#I am a riza lover first and a human second

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-nine - Sin and Strategy

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm sorry that the gaps in between updates are slipping; things have heated up with summer, both socially and in terms of weather! Between trying to hide from the heat, building my artwork catalog for an upcoming convention, and working on other personal projects and taking time off to relax, writing has to be penciled in wherever I can find room. But I'm still working away on it, and this story is nearing its climax. Hopefully the tasty little bit of sin included this week makes up for the wait. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

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Chapter Twenty-nine - Sin and Strategy

CITY STREETS, JADAD, ISHVAL 0927 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

The morning sun was already heating the sand as the two men made their way through the wakening city toward the residential district and their Amestrian guests. Scar moved confidently, clearing a path through the pedestrians as Miles followed close on his heels, glancing up occasionally from the report in his hands to keep his bearings.

"A baker on the north end of the city sent word that he spotted someone on the roof of his neighbour's house when he rose early to get get ready for work," he read aloud. "He reported it to a guard, who checked with the neighbours, but found no one that seemed like they might be suffering from a vampire bite. All were wearing protection charms all night."

"Good." The possibility remained, of course, that it was a simple burglary with the thief spotted halfway through the act, but Scar decided that was the lesser of two possible evils and put it aside. Common, small-time criminals could wait until after the more dangerous threat had been removed.

"All other remarks from the night guards are either irrelevant, or noting people out and about for legitimate reasons," Miles continued, flipping to the second page of the report. "Fetching a healer for a sick child, a midwife in another case, and, lastly, a young lover sneaking home after a visit to his sweetheart."

"At least this creature can't change its face, like the Homonculus Envy," Scar mused aloud. "Things are much easier when we know we're looking for an evident Amestrian, instead of one that can blend in with our own people."

"Yes, this one is somehow much more human than anything we faced during or leading up to the Promised Day," Miles agreed, giving the report one last perfunctory scan before turning his full attention to the street ahead. "Perhaps because it resembles the human it used to be."

"Kimblee was barely human," Scar said, his tone dropping in pitch, red eyes turning hard in the bright light. "No human can inflict the damage he did without a shred of remorse."

The remainder of the walk to the guest house was punctuated by a terse silence; accustomed as he was to Major General Armstrong's tendency toward the same, Miles was not unduly bothered by it. His mind turned toward the new developments in the case, namely, Mustang's recent conversion to fledgling vampire and the symptoms he had been experiencing. Miles was keeping careful track of any changes as reported by either Hawkeye or Mustang himself, measuring it against Hawkeye's own experience with her turning. He tried very hard to keep from thinking of it as studying a wild animal in captivity… but every so often, the comparison slithered its way into his mind.

The house, when they arrived, was already alive with talking, tea-sipping people. Fuery and Falman were seated at the low dining table, papers, books, and scrolls spread out before them as they pored over the vampire research Miles had accumulated. Armstrong, Hawkeye, and Rebecca were standing in the kitchen, the women holding their cups of tea as they spoke. Armstrong likely would have had one, would it not have been ridiculously tiny in his spade-like hands. Miles stepped in to the kitchen just long enough to leave the paper bag he carried on the counter, before following Scar down the short hallway to the living room.

Mustang and Breda sat on either side of a map of the city, talking quietly as they compared marked buildings to corresponding lists. Sitting straight, Mustang blew out an exasperated breath, running a hand back through his hair… and caught sight of the two newcomers. "Ah; good morning."

The way he practically jumped to his feet wasn't necessary for them to tell he was past the initial stages of turning. The fatigue was gone, and would have been replaced by, according to their information, a feeling of renewed and growing strength. This, too, was evidenced by Mustang's grip as he reached out, shaking Miles' hand. Scar didn't shake.

"Glad you could make it." Mustang's eyes darted to the pouch around Miles' neck as he spoke, and then flitted back to his face just as quickly. "Now that I'm not falling asleep every half-hour, we've got a lot of work to do."

"Of course," Miles answered, trying not to note how cold the other man's fingers were, or the fact that the curtains remained drawn across the window at the far end of the room. In the dim light, Mustang's paler than usual skin stood out like a faint beacon. "We're glad to find you looking so much better. And with such a positive attitude."

