55: 55 Of Pride & Prey (AVOT)

55 Of Pride & Prey (AVOT)

Daisy nestled into Rhain's bed, enveloped by the comforting warmth of his room, surrounded by a bed imbued with his scent. She clutched the blankets tighter, taking a deep breath of his fragrance. The only reason she was here was because she had shattered her own balcony door.

She'd broken her own balcony door!

The realization brought an involuntary grimace to her face. Her mother would have been mortified by such an act, but then she would be horrified to find the reason she was angry. 

A sigh escaped her lips. Her flares of anger weren't going to coerce Rhain into an explanation. What she wanted, more than anything, was a simple confession. A confession that he cared, that she wasn't his prey, but his wife. But… she was his prey because she was...human.

Confusion swirled within her like a chaotic storm. How could anyone derive pleasure from instilling fear in someone they cared about? Was it even possible? Or perhaps 'caring' held a different meaning for vampires? Maybe it was akin to caring for a pet, or a plaything.

She chuckled at her own musings, sounding like a woman on the verge of madness. She didn't have a clue. But one thing was clear, she did not like the thought of being a toy. 

Her relationship with Rhain had stirred a sense of greed within her. Had he not introduced her to this new aspect of life, she might have been satisfied with her role as a trophy or puppet wife. It was the price she was willing to pay to ensure her own safety and her mother's. But with Rhain, she found herself craving more. She...liked him. A lot.

Her hand moved to her neck, fingers tracing the spot where he'd bitten her. What did it mean to take pleasure in such a bite? Was she...sick? Surely, no sane human would voluntarily serve as prey. Or would they?

Yes, perhaps she was falling ill. The recent turn of events might be muddling her mind. She could be confusing the sensation of a neck kiss with a vampire bite. Or perhaps it was his body against hers, or she was mistaking fear for arousal.

Or...you were simply aroused, Daisy. You are not right in the head. A willing prey, a voice mocked in her mind.

Dismissing any sense of shame because of her lack of limits, Daisy decided sleep would be her best escape. However, it proved to be a challenging endeavor as she tossed and turned restlessly for hours. 

Then she couldn't help but wonder why Rhain was still up, still engrossed in his work. Was he avoiding their shared bed to ensure her comfort? The rest of the house was so chilling. Eventually, she clambered out of the bed, resolved not to let him wander the icy halls because of her. Slipping into her shoes, she couldn't help but shiver, the chill hitting her as soon as she was uncovered.

She blamed the blood loss for her increased sensitivity to the cold. Wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to generate warmth, she started making her way through the shadow-laden corridors in search of Rhain. Faint light was leaking from his office, an indication that he was still at work.

Her steps quickened, eager to escape the biting cold. As she reached the office entrance, she found Rhain still deeply absorbed in his paperwork.

"Rhain?" she ventured.

Rhain had already detected her footsteps, expecting another round of her temper. He certainly wasn't prepared for the softness in her tone. He glanced up, his gaze meeting her figure, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trembling slightly.

"Are you not coming to bed?" Her words came out in a rush, her arms clasping her body even tighter.

He blinked in surprise.

"I told you I am not scared, so don't worry."

Don't worry? The irony of her statement wasn't lost on him.

"I mean don't get excited." She quickly amended.

That sounded more right, he mused.

"Are you coming now, Blackthorne? I'm freezing," she stated.

Blackthorne? His lips curved into an amused smile.

Setting his papers aside, Rhain stood from his chair, blowing off the desk candle before he approached her. He slid his arm around her shoulders, and she made a feeble attempt to wriggle out of his grip. But he held her firm. 

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

"You said you were freezing. Did you not call me to bed to warm you?"

"Do you always take things to the extreme?"

In truth, he did, but she wouldn't understand.

"Besides, you're cold as well," she pointed out.

"I am warm because of you, because of your blood," he confessed, pulling her tighter against him. "But you are cold because of it. Let me warm you."

He chastised himself internally as he reveled in her warmth, knowing well it wasn't solely for her benefit.

