Free One With the Night by Susan Squires Page B

treasure. Somehow he unwound the windlass handle slowly, heard the plop of the bucket, and went after her at a run.
    “Just give it to me,” he demanded, trotting beside her.
    She frowned at him. “It does no good to give in to the bestial nature of our affliction, sir,” she said with asperity. “Have patience a moment more.”
    Didn’t she know that the hunger was clawing at his veins this minute? But he couldn’t just grab the bottle. She was being generous to give him any blood at all and Lord knew how he would have lasted while he searched the hills for shepherds. He forced himself to a walk beside her. When they reached the kitchen, she gestured toward a chair and got out a silver salver, two delicate china cups, and a silver teapot. Into the pot she poured the blood. Its rich scent filled the kitchen. He wanted to moan. His Companion surged in his veins, demanding repayment for the energy it had expended last night. She brought the tray to the table and sat. He clasped his hands in his lap. He could hardly swallow his mouth was so dry. She poured out one cup and passed it to him. It rattled against its saucer in his trembling hand. He set it down and watched it, stomach heaving with his need. Somehow he waited for her to pour out her own cup and lift it to her lips. He reached for the cup. He mustn’t crush the delicate handle. She was saying something about the set belonging to her mother.
    He raised the shaking cup to his lips. Ahhh! Sweet viscous liquid, copper-tinged! It slid down his throat. The well water had kept it cold, which made it even thicker than normal. He had never tasted blood so good. He closed his eyes, and gulped the whole.
    His Companion shuddered in his veins in ecstasy. The painful itch receded. He sucked in a breath and felt the life within him rejoice. When he opened his eyes, the girl was just patting a napkin to her mouth. Her cup was not drained as his was. She had only sipped.
    “More?” she asked.
    He nodded. She poured another cup out. This time he managed to take a gulp and set the cup back down. “So this is how ye take yer blood? Someone gives it ta ye with a needle and ye drink it from a china cup?”
    She nodded and lifted her chin. “Better than stabbing someone and holding them down to lick the wound. We must preserve what humanity we have, sir.”
    “I’ll give ye that,” he said ruefully. “But…” It struck him again just how much she might not know. He examined her face, in some ways so innocent, in some ways so strong. Was it the look in her eye or the set of her jaw that made it so? Both and neither. And which said innocence, which strength? He had taken pity on her at the barn last night, and told her what he could of her vampire kind. But this … “If ye dinnae ha’ a needle or a knife, what would ye do?”
    She flushed. Her fair complexion flushed easily. She pursed her lips. She obviously hated that fact. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose…” She trailed off.
    “Ye dinnae know, do ye?”
    She considered brazening it through. He saw it in her eyes. She didn’t like to admit she didn’t know something, but lies didn’t come easily to her. And then she looked away. She took her teeth between her lips. When she looked back up at him her eyes were brimming with tears. “No. No, I don’t. I was hoping you could tell me about my disease.”
    “Disease, now, is that what ye think it is?” Well, that was convenient. You couldn’t be guilty if you could lay the whole fault on a sickness.
    “And why not?” she challenged, lifting her chin. “The condition starts with an infection of the blood by a parasite. It changes its victims’ physiological state. Any doctor worth his salt would call that a disease. There is nothing supernatural about it, I assure you. Our condition apparently gives us much in common with a species of South American bats.”
    He was about to protest, but what would he tell her, that she was not a victim of a