The Colonel grinned. "I feel the same way. And the way I see, the stronger the vampirism gets, the stronger I am to stand up to Kimblee." He shrugged expressively. "What's the worst that he could do? Bite me?"

"He could tear you limb from limb," Scar pointed out grimly. "Unless your vampire personality fully emerges, you'll still only have your normal strength. You won't be able to face him in a fair fight as your human self, vampire tendencies or not."

"He's right, sir." Coming through from the kitchen into the living room, Hawkeye was just in time to catch Scar's comment. Both Ishvalan men turned to look back as she spoke, catching the firm look she was levelling in her superior's direction. "We've already talked about this. There's going to have to be more to our plans than brute force."

She stopped as she reached them, holding out a fresh cup of tea to Mustang, though her eyes turned to Scar. "Sorry; the Colonel's having some trouble handling the latest stages of turning." Her expression was that of a mildly exasperated babysitter, which explained the comment Miles had made once about how their relationship functioned. "Namely, flashes of annoyance and irritation, and increased strength leading to feelings of invincibility."

Mustang had the good grace to look slightly sheepish as he accepted the cup. "Weird supernatural forces overthrowing your brain will do that to you," he commented, though quietly.

One by one, the others drifted into the living room, Falman and Fuery bringing the notes they had taken from the pile of research, and Armstrong carrying a plate piled with the flat oatcakes spread with honey that Scar and Miles had brought in the paper bag. They settled onto the couch and broad cushions in a loosely defined circle, the low coffee table in the centre.

The war council was, at last, assembled.

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Roy had the strong suspicion that, if the creeping vampirism hadn't started slowing his heart rate, his pulse would have been skyrocketing. He wouldn't classify himself as nervous about going after Kimblee, but there was a certain… anticipation. He wanted to go, wanted to hunt down the bastard that had made Riza into the sort of strange creature he was fast becoming, wanted to give him the solid sock in the jaw he had held back from during the war….

But Riza was right, he reminded himself firmly. He was strong again, yes, and growing stronger… but against a full-fledged vampire like Kimblee, his chances were laughable at best and abysmal at worst. He would only end up getting himself, her, or one of their cohorts injured or worse. Much as he hated it, he would have to slow down, take this one step at a time. And the first step came now.

He got to his feet, the room quieting around him as he did so. "The guests are all here, so I suppose it's time to start the party," he said, his smile grim. "First of all, I want to thank all of you for coming together on this. Between travel time and time spent away from any other duties you have, everyone has made sacrifices to be a part of this, and I want you to know it's appreciated."

Halfway around the circle, seated next to Riza, Rebecca rolled her eyes and spoke around a mouthful of honeyed oatcake. "Please, after the trouble we went through to take down that Father guy and the corrupt military in Central, this is a walk in the park." She hesitated, considering the metaphor. "After midnight…. With a vampire on the loose."

"A dangerous walk," Falman observed.

"At least this one doesn't have god-like powers or fifty million souls giving him strength," Breda added. "He has weaknesses; highly exploitable ones, at that."

Armstrong half-raised a hand, glancing around the group before settling on Fuery. "Would someone mind going over these weaknesses, so that we're all on the same page?"

The group, as one, glanced in Riza's direction, but she nodded toward Fuery. "You've got the list, Master Sergeant."

"Oh. Right." The young man shuffled through his papers quickly, before pulling one from the sheaf. "Well… vulnerability to sunlight is the first one. From our understanding, depending on the time of day and the amount of light they're exposed to, the effect of it can be varied. The vampire could feel tired, or the light could completely drain them of any strength or energy, leaving them barely able to move."

Breda raised a hand. "Does it have to be sunlight? What if we hit him with a strong flashlight beam, or torchlight?"

This time, Riza fielded the question. "Sunlight is the most preferable, but firelight does work, just to a much lesser extent. There has to be some kind of energy output by the light: heat, or UV radiation."

Seeing that things had swung into his wheelhouse, Roy chimed in. "Simple fire doesn't give off UV radiation," he said, expanding on Riza's answer. "The heat from fire is a deterrent, but it won't weaken the vampire significantly enough for him to be vulnerable. But if you caught him outside at high noon with no shade? He'd be hard-pressed to raise a fist, let alone throw a punch."

