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“So what, they're not feeding you or something?” His tone was warm as he came to stand behind her. She didn't turn to look at him.
“Welcome to the party.” Marianne had of course felt him approach, long before bothered to speak. So it wasn't a surprise when the too-tall human form manifested at her side. The heat of him– the warmth of the blood, pulsing beneath his skin ringing in her ears. Told her, and every other Vampire in the ostentatious ballroom exactly where he, or any human was.
That was one of the few benefits of Vampirism. Her species came with the innate ‘prey sense’: knowing where a possible meal was, a hunter's sense . That paired with above-human speed, minor hypno-psychic abilities, low-light vision and uncanny hearing made vampires formidable to humans. Not enough benefits in Marianne's eyes– but it's not like she could change what she was. As a result of thousands of years of evolution, the perfect set of blood-drinking human hunting.
But that was centuries in the past. Now that Vampires and Humans broke bread– figuratively. With dozens of treaties and agreements, that ensured peace. So that rather than the hunting and killing and potential eradication of both parties, they lived in tense peace. Vampires were far too evolved to hunt Humans in the dark anymore, lure them in and suck them dry. Now they were politicians, and businessmen.
That was after all the purpose of the gala. To prove to the humans newly elected heads of state, that the vampires continued to be a harmless symbiotic parasite to the humans. Vampires with their skills, money, and medical expertise, aid human technology and financial backing wide assortments of projects. All in exchange for allowing them to buy blood. A whole business that rose up, from willing donors, as long as they paid the fair price. A win-win. Vampires maintained their evolved status, endless access to pre-packaged blood, for a small fee and the mild inconvenience of negotiating with humans. That was the end of the war.
The war that had ended 20-ish years before, generations of bloodshed brought to an end by Mairanne’s father, and a vampire council that realized vampires would die out long before the humans gave up on fighting back. Treaties that meant Marianne watched her sister grow up from afar. A collateral. A political position held by someone of import, a child. A guarantee, not to negotiate in bad faith when a council member's child or a mayor's sister- when the lives of loved ones hung in the balance. A guarantee, a stake in treaties remaining unbroken.
“How's Dawn?” She asked instead of answering him. Far more interested in hearing about her sister's well-being than explaining her sanctioned hunger strike. Because yeah, they hadn't been feeding her- not enough at least.
“Good, terrorizing my family as always” His tone was even and measured, as always in group settings. Bog was always careful. The son of a human politician, he knew the value of watching what he said.
“-You didn't answer my question” he re-asserted, noticing her clear avoidance of the topic. Glancing around, tense, watching the humans and vampires alike, mingle and chat.
She’d only seen him relaxed a handful of times. Not at galas, or council meetings. Only in brief moments alone, with her or Dawn, or his mother. She couldn't blame him for being tense in groups of vampires. What with one group seeing the other as a monster in the night, and the other that saw them as violent creatures? When it wasn't clear which group thought what? Hence, tension.
Finally turning to Bog, she took in the familiar sight of him. Tall, thin and angular. The grown-up version of the boy she met a decade before. That first time Dawn was sent to live with the humans as Collateral. Proof that Dagda, their father was negotiating in good faith, when his daughter would be the first to die should the human delegates be killed. Bog was wearing a suit, well-tailored and black. She eyed him up and down. He looked good, handsome by human or vampire standards- not that she cared to notice. From his clear blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose, and usually pursed lips. With his hair slicked back he struck an imposing figure.
He returned the perceived glare with his own. Taking her in.
She knew what he would see. And it wasn't as if she chose what she wore. No, that would be thanks to Dagda. The hideous dress had been set out on her bed that evening when got out of the shower. She wouldn't have worn it at all given the choice. But it also just so happened that all of her other clothing had conveniently been taken to be washed. Leaving her just the wretched thing.
Technically she was on house arrest. By order of her father's council– the legal consequences for the assault she’d committed on her guards in a messy situation brought on by Roland being a cheating pig. Free will was not something Dagda prided in either of his children. Breaking it off with Roland, an engagement a decade in the works, a public brawl, including her losing a fang pulling chunks out of guards and almost out of Roland. Had really pissed Dagda off. Enough to limit her freedom as much as any father could, regardless that she was 23.
But she couldn't have left anyway. Where could she have gone? Not too human territory. No, she would need a visa to work– something her father would block. Money to get an apartment– accounts her father would freeze, and dozens of other things that took time to account for and Dagda would impede anyway. Worst of all, because Dawn was still under 18, Dagda had legal rights over her. He could keep one daughter from the other, even arresting Marianne for breaking their laws if he wanted. It sucked.
