She extended her arm, freshly scrubbed, the blue traceries of veins in her wrist making my mouth water and my gums ache.

“Cirri…” I swallowed, wishing my mouth weren’t on fire with need.

She shoved the journal away in response, tossing the pen after it, and curled up against me. I was powerless to resist the warmth of her pressed into my side, the softness of her head pillowed on my shoulder; my arm slipped around her of its own accord.

My wife inhaled, then reached up and cupped my cheek, her fingertips moving delicately over the striations of muscle and cartilage in my face, tracing the ridge down to my lips.

Her thumb caressed my lower lip, then, with excruciating slowness, she touched one fang, her brow furrowed with concentration.

She signed to me, her words unclear but her determination obvious.

A hand on her chest, then a broad gesture to me.

She turned her head, pressing her lips to my shoulder, and offered her wrist again.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered, and she shook her head. She pressed herself closer, draping one leg over my lap in a billow of thick skirts, the softness of her curves igniting my imagination.

I took her hand, turning over the pale fingers that had been stained with ink; there were still faint patches on her fingers. “You don’t need to wash for this. The taste of you will be delicious regardless.”

She gave me a crooked smile, but now I could see the faint shine of fear in her eyes.

Ancestors, I didn’t want to do this… and I did. More than anything. It was taking every last shred of willpower, scraped from the deepest pits of my being, to not sink my fangs into her flesh immediately.

And when I would have protested again, not wanting to be an animal in her presence, she tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in a furrow: What are you waiting for?

“I will take it slowly,” I told her, feeling her fingers tremble in mine. “There will be a small pain… and then it will fade. We have a venom in our bite, to help bring the ecstasy and make it more pleasant.”

She nodded, lips set, eyes on my face. I brought her wrist to my mouth, inhaling her luscious scent, mastering myself. I was not an animal. I could control the beast.

My throat burned as I carefully, ever so delicately, set my fangs to her arm. With all of my concentration on this small limb, determined not to savage her, I sank my teeth in slowly, allowing my venomous saliva to penetrate her before I went deeper.

By the ancestors and the gods, the delight. Soft as silk, parting like butter under my fangs…

Cirri drew in a sharp breath, her fingers twitching in my grasp, but she exhaled, settling herself, resting her head on my shoulder.

Her blood, hot as it was and sweet from the vein, soothed the scorching dryness in my throat. I swallowed once, twice, still focused on stopping myself from draining her entirely, and tapered off.

It was enough to soften the pain of thirst. Blood from the vein was far better than blood harvested; my appetite was satiated on that small taste alone.

I couldn’t stop myself from taking another tiny, cooling sip, running my forked tongue over the pinpricks in her flesh and allowing my saliva to close the wounds.

“Did it hurt badly?” I asked her, my voice gruff. She would despise me now.

Cirri examined her arm, the pinpricks, now closed and a muted pink tone, like a constellation inscribed in her flesh. She flattened her hand and tipped it: Somewhat.

The other signs I couldn’t make out, but… she didn’t run, nor was she breathing quickly, with a heightened heartbeat or widened pupils.

Could she truly be unafraid? Had that single bite not frightened her?

My gaze dropped to her throat, wondering… and then her breathing sped up as she noticed where my eyes were focused.

No. The fear was still there, but it was the fear of total vulnerability to a predator.

She grabbed her journal. Small steps, she wrote with a slightly shaky smile. It hurt, but not as much as I thought it would. I really believed it would hurt worse. Even Wyn’s knife has more bite. Next time will be easier. 

Cirri glanced at her arm again, taking in the marks that would heal to white scars overnight.

Is that preferable to drinking it decanted? she asked.

“There is no comparison,” I told her with feeling. “Imagine being so thirsty you can think of nothing else, your tongue is as dry as cotton, your throat aches, and before you is a spring of icy, newly-melted mountain water—or a glass of old, yellowed well-water, warmed by the sun.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Thank you for allowing me to try. I know it’s—it’s not what you wanted, but I can assure you that you are delicious.”

That got a genuine smile out of her. My one true ambition in life is finally achieved: to be tasty.

“You mock that, but let me tell you… some people are not tasty. Truly, you should be honored by such an accolade.”

She laughed breathily, a slightly giddy quality to the sound. I absolutely am honored. If anyone asks, I will tell them: I am extremely edible. Toothsome, ambrosial, and possibly even scrumptious.

My precious wife… she was riding the high of victory and venom, having overcome her fear to the degree of allowing my teeth to pierce her, the relief evident in her smiles and laughter and jokes. I wouldn’t ruin her high by telling her any vampire asking about her taste was also asking to be decapitated with extreme prejudice.

“Ambrosial for me, my lady. Toothsome for me.” I pulled her onto me so she straddled my lap, still overcome with silent giggles. “No other vampire’s fangs will touch you.”

She paused, touching her chest with a concerned look, and grabbed her journal to scribble: Why can’t I stop laughing? 

Then she fell forward, her head thumping onto my chest helplessly and shaking as she was consumed with more inaudible laughter.

I winced, cradling her to me. “I may have allowed a little too much of my saliva to inoculate you against the pain. It was… well, a fairly large dose, considering I tried to ration myself.”

She sat up, signing with loose gestures, her meaning rather nonsensical.

“All right, love, come here. Let’s sleep this off.” I unlaced the stays of her simple dress, peeling the overdress from her and tossing it on the floor. Cirri was like a doll, still trapped in a cycle of giggling and catching her breath, but she gripped me tightly as I pulled her up into the bed.

She flopped over me languidly, one bare leg draped over my thighs, her head and an arm flung across my chest. I stroked her smooth leg idly, unable to hold back a smile at the occasional explosion of shakes that signified her laughter.

“It might be a while before this stops.” I stroked her hair. “Would you like a bedtime story?”

Y-E-S, she signed, and if her hands were her voice, that voice was slurred and drunk.

Ancestors, next time I would use much less venom. My poor wife.

I thought of a story to tell her that would maybe give her a little insight into the people of the keep. My family, hopefully to be hers as well one day.

“Once upon a time, in the days when the vampires still lived Below, there was a bloodwitch who just couldn’t follow the rules and always wanted to test the patience of her elders…”

Cirri erupted into another small earthquake. As much as I enjoyed holding her this close, for her it was going to be a long night.

But as for me—my thirst was quenched, I had a gorgeous woman draped on me in bed, soon I would understand her, and… there was going to be a next time.

As I spoke, and the venom’s effects slowly mutated into a soporific grip on her, I didn’t let myself think about how I didn’t deserve this, or how it all seemed so unreal. Even later, when everything had been ripped away from me, I held onto this moment as the exact night that my life, my hopes, my dreams… they had all changed, suddenly taking an unknown path I had never considered before, a path that led to something I’d long since given up on.