Fuery still had his eyes in his notes. "There's also the reaction to the protection charms," he added. "They're a combination of Ishvalan religious icons, and old lore on the repulsion of vampires." He took another paper from his collection and read, "'There is a noted aversion of vampires to the flowers of the garlic plant, as it is a kind of natural antibiotic that would affect the blood a vampire drinks.'"

He looked up briefly. "The garlic flowers in the charms don't have the kind of smell that garlic cloves have, but it's our assumption that the vampire senses the flower's presence, and, knowing about the antibiotic angle, avoids it. If you really want to protect yourself from a vampire, well…." He smiled. "I don't know about you, but I'd take having bad breath over being a midnight snack."

"What about the religious aspect of the charms?" Armstrong asked. "How does that tie in?"

Scar took over. "Inside the charms is a small amount of sand that has been consecrated by a priest, as well as silver wire in the shape of a rune of protection. The sand carries the blessing of Ishbala, and the rune asks his blessing on the wearer.

"Religious iconography and items have a negative reaction on vampires because they have either no soul, as we suspect the case with Kimblee is, or the soul has been corrupted by vampirism, as it is with the Lieutenant, and now the Colonel." He indicated Riza's hands, folded together in her lap. "The Lieutenant bears the marks of what happens when a corrupted soul comes in direct contact with blessed sand."

The latest arrivals in Ishval all took sharply inhaled breaths as Riza held her palms out for them to see. The spiderwebbed marks on the skin were fainter now, more like a deep tan, but still visible and showing no sign of fading further. Across the circle, Rebecca shook her head. "I'd noticed the marks, but with everything else going on, I forgot to ask…. How did that happen?"

"The welcoming ceremony was shortened for you, and the Master told you that you wouldn't need to be blessed the same way the Colonel and I were required to be," Riza explained, refolding her hands to hide the marks. "As soon as the priest poured blessed sand into my hands, they started burning like fire, and I nearly passed out from the shock of it." She paused, but no one spoke; most of them were staring at her in surprise. "Incidentally, that's what opened the mental door for the vampire personality to start coming through, although she didn't emerge fully until shortly after."

"That actually might lead us into the next point," Falman interjected, looking at his own notes; Fuery was still staring at Riza. "There's mention in here of circles and something called a yantir that Miles told us was tried on you?"

"The yantir didn't work," Roy corrected. "It's the Ishvalan version of an exorcism. Our first impression of something being wrong with the Lieutenant was demon possession, but that was quickly proven wrong. Exorcisms certainly aren't vampire-friendly, but all they do are cause pain; they don't expel the vampire personality from the body."

Breda's brow furrowed, a thought clearly occurring to him. "How does a yantir work? What's the process?"

"A containment circle is drawn around the subject by a priest," Miles replied. "Prayers are offered, incantations said, and then the priest activates the circle. The holy symbols keep the subject from leaving, and work to draw the invading spirit out of the subject's soul. Since the vampirism is tied in to Lieutenant Hawkeye so intricately, it didn't work except to cause physical pain."

"So what if we were to try it on Kimblee?"

Miles turned to Scar, who was evidently already thinking it over. "I have the knowledge to draw the circle and start the yantir process," he said, after a moment. "However, by what Kimblee has told us, he has no soul for the vampirism to latch on to. He himself is the vampire; he doesn't have the same dual personalities as the Colonel and Lieutenant."

"Meaning it could either destroy him completely, or not effect him in the slightest," Miles finished. "We developed a slightly different kind of containment circle that is capable of keeping him out of or in a specific area, but we don't know what would happen if we activated a yantir."

"And we won't know for sure unless we try," Roy added. "Let's table it as a possibility, at least as a way to cause a temporary vulnerability. I want to go back to the protection charms to point something out." He reached over, tugging the cord of the charm around Riza's neck. "We told you yesterday that these both prevent a vampire from getting close to you, and that they suppress a vampire personality almost completely, aside from a few side effects."

Armstrong was quick on the proverbial draw. "Meaning that if we could put one on Kimblee, it might incapacitate him entirely."

"Exactly." Roy gave Riza a sidelong glance, found her looking back at him. "To get one on Lieutenant Hawkeye's alter ego, we first had to corner her in a containment circle, and even then, she nearly took my head off when I went to put it on. When we say these repel vampires, what we mean is that getting too close makes them physically sick. Getting too close with a charm is like going up to a wolf with a collar and a leash. If the wolf feels threatened, it lashes out."

