J. Ward - Dark Lover

"No, sensei."

"No?" Mr. X leveled his eyes on Billy's. "I got no time for liars, son."

Billy cleared his throat. "Yeah. Maybe. When I was younger."

"How'd that make you feel?"

A flush crept up Billy's neck. His hands came apart. " Nada . I didn't feel anything."

"Come on, Billy. You've got to trust me."

Billy's eyes flashed. "Okay. Maybe I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Riddle drew out the word.

"Good." Mr. X lifted his hand and caught the waitress's eye. She took her time coming over. "We'll talk about that man later. First, I want you to tell me about your father."

"My dad?"

"You ready to order now?" the waitress said in a snotty tone.

"What do you want, Billy? It's on me."

Riddle recited half the menu.

When the waitress left, Mr. X prompted him. "Your dad?"

Billy shrugged. "I don't see him a lot. But he's… you know… whatever. A dad. I mean, who cares what he's like?"

"Listen, Billy." Mr. X leaned forward. "I know you ran away from home three times before you turned twelve. I know your father sent you to prep school the minute your mom was in the ground. And I know when you got yourself kicked out of Northfield Mount Hermon, he packed you off to Groton, and when you were tossed out of there, he put you in a military academy. It sounds to me like he's been trying to get rid of you for the last decade."

"He's busy."

"And you've been a lot to handle, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

"So would I be right in assuming that you and Daddy Dearest don't have some kind of Leave It to Beaver thing going?" Mr. X waited. "Tell me the truth."

"I hate him," Riddle blurted.

"Why?"

Billy crossed his arms over his chest again. His eyes went cold.

"Why do you hate him, son?"

"Because he breathes."

Beth stared off into a vast white distance. She was in some kind of dreamscape, with hazy edges that suggested there was no end to what was before her.

A lone figure, lit from behind, approached out of the vapor. She sensed that it was male, whatever it was, and she didn't feel threatened. She felt as if she knew him.

"Father?" she whispered, not sure whether she meant her own or God Himself.

The man was still quite far away, but his hand lifted in greeting, as if he'd heard her.

She stepped forward, but her mouth was suddenly flooded with a taste she didn't recognize. She put her fingertips to her lips. When she looked down at them, she saw red.

The figure dropped his hand. As if he knew what the stain meant.

Beth slammed back into her body. It was like being catapulted and landing on gravel. Everything hurt.

She cried out. As her mouth opened, she got a rush of that taste. She swallowed reflexively.

Something miraculous happened. Like a balloon reinflat-ing, her skin filled with life. Her senses came alive.

She blindly grabbed onto something hard. Latched on to the source of the taste.

Wrath felt Beth jerk like she'd been electrocuted. And then she started to drink at his neck with great, urgent pulls of her mouth. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh.

His roar was one of triumph as he eased back on the bed, lying down so the blood flow would be better. He kept his head to one side, exposing his neck to her, and she crawled up onto his chest, her hair spilling all over him. The wet sound of her sucking, the knowledge he was giving her life, gave him a monstrous hard-on.

He held her loosely, stroking her arms. Encouraging her to take more of him. Take all that she needed.

Much later, Beth lifted her head. Licked her lips. Opened her eyes.

Wrath was staring up at her.

And he had a gaping wound in his neck.

"Oh, God… what have I done to you?" She reached to stanch the blood seeping from his vein.

He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. "Will you have me as your hellren ?"

"What?" Her mind was having difficulty turning over.

"Marry me."

She looked at the hole in his throat and her stomach lurched. "I-I…"

The pain came hard and fast. Tackling her. Taking her into a shadow box of agony. She doubled over, rolling onto the mattress.

Wrath shot up and cradled her in his lap.

"Am I dying…?" she moaned.

"Oh, no, leelan . You're not. This will pass," he whispered. "But it's not going to be fun."

Her entire digestive tract convulsed in waves, and she flopped over onto her back. She could barely make out Wrath's face through the pain, but his eyes were wide with worry. He took her hand in his and she squeezed as the next blast of torture overtook her.

Her vision dimmed. Came back. Dimmed again.

Sweat dripped from her body, soaking the sheets. She gritted her teeth and arched. Turned this way and then another. Trying to escape.

She didn't know how long it lasted. Hours. Days.

Wrath stayed with her the whole time.

Wrath took his first deep breath sometime after three A.M.

Finally, she was still.

And not dead still. Calm still.

She'd been so brave. She'd taken the pain with no whimpering, no crying. Even he had begged for his transition to be over.

A croak came out of her.

"What, my leelan ?" He put his head down to her mouth.

"Shower."

"Right."

He left the bed, got the water started, and came back for her. Gently lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bathroom. She couldn't stand, so he sat her on the marble counter, stripped her clothes off, and then picked her up again.

He stepped under the water, shielding her body with his back. He wanted to see if the change in temperature and humidity was unpleasant for her. When she didn't protest, he let the rush hit her feet first in case the sensation was too much. Gradually, he eased her under the showerhead.

She seemed to like the water, craning her neck and opening her mouth.

He saw her fangs, and they were beautiful to him. Bright white. Sharply pointed. He remembered the sensation of her drinking.

Wrath pulled her against him for a moment, just hugging her. And then he dropped her feet to the ground and held her body with one arm. With his free hand, he picked up a jar of shampoo and squeezed a little on the top of her head. He rubbed her hair into a lather and then rinsed it clean. With a bar of soap, he gently massaged her skin as best he could without dropping her and then made sure every last suds was washed off.

Scooping her up into his arms again, he shut off the water, got out, and grabbed a towel. He wrapped her up and put her back on the counter, propping her against the wall and the mirror. Carefully, he blotted the water from her hair, her face, her neck, her arms. Then her feet, calves, and knees.

Her skin was going to be hypersensitive for a while. Her eyes and hearing, too.

During her transition, he'd watched for signs that her body was changing and had seen none. She was the same height as before. She fit the same way against him. He wondered if she'd even be able to go out during the day.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He kissed her and carried her to the sofa. Then he stripped the bed of the wet sheets and mattress pad. He struggled with remaking it. He had a tough time finding the other set of sheets, and getting them on right was hard as hell for him. When he was finally finished, he picked her up and settled her against the fresh satin.

Her deep sigh was the best compliment he'd ever been paid.

Wrath knelt by the side of the bed, suddenly aware that his leather pants and his shitkickers were soaking wet.

"Yes," she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. "Yes what, my leelan ?"

"I will marry you."