54: 54 Undying Flame (AVOT)

54 Undying Flame (AVOT)

Rhain tucked away his weapons hastily upon realizing it was Daisy who was causing the ruckus, shattering the balcony door in her fit of anger. His wife had a temper and while such things didn't bother him most of the time and toying with his prey was just another amusing thing, he was not in the mood now.

Stepping into her chamber, he was met with a scene of chaos - glass shards scattered on the floor, the balcony door in pieces, having borne the brunt of Daisy's wrath. "What are you doing?" he demanded. 

She whirled around to face him, her eyes alight with defiance. "You locked every single door and window!" she accused. "I needed some fresh air.

"You could have simply asked," he responded, his tone icy.

"And you could have chosen not to confine me like a caged bird," she retorted, her nostrils flaring with indignation.

A threat hovered at the tip of his tongue, but he refrained. He was a man of his word when it came to threats, and he didn't fancy leaving his wife without a tongue. Literally. Though the thought was becoming increasingly tempting.

Closing the distance between them, he stood tall before her, his chiseled features hardening into an unreadable mask. "You're going to clean this up," he ordered between clenched teeth. 

"And what if I refuse?" she retorted, her spirit unbroken.

His lips curled into a sinister smile. "Then it appears I'll need to teach you more lessons. Ones that I'll derive great pleasure from."

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't intimidate me," she stated confidently.

"Don't provoke me to try," he warned. "As you know, I do enjoy inducing fear. The more terror, the better. I wouldn't want you to tremble so intensely that you wake up sore in the morning."

"Is that a threat?" she challenged.

His smirk was infuriating. "It's a warning, from a 'caring' husband."

"I hate you," she murmured, her words barely audible. But his enhanced senses caught them anyway.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. "Be careful not to cut yourself. My senses are finely attuned to the scent of blood."

With a final glance, he turned on his heel and left the room. Daisy gritted her teeth, cursing him under her breath.

She glanced at the shattered balcony door and sighed. Her childish antics were not making a dent in Rhain's resolve.

As she started to pick up the shards of broken glass, her mind replayed his warning. What if she did cut herself? Would he swoop in, drawn by her blood? It reminded her of their first day together when she'd pricked her finger on a thorn. His reaction was clear to her now. It all made sense.

Daisy pondered over the horrifying possibility that Rhain had married her for the sole purpose of having a constant supply of blood. Was she nothing more than a walking feast for him? She had the urge to hurl something through the balcony once again, but what good would that do? Even crying seemed pointless now. She was bound to him yet, she wasn't as sad as she expected to be. 

Why should she be? She thought, indignation flaring within her. He certainly didn't deserve her tears. Absorbed in her thoughts and handling the glass more angrily than she should, she cut herself, of course. She didn't even hiss, adrenaline coursing through her. She looked at the cut then curiously, she looked over her shoulder to see if he would come. To her surprise, he already stood there. 

"Like a hound drawn to a bone," she muttered under her breath.

The next moment, Rhain was there before her like he had flown over the distance. She recoiled in surprise, nearly toppling over, but he was quick to catch her and pull her up. 

"I warned you not to cut yourself," he said carefully. 

"What's the difference between your fangs and this glass?" she retorted.

"Oh, there's a world of difference. One merely slices. The other… penetrates." He took her injured hand, holding her palm open as he brought it to his mouth. Hypnotized, she watched him lick away the blood, his tongue searing against her skin.

Oh Lord! She lost her mind. 

"Delicious, even without being flavored," he remarked, sending a chill down her spine.

Flavored?

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held firm. "Now…" he began, his gaze descending to her lips, causing her heartbeat to stutter. "You can choose to use your foul mouth to enjoy the meal I've prepared, or I have a few lessons for other things to use it for."

His really liked his lessons. "Maybe I could educate you on a thing or two as well," she retorted, defiant. "Actually, you have a lot to learn."

"Very well then," he replied, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "Let's see who appears as the better teacher."