Surprisingly, she did not resist as they ambled down the corridor. In fact, she nestled closer, shivering anew within his hold. Once back in the room, she freed herself from his arm, slipping beneath the inviting covers. A soft sigh escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

Upon reopening her eyes, Daisy found herself gazing at Rhain. His golden eyes always glowed a shade darker in the dim light. His features seemed to take on a unique allure as they danced between light and shadow, something that was becoming more and more familiar. 

With fluid elegance, he removed his boots, casually discarding them. The understanding of his unnerving grace dawned upon her; it bore a predatory undertone that she had ignored, of course. 

He undid his vest next, removing it with equal refinement. But it was the moment when he unfurled the ribbon, freeing his dark hair, that she found herself holding her breath involuntarily.

She willed him silently to keep his shirt on. She was already teetering on the edge of being willing prey; she didn't want to add to becoming a needy wife with no boundaries.

As his hand reached for the shirt, her heart fluttered. However, he merely disentangled it from his trousers, before padding over to the empty side of the bed. She felt the mattress sink as he settled in, followed by the rustling of sheets and covers, and then silence descended.

Daisy stared vacantly across the room, hoping he would break the silence, offer some sort of explanation. But he remained quiet. Closing her eyes, she thought she'd sleep on it, avoid starting a conversation when her feelings were still raw and fresh. Yet, sleep remained elusive.

Rhain, too, could not sleep. His chest was heavy, and he knew the cause. He had committed atrocities far worse than this. He had killed without regret, tortured, manipulated, and stolen. There was hardly any sin left untouched by him. As Lysander had told him, he had grown more monstrous with time.

Rhain placed his hand over his chest, almost in a state of self-doubt. His heart remained silent, as usual. The rare occasions when it did beat were all too well known to him, and with each day of his existence as a vampire, those moments lessened. Every day was one more day of being dead, a death that had spanned 462 years.

His wife was more accurate in her assessment of him than she knew; he was, without a doubt, a monster. Who else but a monster could derive pleasure from instilling terror in the innocent?

'You can care,' she had told to him. He could. He did. But the question loomed: did he do it for her or for himself? He derived a peculiar joy from her presence, from being her husband, but weren't these reasons inherently selfish? Even if it wasn't, it was certainly not the kind of 'caring' she expected, one devoid of his other traits. 

True joy had been elusive for him for centuries, and now that he had found it, he craved to savor it, to claim it as his own. Perhaps his brother was right. 

'You kept me alive for YOUR selfish reasons!' his brother's accusatory voice echoed in his mind. Rhain scoffed internally. Because of his selfish reasons, his brother got a chance to experience life while standing on his own legs. 

"Rhain?"

Don't respond!

"Yes," he found himself saying.

"I'm sorry about the balcony," she offered.

His teeth ground together. "Don't!" He bit out.

He desired no apologies, for he could offer none in return. Any he gave would just be another lie. Since he had decided not to compel her, to let her know his true nature, she needed to see him for what he was: a creature that revelled in her fear and would still do. The mere thought of it caused his gums to throb. It had been the most delicious fear he had tasted in years.

Don't go down that path now! His thoughts warned.

"Why?" She asked, her voice soft.

"I locked you in, you destroyed the balcony. An eye for an eye," he reasoned.

"Well, then, I'm sorry I insulted your food. It was delicious," she confessed.

"No need. I fed on you," he reminded her, hoping to cease this conversation.

She fell silent for a moment. "Then, I'm sorry I called you a hound."

"Yes, that was a downgrade, but you called yourself a bone, so..." he trailed off, sensing her smile.

"And I don't hate you," she confessed, "not always anyway."

He had to fight back a smile.

"I'm trying to understand you," she continued.1

He closed his eyes, taking a resigned breath. Understanding him was a task she was doomed to fail. How could she, a human, fathom the predatory desires that he, a vampire, reveled in? She would only look at him with that hurt expression again, that he couldn't blame her. Whether she liked it or not, whether she was his wife or not, there were certain facts that wouldn't change. He was a vampire, and she was human. He was a predator. And she was prey. 

