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BLOOD AND WINE AND ROSES

The thorn has pierced my finger, pierced my skin. My blood wells up, a bead of life that rises and gleams in the moonlight. Black. Reflecting the slit of a dying moon.

The roses are all about me. Their velvet blooms are damask, Bourbon, musk, they swell like the breasts of harlots and their scent is sweet as sin. My crystal goblet holds blood-red wine, drained of its colour by moon and stars.

The stars prick holes in the fabric of night. I long for the sun, but its touch is my doom. I gaze at the bead of blood. Black as the blooms of my roses. Black as the wine in the goblet. Blood and wine and roses. And so we go round again.

I gulp my wine. The hunger grows upon me.

Once the roses were pink and fair. I remember the brilliance of day. I remember a playmate, his name was Alfric, I think. I pricked my finger on a briar rose and he bound it in his kerchief.

The world was innocent then.

I walked in sunlit meadows, but slept in the virgin’s chamber, guarded like gold. My father drank, he diced, some say he wenched, but I loved him. I turned my gowns about and went ill-shod, but I held my head in pride of my ancient name.

One day my father seemed drawn and ill, a twin red blemish beneath his throat and shadows under his eyes. ‘Dove, you are to be wed. A lord has asked for you.’

“Dove” was my name, strange for a dark-browed maid.

I felt my interest quicken. ‘What lord, Father? Why does he ask for me?’

‘He offered a goodly settlement.’ My father looked abashed.

‘Is he so ill-favoured then?’ I sighed.

‘He is good to look upon.’ My father’s voice was heavy. ‘I will miss my dove.’

‘You have given consent.’

‘I have.’ He plucked his sleeve. ‘But he asks consent from you. You must be willing.’

I bit my lip in thought. A kind lord, sure, to want no unwilling bride.

‘He comes from an ancient line,’ said my father. ‘You consent?’ There was a terrible eagerness in his eyes.

I truly loved my father, but I had pride. I was tired of turning my gowns.

I gave consent.

I thought to have time to compose myself, but the lord awaited me now in the nuptial chamber. He had slept today, my father said, but would soon be waking.

The village beldame readied me; she snatched away my gown and washed me with milk and wine.

‘Milk to your breast,’ she chanted, ‘milk to your lily-white throat. Unmarked, unblemished, untaken, a maid for her master’s delight. Milk to your breast and lily-white throat, wine, red wine to your secret parts to make you strong and sweet for him. You’ll need your strength, m’lady. Drink this cup. It will ease your apprehension.’

I drank the wine, it was filled with petals of roses. The beldame filled the goblet again and dashed it against my belly. The red, red wine poured down my thighs like blood. I cried aloud as the wine stung secret places. The goblet shattered upon the hearth, twin shards leapt to pierce my neck and blood ran down to mingle with wine.

I felt no pain, but stemmed the blood with my fingertips. I brought them to my lips and tasted blood and wine.

The beldame clothed me in muslin. It clung to my breasts and belly, it clung to my thighs. It was stained with blood red wine.

‘I cannot be wed like this,’ I cried, but my tongue was thick in my mouth.

‘This is your lord’s desire,’ she said, and crowned me with blood-red roses.

I might have fled my father’s house, a shivering, shift-clad bride, but my pride burned high with the wine. I would not be seen in a soaking shift, my body exposed to the lewd gaze of the servitors.

The sun had died, the sunset had streamed like a banner. Too soon I came to the door of the chamber, the dark-hung nuptial chamber. My father waited there.

‘Dove,’ said my father. His face was ghastly. ‘You shall not wed him, Dove! I repudiate the match!’

In the candle-light I saw the welt on his neck. I saw it ooze a drop of blood, another and another. Blood was flowing, drop by drop, my father’s life was bled away. He fell to his knees, half swooning.

I tried to stanch the blood but it oozed between my fingers. ‘You - shall not - wed him - Dove,’ said my father. ‘Not for my worthless - life.’

The blood ran faster, spattering the oaken floor.

The door sprang wide before us. Starlight blanched the windows, ran like rivers of velvet, iced the blood that ran from my father’s throat.

I raised my eyes to see the shadowed form of the one I was to wed.