"That sounds like the start of a plan to me," Rebecca said. "At least the part about a containment circle. If we can trap him in one of those, we can take him out at our leisure, in whatever method is going to be the simplest and fastest." She looked once around the circle as she made her point, then back to Roy and Riza. "Any other weaknesses that could work against him?"

"One that I can think of," Roy commented, his eyes sliding sidelong toward Riza again. "He seems to have a soft spot for Hawkeye, having been the one to turn her. He doesn't trust her, exactly, since she's made it clear what she – and her vampire self – think of him. But he's at least willing to let her get close, which is more than he'd be willing to do if it were me."

"His reason for turning me was to take revenge on the Colonel for opposing the civil war, and for fighting against the Homonculi on the Promised Day," Riza explained. "Although I don't know that he expected I would end up turning the Colonel." She shot her superior a somewhat guilty look. "I think it was his hope that my vampire personality would kill him outright. Failing that, Kimblee would do the job himself."

"Which puts me at something of an advantage," Roy directed his comments to the room at large, but held Riza's gaze with his own. "He may know by now that I've started turning, but it might throw a wrench into whatever plan he's concocted." He looked up, eyes travelling around the circle. "Which means, if we're going to act, we'd best act fast, before he comes up with a new plan."

"The containment circle seems like our best bet," Breda said, spreading the map of the city on the coffee table. "The Colonel and I were discussing the possibility of cornering Kimblee somewhere out here –" He pointed to the southwest corner of the map, deep into the uninhabited zone. "– away from any possibility of running into civilians."

Scar had leaned forward, studying the area Breda had indicated… and went very still, his eyes set on a particular spot. "…Master Sergeant, do you have the list of habitable buildings?"

Fuery rummaged a moment, then held it out. Scar checked the number in the building he had been staring at, then sorted quickly through the list until he found it. "This would seem to be promising," he said, holding the list out to Roy. "Number one thousand two hundred sixty."

Armstrong's eyebrows shot upward. "You have that many restoration projects already?"

"It's a big city."

Roy showed the page to Riza. "You're more of an expert on vampires than I am. What do you think; could it work?"

She frowned, studying the building's description… and her eyes lit with understanding. "If we're pulling out all the stops to incapacitate him, I can't think of any place that would be better, aside from a volcano." She looked up to where Scar sat, watching them. "Does this place have anything else going for it that we can use against him?"

The smile that spread across the stoic man's face was a mixture of triumph, determination, and dark satisfaction. "Do you remember the dome on top of the library?"

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UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL 1114 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

If he were a being that still needed true sleep in order to rest, he would likely be very close to death right now. Kimblee hadn't entered the trance-like "sleep" state since the night Hawkeye had been recaptured and had the vampirism he had worked so hard to cultivate suppressed. During daylight hours, he moved restlessly from place to place in the vacant house, careful to avoid stepping into the beams of light leaking around the sheets of plywood nailed over gaping windows.

At night, he hunted, though it was becoming more difficult. More and more people were wearing those ridiculous little cloth pouches that stank like cesspits in summer, eliminating his ability to get close. Only those who didn't appear to get out much – the elderly, the infirm – seemed to have a lack of the things, and the feeding there wasn't much.

Much as it galled him to admit it, Hawkeye had been right about being cautious not to create new vampires, or leave bodies lying about to raise alarms about a serial killer on the loose. Just as always, the woman was making things difficult for him.

He threw a baleful glance at the thin beam of sunlight pouring through a small hole in the plywood over the nearest window, snarled, and turned to prowl away into the next room. This day was interminable. Maybe he should try to sleep… but he knew that the problem he had been turning over in his brain for three days would not allow him to rest.

He needed a way to bring her back in, needed a way to get that blasted pouch off of her neck and release the inner beast, so to speak. The thing was like a ball and chain she was forced to drag around; she was a free creature and she should be out on her own, not pinioned behind a wall of well-meaning but ultimately useless so-called 'friends.'

The day after her capture, for a brief moment, he had thought he felt her presence – dimmed by the suppression of what he had wrought in her – brighten and grow. But there had been a brief flash of fear and sudden anxiety… and it was dull and inexpressive once again. Since then, a second presence had been growing, though he could not tell the source.

