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The thirst is inexplicable. Indescribable. Undeniable.
A dryness at the back of her throat that can’t be willed away. A hunger and desperation that has one central cause and multiple symptoms. It grows worse by what seems like the hour.
Leonora is lethargic. Slower than usual. Tired. Inattentive. Her temples are throbbing, and no amount of gentle massage can muffle the sensation. It’s pure luck that no one has noticed yet. And if they had, they knew better than to mention it. Leonora thinks she masks herself well enough, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling it.
Day in and day out, the persistent hunger that she can’t seem to satisfy no matter how many pints of blood she downs. She wants something fresh, she wants something good, she wants—
She wants Clarissa. The intoxicating flowery scent from across the table.
As if she could hear Leonora’s thoughts, the woman in question meets her eyes with a look filled with concern. She ignores it—ignores her—and focuses entirely on keeping herself still. It’s just so… irritating.
Here Leonora sits, a vampire surrounded by sources of food, yet only one called for her. Clarissa’s blood practically sings as it flows through her veins. Her heartbeat like music, an angelic choir to the ears. Leonora’s heel taps impatiently on the floor as her eyes meander from Clarissa’s face to her collarbone.
It was especially trying when she would wear dresses that exposed her shoulder— her neck to Leonora’s gaze. She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into it. Even imagining the taste sets her aflame. What she wouldn’t give to—
Her teeth get sharper digging into the flesh of her inner cheeks. Leonora should look away instead of using pain as a distraction. Instead, she forces herself to remain as still as possible.
Leonora doesn’t realize when the meeting ends. She barely notices when everyone begins to file out of the room, their chatter growing distant as they get further and further away. Leonora does notice, however, the moment Clarissa stands.
She tracks Clarissa as she circles the table to stand at her side, tensing with every step.
“Lady Lesso, are you alright?” No. Far from it. A well-meaning question with a multitude of wrong answers.
“I’m fine.” She responds tersely before standing. No need to allow herself to be interrogated. Despite her clear disinterest in having a conversation, Clarissa follows, continuing to speak.
“You don’t look good, Lady Lesso.” Leonora pauses mid-step, giving the woman a sharp look. “I— I didn’t mean it like that—“
“Well, how did you mean it?”
“I mean, you seem sick and tired and…” Clarissa trails off, “…possibly hungry.”
“Hungry?” At the mention of hunger, her eyes drift back down to Clarissa’s neck, zeroing in on that precious vein. Storian, she could hear the woman’s heartbeat from this distance without even focusing. It’s thrumming faster than before, a hint of adrenaline making itself known. It would be that much sweeter— She steps closer without thinking. “And what would you know of my hunger, Princess?”
“I know enough. I can feel you staring at me, Lady Lesso.”
And she what? Feared for her safety. But why would she allow herself to be alone with Leonora in a place with very few exits? “I’m perfectly capable of controlling myself.”
“I’m not worried about that” Clarissa responds a light wrinkle between her brows. “I just think there’s no need for you to starve. Especially not when I’m willing to—”
“Stop.” Leonora’s interrupts brusquely. She already knows where this is going. “Don’t just offer your blood up to a vampire. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s you.”
“I’m dangerous.” Clarissa leans against the wall, arms crossed with a light pout, and Leonora feels herself frown in return. Perhaps she should emphasize the seriousness of this situation. “I am a predator Clarissa.”
“You’re also a friend. And it’s okay to need help every once in a while.” Comes the earnest response. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the woman tilts her head, pointing at the vein in her neck encouragingly.
Leonora leans forward before she can rein herself in. Tempting her like this— did Clarissa have a death wish? Her lips land directly on the vein, but thankfully, her mouth remains firmly shut. Still, she breathes in her scent, memorizes the tempo of her heartbeat, and relishes in the soft feeling of her skin. Leonora allows herself mere seconds before she pulls away, more determined than ever. “I’m a vampire who can drain you dry and leave you for dead while I go searching for my next victim. Do you really think that I’m someone you can trust with your health?”
She needs to shut this curiosity down completely.
“Don’t ask about my dinner habits again, Professor Dovey. You might end up on my table.” And with that statement, she takes her leave.
The blood in the flute of her wineglass supplements her dinner: red meat lightly seared on both sides, spinach, and an orange tart for dessert.
She doesn’t eat human food often; it’s not necessary after all, but a treat wouldn’t kill her. Besides, her drinks have been rather dull lately. Despite refilling her glass three times, she drinks without tasting. It doesn’t satisfy her in the least. It’s almost… stale, leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth, but at least it chases away her thirst.
The blood she drank is freshly preserved, yet it undeniably lacked the energy of life. It fills her stomach, but it was unsatisfying in every other way. She wants to taste something else.
Leonora is still tired, still agitated, still annoyed. Starving yet full, an annoying combination and with a headache to boot. If this goes on for too long, she might need to take drastic measures.
Instead, she tries to focus on paperwork to keep her mind occupied. It doesn’t help. She dots her i’s and crosses her t’s, marking the documents in front of her, yet every few minutes, her thoughts drift.
To Leonora’s shame, she finds herself thinking of Clarissa. To her earlier offer. It’s a terrible idea. She knows this but part of her had wanted to agree. Part of her wanted to help herself to an early dinner at Clarissa’s expense. She couldn’t do that to her though. Would never.
Exasperatingly enough, and as much as she tries to resist, thoughts of Clarissa drift to the front of her mind time and time again.
The questions spin in her head unprompted, and she discards each one with a vicious hand. What would her blood taste like? How would her skin— her pulse feel against Leonora’s lips?
What kind of noises would escape her prey—
A broken quill leaves her frustrated enough to rest. Usually, the night hours were hers, the only time she ever felt particularly energetic, but right now…
She collapses into bed, and she falls into a restful slumber quite easily. Suspiciously so, but it was better than being awake and tormented with her thoughts. Much better considering where her night takes her.