‘Lord!’ I gasped. ‘My father bleeds!’

‘And would you stanch the blood?’ The words were soft and cold. ‘Dove, would you stanch your father’s blood?’

‘It runs too free!’ I wailed.

‘You will be my wife? Willingly, body and soul?’

‘Help my father!’ I pleaded.

‘You will be my wife?’ said the lord. ‘Willingly, body and soul?’

‘Please!’ I wept, and I saw him in the candle-light, in the starlight, through my tears. His form was young and powerful, his eyes were black as pitch and old as the darkness, glinting under a hood.

‘You will be my wife?’ he said again. ‘Willingly, body and soul?’

‘Yes, yes, yes! I will be your wife... I am your wife... Whatever you say, whatever you ask, if only you help my father!’

‘Then so it be. My wife, body and soul.’ His voice was velvet with triumph and my flesh crept on my bones.

My hands were pressed to my father’s throat, I felt the pulse of life regain its strength. And still I didn’t understand. And if I had, what could I have done? If my father died, and I unwed, there would have been none to protect me from the wolves. Lords and lackeys, they’d come, and use me for their pleasures.

Better the pleasures of a noble lord, no matter how dark he seemed.

The dark lord raised me up. He bent and brushed his fingertips against my father’s throat. The punctures sealed, empurpling, appearing as seamed old scars. My father’s breath came easily.

‘Wine and beef,’ said the lord. ‘And let the beef be bloody as you please.’

My father’s servants carried him to his chamber. None of them looked at me. There I stood, in my father’s house, wet with wine and blood and crowned with roses, and none of them looked at me.

The shuffle of feet died in the silence, the lanterns passed from my sight. I stood with the lord who owned me, body and soul. The candle smoked and died, it was tallow and poor. The dark lord gave me a golden ring for my finger. He kissed my hand and I shivered. ‘I take you for my wife,’ he said. ‘My wife until day or the dagger.’

Into the chamber he led me, crowned with bridal roses.

There was a lamp within that shone with phosphorescence. The light streamed blue and strange like the corpse-light of the marshes. My husband put back his hood. ‘Let me look at you.’

His black gaze pierced. So dark, so cold, so ancient. And yet - his voice was gentle to my ears. He was dressed in black for his wedding night, black breeches, I supposed, and the full black hooded cape. His shirt was white and ruffled, and his hands were finely made. His flesh was smooth as marble, and as pale. His hair, I saw, was lustrous; raven-dark.

His laughter was low and pleasing. ‘A goodly thought, my Lady Dove. I shall be your Raven. A better name than many I have suffered.’

‘What is your true name, Lord?’ My mouth was dry with fear and yet - there was a trembling deep inside me that was not fear. Pride bade me meet his gaze.

‘Call me Raven,’ he said. ‘I have many names; this pleases me more than most.’ He raised the lamp and his face became more solemn. ‘What has been done to my dove? Why do you tremble?’

‘The beldame washed me with wine and milk.’

‘Foolish superstition!’

‘She said it would make me sweet and strong.’

‘You are sweet and strong as you need to be. Take off the gown. You will take a chill and your blood will run thick and cold.’

I had no wish to remove my only garment. ‘Sleep, my lord,’ I said. ‘Call for a posset, and rest from your travels again. It is late and you are weary.’

Raven laughed. ‘For me, my dove, it is early. I have slept and am much refreshed. But here is a posset, see?’

He took a brew from the brazier by the lamp.

‘My father...’ I said.

‘You saved his blood. Take off the gown. Take off the crown of roses.’

I edged towards the door, but Raven was before me. ‘Take off your gown,’ he said again.

I was cold, I was strained and tired. The chamber door was barred. I removed the shift and cleansed the blood from my hands and arms on its folds.

‘Drink this posset,’ he said. ‘It will dull your suffering when I take you.’

‘Why should I suffer?’ I whispered. ‘The village girls take pleasure from their lovers. Am I less than a village wanton?’

‘Pain is pleasure. Take off the crown of roses.’

I removed the circlet, piercing my finger on a thorn. A drop of blood welled forth.

‘Ah!’ said Raven. ‘Your skin is fine as silk. Let me stanch the blood.’

