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All For Her
by Avarice

She is hungry, I can tell, but she has convinced herself that she should not go out. It's not like I mind. I tell her to stay in while I bring her something to eat.

I don't need an excuse to dote on her.

I never need an excuse. Everything I do is for her.

All for her.

The night is cool, cooler than it's been in a few years. But the years do tend to blend into one another. I know for certain it hasn't been this cold in a while. Even *I* can feel it.

I trudge the streets, searching for game. The weather keeps most inside at this time of night. I step in a puddle of cold water and curse fluently as it soaks through the bottom of my pantleg.

All for her, I remind myself.

All for her.

I cross the street and look at a pub spilling over with tender morsels. The air is thick with the smell of ale and sweat, a raucous chorus pervades the air, but it is the song of their blood that draws me in.

It sings to me, just as princess does.

Who am I to ignore their seductive melody?

I enter and quickly chose my target. I mustn't let my wicked girl wait any longer than necessary.

A young boy, barely over the age of fourteen I would imagine, sits at the bar cradling a watered-down ale.

Young blood.

Most likely untouched.

Her favourite.

He seems skittish, and I know I will have to take time out to assuage his nerves and befriend him. I hiss testily.

All for her, I remind myself.

All for her.

I do what is required of me -- share a pint, tell a few lewd jokes, generally get him comfortable, and before long he is more than a little susceptible to my suggestion of a late visit to the brothel I 'live' near.

We arrive back at our place. The alcohol-clouded mind of the youth still picks up that this is not a brothel, however. Confusion and anger are etched on his face, but I push him through the door and into the waiting arms of princess.

She squeals delightedly and holds him fast, leaning over nibble at my bottom lip. My dark goddess holds up one long nail and cuts the cheek of the mortal, until blood pools under her fingertips. She licks it away and smacks her lips, savouring the taste.

I smile and move to lie on the bed, content to watch.

The young man yelps in surprise and glances furtively from Dru, to me, to the door and back to Dru.

Then comes my favourite part.

My black queen's face transforms into her true demonic countenance and at once the room is overpowered with the scent of the boy's fear. It is palpable, stifling, addictive.

I look at Dru and sigh.

Glorious.

She looks over her shoulder at me and bats her yellow eyes, snapping needlesharp teeth playfully.

The scream and expression on the boy's face as she tears his throat out is sweet music. Blood pumps from the gaping hole in his neck and princess fastens her mouth over it.

I'll never figure out how she can tear a bloke's throat out and then feed so daintily, never getting one spot on her pristine white dress.

She drinks slowly, savouring each mouthful of hot, warm, pure blood until the boy becomes a dead weight in her arms -- an empty, broken husk that once housed life.

Dru drops him in the middle of the floor and turns to face me. Her ridges have faded and there is no evidence of her meal except for the flush of new blood that suffuses her cheeks.

My undead heart does this little flip as she prowls towards me, climbing up over the bedcovers to press her mouth against mine. Her lips taste of the boy's sweet blood and she smells of violets and lilies.

She breaks away and rests her dark head on my chest, content to trace random patterns over my shirt. I kiss the top of her head and ignore my own hunger pangs, content to be her pillow -- her protector.

Wrapping a mahogany tendril of her hair around my finger, I sigh again, stomach growling loudly.

All for her, I remind myself.

All for her.

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