“She’s been eating? No new fangs? Sleeping? Doing her school work?” She asked, careful to keep her tone happy, neutral. She watched him study her, not even disguising the scrutinizing gaze. He looked curious? No, more than that, cautious? Probably.
She knew what she looked like, it wasn't like she was embarrassed that he studied her. The dress her father had left her, a simple black thing covering her from wrist to collar to ankles disguised most of her figure. Some measure to instill a public image of reserved, composed- demure. Trying to negate the public spectacle of her biting and clawing and swearing bloody murder weeks before. Hence the unassuming modest dress. Dawn would have called it an old maid's dress. Utterly chaste. And miles different from the pants and graphic t-shirts she actually favoured.
The dress would have been too loose to begin with, but her underfed frame did little to aid its fit. The dark eye shadow she wore covered the gaunt circles she knew her lack of sleep brought on. But the shadow wasn't unusual, now it just served a second purpose, rather than the original: reducing her eye shine. That pesky vampire eye reflectance that gave away her species, the gold shimmer if the light hit it right– that humans recoiled from – the eyes of a predator. She rubbed her crossed arms uncomfortably. Aware of how his eyes felt on her, aware of what she looked like- sickly and half dead.
“Is something wrong?” he sounded genuinely worried.
“Why would something be wrong?” with great effort she forced her body into a neutral position, chin up, arms loose with hands clasped at her waist.
“Marianne…” he said with a tone of worry. She hated that tone, low and laced with concern. Warm, warmer than any tone she heard other humans use with her, or amongst her own kind. Fuck him for being nice, she didn't want him being kind for his own political gain. Assuming she could help his political machinations or his parents.
“I simply haven't heard from her in a while” She studied her nail beds rather than looking at him.
“She called you last night, and every other night this week,”
Busted. She was surprised that he noticed, or paid attention to how often Dawn called her. It was good to know he paid attention to Dawn though, a reassurance that she was looked after.
“Well, she could be lying to me, and I won't know if you're starving her until she's home in two months” She was grasping at straws, trying to dissuade him from his investigation.
“You could always come see her for yourself”
“You know I can't” she muttered, watching him from the corner of her eye. He picked up an h'orderve from a passing waiter. Human food. Something Marianne knew very little about.
Keeping her attention on the crowd she ignored the sound of his chewing. A sound that usually drove her insane, but at that moment, only served to highlight the pulse of blood in his throat below his jaw. She was so very hungry.
“What are you talking about?” he asked sounding genuinely confused.
But Bog had to know what Dagda was like. Controlling the passage of all vampires in or out of their territory. Before she could ask, Bog was distracted by one of the humans and a loud uncomfortably forced laugh. Ringing from the throat of a date of one of the politicians. It drew tense looks from all over the crowd. Nothing quite like peace talks to keep humans and vampires alike on edge.
“ You are always welcome to visit Dawn,” his eyes returned to her, briefly. But in that singular moment, Marianne couldn't escape them. The smell of his blood, so rich beneath his skin, she was so hungry, starving and she wanted so badly to brush her fingers along the vein there, at the base of his neck. But his eyes were so blue and clear and earnest, she couldn't look away- then she blinked and the moment passed.
“No, I’m not actually” Her tone was firm.
Bog glanced between her and Dagda. Knowing at once, exactly what she meant. Dadga had glanced at the two of them. His daughter and a politician's son, elbow to elbow at the edge of his all-important Gala. Marianne felt more than saw his grinding jaw, all the way across the ballroom. Dagda’s face flashed, looking annoyed at best- and violent at worst, then settled back into neutral.
They stood for a while, making small talk while Bog snagged bits of food off of trays, and a drink from another. It made her a little woozy to watch. She wouldn't have minded if she weren't already underfed. It was only as she swayed on her feet, Bog brushing his palm over her forearm to steady her that he asked the all-important question again.
“Are they not feeding you? You look half dead” It could have been a joke because she kinda was. Vampires being confused with the undead and all. But no, the concern in his eyes as he turned to her, letting the business of the room fade away. The scent and swell of blood and humans and… him. She took a deep breath.
“Reduced rations” She was too tired and hungry to lie. Two days without feeding was pushing it, and her father knew that. And Bog was one of the first people in weeks she actually talked to. His hand was warm on her shoulder, burning distractingly as he turned her to face him.
“What do you mean?” she could have swooned from either hunger or whatever look Bog was giving her.
“My father has decided to withhold my rations , ensuring I show up at this stupid farce.”