I thought he might give me a kerchief, but he took my hand and carried it to his lips. He took my fingertip in his mouth and drew on it hard as a babe draws on its mother’s nipple. I snatched my hand away.

‘Drink the posset,’ he said, and turned aside to fumble beneath his cloak.

I gulped the wine and my trembling grew more.

He came to me and stood naked as a new-born among the silken folds of his cloak. He was well and finely made, his shoulders as broad and his chest as deep as a maid could wish. His legs were strong and his sex hung like some heavy, exotic fruit. The strange blue light made him gleam like a marble man, and my fears grew clamorous. I had never seen a full-grown naked man, but I knew the village talk. I knew that drooping sex would swell and thrust its ruthless entry to my body.

‘Come, my dove,’ said Raven. ‘I shall teach you pain and pleasure.’

‘I need to wash myself,’ I said. ‘I am stained with wine and milk.’ I retreated as far as I might, but again he stood before me, a man of marble and night.

‘Fear not, Dove, you shall be cleansed.’

I cowered, but he moved like a great dark bird, swinging me into his arms. ‘You fear me, Dove,’ he breathed. ‘You must not fear, it will sour the blood in your veins.’ Clasping me he sank onto the bed. He bent his head and I braced myself for the touch of mouth on mouth. Instead, I felt his tongue on my shoulder, drawing a languid path along my arm. And surely he could feel the beat of my blood.

‘Milk,’ he said. ‘Mild and sweet, but I am not a babe.’ He drew the path to my breast, a place no man had touched.

I felt a surge beneath my thighs, where his sex was rising against me. I struggled to free myself, but his mouth was drawing from my flesh sensations the like of which I had never dreamed. I writhed in his arms, he laved the other breast with his mouth, firm warm strokes that seemed to hurl me tumbling through the night. I had lost my way, but he held me close against him. He turned to lay me down. The velvet was cold against my skin. And then he was close beside me, his hands on my arms to hold me down, licking, licking me clean of the blood-red wine. His breath warmed my belly and my secret place was hot and throbbing.

I tried to cover myself, but my arms were pinned, my legs were limp as a new-born lamb’s. And still my dark lord cleansed me with his mouth. My hips, my thighs, my belly, cleared of the residue of wine. My legs, my hands and arms. My belly again, in sweeping strokes, and I felt a great weakness upon me. I writhed and drew my breath to cry out my despair, but still the torment continued.

My thighs had been wet with wine, but now they were wet again. I am going to die, I thought. My husband laughed and his breath was hot against me. Then his mouth was touching my secret place and I felt myself spinning through the dark. I heard a high wild keening from my throat. I thrust my hips high from the bed, but he drew his mouth away. His tongue touched once, twice, teasing me to madness.

‘The pleasure and then the pain,’ he breathed, and his weight came down upon me. The cloak fell over us both like a raven’s wings. I felt his sex, now firm as a rod of flesh. It probed my thighs, it brushed the tender place. I gritted my teeth for the thrusting of my maidenhead. I feared the tearing, but strained to be assuaged. His sex was right at the portal, but it quivered and held its ground.

His firm hands left my shoulders and clamped my head, tilting my chin until my throat was clear. His tongue was touching, testing my throat, just as his sex was testing my maidenhead. I thought I would burst asunder with suspense.

Then suddenly - he tensed and rolled away, leaving me cold and burning.

‘You have been broached before!’ he spat, and his eyes, oh his eyes were black as the dawn of time. And oh, the fear in my breast! The blood crawled in its pathways and I seemed to see again the river bled from my father’s veins.

‘Never!’ I gasped. ‘Never, my lord, I swear!’

‘You have been broached before!’ His face contorted with rage. ‘Your worthless faithless father swore you were untasted!’

‘And so I am!’ I gasped. ‘Except by you, Lord Raven.’

‘I tasted blood. You have been broached before.’

His voice was harsh and I feared he was mad. I had spoken the truth.

‘If you tasted blood, it must have been my father’s,’ I stammered. ‘It splashed me while I sought to stem the flow.’