Predictably, he relished a challenge. She shoved herself away from his unwelcome proximity.

"Now come, eat," he commanded, taking a step back. Then he paused, fixing her with a stern gaze. "And I'd advise you not to disobey me. As you should know by now, disobedience only serves to arouse my appetite."

She bit back the anger that threatened to boil over. Hold it together, Daisy!

"Why should I starve myself because of you?" she retorted, then turned on her heel to march towards the dining table.

The table was meticulously laid out, just like it had been this morning. "Are we still in a romantic mood?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his careful preparations.

"The way the food is made, presented, and the way you feed is also part of the experience." He said. 

"Oh, you would know." 

"Of course. I want you to enjoy yourself as well." 

He was serious, she realized. He hadn't been mocking her this morning, nor was he now. She sat down, watching as he served her.

"So, how do you ensure the food tastes good if you can't eat it?" she asked.

"It might not be up to your standards," he admitted.

"And if it's so bad I can't eat it?"'

"It can't be worse than when I ate the breakfast you made,"he retorted, a slight grimace twisting his lips.

"You said you get ill from eating human food." 

He looked at her. "Yes." 

"Did you get ill?" 

"Yes."

"Then why did you eat it?"

"Because when someone makes you food, you eat it!"he stated matter-of-factly.

A strangely caring sentiment for someone who said he didn't care.

"You don't even know what you are saying," she said, her gaze lingering on his.

"What do you mean?"

He was curious. "Nothing." She replied so he could know how annoying it was when he did that.

He didn't question further, instead returning his focus to arranging her food. Next, he poured her a glass of deep-red juice.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Beetroot juice."

She chuckled. He was really insisting on this. "Good for the blood," she quipped.

"Yes."

He sat opposite her. "I will eat," she promised, finding it strangely amusing how he sat there like a watchful parent, ensuring their child finished their meal.

"I'm aware. After all, you wouldn't go hungry because of someone like me," he retorted, pouring himself a glass of wine and taking a sip.2

She cut into the meat, finding it expertly cooked – tender and perfectly medium-rare. After tasting it, she had to admit it was delicious, though she tried to conceal her pleasure. His eyes were fixed on her as she chewed.

Doing her best to mask her enjoyment, she shot him a glare. "It tastes... awful," she lied, fully aware that he would see through her.

He just tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

Ignoring his stare, she decided to quiz him a little. "So, how often do you need to feed?"

"Not often. About once a week suffices... unless something arouses my hunger sooner," he responded, a note of mischief in his voice.

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, "Like what?"

His gaze meandered from her face, lingering briefly on her lips, then traced the line of her neck. She held her breath until his eyes met hers again. "Many things could do it. Fear, arousal, a delicate neck, a foul mouth... defiance."

Her pulse quickened. So that was why he had singled her out as his 'favorite' prey? No. What did he call her? 'Toy'. Huh! She swallowed her anger again. 

"A sweet scent and a lovely voice can also have quite the effect," he added nonchalantly, sipping his wine.

"So... that's how you select your prey?"

He nodded, surprisingly frank about his predatory habits.

The image of him holding another woman, with a sweet scent and a lovely voice, cradled in his arms, his fangs sinking into her delicate neck, sparked a heat in her chest that was far from fear.

She couldn't be serious. But remembering how she felt when he drank from her... she could hardly deny it. Why did it feel so... good?

She mentally shook herself. Daisy, have you lost your mind?!

Across the table, Rhain watched her with an intrigued gaze, as if sensing the turmoil within her. She hastily returned to her food, seeking to ground herself. As she tasted the meat again, savoring its succulence, she wondered if this was akin to his experience of drinking blood.

Based on his intense reaction – the way he held her, the groan escaping his lips—she guessed it was something much more intense. She swallowed again.

"So, you could feed more frequently, just for pleasure?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

"I could. But the true pleasure comes from feeding when one is truly hungry," he replied.

"And you only feed on your prey?" She asked, treading cautiously.