He knew that he himself never fully understood when he was prey. He never despised his position, although he did question his sanity sometimes, wondering how he could accept such a fate. But since he thought losing his sanity was worth saving his brother, he got over it rather quickly. It was a price he was more than willing to pay.

Furthermore, his mortal self had been drawn toward the allure of vampires and the mystery of darkness. Lysander, with his ancient wisdom and endless enigma, kept his prey captivated. He offered a glimpse into a world beyond human understanding.

When he continued to remain silent, she sighed. "Just tell me anything," she pleaded.

Should he share something positive? It would only augment her disappointment the next time he acted against her expectations. 

"I am reaching out to you despite everything," she said, her tone laced with exasperation. "I am setting my pride aside, Rhain. It hurts."

"You would put your pride aside for a man like me?" He asked. 

"What does that mean?" She retorted. 

"You know very well, Daisy, and perhaps in your head, you are trying to find excuses for me. There are none." 

She was quiet for a long moment. "I blamed myself for not listening to my instinct about you. I am not going to ignore it again." 

He furrowed his brows, puzzled by her words.

All of a sudden, her arm snaked around him, pulling him onto his back by his collar. Her face hovered mere inches above his. The woman had certainly lost her senses!

"You're cold," she asserted, her voice a mere whisper that carried a caress against his lips. Her eyes delved deep into his, as if she was on a quest to find something hidden. Rhain found himself curious. What would she find? 

"I see it in your eyes. Calculating. Always calm. Always in control. But there is more. You are hiding a lot, and I intend to unearth it all. After all, as the Marchioness, I now have ample time to devote to you. You will be the object of my undivided attention." She said. 

"Hmm… I am not sure. Is that meant to be a threat?" he murmured.

"No," Her hand rose to gently trace the contour of his face, her fingertips gliding down his cheek. "It's a promise, from a wife with a 'foul mouth'." And with that, she brought her lips down on his.

A growl threatened to erupt from his throat as he entangled his hand in her hair. Her audacious words, coupled with the daring kiss, sparked a rapid throb in his chest as his heart leapt to life. His blood surged with desire, pooling in his lower body with an intensity that made him hard and aching.

She kissed him with a ferocity that seemed to echo her anger and frustration, invading his mouth like a  brazen intruder, yet she artfully dodged his tongue, teasing him with stolen tastes.

Her hand explored the planes of his chest, her own curves pressing against his side. Her leg slithered up his body, brushing against his agonizingly aroused manhood. His groan of pain and frustration resonated through the silent room, only intensifying as she teased him further, her bare leg rubbing against him while her lips continued their fiery assault. 

With a tantalizing pull on his lower lip, she then abruptly released him, pulling away.

She looked down at him, her eyes gleaming with the same desire that clawed at him. "Oh, I'm so tired," she remarked, artfully retreating from his touch.

He wasn't even aware when his arms instinctively snaked around her, securing her in place. "No." The word escaped his lips in a husked tone. 

"Uh...Rhain," she protested weakly, attempting to extricate herself from his grip. "I'm exhausted. You've taken so much of my blood. I feel fatigued. My head throbs," she complained, with a slight pouch. Then, as if weary of continuing her resistance, she rested her head on his chest. 

The lie! All the energy she had before… where was it? But what could he say? His wife was a good student. He was so close to shoving her to her side, just to see her reaction, but he had almost drained her, and she was cold.

He pulled the covers up higher over them both and adjusted his position to accommodate her better. She offered no resistance and simply allowed him to wrap her against his body. Now with his heart awake and blood rushing, he was heated and could offer her warmth.  He placed her hands between their bodies, offering his warmth to her chilly fingers. After a while, her breaths evened out into the rhythm of deep sleep.

He, however, found himself wide awake, engulfed in a sea of thoughts that left him feeling hollow. No matter what conclusion he reached, it felt as though a part of him was slowly dying. Withering away. 

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