‘Your father’s blood is old and stale.’ He straddled me, forcing me back on the coverlet, his hands bit into my shoulders. He reared away, his sex hard on my belly, his mouth twisting in a snarl. ‘Which of the brotherhood blooded you?’

‘None, I swear!’ I was frantic. ‘You are the only one, my lord, the first to touch my secret places. Try me, Raven, the maiden’s barrier is there!’

‘Hush your babble,’ he snapped. He shifted his weight, his fingers touched my neck and I winced with pain. ‘These puncture wounds, do you take me for a fool? Which of the brothers has supped on you today? Speak, or I’ll drain you here and now, and then I’ll drain your father.’

‘I tell you...’ My voice was incoherent with fear. This Raven was a madman, a beast in the guise of a man. And yet -

What was the warmth in my secret place, the place that throbbed with his nearness? Why were my nipples aching for his touch? My head spun, the cold blue light streamed down. His fingers pressed my throat and I felt the first thin trickle of blood as the small wounds opened.

‘A feeble creature, he!’ cried Raven, flinging back his hair. The light of the lamp gleamed on his face, gleamed on ivory fangs that showed in a snarl. Back he drew, back again, arching as a serpent does to strike. And when he struck, it would not be poison that would dim my eyes in death. It would be shock and loss of blood as he drained me dry. For now I saw what I had refused to know.

And in my terror I suddenly sensed salvation.

The blood ran, a thin stream to my breast. ‘Fool,’ I said. ‘My dark Lord Raven of the night! You blind and stupid fool! Is your pride such a pitiful thing? Are your loins so weak you need reason to cast me aside?’

I thought he hesitated, so I forced myself to continue. ‘How could a broken goblet stand as a shadow of you, a lord of the brotherhood of night?’

‘A broken goblet?’ His voice was cold as the starlight, cold as ashes from a funeral pyre.

‘The old woman dropped the goblet, it smashed and cut me a little.’

The madness left his eyes.

‘Send for the beldame,’ I said. ‘She saw the goblet fly. She can swear I was quite unblemished until then.’

‘I have done you a wrong,’ he said. ‘I shall not drain you now. But betray me, Dove, and know your blood is mine! Not the ritual drop I sip tonight, but every welling mouthful from your veins.’

I dabbed at the blood that reddened my breast. I leaned against the pillows, my body bared to this creature of the night. This thing that fed on blood in the guise of a man. I feared him still, with a darkly sick excitement. And yet - where is a maid who need not fear her man? Where is a man who may not be a beast who kills?

The creature’s eyes were black, his face was marble. And yet, the raven hair and the curving crimson lips - and yet, the goodly form and the winning voice.

‘You fear me, Dove,’ he said. ‘You know my nature.’

‘I should have known before.’ My throat felt bruised and I raised my hand to explore it. ‘A wedding by night, my father’s horror. I should have known.’

His eyes dilated, he took my hand away and touched my breast. And his touch stirred madness and danger. ‘Understand, my dove,’ he said, ‘as most men’s fancy is stirred by breast and buttock, as most men savour sweat and the sap of your womb, so my kind lusts for a slender neck and blood is the juice that drives us mad with passion.’

‘Then my body cannot stir you, clothed or not.’ I swear, I felt the lash of wounded pride. I had a slender waist and rosy breasts, and yet they meant nothing to him, nothing but a rude support for the throat and the blood he craved.

Raven’s fingers probed for my wrist where the blood flowed under the skin. ‘Your body brings you to fever pitch,’ he said. He caressed my naked breast with his mouth. I gasped, for fear those fangs would pierce me, but he soothed me with his hand. ‘Your body brings you to such a pitch, you lose your apprehension, you lose yourself in me. Let me show you, Dove, the pain and pleasure. Let me show you the madness we can share.’

What could I do? To resist would have angered him. To have screamed would have shamed me and horrified my father. And - if I read him right - my life was safe while I pleased this monstrous lord. And only then.

‘Let me show you, Dove. You must be willing.’

‘I don’t like pain,’ I said. ‘I warn you so you’ll understand if I cry out.’

‘Pain is pleasure and pleasure is pain, of a kind. Come to me, Dove, my beautiful dark-browed maiden... ride the river of night in my arms.’