He squinted, then raised an eyebrow. "What else would I do?" he countered.

Well, he had touched her, fondled her breast. An image of him doing that to another woman flashed through her mind.

"I'm just curious," she dismissed, returning to her meal to hide her reaction.

He remained silent, sipping his wine.

Nibbling on another piece of meat, she turned her gaze back to him. "So, you won't need to feed for another six days?"

His gaze darknes, setting her heart aflutter. "That depends entirely on your actions, my sweet bloom." The tone of his voice sent tingles cascading through her body.

This wasn't happening.

"You're not going to bite me again!" She declared with vehemence.

"No?"

"No! I'm not going to let you chase me around again. Now that I know your secret, I'm not scared of you."

"Hmm. Fear was only one of the things I named. The one that sustains me the most. The one I crave the most but there is more."

Delicate neck. Sweet feminine scent. Foul mouth. Defiance.

Defiance?

Arousal?

"I won't be your prey!" She said. "I'm your wife."

His eyes lingered on her in silence for a moment. Then he downed the rest of his wine, rose from his chair, and moved to leave. "After you're done eating, you should clean up. I need to attend to the mess you made."

"Are the servants never returning?" She asked, the room suddenly feeling emptier.

"I won't subject them to the whims of your anger." He responded without looking back, then vanished from sight.

Her anger that he was the root cause of. Fiend! 

She tried to refocus on her food and managed to finish it all. She then cleaned the table and washed the dishes before retiring to her room, where she found Rhain finishing up boarding the shattered balcony door. Suddenly, she felt a twinge of guilt for the extra work she had put him through. He seemed to have cleared the glass fragments as well.

Gathering his tools, he turned around. She expected a chiding remark or a sarcastic comment, but he simply walked past her. "Where are you going?" She asked quietly.

"I'll be working in my office," he replied curtly, not even turning around, and then he was gone.

The vast mansion fell into a haunting silence, the echo of his departure resonating throughout the empty rooms. The gloomy weather outside chilled the floor beneath her feet, and she quickly fetched shoes. Unsure of how to distract herself from spiraling into self-pity, she found herself in the library, a book in hand that she barely glanced at, her mind occupied with a whirlwind of thoughts.

Despite her best efforts to organize her thoughts, they remained in turmoil. Feelings she couldn't quite identify stirred within her, leaving her disoriented and confused. No matter how much she pondered, she couldn't seem to gain clarity—there was simply too much she didn't understand.

Eventually, she gave up on the book, seeking a more hands-on distraction. She tidied her room in the absence of servants, cleaned around the house, and made herself a pot of tea for warmth. An unusual chill had taken hold of her. 

She tried reading once more and idled around until fatigue and cold began to gnaw at her.

Was Rhain still at work?

Curious, she sought him out in his office. The door was ajar, and as she peeked inside, she found him seated at his desk, engrossed in paperwork.

He glanced up at her entrance. "I'm cold," she admitted.

"I've started a fire in the hearth in my chambers. You can stay there."

Her brows furrowed at his statement. "You don't expect me to share your chambers tonight, do you?"

"It appears you have no choice," he said, his attention returning to his work.

"Rhain," she admonished, "At least try to maintain some level of courtesy, even if you say it was all pretense before."

He paused, looking up at her. For a moment, he seemed taken aback, then his shoulders slumped. "I am sorry," he conceded. 

Setting his quill aside, he rose from his desk and approached her. "I would like you to stay in my chambers tonight. I understand your discomfort with my… nearness, but currently, there isn't enough firewood to heat both rooms, and your balcony door is broken. The boards can only do so much to keep out the wind," he explained softly. Then he extended his hand. "Please, come with me."

She eyed his outstretched hand before placing hers in his. As he guided her through the hall, his thumb began tracing gentle circles on her knuckles—an affectionate gesture he usually made. The realization that this part remained, that at least this hadn't been a facade, gave her a small measure of warmth.

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