No matter. Like as not, I simply wasn't careful enough during one feeding. An elderly victim as a new vampire wouldn't serve his purpose, however. There was no revenge to be had in robbing the grave of one who would soon be in it, and no pleasure either. As soon as he sorted out what to do with Hawkeye, to get her back, he would dispose of this other fledgling.

Yes, certainly no pleasure in a new vampire, especially not if it's some decrepit old crone. A thin, dangerous smile spread across his lips, warmth seeping insidiously into his groin. But once she's back, once she has returned to me…. We will hunt together, we'll share the spoils…. We'll return to the lair, go to ground and then…. Oh, then there will be pleasure.

Mustang hadn't been nearly affected enough by Hawkeye's turning. Upset, yes, anguished and left sleepless…. But Kimblee had been aiming for something more along the lines of 'devastated.' Devastated meant there was no coming back, no recovery, no kiss and make up….

It was disappointing, really.

But the main hurdle was getting Hawkeye back to the perfection he had engendered in her. That pouch was the answer, but how to get it off when he couldn't get within three feet of the thing without retching like his organs were trying to flee his body? With her original personality in control, she wouldn't take it off voluntarily. He would need to use trickery, or some kind of sleight of hand, or –

He paused, his arms folded as he stared at the house's heavy door, the only wooden panel on the exterior that didn't leak hateful sunlight. The idea that had struck him was simplicity itself, so much so that it was nearly slapstick. Fangs bared in a humoured grin, he laughed deep in his throat, thinking of just how surprised Riza Hawkeye would be when she next saw his face.

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GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL 2047 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

Riza sank gratefully onto the couch, her eyes falling closed, revelling in the pleasant fatigue in her muscles of a day well-spent in total productivity. The planning for Kimblee's takedown had gone on until mid-afternoon, with only a short break for a light lunch. It had been determined that they would lay their trap the next day, and after that, the war council had devolved into a group of friends and colleagues, sitting comfortably and catching up.

Scar had left shortly before dinnertime, and Riza hadn't really been surprised. While he wasn't exactly anti-social, putting someone as taciturn as him in a room with two or three conversations going at once had to be tiring. Miles had stayed, helping the three guest households put together an eight-person meal from the food stores they had been given, offering instruction on how to prepare foreign Ishvalan ingredients. Once everyone's hunger had been satisfied, there had been more conversation, more cups of ever-present tea, until finally, the others began to make their excuses, leaving for the comfort of their own guest houses.

And now the dishes were washed, the small house was set right, and Riza could finally relax. At least as much as was possible when there was a murderous vampire on the loose that they were planning a last-ditch final showdown with in the next 48 hours that would determine the fate of –

She heard the footsteps coming down the hall, stopping her train of thought on a dime. The steps entered the room, paused, and then approached, a weight falling onto the couch beside her. Roy's hand touched the top of her head, stroking gently. "You're not falling asleep already, are you?" His tone was light; teasing. "It's not even close to your usual bedtime."

"I've spent the last few days looking after you, looking after others, and planning a quasi-military operation," she reminded him wryly. "And all of that without the same kind of vampire-fuelled energy you only woke up with this morning." Without opening her eyes, she reached out, nudging him in the ribs with a closed fist. "I think I deserve a break."

"You deserve a lot more than a break."

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes or look over. "Do I?"

"Mmhmm. You deserve a good night's sleep, you deserve a vacation once all this is over…" His fingers slid gently, smoothly across her thigh, bringing her eyes open and her head turning in his direction. He was smiling, half teasingly, half in self-deprecation. "The love of a good man who you accidentally turned into a vampire…."

"Evidently, the new abilities didn't give you better flirting skills." Turning onto her side, facing him with her legs curled under her and her head resting on the back of the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"All right. I haven't had an anger flash in… ten minutes?" He shrugged. "I still feel like I could hold my own in an arm-wrestling match with Armstrong, but I haven't escalated to trying to jump off buildings to see if I can fly." His look turned mischievous. "And then, of course, there's the other side effect that showed up sometime this afternoon, about the time you accidentally brushed up against my arm."

"… Ah, I see." Before she could stop herself, Riza's eyes drifted to the front of his pants, but the loose desert garment was useful for hiding most kinds of shape, as well as keeping the wearer cool. "I had no idea. You hid your emotions very well."