He had claimed my body held no lure for him, yet he took me slowly to the pitch I had suffered before. How well he knew his work!

His tongue lapped over my belly, breast and thighs, then probed my secret places until I ached and moaned and grasped at him as if I were a drowning woman and he a spar. His hands played with my breasts, and if those long fine fingers lingered most often on the places where the blood was coursing close, perhaps it was not so strange. He straddled me, his sex was firm against me, with every probe it carried me closer and closer to the edge... his mouth was on my shoulder.

I might have flinched away, but my secret centre wanted him. My thighs gaped shamelessly, my back was arched. My breath was panting. And then he thrust inside me. The pain was sharp and swiftly spent.

He lay for a moment, stroking my flanks with his hands, then thrust until I thought I would explode. And then I did, and as the darkness shattered, I felt the grim cold pain of a second penetration, as the creature took its pleasure at my throat. The long strong body quivered, I heard the gulping sighs, I felt the weakness as my blood was drawn away. Again and again the draught was supped, and then he spasmed fiercely, raised his head to cry out, then dropped exhausted upon me, our flesh still limply joined while my life’s blood ran.

And so we lay on our marriage bed, marble limbs adrift on night-black velvet, surrounded by the smell of blood and wine and roses.

Raven touched my bruised and aching neck with his fingertips. And soon the pain had faded. I kept my eyes closed tightly, fearing to see his mouth besmeared with blood. A carrion-feeding creature, a vile cruel leech, yet at his hands I had crossed to a magic country. I would never be the same again.

I knew I would not become as he. The brotherhood fed on blood for power as well as lustful purpose. If visited once, a victim would recover, or he might be held in thrall until he bled away. To the dark ones of the brotherhood, my kind were merely cattle, wells to be plundered, pawns to be bent to their will.

My husband rose and I ventured to open my eyes. My hands seemed almost transparent, and weakness washed over me.

I’m dying, I thought. My life will pay for my father’s whim. And I wondered why Raven had wed me. Why not slake his lust in the night and go?

‘Not so, my dove,’ said my husband. He had wrapped himself in the cloak, and his eyes burned down on me. He was good to look upon, with his gravely chiselled mouth. It seemed wild to believe him a monster.

‘I am dying,’ I murmured. ‘My lips are cold.’ I could hardly form the words. ‘My breast is cold and my hands... I cannot feel my hands.’

‘Poor Dove, you tempted me with a rare bouquet. A sip became a banquet. Rest you assured, it will not be so again.’

‘Not if I die of the cold,’ I whispered. ‘I feel the cold of the grave.’

Raven’s visage darkened. ‘You will not die,’ he hissed. ‘Not until I will it. If you do... be sure your father will pay for your inconstancy.’

‘What has my father done to you? He gave consent to our union.’

‘He spent the dower I gave him and asked it of me again. When I demurred, he reviled me, and said he’d never give his dove to me. I fed on him in vengeance, but he weakened again at the last. It is your consent that has saved him, not his own.’

‘It was you who caused his agony.’ I was desolate.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘His own dishonour paid him out in pain.’

He fetched me a posset and held me up to drink it, he cleansed chill sweat from my body with rose-petal water. And then he held me close to his breast. With the silken black of his cloak, the marble of his flesh, I was warm at last in body, if not in spirit.

I woke as the dawn was flushing the sky with rose. I stirred, and my limbs were weak but whole. I touched my breast and my body yearned for more. The blackness came over my vision and I knew my monstrous husband awakened a lust that consumed me, body and soul. And yet - he had callously harmed my father.

I rose from the bed and dragged a coverlet round my nakedness. I trailed to the window and peered through the casement panes. If I sprang from the window I would be cut by glass, I would dash my life away on the stones below. And then my father would pay for my release. I turned my back on the breaking dawn and looked at the form of darkness in the bed. His face was turned towards me, he frowned a little in repose and my heart gave a salmon leap to see him there. And then he opened his eyes.

A spasm touched his face as the sun’s rays stroked the sill. A twist of pain and his grim lips parted. ‘Bar the window, Dove, bring down the shade and fasten down the shutters. I cannot bear the light.’ The words were cool, the voice was calm, his face was full of pain.