She dreams of a woman that night. She dreams of following a familiar mouthwatering scent to its source. She dreams of mercilessly piercing soft skin with her fangs—the sweet taste of adrenaline, and life and lust.
Leonora's dream satisfies her thirst for what feels like the first time in weeks. She can still taste the remnants of her dream, still see the silhouette of a woman when she closes her eyes, still feeling the warmth of skin that contrasted her own. A glorious dream.
But it’s only that—a dream.
So when her eyes crack open hours later, the dream is forgotten almost immediately. There’s no use in dwelling on something that wasn’t real, after all. No matter how much she enjoyed it.
But it happens again. And again. And again.
With no rhyme, reason, or consistency Leonora has that same vision of bliss. And with each iteration, it becomes more intense, more vivid, more real.
The taste of blood fills her mouth as the woman says her name in a breathy whisper.
“Leonora.” Sweet and tender, a prayer surrounded by broken whimpers. She never wants to wake up from this dream, this vision of heaven. Each time, Leonora submerges herself without thought.
The only consequence is the betterment of her health. She feels less stiff, less drowsy, less hungry than before. Her frequent headaches disappear. Leonora chalks it up to the occasional good night’s rest.
Somehow, it gets better.
The same dream, the same woman, but this time, it’s so much more real. She follows her instinct, drawing blood from flesh with deep draughts. The taste is on the cusp of heaven, sweet, energizing, refreshing. The lust is a bonus. It all makes her feel so alive.
The woman strokes a hand over Leonora’s back, right under her shirt. The other cradles her head, almost affectionately, holding it as she feasts. Her eyes flutter hazily at the myriad of sensations.
When she bites down harder, a sharp gasp catches her attention and for the first time, she takes in her position. The woman of her dreams smells so good and tastes so delightful, feels so warm. Leonora can sense her every heartbeat.
Despite being a dream of the highest caliber, it all feels real, and Leonora wants to see her— the woman who feels so alive beneath her.
She laps at the wound, tasting her one more time before reluctantly tugging herself up and away. Leonora continues to straddle the woman’s waist, sitting back to see her through tired, hazy eyes.
The sight steals her breath away.
Clarissa, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, skin glowing from the full moon's light. Clarissa debauched with parted lips, chest heaving from heavy breaths, and warm skin radiating against Leonora’s own. Clarissa, with blood seeping from the fresh wound on her neck, red rivulets spilling to stain the white of her nightgown. Her nightgown… Leonora can see through the thin material. She can see—
Leonora licks her lips, still tasting blood, and swallows involuntarily as her eyes drift downward against her will. The nightgown's hem is up past Clarissa’s waist, not even low enough to cover her belly button, and Leonora’s hand is pressed intimately against the soft skin of her stomach.
To be rewarded with a dream as delightful as this. Leonora feels her thirst reignite— a strange freeing desire.
“Leonora?” A soft voice breaks through her thoughts, capturing her full attention with ease.
“Clarissa.” Dream Clarissa squirms under her intense gaze before blinking, seemingly surprised.
“… you just talked.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve heard me speak,” Leonora responds softly as she grazes Clarissa’s cheek with her knuckles. Why did everything feel so real? Was it some sort of sign? An indication that she should stop denying herself. If so—
No. She interrupts that thought as soon as it’s introduced to her mind. She can’t hurt Clarissa in her dreams, but she could in real life—no need to risk the woman’s health just to whet her appetite.
Besides, there are advantages to consulting with the dream version of your crush rather than the real one. Leonora can look her in the eye and tell the truth—bare her soul with no consequence.
“Clarissa.” Leonora shifts her hips slightly as she leans forward. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Something she could never say if she were awake.
“What?”
“You…” Leonora cups her cheek, gazing softly into her clear brown eyes. “Since the day we met, I have known two things for certain. One. That you are gorgeous.” She presses her lips against Clarissa’s cheek reverently. The sluggishly bleeding wound on her neck proves distracting, and Leonora finds herself there once again, tending to it carefully.
Beneath her, Clarissa shivers. “And two?” The fairy asks in a hesitant voice.
When Leonora opens her mouth, her answer freezes in her throat. Even in her dreams, she can’t…
“Your blood would be the most delightful thing to ever cross my tastebuds.” An earnest compliment that has Clarissa glancing away shyly.
“… thank you?” she mutters. Leonora smiles, tilting Clarissa’s chin to regain eye contact. Storian loves her eyes—soft brown and always glittering softly with a subtle affection.
“I really want to know what it would feel like to kiss you,” Leonora admits with a whisper. Baby steps. She has all the time in the world. Leonora could live at least one of her fantasies tonight. “Can I kiss you, Clarissa?”
Leonora wakes with a smile on her face. It remains there for the rest of the week. She hadn’t been in so good of a mood since… well, she’s never been in so good of a mood. That dream boosts her energy just like all the others before. She has yet to discover the cause or the purpose of the dreams. And in truth, she isn’t looking for an answer to those questions. With how well things are going, why should she?
But as her nights get stranger, her days take a similar turn.
Mainly, her favorite Ever seems a little off. Off in a way that can’t be quantified. She looks the same, talks the same, walks the same, and smiles the same, but—
Clarissa looks at her in a way that has her undead heart wanting to race.
She’s more touchy. More giggly. It's like there’s an inside joke that Leonora can’t quite grasp. Her scent is somehow even more enticing, more decadent. Leonora didn’t know it was possible to want someone so bad. But as long as she has her dreams to keep her satisfied, then the temptation that comes from being around Clarissa can be managed. Not eliminated. Just managed.
Of course, once those dreams come to an end… Leonora frowns. Well, perhaps she should look into the cause if only just to ensure that the worst doesn’t come to pass. A curse, a hex… some kind of spell? A demon? If so, what kind? And, more than that, what was the end game?
