Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

rush of heat.
    “Thank you, my lord, that is much better. Is it always so barren and windswept here?”
    He smiled. “Yes. You like to go out into the sun I suppose, Miss Rutledge?”
    Evangeline kept her rosy face turned away, still too embarrassed to look at him. “Yes, I do, I love flowers and fresh air. Are there many flowers in the gardens?”
    “I don’t know, I’ve never looked,” he remarked absently. “I prefer to walk outdoors in the winter time. I love to walk under a gray sky with a sharp wind blowing. It invigorates me.” He turned his chair 56
    Fyn Alexander
    back to the table and waved her back to her seat.
    “Why did you not marry long ago and gain your inheritance sooner, my lord?” She could scarcely believe they were conversing as though he had not only moments ago touched her body so intimately, causing terrifying sensations to course through her.
    “I had no desire to. Are you really so dreadfully upset about having an arranged marriage?”
    “I will accept it,” she said.
    “You are wiser than I thought, dear girl.”
    The door opened, creaking as everything seemed to creak in the castle. The footman brought a cake piled high with cream and fruits to the table. Evangeline accepted a portion, noticing that the servant did not bother to offer any to his master. Evangeline placed her napkin back on her lap and began at once to enjoy the smooth, delicious cake.
    “I notice you have eaten very little, my lord, at least, you ate a large portion of meat, but nothing else. Is that usual for you?”
    Raven reached out to the silver fruit bowl which sat between them and took a bunch of black grapes. “I have limited tastes,” he agreed, beginning to nibble the fruit. “Do you enjoy that sort of thing?” He pointed at the sweet mound on her plate with obvious distaste.
    Evangeline ate another large mouthful and nodded. “Would you care to try a little?” She forked up a smudge of the airy concoction and held it out to him. After looking at the offering in alarm for several seconds, he threw caution to the wind and leaned forward, delicately taking the cake in his mouth. Evangeline had the distinct impression that had he allowed his manners to desert him completely he would have spat it out. Instead, he grabbed his glass and swallowed the cake with a large mouthful of wine and another to wash it down.
    “You don’t like it?”
    “It’s disgusting. Will you require such things served often?”
    “Yes, I will,” she assured him, enjoying his horror.
    “But it’s horrible.” He leaned forward suddenly, as he was wont to Sanguinarian 57
    do.
    Grasping her wineglass, Evangeline was surprised by his sudden movement, and she cracked it accidentally against her desert plate.
    The fine glass shattered, a small splinter lodging in her hand. With a cry, she pulled out the glass and sat watching the blood ooze out.
    There was very little pain—it was merely disconcerting and unpleasant. “Oh dear.” she reached for her napkin.
    Before she had it in her hand Raven lunged at her. Evangeline screamed, pushing at the floor with both feet until her chair slid away from the table. Raven was on his knees before her, her wrist caught painfully in his hand until her bleeding wound was at his lips. For a moment she thought wildly that he was kissing it better, just as Mrs.
    Brackett had done when she was a child. Then, in sheer horror, she realized he was sucking the blood from the small wound, sucking hard and intently. Leaning as far back as she could to remove herself from contact with him, Evangeline remained paralyzed, shocked at the depravity of the act.
    When at length Raven looked up, all Evangeline saw before she fainted were his eyes gleaming yellow in the candlelight and her blood running down his chin.

    * * * *

    It took twenty minutes, even at Raven’s long-legged stride, to walk to the far side of the castle—the part which had been for so long in the most appalling disrepair. Down the length of a crumbling corridor he walked to a heavy studded wooden door. The iron ring handle grated as he turned the mechanism. The tower was solid on the ground floor, but the upper floors were derelict and unusable.
    Quiet footsteps approached him and Munk’s low-pitched voice whispered, “My lord, the maids have just settled the mistress for the night.”
    “Has she been well this evening, Munk?” The love and concern 58
    Fyn Alexander
    Raven bore for his sister was always foremost in his