“He’s… he's starving you so you go to a party?”
“Well, I wasn't planning on going”
“You should have come to me,” he said, serious and filled with concern.
“Why?” the snorted in almost laughter. As if. If her own father wasn't going to provide for her, Bog sure as hell wasn't. Besides, she only needed to wait out a few more months. Until Dawn aged out of being collateral and Mairanne could trust she’d be safe and have a job and everything before Mairanne could flee her father's control. Just a few more months.
“We’re friends, I would have-”
“I wouldn't call what we are friends” she cut him off. They weren't friends, not when she had tried to kill him the first time he’d taken Dawn away with him. And the second and third for good measure. No, they were– something else. Yes, they flirted and joked, anything to make her father, the other vampires, the humans uncomfortable. It was fun to get back at those around her. But they weren't friends, and definitely not anything ‘ more than friends’.
“Fine. My mother would have helped you” He was chiding her. Marianne knew Griselda would have taken her in. She was after all the most vampire sympathetic human politician there was. But the idea of it was… she didn't know actually. Maybe she should have reached out. But it was too late now, and her brain was far too hungry to think of what ifs…
He took her by the shoulder and walked her around the edge of the room. Farther from her father and the council members present. Noticing how her father's eyes snapped to her from his place amongst important people. The narrow warning of his gaze made Marianne shiver.
“Do you need to feed?”
“What? You have a bag on you?” she perked up at the thought. Even if she didn't particularly like room-temperature blood, two days of fasting could enlighten any taste buds.
“No, I mean it's an emergency I figured you could, y’know? Feed from me”
She couldn't even disguise the impact of what he said. The taboo of it alone was more than enough shock, to leave her mouth hanging dumbly open. It wasn't something that was done. Or at least not done outside of reciprocal vampire/vampire ‘when a mommy vampire loves a daddy vampire very much’ and that wasn't an area Marianne had any expertise on. Roland had wanted to but she wasn't confident enough to follow through until they were officially married. And that ship had long since sunk and burned.
But feeding of humans? That was an area she knew very little about. There were whispers of course, how it affected humans. The dangerous personal bond it could breed. What her venom and saliva could do to a human? But those were things vampires were too evolved to need, or too want.
“I mean. If it's what you need”
“No” she choked out “No gods no. My reward for not trying to kill anyone tonight is as many bags as I can stomach.” Bog had the decency not to flinch at the mention of blood, the way most humans cringed at the thought.
“That was the deal. If I showed face, brushed elbows, and convinced some other vampire to put up their child as collateral, then Father wouldn't ban me from the Tower and ban me from contact with Dawn.” She was talking, she couldn't stop herself. His hand on her shoulder, still warm, pulsing with blood and heat and concern. She shouldn't. Not. And she’d have to blame it on being two days starved. Or on how angry she was at Dagda for still managing to control her when she was a full adult.
“Besides” She sighed, evening her tone, “I wouldn't want to cause you discomfort”
“It wouldn't be”
“ What ?”
Maybe it was jealousy. That Bog any claim and knowledge of being a feeder. How did he know it wasn't unpleasant?
“What?” he was confused at her outrage.
“What do you mean ‘what?’ Who fed from you? Tell me it wasn't Dawn!”
Her grip was nearly painful on his arm. She needed to know for both their sake. If Dawn was going around feeding from humans- that was dozens of potential outcomes- most of them being another civil war. It was against Vampire law to live feed on unwilling humans- and since no human ever consented it was always illegal. It was a taboo- behind closed doors not to talk about things.
“What, No!” he flinched from her grasp, she slapped his chest, aggravated at her reaction.
“Ouch. What’s that for?”
“Bog tell me you're not… doing that with Dawn,” Why did she care, maybe it was jealousy. That sudden painful jolt of thinking Bog was… with some other vampire, Dawn even?
“No, no, no, not me”
“Wait- Dawn is… with someone else?” That was new information. Dawn had mentioned a crush on a boy in human territory. But to live feed? Repeated live feedings grew bonds that brought mountains of baggage with– Feelings. Dagda would be furious.
“It's not my secret to tell, I just know that- well I’ve heard that… it's not that bad.”
“Fuck off” she looked away from him. Far too tired to think through everything she just learned. Dawn was involved with a human. Bog knew, and Dagda didn't.
“I just meant, I wouldn't mind,” he said it didn't matter, like he didn't know the impact that it could have. Because he didn't. Or did he?
“Besides, I think it would make your dad lose his shit.”