As she walks down the busy hallway, Leonora takes a quick peek at Clarissa. She’s talking to Anemone, covering her mouth to muffle a laugh. A second is all Leonora needs to take her all in. A second is all she needs to feel disappointment. Clarissa’s hair is down today, golden curls cascading down her shoulders. Beautiful, but the downside is apparent.
All too often lately, Clarissa had been hiding her neck in creative ways that seemed to lack true purpose.
Clarissa’s brown eyes flash over to her, and Leonora averts her gaze. She’s been more careful since Clarissa had said she caught Leonora staring at her neck. Perhaps that’s why she covered up?
Leonora hopes dearly that isn’t the case.
The next time she has the dream, Leonora knows how to take control, and she does so effortlessly. This time, and every time after, she’ll experience every second in dreamland firsthand.
When she focuses her eyes, she sees Clarissa lying on the bed beneath her. Fortunately, she has yet to take the first sacred bite.
The fairy is wearing a different nightgown. Light blue with a trail of buttons that Leonora feels the urge to undo.
“Hello there.” She says, offering up a slight grin. At the sound of her voice, Dream Clarissa’s breath catches.
“… You’re talking again.”
“I never stopped.” She responds, tilting her head at the statement. Clarissa hums before turning her head, exposing her neck even further. A sweet offering, but Leonora wants to savor this experience. There’s no telling when or even if it will happen again.
Leonora brushes her lips across Clarissa’s pulse, then the apple of her cheek, before capturing Clarissa’s lips in a swift kiss. The fairy gasps, cupping her neck to pull her closer, and Leonora pushes the advantage, sliding her tongue between parted lips.
She would never tire of this.
Her hands wander, one grasping tightly to Clarissa’s waist, the other steadily undoing those pesky buttons.
She gets all the way down to the third one before Clarissa notices. The fourth before the woman says anything.
“What are you doing?” Clarissa asks as she breaks the kiss.
“I’m helping you out of your nightgown.” Leonora suspects that dream Clarissa might be shy, but she hadn’t considered exactly how much so. She pauses her attempts on button five. “Is that a problem?”
“Is that— why?” Her brows are furrowed questioningly. Does she really not know?
“Because, last time I was here” in this strange dreamworld “I got blood on your top. That won’t be a problem if you’re not wearing one.” She reasons.
“That can’t be the only reason.” Clarissa hesitates briefly. “Leonora I don’t mind I just prefer honesty.”
Lady Lesso blinks quickly at the statement, silently pondering her response.
“How you feel affects how you taste. The happier you are— the more you enjoy it— “Clarissa interrupts with an accurate assumption.
“The better the taste.” To Leonora, at least. She knows that for some, the exact opposite is the case.
“I am hungry.” She admits noting the dryness at the back of her throat. “But seeing you, even under normal circumstances, lights me aflame. This fantasy— well, I feel the urge to experience more.”
“Fantasy?” Did dream Clarissa not know that she was a product of Leonora’s imagination?
“Just that… this is what I would want to do if you were—“real. Leonora licks her bottom lip as she pauses. If she said something, would all of this come to a grinding halt?
“If I were?” Real.
Leonora pulls her into another kiss. Soft and sweet. “If you were amenable to that.” She says softly when they break apart. Loosening the last button is pointed. She moves slowly, purposefully, because if Clarissa wants to make a move to stop her, she wants to be ready.
She grins sitting up to separate the fabric and gaze upon her hard-fought prize. She then rests her hands on the mattress, unable to look away.
“Are you—“
“Can I—“
They start speaking at the same time before laughing. Clarissa clears her throat before suddenly sitting up.
The blue gown slides down her shoulders, down her arms, and onto the satin-lined mattress with barely a sound. Leonora’s breath catches, and she stills when Clarissa clamors atop her lap and straddles her hips, arms winding behind her head to tug her close.
“Bite me.” Clarissa’s commands, once again offering her up her neck, and this time Leonora can’t resist the offer. Her attack is swift, without an ounce of preparation, and Clarissa jerks in her embrace, an unmistakable moan escaping her lips. As Leonora drowns herself in the thick, decadent taste of Clarissa’s blood, the woman on her lap is not idle.
Leonora’s own shirt is tugged up at Clarissa’s silent behest, and she detaches herself from the woman’s neck just long enough to take it off. Leonora can’t help but grin as she reattaches her lips to the fresh wound, Clarissa’s fingers running along her bare back. Leonora holds her closer, hands exploring what the eyes could not see.
The woman is like soft butter in her hands, melting at the barest touch. It was partially the venom; of this, there is no doubt, but venom could only add to what was already there. It could not conjure lust from nothing.
Though in her dreams they have a high compatibility, silently, Leonora wonders how the real Clarissa would react to her venom. Would she feel numb or bored? Perhaps she would feel confusion or pain? Or would she be exactly like this: lustful and needy?
Clarissa grabs her wandering hand in a firm yet gentle grip, tugging it to land on a soft breast. Leonora’s eyes widen at the pleasant surprise and she can’t resist cupping the plush offering in her palm. She hums, rolling her thumb across the dark brown nipple to make them stiffen.
She does it again with the other, then wonders if Clarissa would protest if she put one in her mouth. She also wonders if Clarissa would protest to her taking a sip of blood right from her chest. Probably not, but perhaps that was an adventure best saved for another night.
Suddenly, Clarissa’s legs tighten around her waist, and Leonora tastes a rush of endorphins in the woman’s blood. Clarissa’s breaths get heavier as the seconds pass and she gasps when Leonora flicks her tongue across her pulse.
“Leonora,” Clarissa mutters, leaning further onto her for support. The woman adjusts herself on her lap with a muffled curse.
Leonora narrows her eyes. She can smell the tempting scent of Clarissa’s lust. Feel the warmth— the desire emanating from her womanhood. Every time she shifted her hips on Leonora’s thigh…
The sweetest form of torture she had ever experienced. She just wants to touch her. To help her. To help herself. Leonora feels her body becoming unnaturally warm at the thoughts. She pulls her closer, squeezing Clarissa’s hip to ground herself.