I could have flung wide the casement and let the sun stream in, but I barred the window, I fastened the shutters close. The beckoning day was shut away.

‘Come to your husband, Dove.’

Death from the window had called me, the undead called me away. I took a reluctant step or two and he held out his arms to me. My legs were shaking, my heart ran wild, the veil of the wine was torn away. The beast of darkness called me wife and I called the beast my husband.

If I had known what I know tonight I would have leapt to my death and damned my father. I did not leap, I embraced the dark and so I have damned myself.

We stayed in the nuptial chamber and no-one came. I ached to have him take me again, but he slumbered like the dead. Meat and wine was left outside our door. The day was sinking in darkness when Raven stirred. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘It is time we were on our way.’

‘How shall we find a coach tonight?’

Raven laughed. ‘We ride the wings of night, my lady. Unbar the window now.’

I opened the casement, and Raven dressed in his cloak. I would have called for apparel but he told me no. ‘I’ll have nothing more of your faithless, whining father.’ He leapt to the sill, his cloak streamed in the wind. ‘Come!’ he said, his eyes compelled and I stood on that dizzy ledge in his arms. He laughed in a way that chilled me, and then he leapt from the sill.

I screamed my terror into the wind, but somehow the wind was bearing us up, black as a monstrous bird across the dark. I screamed and his mouth was hushing me, and the hunger rose in my loins. He took me on the wind, and I screamed anew. Doubt not that shambling poachers cowered in fear.

And so we came to his castle of blood and wine and roses.

The blood was mine, it was sipped from my veins whenever the hunger was on him. The wine was dark, and it buoyed me, dulling my pain when he took me again and again. And the roses, ah, the roses! I wandered by day through the gardens where the roses bloomed dark as my blood. The buds unfurled like my secret place, the thorns were sharp as the fangs that broached my veins. By day I wandered in roses, by night I was drawn to the sharpest pain, the wildest ecstasy. I moaned when his sex thrust in me, I screamed when his fangs took hold. The darkness shattered in fragments, and the quiet was roused by his sighing gulps as he plundered my flowing blood.

‘I take too much,’ he told me. ‘You are growing thin and pale.’

But my body was yearning for him, I was given to pleasure and pain. ‘Take me, Raven,’ I whispered, and I parted my thighs and bared my neck and clenched my teeth as he pierced my flesh. And oh, the flames of my lust burned high till I feared they would consume me.

And so the time went on.

By day, the roses and the sun, by night we sometimes rode the wind. I saw the trees and dwellings pass below, but all I knew was the strength of my husband’s arms and I begged him soon to take me home to the chamber.

And so it might have been while my body held to life, but one night a brother of darkness came to the castle. His hair was white, his marble skin was marred by a livid burn. One eye was black, the other held milky blankness. One arm was charred to nothingness. He gave a terrible smile and caught my hand. ‘So, Lady Dove, you see what the eye of the day can do to our kind. The sun can smite us so in a blink of an eye. A blade through the heart is surer, but the sun is what we fear, we folk of darkness.’ He stared at me with his one black eye and his tongue caressed his fangs.

I thought him most repulsive.

‘Your lord is fair to look upon, but beneath the flesh we are both the same.’

‘My lord is my love,’ I said.

‘He sups too well on your bounty.’

‘I am strong.’

‘And sweet, I’ll vow.’ His fangs were brown, stained with the blood of whatever carrion he drank. I doubt he’d find a willing man or maid. ‘I shall sup with your lord tonight.’

His words asked hospitality, but he made his meaning plain. He parted his cloak and showed me his wrinkled sex, a monstrous thing.

‘You may share our wine and meat, and nothing more,’ I said.

‘I will share your blood and lay my seed in your roses.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I am Raven’s.’

‘I shall ask,’ he said with confidence, ‘and you will see. We brothers of darkness share.’

He asked, and Raven laughed. ‘Get you gone, Balliono! None shall share in my wedded wife!’

‘He seemed so sure...’ I murmured. ‘I fear he may come by stealth.’

‘He would not dare!’ Raven’s eyes were cold. ‘He would not dare, my lady, and neither will you betray me, not with Balliono, nor any other.’