She laughed hard at that. So hard that the shaking cough that followed brought on a wave of dizziness that had her clutching at Bog's fancy suit’s sleeve. She could just about imagine the stupefied look on Dagda’s face. To walk in on his daughter live feeding on a human. A human son of a politician he was so careful to rub elbows with. At a gala, he had to manipulate Marianne into going in the first place. It would boil his blood.
“ Marianne ” His tone was so laced with concern like he was really worried for her. Her eyes could barely focus on him. All she could see was the thrum of blood just below his Adam's apple. She was so very hungry.
He all but dragged her to the garden. Well-barley a garden, a space just off the main ballroom. A partially covered outdoor space when people got so drunk they needed fresh air. A covered patio, with well-managed plants and small tables and chairs littered around. It was beautiful- or it would have been if she stopped focusing on the sound of Bog's heartbeat long enough to see it.
It must have been nearly midnight with the moon so bright and high in the sky. With his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he guided her through the space to a chair under an overgrown canopy as far as possible from the ballroom. Far from the rush of blood and bodies inside. Not that she particularly noticed any other human’s heartbeat inside. Just Bog’s.
Curious .
It was just the two of them.
“You're not going to make it the rest of the night at this rate. You look about to drop dead” She could hear the concern in his voice.
“Don't act like you care Bog” She was just on the side of too woozy as he sat her in a chair.
“Of course I care Marianne” his finger hooked under her chin to bring her face into view. He turned it side to side, Blue eyes meeting hers as he made sure she was responsive. Making sure she could open her eyes and focus them.
“You don't have…? A personal blood bag or something?”
“What like a stash?”
“No like a person, for emergencies.”
“Would you stop bringing up live feedings”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Yeah,” she took a deep breath, settling into the chair, finally taking in the cool night air.
She didn't want to explain it to Bog, but at this rate, she had to. He was asking far too many questions, and hopefully, he would pass the info on to Dawn who was already in way too deep with her live feeder.
So in terse short sentences, she explained it to Bog. Who had the decency not to blush, shiver or cringe at the talk .
Voluntarily reciprocal hematophagy, was the thing that couples, spouses-breeding pairs did. Not that Marianne's scarce time spent with the humans, and lonely life as Dagda’s daughter had given her the experience with. Apparently, when there was a connection, it was addictive–bred dependency and a dangerous precedent as to not kill the doner. Although she had read somewhere that vampire venom, upon multiple feedings, stimulated blood production. Something the humans relied on vampire medical advancements– way out of her knowledge.
“I’m sure you wouldn't suck me dry” the double entendre had Marianne laughing uncomfortably.
“And I know you can't ‘turn me’” he joked, vampires were a race- not a transmittable disease. Har-har
“I wouldn't want to hurt you” and she didn't, she liked Bog. She was noticing now- more than she thought she did. The spike of jealousy at Dawn feeding off him had been anything to go by. The way his hand was warm where it had settled on her arm or shoulder or knee.
“I’ve heard it doesn't”
“What?” she hated asking, she still didn't want to know what he knew.
“I’ve heard it doesn't hurt. Your venom or something?”
“Who the hell is Dawn feeding from?”
“Sworn to secrecy”
“Jesus Christ”
“Hey I thought you couldn't say that?” he was smiling at her like it was some big joke.
“That's an Urban legend” she snarked, and he dared to laugh. A full chest chuckle that had his head fall back slightly. Just enough to show off the tendons of his neck- the veins- his carotid artery, blood so close. So close.
“Well, the offer stands”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, why not? Besides, It’ll Piss Dagda off”
“Really?”
There was part of her, a loud part, that jumped and howled and begged to do it. She could feel his pulse, the thrum in the air, how alive, how rich how- good it would be.
“I can't” Maybe it was the animal part of her that wanted to. The vampire instinct. Thousands of years of evolution. That she was suppressing, pushing away the want.
“Why not?”
“It would mean things” Her tone was odd. She didn't realize the connotation until after it hung in the air between them.
“What things?” he was standing. Too close, his blood was too close as she looked up at him. She wanted him closer. She could feel the ache of it in her fangs. The itch that pulled her from the chair. She was standing in front of him– following the taste of his blood in the air. Her Body was moving of its own accord.
“Mean that we are something…” she trailed off,
“Something?”
“Different than friends”
“Okay. And?”
“We’re not” She didn't sound so sure.
“Arn’t we?”
“No”
“Why not?” his eyes. So blue in the moonlight bright with something. Something that looked like hope
“Because…” -Why? Because–Because he didn't think of her like that.