Her princess. So giving, so helpful, yet so selfish. The woman was making her nights better while still holding out on her.
Maybe she won’t next time.
They converse as if Clarissa isn’t a figment of her own imagination—simple conversations, nothing important. Leonora had mentioned it offhandedly, her observations about Clarissa’s day attire.
As fictional as the Clarissa in her dreams is, somehow it’s almost as if she holds a minute influence over the real world. It was a coincidence, though, Clarissa wearing that off-shoulder dress. Leonora thanks her anyway.
She also makes an offer, and despite Dream Clarissa’s obvious interest, it’s declined. Leonora will just have to suffer with the woman writhing half-naked in her lap, needing to be touched, wanting to be touched, but denying herself the satisfaction.
Distantly, Leonora wonders how a figment of her imagination can be so abstinent.
It’s torment for both of them. Part of her feels like Clarissa will change her mind, though, and she clings to that. She’ll wait a lifetime if she has to.
It’s not next time. Or the time after. Or even the one after that. Yet Leonora is nothing but patient. She kisses, caresses, and bites while biding her time.
The journey is what’s important after all, and dream Clarissa is delectable enough to be worth the wait.
Leonora does not often confront the weirdness regarding her dreams. In fact, she actively avoids doing so. But she does take note of the fact that since they started she’s been drinking less during the day. A lot less. Sometimes she even forgets entirely to fill up that wine glass with blood and down it before resting. She’d usually finish at least three bottles a week, sometimes four.
It seems that she’s been working from the same bottle for nearly a month now, the dreams of Clarissa sustaining her entirely.
Actually, she feels overdue for one. So when Clarissa reminds her that they have to do inventory on dusty old magical baubles, Leonora should have said no. Should have postponed till later in the day. Instead, she finds herself in storage alone with her vice. Clarissa flitters back and forth across the room, taking stock of everything, and Leonora just tries to keep up the long list. She also tries to ignore the feeling of fangs digging into her bottom lip.
Leonora doesn’t know exactly how they got onto the topic, probably because she was half-distracted by Clarissa’s familiar chatter, but when she looks up, she sees the fairy giving her a look. A weird look. She can’t even begin to direct it. Leonora blinks, thinking back to what she said and for the life of her, she can’t find anything that could cause a reaction like that. ‘If I were drinking blood from a live human, that would explain it, but I’m not. I haven’t the time.’
And it’s true. She would rarely make time for such frivolity. Blood was sustenance. It was life. And though there were certain perks that came from drinking freshly from a human, Leonora didn’t care enough to seek one out more often than necessary. In fact, she can’t remember the last time she had. There were rumors though… wives tales, really, that a vampire had to drink fresh blood daily or they would lose control and in a haze of bloodlust start draining people into shriveled husks. It was ridiculous.
Even the weakest vampires don't need to imbibe more than once every few weeks. The stronger ones could go even longer. It was all a matter of preference.
Leonora squints at Clarissa. “And why are you looking at me like that?” Did she actually believe that drivel?
“No reason.” Leonora frowns at her anxious response, going back over their conversation in her head. Is she missing something?
“Clarissa, you just implied that I’ve been getting my blood from other sources. I think I would remember that.” Leonora says firmly. Why would Clarissa even be under that impression?
“You’re right. I must be mistaken.” Clarissa darts towards the door like the room was on fire, and Leonora is at her side in half a breath, taking hold of her wrist. She shouldn’t be wasting energy like that and she feels herself tire just from the slight expense. But the running— It always makes her want to chase.
“Clarissa— don’t do that.” Clarissa looks at her, eyes widening in shock. She then glances toward the cracked door.
“Could you let me go?” She asks, and Leonora releases her wrist as if burnt. Her heart is racing. She’s afraid. Clarissa is afraid of Leonora. She had never felt that before from her.
“I didn’t mean to—“
“It’s fine.”
Was it really, though? Because all Leonora feels at the moment is guilt and thirst. The wives tales may be false, but Leonora feels hungrier than ever.
Leonora pours herself a full glass of blood upon retiring early for the day. She sips, working while she drinks, but as the sun sets, she realizes how little she has consumed. Leonora sighs, leaving on her nightstand as she makes ready for bed. It doesn’t move an inch when she returns.
Where before it had been a fact of life, drinking before bed, now it felt like a chore—work. She stares at the glass in irritation and makes a decision. She will dream of Clarissa tonight, and if she did not, she would drink it in the morning.
While Leonora always looked forward to her dreams of midnight feasts, she had never been in control of when they arrived. Not once. But tonight, it has to happen or else—
She refuses to think of the worst. Instead, she focuses on what she’s looking forward to. Drinking Clarissa’s blood. Sating her thirst. And perhaps satisfying both of their desires in one fell swoop. Clarissa of the night— the demon, the dream, the figment of Leonora’s practically nonexistent imagination— she would be satisfied.
Because they both need it.
She drags her tongue along a sharpened fang and waits.
Like all good things, it comes to an end. An abrupt, vicious, devastating end.
“Leonora, this isn’t a dream.”
And just like that, her fantasy comes crashing down.
Leonora goes to drastic lengths to stop her nightly excursions. She starts using her expertise to make traps against herself. Or the version of herself that feels it is appropriate to invade a woman’s room and drain the life out of her.
Every exit in her bedroom has been charmed to let out a blaring alarm if she tries to escape at night. She also sleeps with a chain. It’s eighty percent silver linking her ankle to the stone floor. Long enough to reach the bathroom comfortably but short enough that she can’t leave through the door or the window. It was also nearly impossible to break even if she used all her strength, and it sapped her energy like the Dickens, so there was no magic either. She’d be the definition of a sitting duck if anyone decided that now was the appropriate time for an assassination attempt.