"We've been hiding emotions like that in front of people for years," he reminded her, inching closer. "But now we're alone, and we don't have to hide anything until tomorrow morning." He held out a hand, his smile disarming and filled with every bit of smooth operation his aunt had drilled into him over the years. "What do you say? Even if I get carried away and bite you, it's not like it'll have an effect."

Riza tugged at the charm around her neck. "This doesn't bother you?"

"Not much. At least, not yet."

Without another word, she slid her hand into his, fully expecting him to get up and tug her gently toward the bedrooms down the hall. Instead, he pulled her closer until she sat astride his lap, the skirt of her dress hiked up and his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline. Riza took a deep, only slightly shuddery breath, able to feel the swell of him through the light fabric of the desert trousers and her own undergarments.

"Steady, love." His voice was deep and husky in her ear, his warm breath feathering her hair to cause a tickle along the back of her neck. "I'd say pace yourself, but maybe you ought to just follow my lead."

Riza shivered pleasurably, her hands sliding up the plane of his chest to link behind his neck. Her head turned at the same time as his, and she caught the fervent kiss on her lips, revelling in the hungry way his mouth came after hers. She felt motion at her waist, and then the sash came away, thrown carelessly to the floor as his hand dove impatiently beneath the skirt.

The tap of a finger on her hip was a suggestion, and she lifted onto her knees, nearly groaning in protest as she left the tantalizing sensation of her ultimate prize… and had to catch herself by way of her hands on his shoulders as a new, even more electrifying touch stroked slowly, agonizingly slowly, along the edge of her underwear where it rested against the inside of the very top of her thigh.

Her fingers raked through his hair, gripping the strands tight as the same teasing finger slid higher, hooked over the top, and pulled. The soft drag of the cotton over her skin left a faint, pleasant warmth that marked its downward progress, and she reached down, feeling almost blindly for the unfamiliar closures of desert pants.

Roy's free hand stilled hers, tugging her fingers away. "No, not yet," he murmured, pressing his nose to her cheek. "I told you, you deserve to relax. This is your time."

She was finding it harder to keep a rein on her breathing, let alone the tiny moans – and, worst of all, whimpers – of pleasure that she wanted so desperately to let loose…. But that would only tell him exactly how much he was getting to her. "Seems like you get that short end of that particular stick," she managed, without too much of a shake in her tone.

It was the last full sentence she was able to string together for several minutes as his hand slid past the panties tugged partway down her thighs, his fingers easily finding the wet evidence of her own desire.

"Not at all." His voice was a low purr, dangerously seductive, as the fingertips beginning their lazy stroking once again. She gave in without meaning to, dropping her head to his shoulder with a moan that came from deep inside, someplace primal where it was the only way she could possibly communicate how it felt. "To hear you make that sound? Knowing I'm the only one you've ever made that sound for?"

His fingers did some magical little twirl that sent cold fire up through the centre of her, all the while drawing closer to their goal. The word 'please,' hovered on her lips, she wanted to take his hand and guide him, to put and end to the torture of it all and just give her what she wanted, dammit…. But she knew that if she did, he would stop. It was all a part of the game.

One fingertip circled the entrance with near insolence, and Riza bit her lip, the new moan sneaking past her teeth anyway. She felt Roy's lips spread wide in a grin against her shoulder. "To hear you make that sound is more of a turn-on than anything else," he murmured.

The words were nearly lost in the rush of air leaving her lungs as two fingers slid inside, with a deftness, an insidiousness, a surety that sent her pressing closer against him. She nearly cried out as they withdrew; she didn't realize how much she had needed this, had wanted this, had wanted him. All the stress, all the tension, he was right, she needed it gone and he was the one to take it take all of it take her –

Insertion again, withdrawal again. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as he shifted slightly on the couch, not leaving her, his head lifting. He pressed a kiss to her neck, his fingers slipping in once more, deeper, harder, pressing against the nerve endings to send her toes curling and her hands gripping tighter as she panted a curse into his ear.

After so long without him and after all the stress, she came quickly. He seemed to sense it coming, and abandoned the sucking kiss he had been attentively paying to the side of her neck. In the same instant that her final scream of orgasm muffled itself in his shoulder, his elongated canine teeth buried themselves in her skin.

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