‘Never, Lord.’ His eyes excited me, and I dragged up my gown like a wanton. ‘Take me here!’ I cried.

Raven’s eyes flashed darkness, he parted his cloak and slaked his lust as I slaked mine. High on his sex I rode, and his fangs were deep in my veins. We fell to the floor and still the flames were raging.

Other brothers came, and some were good to look upon. Some were ghastly-faced and I flinched away. Each dark brother touched my hand and said he’d sup with us. Raven answered all as he had answered first.

‘I do not share my wife, she is mine alone.’

‘As long as she lasts,’ hissed a brother, tucking away his disappointed sex. ‘You’ll drain her soon and then you’ll be back on the hunt. Cold sour blood will be your lot when she’s wasted.’

I didn’t walk among the roses now. The scent beguiled me in my chamber, and Raven cut great flowers with the night-dew on. Why should I seek the day that was barred from him? We no longer rode the wind of night.

My limbs were weak, my thoughts were often languid, but my desires were burning deep and dark as his. And oh, the nights we spent, with his sex strained deep within me, and oh, his tongue as he tasted me, and his magical, sparkling fangs.

Once in our frenzy he gulped too much of my blood. I spasmed and sank in a swoon. I woke to the grey of dawn-light, and Raven standing by our bed. His eyes burned black with pain.

‘Come to me Raven,’ I whispered, but he snarled and turned away.

‘Take me, Raven! I’m burning for you!’ Indeed, I was half on fire. I pulled away the collar that warmed my neck. I tilted my head until my throat was straining. I felt the punctures begin to ooze but the flow was weak and pale. ‘Come to me, Raven,’ I said, but his face convulsed and he flung away. He sprang to the sill of our chamber and launched himself on the wind, his cloak like wings.

He left me unassuaged and I touched the place that throbbed for him, and

could not ease the ache.

He came before the dawn, and closed and barred the window, then poured a glass of wine.

‘Where have you been?’ I cried.

‘Go out to the roses, Dove,’ he said, and he did not look on me.

‘I will not go!’

‘I order you, body and soul. Have you forgotten?’

‘You were hunting maids to sup upon,’ I flung.

‘I do what I must and shall.’

He had taken off his shirt, and I screamed with rage and bared my teeth, my fingers clawed his breast. A trickle of blood welled forth and it was black. The sight struck shock in me. I stemmed the flow with my finger and raised it to my lips. Raven struck away my hand with a force that sent me reeling. He dashed the wine across my face, then drew me to his breast. ‘Dove, ah Dove, I do it to spare your strength.’

‘Cut out my heart, but do not hunt other maids!’ I sobbed.

He held me close and soothed me, but he held to his resolution and left me be. He kept to another chamber and did not take me again for many days. I was mad with unslaked lust, but my strength returned.

A sister of darkness came to the castle and said she’d sup with us. I drew back in sudden distaste, but Raven laughed. ‘My cousin does not suck maids, my dove, she beguiles red-blooded men.’

The vampess nodded. ‘And they so willing to be beguiled,’ she said. ‘No sour cold blood for me. They plunder my sex while I plunder their throats, and so both are satisfied.’

I believed her boast, for Mathilde was a glowing beauty. Her hair was fire, her eyes were green, her lips were bright as roses. ‘I may sup with you, Dove?’ she asked. ‘Since I have no lust for your blood?’

‘We have beef and wine to offer,’ I replied.

We supped and Raven went to fetch me roses. Mathilde leaned forward and took my hand. She turned it in her grasp and her eyes were grave. ‘My Lady Dove,’ she said, ‘may I offer advice?’ She did not wait for my answer, but continued with a smile. ‘Your lord is a brother of night. His appetites are mighty.’

‘I match his appetites,’ I cried, ‘I welcome them!’

‘And there is your undoing and maybe his. He fears to drain you and abstinence may turn him cruel. Few of our kind wed for just this reason. Let him roam, my Lady Dove. Let his sup from village maidens. No harm to them, he’ll pay them for his pleasures as I do.’

‘No!’ I cried, and I overturned my stool. I felt my face was twisted in a snarl. ‘I’ll never share my lord, and he’ll not share me!’