Even better, the key only appears after sunrise. All of those precautions, including the guards, she has given vague but hopefully helpful instructions to would keep Clarissa safe.
But these actions are all bandaids on a stab wound. The damage is done. Leonora really needs to get to the root of her problem. She needs to find out why she started sleepwalking and figure out how to stop.
It feels like she’s punishing herself; it really does. But this could end badly, terribly even, and Leonora’s already proven how little control she has over herself. How could she be so unaware of her own actions?
And more than that, Lenora needs to find a way to deal with her anger. At herself. At Clarissa. At those cursed dreams that got her into this situation.
But oh, how she misses it. She misses Clarissa. The scent of her, the sight of her, the taste of her. She misses her voice, her warmth, her kisses, the soft nightgowns Leonora took pleasure in removing.
The worst part is how willing Clarissa is to allow that norm back into their lives. How, with every day that passes, Leonora can feel her willpower fading.
Even now. Especially now.
“What?”
“I asked why you sent me this,” Clarissa asks while gesturing to the box on the desk. The fairy had invaded her office with a barely there knock.
“What makes you think I sent it?” She retorts halfheartedly. She had, but seriously, what gave it away?
“Silver jewelry? Now? I don’t even wear silver. You know that.” Clarissa says with an irritated huff.
“You should start.” She responds flatly.
“And I’m certainly not going to injure you with that knife you sent me.” Clarissa’s eyes sharpen, the distaste in her expression palpable.
“Dagger,” She corrects swiftly as she stands. The fairy was chastising her like a misbehaving child. It would be much harder for her to do that if Leonora stood at her full height. “And if I visit again, you should.”
“And what about the potion?” At the very mention of the brew, Leonora’s lips curl in disgust. It’s potent enough to do the job, though, and that’s really all that matters.
“Did you drink it?”
“No.” The way this conversation is going, she would have been surprised if Clarissa had.
“You should.”
“Let me guess, another form of vampire repellent?”
“Once you take it, your blood will become absolutely undrinkable to any vampire for a while. I’ll send you another vial—“
“No need.” Clarissa’s interrupts as she crosses her arms. They’re standing in front of each other now in a proper face-to-face disagreement. Leonora had laid her cards out on the table, but Clarissa…
“There’s definitely a need.”
“Leonora, you’re taking this too far.”
“You aren’t taking it far enough.” Clarissa could play casual disregard for her life as much as she wanted, but Leonora would not enable her. “And fortunately, it’s not up to you.”
There is a hard silence after her statement. Clarissa disagrees, Leonora can tell from frown on her lips, the frustrated wrinkle between her brows, and the way her hands clutch tight to the fabric of her dress.
“You haven’t fed from me in ages. Your eyes are tinged red; you’re hungry. What are you going to do when your symptoms return?” Leonora has a solution for that, too.
“There are animals in the forest, though I hate to stoop so low.” She states with a frown before glancing away from Clarissa. Her next statement is admitted in a much lower voice. “And there are people in the village since apparently my stores are no longer sufficient.”
“People?” Clarissa repeats disbelievingly.
“You know, humans.” Leonora says, sarcasm coloring her tone. “Bipedal, opposable thumbs—“
“I know what a human is, Leonora,” Clarissa responds, and there’s a flash of anger in her eyes. A hint of displeasure that makes Leonora’s undead heart stutter. Metaphorically, at least. “Why are you going all the way to the village when I’m right here?”
“I’m going to the village because you’re here.” Because Leonora needs to prove that she still has control. Besides, who knows how frequent exposure to Leonora’s venom could have affected Clarissa? These feelings will fade soon enough, and Clarissa would—
“You were perfectly content to live out your fantasies when you thought I wasn’t real.” Clarissa’s says, cutting her guilty pondering short. “I’m right here and still willing to live them out with you, but…”
“Clarissa.” Leonora tucks a golden curl behind the fairy’s ear. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
“My own good?” Clarissa scoffs.
Leonora frowns in response. “Yes. It’s the only way to make sure—”
“No.” Clarissa shakes her head abruptly. “You’re doing this for you. You’re scared.”
Scared? The implication draws a glare to her face before she can even blink. Caution and fear are two very different emotions. “That’s not true.”
“You’re acting as if you can pretend nothing happened! I—” Clarissa’s voice cracks. “I made myself vulnerable to you, Leonora. Do you understand that? I wouldn’t have done any of that for someone else, and you’re just… Am I that replaceable?”
“No, of course not.” Nothing about Clarissa could be replicated. “That’s not what this is about.”
“What is it about then, Leonora?”
“Your safety, Clarissa. I was doing things to you in my sleep, and I can’t even remember most of it! Do you know what I would have done if I woke up to you dead because of what I did? I lost control. I need to regain it.” All Leonora can do after her rant is take a deep breath. It should calm her, but just thinking about what could have happened ignites her fear all over again.
“And that requires you to go to the village and find someone else to drink from?” Clarissa asks softly after a short pause. She’s not looking at her face anymore; her brown eyes are focused entirely on the ground.
“… yes.”
“Leonora, I may not understand what you’re struggling with right now, but I don’t want you to forget that I’m here for you,” Clarissa says, pinning Leonora with an earnest gaze. “And I want you to remember that out of every person in this castle, you came to me. We stayed on opposite sides of the school, and you came all the way to me every time. It’s not a coincidence.”
“It could be.”
Clarissa shakes her head. “But it isn’t.”
It certainly is not. But is now the time to acknowledge that?
“Do what you want, Lady Lesso.” Clarissa frowns and turns to leave. She stops at the door with one parting statement. “But don’t send me anything else. I have no use for your gifts.”
When Clarissa leaves, Leonora expects to feel relief at finally having run her off. Instead, she feels a pointed mix of disappointment and fear.
Disappointment in herself for even starting this mess in the first place. Fear for Clarissa because the woman doesn’t understand why it can’t continue. Anxious about the uncertain future. How could they move past this? It could not happen again; it should never have started.
