his lips.
'I was feeling so strange earlier, Lord M; and now I feel glorious. You make me feel glorious. I don't want you to leave me. Don't ever leave me.'
In truth, Victoria had never wanted him to leave, even before these curious events. But he knew – with shameful pleasure – that she now meant it completely, whether through choice or not. When his fangs had first entered her body it had happened, and there could be no return – she was addicted to him.