‘He must sup maidens if you love your life.’

‘Never!’ I shrieked again. ‘Dare to say this to him, and I’ll stab you to the heart!’

Mathilde recoiled, her fangs showed in a hiss. ‘Then your doom is on you,’ she said simply. ‘You are more damned than we.’

When Raven brought the roses, I doffed my gown, I snatched the dark blooms from him, and clasped them so the thorns plunged through my flesh. My breasts and belly were oozing blood and I flung the roses down and bared my throat.

‘Take me, Raven!’ I screamed, and there, before Mathilde’s green gaze, I offered him blood. I flung myself on the floor and I saw his eyes grow wide with dark desire. He dragged apart his breeches, then his cloaked form fell upon me, and he lapped my blood from the oozing puncture wounds. I writhed beneath his weight, and flung back my head. I knew he couldn’t resist me, the fangs struck home, and while he supped, my eyes met those of the vampess.

‘He is mine,’ I said, and I screamed as his sex found mine.

I woke alone in our chamber, my body bruised and sore. My triumph burned. I knew he’d sup no maids while I held him thralled. I rose and slowly clad myself, then descended to our hall. Mathilde was there with my husband.

‘You have supped, now take your leave,’ I said.

Her eyes were cold. ‘The dawn is coming soon.’

‘Then you must surely fly or turn to ashes.’

Raven hushed me gently. ‘Mathilde remains with us.’ He smiled. ‘I must be gone on my business and I swear, I’ll sup neither men nor maids. I’d not leave you alone, my dove, nor trust the brothers. The word is out and envy running high.’

We slept that day, and the next night he was gone. Day after night he left me, and I would have mourned alone were it not for Mathilde. I had not known how much I missed society. I would not befriend a maid for fear of tempting Raven, but with Mathilde I could be at ease. We spoke of many things, but upon as many more we did not touch.

She never warned me again and in return I was civil. She would speak neither of Raven’s past nor of hers, and she would not tell how they’d joined the brotherhood.

‘You are so young and fair,’ I said. ‘And yet you must live by night.’

‘And so do you, Lady Dove.’

‘I choose to live by night,’ I said. ‘You have it thrust upon you.’

‘One price we pay for the length of our days.’ She sighed. ‘And the other price is blood.’

I thought her my friend, but she could not console me.

Raven was gone for seven days and nights, and then he returned and we slaked our lust again in a kind of madness. And again he drank too deeply, and again I swooned.

I woke alone in the dawn, and I heard him groan. ‘I have sworn I’ll suck no maidens and no men.’

‘Then perhaps I have the answer,’ said Mathilde.

I feared she would say I must return to my father. I feared that in his remorse Raven might agree. I dragged myself from our bed and crawled from the chamber. I was white and thin and mazy, and the punctures in my neck had barely sealed. I should have gowned myself, but I had to prove I held him still in thrall.

I staggered to our hall, and at first I thought it empty. And then - I saw them tangled on the floor. She lay below and he above, and he drank deeply of her blood. He had cast aside his cloak and I saw her nakedness. Her eyes were closed, her head flung back, her mouth was open in a silent scream, her white fangs raked the air. And I saw his body spasm and heard his gulping sighs as he spent his seed.

And then I went quite mad.

I caught up a crystal goblet and flung it against the wall. Roses were crushed and the crimson wine was splattered. I took the greatest shard and I drove it through his heart as he spasmed still. Again and again I drove it home in an ecstasy of passion. Red blood flowed from my wounded hands and black blood ran down his marble sides.

The vampess screamed and scrabbled free, and I turned my lord on his back. His night-dark eyes were dimming as his cursed blood gushed free. And I fell upon the bounty and drank my fill of blood. Then I kissed his mouth for the first and only time.

There is little more to tell. Mathilde fled out in the dawning, and the sunlight struck her to ashes. And I felt a sharpness in my mouth and I knew what I had become. And now I sit in the starlit garden, and cannot bear the day. And round we go again in an age-old story. There is blood and wine and roses, and I must fly tonight. I must find a lord and slake my thirst and slake my lust together. He will scream and so shall I. Screams of pain or ecstasy, and what’s to choose between them?

The hunger is upon me.