And Leonora is uncertain if she can even begin to fix it.
It’s late when Leonora goes to the village. The trip isn’t long, only about thirty minutes by carriage, and she spends every second lost in her thoughts watching the scenery pass by. She wants to go back to the castle. Back to Clarissa.
Leonora hadn’t been lying when she said the taste of Clarissa’s blood was on the cusp of heaven. It was light, decadent, and sweet. Her body a meal for the senses. Taste, touch, scent, sight, and sound. Leonora had never experienced anything like that before. She never will again.
So coming to the village to find someone that could half compare… well, that was a fool’s errand. And yet here she is.
Scanning through the bustling village, she locates a few potential marks. Truthfully, Leonora isn’t in the mood to be picky right now.
And more than that, she doesn’t actually want any of them. Not one of them seems the least bit appealing. What was happening to her?
Leonora tries anyway and regrets it almost immediately. She finds one woman, a rather comely one at that, and allows herself to be dragged to a deserted alley.
She’s not polite or even gentle about it. She just wants this to be over. She bites down on the woman’s wrist and immediately cringes. The taste is—
Bitter. Awful in every way. Not just compared to Clarissa’s blood but to anything she’s ever tasted. Leonora gags, spitting it out onto the street as she wills the taste away.
“Are you—“
“Fine.” She replies before the woman can question her further. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to work for me.” Leonora might be one of the few Nevers in the world who took an interest in healing arts. Mainly for situations such as this. No need to leave evidence behind. One glow but three spells, quick and efficient.
The woman blinks, her blue eyes wavering in confusion, before she asks, “What were we talking about?”
“Your wrist. You said might have sprained it when you fell.”
“I fell?” The woman looks at her wrist, and fortunately, there’s not even a spot of blood left behind. “Oh, right, Miss—?”
Leonora shakes her head. “I’m no one, just passing by.”
The woman nods, blinking once again before she turns and leaves. No doubt headed home to sleep off her confusion.
Wasn’t this just perfect? As if reacting to her thoughts, a wave of nausea passes over her.
Leonora leaves hungry and stumbles halfway back to the castle before she remembers that she arrived by carriage. She can’t even express her frustrations on the nearest tree because a soft sound catches her sensitive ear.
Right off the path she catches sight of a mundane animal. A deer. One with watery brown eyes, tan fur, and incredibly bad luck.
It happens in an instant. Predator and prey lock eyes. She feels her fangs elongate as saliva fills her mouth.
She can still walk away, though. She can still get away from this with her pride—
The foolish thing runs, darting off into the thickness of the forest. Leonora is after it before the move even registers.
She hunts. No need for tracking when the animal can’t even manage to leave her line of sight.
Leonora subdues the creature with grace, ferocity, and what she hopes is mercy. It would not suffer in her hands. It would not live either.
The blood tastes of blood—edible sort—and Leonora is beyond thankful. After a long week and an unsuccessful night, she needed this to recapture her sanity. Leonora drinks until she is full, until the blood has run dry, and then she finally breathes, sitting back on her heels.
As she wipes her face with the back of her hand, she accidentally meets the creature’s still eyes. They’re glassy and brown, staring at her in accusation. This is what her hunger had wrought: death.
Is this how Clarissa would stare at her when Leonora finally lost control? When Leonora eventually kills her because enough wasn’t— and could never be enough.
She looks up to the moon in askance but receives silence in return. The sound of nearing steps has her stumbling to her feet, followed by the subtle shuddering of nearby foliage.
Wolves. They were no doubt interested by the scent of blood, a fresh kill they might not have to hunt.
They could have it. Leonora runs, and she doesn’t look back.
By the time Leonora arrives back at the castle, she’s tired and a little bit annoyed. She had to take the long way back, detouring around a winding river and somehow losing her coat along the way. Leonora had splashed her face in water and rinsed her hands, but she knew that barely made a dent in the red staining her body. The only thoughts pushing her forward are those of a bath and rest. Nothing could stand in her way. Except Clarissa, it seems.
“You ate.” Leonora feels it like a runway carriage. The hurt projected in the woman’s voice curled with tinges of disappointment.
How is it possible for her to feel worse than she did before she left the castle? Worse than when she was stumbling through the forest just minutes prior.
Perhaps it would have been better to contend with the wolves than come home to face… this.
Leonora is barely present for the conversation that follows. It worries her almost as much as the look on Clarissa’s face before she walks away.
Leonora couldn’t do it again. The blood in her stores was no longer optimal. The blood in the village undrinkable. And as much as her body craved a certain someone, she refused to even consider that option.
It seems clear that Leonora can no longer imbibe in human blood, for now at least, but that deer had been… passable. Except if she hunted the forest creatures as often as she needed, there’d be a crisis of extinction.
Fortunately, there are other options. Namely, Antoinette Knight, a merchant who could provide pretty much anything if you gave her enough time.
Coincidentally, they share the same quirk. Sharp fangs and a thirst for blood.
They talk business first. Most everything’s been handled, but some contracts need to be signed in person, and some documents need to be looked over twice.
The product is good, though. Having a few different species to choose from means she can figure out what will hold her over for the longest. Not drinking human blood is going to be a big change.
“So, you and the blonde. What’s that about?” Knight asks, destroying the business-focused aspect of their meeting with an irritating question.
“None of your business.” Is her short response.
“I mean, you’re buying all this product from me, but clearly you have someone to sink your fangs into. Is she not enough?” Clearly? She and Clarissa had barely been in the same room this past week, and still, Leonora’s presence clung to her.
“We’re not here to talk about her.” Leonora grumbles, flicking through the delivery sheet with a critical eye. It was so last minute she would have to reorganize everything before she put it into storage. No matter. Some blood was better than none.
“I was just greeting her,” Knight states, eyes glittering with mischief. “You almost jumped down my throat.”