“We could be?” his tone was something soft. Sweet. Pleading. Like he really did want it. It was like things shifted into focus. Maybe he hadn't been flirting with her only to get a rise out of her father. And maybe he had not singled her out at meetings, Gala- parties she didn't want to be at, he kept her company as a friend… joked with her, and been nice to her for political gain. Fuck. Did Bog like her?
“Oh.”
Oh.
Everything was blurry. Everything except his arms came up around her.
“ You want me to ?”
“Yes,” it was an almost strangled sound. Desperate.
Oh.
Oh fuck
He was taller than her, perfectly tall. Her nose was at the perfect height to press into the column of his neck when she craned her face up to him. He had leaned forward, head tilted forward and to the side, offering it to her.
Perfect, just enough to give her space. To press the barrest kiss to the side of his neck. She could taste him. The rush of his blood, there just below his skin. The quickening of his pulse- a predator at his throat spiking his heartbeat.
His jugular, so close- thrumming. She brushed her tongue across it, fangs aching to just sink in. But no, she needed the perfect place. Too low and her jaw would be blocked by his collar bone and she wouldn't be able to latch properly– risk losing precious drops, she couldn't risk wasting it. His blood would be too precious, sweet and syrupy, it couldn't go to waste. If she went too high? The vein would be delicate so close to the brain. It would be too much blood, too quickly, and dangerous for him. Then thousands of years of instinct clicked- mouth open, fangs finding the perfect spot.
She was lost for the moment, then she could taste him. Maybe it was thousands of years of evolution, to make blood taste so good, to ensure vampires wouldn't shy from the concept of hunting and blood drinking to survive.
But no blood bag, packaged, heated, room temperature or fridge cold had ever tasted like him. So perfect, so sweet and smooth and like being alive again. Her fangs left two perfect ports, his blood flowing at a rate she could swallow every drop.
Her ears rang with a strangled moan, it took a second to realize it was her own. Under her hands, Bog's chest thrummed with his own rumbling moan in return. A sound she could taste. A deep, bassy sound that tickled perfectly against her lips at his throat.
His arms were moving, from chastely at her back, lower and lower, tighter and tighter. Burning their bodies flushed together. Then she was wrapped around him, hips against him, his hands on her legs that wound around his waist. Her hands came up around his shoulders, one in his hair and the other on the back of his neck. As if to keep him from fleeing from her bite. But she needn’t have held him there, he was pressing further into her.
Her dress had ridden up, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was her mouth on his neck. The full feel of his blood in her mouth, running like fire in her throat. The tingling spread from her stomach lower, burning through her limbs. Ricocheting through her body like electricity.
Satisfaction. That's what he tasted like, satisfaction. Then his hips bucked against hers, the firmness of his erection against her underwear. Burning. No, definitely not friends. She drank her fill. Each swallow savoured every drop. Imbibing his blood-drinking him.
Slowly, slowly the flow of it tempered. Moving from strong demanding gulps as his blood rushed out of him, to gentle sips, then as the proteins in her venom caused the clotting. All she could do was lav gentle kitten licks against the puncture. Bog was moaning, gently sighing with each touch of her tongue.
Then he was kissing her, one hand cradled under her ass, the other threaded through her hair. His mouth tasted like- blood. Because he was licking and sucking his way into hers. Between that and the grind of his hips against her, he wrung filthy moans from her. Embarrassing sounds that she didn't care to muffle.
She felt alive, as if for the first time in her life she could see colors at full saturation. Slowly- slowly they calmed down. Pulled back from each other, and let her legs fall to the ground, but he didn't let her out of his arms.
“Lightheaded?” she asked, fingers playing at the short hairs at the base of his skull.
“Not from Blood loss”
“I didn't take too much?”
“Hmmmm” he settled his mouth against her neck, kissing and sucking in slow movements. She was flushed, as every vampire would post-feeding. She felt warmer, brighter– and more energized. A thing any vampire in the ballroom would notice. A fact she couldn't seem to care about.
“Come home with me” he kissed below her ear, sucking gently.
“That's not a question” she relished under his attention.
“Come home with me, Please?”
By the time they had unwrapped themselves from each other the party inside was winding down. But there were just enough high-ranking dignitaries that Dagda could only bite his tongue as Marianne strutted through the ballroom. Maybe he knew what went on under his nose, by the blood flushing her skin alone, all he could do was grind his teeth and watch his daughter trapeze out of the party. But Bog’s hand was warm in hers, pulling her along. It felt as though no one else mattered to Bog, it was just her.
She believed it.