ìOnce you put your hand in the flame, you can never be the same
There's a certain satisfaction in a little bit of pain.î

It's a sanguine ecstasy of pain and lust. As I lean close I can feel the
throb of his blood. Thatís what made me decide to turn him: the veins, blue
underneath the skin, carrying what I know will be the sweetest blood I'll ever
taste. And now heíll be my childe and my lover. The thought of me being the
one in control here gives me a sort of morbid glee. Heís intelligent, he
wonít miss the irony either. Our relationship has always been an odyssey of
illicit fornication: rough sex, tender words, with him always in control. And
now I may destroy him if I wish, or let another minion have the fun. That
would hurt him more, to know that heís a plaything. That I fucked him and
turned him, just to hand him off for someone elseís enjoyment.
He starts to stutter as he comes down from the orgasm, confused now. Heís
probably starting to understand the cold of my body. He is a Watcher after
all.
He sees the intent in my eyes and tries to move from underneath my body, but
I want this too much to let him think there is any escape. He looks at me
with a mixture of primal fear and rage. I see betrayal there also, and almost
laugh at the absurdity. He doesnít understand the gift I am about to bestow.
Heíll have eternal life and be indebted to me for it. The thought makes me
harden again, but there will be time for more games later. For now, I
concentrate on the perfume that is the smell of his blood, and I feel my fangs
emerge. A feral smile tugs at my lips, and fear eclipses all the other
emotions in his eyes. I lean closer, and just before I sink my teeth in, I
whisper a declaration of love.
His heart continues to pump as I drink, not knowing that itís killing him by
giving up his life's blood. He struggles vainly, and lands a weak hit on my
shoulder, but nothing will deter me. When he becomes too weak to protest, I
reluctantly stop. I sit up on top of him and smile down at my lover. Heís
beautiful in his pain, pale and almost childlike. Heíll look like this for
eternity. I slice my chest open with a ragged fingernail and slap him lightly
to keep him alert. As the blood wells on my chest I hold his mouth to me. He
doesnít protest. He has no energy to. I feel the rush of my blood leaving
me, and almost come at the sensation. He drinks greedily, and then passes
out.
Hours later, he awakens. I sit on the bed next to him, waiting for a
response. He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness of the room,
and when I look at him, I see what the change has done. No longer the shy,
reserved librarian, or the subtly forceful master who made love to me, my
lover is now a cold, roguish demon. He smiles at me, a grin full of mischief
and wickedness. I realize that he wonít be a toy. With that much decadent
evil at his fingertips, heís everything I could want in an eternal mate.
ìSo, my love, ready to hunt?î
In answer he throws me down on the bed, hovering over me. He kisses me
roughly, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I feel his fingernails brush
against my cheek, and then scratch hard enough to draw blood. He pulls back
to whisper one word.
ìLater.î

ìOnly the one that hurts you can make you feel better.î