Leonora doesn’t respond to the irritating observations. It’s not a signal to continue, but the brunette just doesn’t know when to stop talking.
“And yet she’s unclaimed. Does she taste as sweet as she looks?” Leonora throws the woman across from her a fierce glare.
“You would do well not to test me.”
“And you would do well to mark your territory.” Her territory? Clarissa isn’t—
“She’s not interested in you, Knight. So don’t bother. Besides, you would have a hard time tolerating her blood.” Leonora hasn’t a clue how often she’s visited Clarissa in the past few months, but it no doubt added up. “My venom is still flowing through her system.”
“Still drinkable.”
“Your instincts know better.” And they would. Even without having a visible claim on Clarissa’s skin, with all the venom Leonora poured into her, she practically screamed, taken. At least for a little while longer.
She thinks.
She hopes.
Knight shrugs, and Leonora takes it as her understanding.
Later, Leonora finds that Knight doesn’t understand a damn thing. Disrespectful wench! How dare she put her filthy—
It’s amazing how quickly Leonora went from mild annoyance to intense irritation. All it takes is a little piece of paper and a message that gets straight to the point.
I was right, she is sweet — Knight
She goes rigid. Who the hell is she talking about?!
Leonora reacts poorly to the note, to say the least. She tears it to shreds, but with Knight gone, there’s only one person she can focus her frustrations on.
Clarissa.
She can’t wait all day to run into her. No. Not with the flurry of emotions running through her system. She arrives at Clarissa’s office in record time and, upon seeing her startled expression, realizes something with immense clarity. She’s been avoiding her for a reason.
But Leonora is desperate for answers. She’s certain— absolutely certain that Knight is lying to piss her off. It’s not entirely off-brand. But she also needs to know.
But what if she isn’t lying? What if she had taken a bite out of Clarissa? What if she had drank her blood? What if Clarissa had allowed it? Encouraged it? Enjoyed it?
The guilty expression that flickers across her face confirms Leonora’s fears.
And suddenly, her irritation turns into rage. Was Clarissa’s blood a beacon? A sirens song for any nearby vamps? Leonora can’t—
She can’t—
This can’t—
Fuck.
She stops thinking. Stops planning. Stops considering.
Leonora’s resolve breaks like glass hurled at a stone wall. All she cares about is burning away that revolting venom and replacing it with her own. And Clarissa. Their twined desire.
Just the taste of the woman’s blood has Leonora drifting. The drop isn’t even enough to coat her tongue, but that doesn’t matter. This bite isn’t for drinking. It’s for something far more foolish than that. Something reckless and ill-thought-out.
It’s also not something she can take back.
But again, at the moment, she doesn’t care. There is no difference between those dreams and this reality. And she missed this— missed her.
Dragging herself back to rationality hard. Seeing the damage she wrought is even harder. A split lip and a permanent scar, not to mention the dress Leonora had shredded in her haste.
She doesn’t have it in her to face this right now.
Things had gone from bad to worse, and it was her own damn fault. That’s what she gets for thinking with her… teeth. But truthfully, her head hadn’t been any help either.
For a day, her thirst had waned, but it reignited quickly. She had only had a taste of Clarissa those many days ago. A drop. Not nearly enough to sate her appetite. And the blood provided by her now least favorite merchant is… edible. But she can already tell she’s drinking it too quickly for it to last as long as she needs it to.
She shortens her sleeping chain and wears it around her wrist instead. She hasn't even been sleepwalking at all, but she's certain that it would be safer that way— or at least it should have been.
But Clarissa… It seems that Leonora should stop trying to predict what she’ll do next. When something goes bump in the night, Leonora’s first thought is an assassination attempt. But what professional assassin would be wearing a poofy nightdress when trying to take down a mark? Leonora tracks the soft glow emanating from Clarissa’s finger and assumes that it must be a hallucination.
She’s not a hallucination.
“…Why the hell are you here?” Leonora asks, jerking upward. The chain around her wrist digs painfully into her skin, but she ignores it, instead focusing entirely on Clarissa.
“Why are you chained up? Who did this?” Clarissa asks, a worried expression plastered on her face.
“I did this. For safety reasons.” Leonora replies. She doesn’t know why she even bothers at this point. Does Clarissa have no sense of self-preservation? Sneaking into her rooms in the middle of the night? What sane person even does something like—
Leonora halts that train of thought in its tracks, and Clarissa suddenly plants herself at the foot of the bed. “…I shouldn’t have pushed you. About drinking my blood, I mean. That was rude.”
“Have you finally realized that you don’t actually want me drinking your blood?” Leonora asks, and it’s almost ironic how much dread she feels awaiting an answer. Not that she wants… not that she should be drinking Clarissa’s blood anyway.
“No. That’s far from the truth. I just felt— irritated. Especially after you went to the village.” Leonora raises her brow. The village? Well, Clarissa did seem to take issue with her refusal when she was between blood sources.
But irritated? Why? “Do you still feel it?”
“Yes.” The reply is soft, not even a hint of hesitation.
“Then I suppose we’re even.” Leonora huffs, feeling a sudden tension in her body as an annoyingly smug face flashes through her mind. She’ll get hers. And Clarissa… she focuses on the blonde with a stern expression. “After that stunt you pulled with my supplier.”
“Oh. Anty.” Anty? Anty?!
Leonora glares. “Call her Antoinette— no, Miss Knight. Actually, never make eye contact with her again.” In fact, Leonora will do her damndest to make sure that they don’t see each other again. Ever.
“I just want things to go back to normal. Please stop avoiding me. I’ll never bring it up again. I’ll even… I’ll even drink the potion if that’s what it takes.” Clarissa states, a slightly uncomfortable look on her face.
“You would do that?” Leonora asks skeptically. Clarissa had been basically repulsed by the idea when Leonora had offered it to her before. What had changed?
“If that’s what it takes.”
Leonora stares at Clarissa, the soft, guilty slumping of her shoulders, the tiredness under her eyes, her fingers wrinkling nervously into her nightgown.
“Thank you for saying that,” Leonora says.
”You’re welcome.” Clarissa replies with a hesitant smile.
Leonora is still stewing on her emotions feeling an odd mix of relief and regret. This thing… it was weighing heavily on both of them, wasn’t it? And now… “I just feel… I’m sorry. When I bit you last time…”
“You claimed me,” Clarissa finishes, and Leonora glances at her guiltily. A very permanent affliction, Leonora would try to figure something out. Though for now, the mark will serve as a deterrent for any vampire whose eyes wander in the wrong direction. In Clarissa’s direction.
“I didn’t mean to— well… I meant to. I shouldn’t have done it, though.”
“I said it was alright.” Clarissa, again, was flippant about her health. She still doesn’t get it. Or maybe it’s Leonora that doesn’t get it.
“But you didn’t know. And even now you’re being understanding. I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” The depths of her… care? Was that the word?
“You offer me your blood, and your time, and your attention. You worry about me. You’re mad at me when I make unhealthy choices. I don’t understand why you care about me, Clarissa. Especially when it’s not in your best interest.” And that was the crux of the matter. Why was Clarissa so willing to put her health on the line to help Leonora? “I just don’t… what do you get out of this?” Aside from her… obvious enjoyment of the feedings themselves. Or could that be enough for her?
“I told you. I like you.” Clarissa replies almost shyly.
“Enough to deal with my jealous streak? Because unless I can find a way to undo that mark, it’s…” Permanent. Leonora trails off, shaking her head.
“You were already jealous,” Clarissa replies, cocking her head to the side. “That’s why you did it in the first place, right?”
“… right,” Leonora admits reluctantly. Jealous over a woman she’s been hiding from avoiding for weeks now.
“It’s alright. I get jealous, too.” Leonora raises her brow. Clarissa? Jealous?
“You get jealous?” Leonora asks.
“Yes.” Clarissa shifts slightly closer, lowering her voice as if anyone could hear. “When you told me you were going to the village to find a human to drink from, I was… upset. It took Emma reminding me that it was good you were drinking anyone’s blood at all that it simmered down. But…”
“But?”
“When I saw you that night, it all came back. I thought of you doing with them what we did together.” Clarissa admits, fidgeting the whole while.
It takes Leonora far too long to realize what she’s talking about, but suddenly, that jealousy makes a lot of sense. Leonora had reacted intensely to a single bite. If she thought Knight and Clarissa had—
Kissed. Cuddled. Touched intimately.
Leonora might have actually lost it.
“No! I didn’t—” The desire to clear her name has her jerking forward blindly in a panic. “I bit someone, yes. But I couldn’t even stomach her blood. It ended up in the dirt.” Leonora explains herself hurriedly, and Clarissa accepts her rushed words with a barely hesitant nod.
“So, whose blood…?” Clarissa trails off, but Leonora already has her answer. That unfortunate—
“Deer.” She replies, shaking her head. “You don’t want to know the details.”
“Oh,” Clarissa says with a soft exhale. Leonora is just thankful that she believes her. That the ridiculous notion of her and someone who isn’t Clarissa was banished from her head. “So there was nothing…” Clarissa trails off, giving Lenora a hesitant look.
“One bite, Clarissa, and I swear I regret it,” Leonora replies, wanting nothing more than to reassure her. “What about you?”
Clarissa furrows her brows. “What about me?”
And as much as Leonora is tired of thoughts of Knight poisoning their conversation, she really wants to know. “Your one bite from her. Do you regret it?”
Clarissa purses her lips and the long pause between Leonora’s question and the answer has that all too familiar feeling of jealousy rising.
“…I regret that I upset you,” Clarissa replies. But that means she doesn’t regret doing it. “She told me that if she bit me, then you would come back.”
Leonora feels herself frown. Underhanded, yet effective. “She was right.”
“And wrong.” Clarissa sighs. She looks disappointed. Slightly annoyed. A little vexed. Leonora… completely understands.
“How did it feel?”
“How did what feel?”
“When she bit you. How did it feel when she bit you?” Leonora wants to know, but part of her dreads the answer.
“Numb. I didn’t feel much of anything really.” Excellent. But more importantly…
“How did it feel when I bit you?”
Leonora waits with bated breath for the answer, but she needn’t have worried. “Warm. In all the best ways.” Clarissa meets her eyes for all of a few seconds before looking away, seemingly embarrassed. But Leonora doesn’t stop looking. She can’t. Here she sat, the woman of her dreams. The woman who captured her attention during the day as well.
Leonora wonders why she was trying so desperately to keep herself separated from… It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Hiding from her truth… from her feelings behind fear. Leonora had not lost control; had never done so. Not in a way that could harm Clarissa. She had been careful when she was sleeping, when she thought she was dreaming, when she was wide awake.
Leonora bit her on purpose because she wanted to. Because she allowed herself to. Because Clarissa had looked at her earnestly and said yes.
They both wanted this— want this. And if they both want it, how could Leonora possibly keep ignoring it? Leonora would have to be careful— more than careful with how much she drank. And how often she drank it. And how much venom she gave in return. Safety first, desire second, but if Clarissa is still willing...
“Clarissa, I’ll hold you, and kiss you, and we can lavish each other in affection,” Leonora says, holding out her free hand, which, thankfully, Clarissa takes with a wistful expression. “And if you’re still willing to feed me, I’ll drink from you.”
“I am,” Clarissa replies, smiling with relief.
It was that easy.
How was it that easy after nearly a month of terrible communication?
“… but this chain has to go. I need a proper cuddle.” Clarissa says, and Leonora wholeheartedly agrees.
“Sunrise. Can you wait that long?”
“For you?” Clarissa laughs, snuggling herself into Leonora’s side. “I’d wait an eternity.”
Leonora would wait an eternity as well.