Ailsa
I feel a ripple in the air when I wake up, and my body aches in a new way. I push the covers away with great effort, flexing my muscles and mentally checking over myself, desperately trying to find the issue.
Just as I'm about to lift my nightgown and inspect my chest, the door flies open as my maid comes bustling in, drawing the curtains and coming to my aid without having to say a word.
Slipping from my bed and allowing Gentry to dress me for the day, I can't help stopping to massage my collar bones as the feeling seems to grow and spread.
It's uncomfortable. Nagging. It's becoming something I cannot simply ignore.
It feels like something is sitting on my chest. Constricting and pushing until there's no room for air to enter.
Gentry fluffs the bottom of my gown, sitting me at my vanity as she begins arranging my unruly hair with a comb.
"What's wrong? Are you having an attack, lass?" She wonders, words colored in concern.
I close my eyes, gripping the table until my fingers hurt, trying to concentrate on this new sensation.
"I'm not..." I gasp, closing my eyes tighter. "Sure." I finish, filling my lungs with a long drag.
I can breathe, it just hurts.
My nose twitches and my eyes fly open when an unforgettable smell wafts through my nostrils. My smelling salts, pungent and determined to fix me. Gentry holds the vile beneath my nose, cradling my head with her other hand as she lets me inhale.
"Alright, that's enough." I say, trying to pull away as my head begins to spin. "I'm fine, Gentry, I promise."
The lie makes my mouth dry, but at least the horrendous salts are dragged away as quickly as they appeared.
I put a hand to my temple as the feelings continue to swirl and swarm like a hive of bees determined to attack. What is going on?
When gentry is finished detangling my messy, blonde locks, I pull away, not meeting her eyes.
Gentry nears my bed, pulling on the sheets and furs covering it as she tidies and folds, humming a little tune. I put my hand on her elbow, a silent plea for her to stop.
"I'm not having an attack, but I have to admit that I am not feeling well this morning. Would it be alright if I rested today?" I used the weakest most vulnerable voice that I can muster, feeling pathetic.
I realize I am the lowest form of life there is as sympathy colors my greatest friend's warm, kind eyes.
"You are actually volunteering to rest? Do my ears deceive me? Has the world ended?" Gentry rants with merch, her shoulder shaking as she laughs. "I can hardly believe what I'm hearing, lass. I'm shocked."
Not even the slightest bit suspicious, she pulls the bed covers back and gestures to it with one of her large, rough hands.
I crawl forward slowly, pathetically, playing it up. I must fulfill my role the best I can, even as guilt eats my insides.
But something in me says I have to do this. I can't help the crawling gut reaction to this shift in my body.
That something in me tells me that Fraser is in danger. If I can't get to him as soon as possible, I'm unsure what I'll do.
"Alright now, lass, lay down. Allow your body time to rest and gain some energy." I snuggle under the blanket, nodding weakly and knowing how ridiculous I must look. I wouldn't even believe me.
The question is, why is she allowing this so easily? Does she not suspect me?
I eye Gentry cautiously through half lidded eyes, and I see an ulterior motive in her serene expression.
She tucks my hair behind my ears.
"I'll be back later to bring you some soup." She pulls the blankets hire, tucking them beneath my chin like I'm a wee little child in need of a bedtime story to lull me into a deep slumber.
Gentry even pinches my cheeks. It's mortifying.
She gets up to leave, clambering with the curtains to pull them shut once more. When she reaches the door she moves to leave, and my legs are already itching to move and get out of this warm bed and into the cold basement chambers where my lovely vampire man awaits.
But, just when she's about to disappear, Gentry carefully takes two steps backwards into my room.
"Whatever you are actually up to, just promise me that you will not go near your father today." She says breezily, and my mouth falls open.
My maid scoffs, shaking her head.
"Did you really think I believed you, lass? You aren't exactly a grand actress. Your performance could use some work."
My mouth clacks shut, and I'm trying to think of a response when she continues to talk at me.
"Lucky for you, your father wanted to talk marriage with you today, and I was dreading the discussion. I'll tell him you're too sick. You better not leave this room, Ailsa." She thinks for a moment, as if she realizes it's an impossible thing to ask.
"If you do... well, just don't get caught."
I contemplate what I should say, pressing my lips together. I settle for a short nod.
Gentry sighs, a small smile playing at her lips as she turns away from me.
"If your sneaking is half as bad as your acting, you're going to get in a lot of trouble."
She leaves before I have the chance to tell her that I'm very practiced at sneaking, but maybe it's for the best that she doesn't know that.
Traveling down to the dungeons without being seen is a lot more difficult in the light of day.
The castle is bustling in the wee hours of the mornings, and today is no different, at least it's not different on that account.
At least some things are the same, it's a small comfort.
I cower behind a corner as a group of children run past, screeching as their mother attempts to catch up. I press a hand to my chest as the pressure increases. It feels as if I'm dying.
Luckily for me, the woman is too dristacted to turn and spot me as I fling myself down the corridor. I try to slow my pace, aware of the flame I hold under my clothes.
A dark hood covers my head, but it's not pulled up all the way. I still need my hearing. I can't risk being detected.
This is the singularly most risky thing I have done for Fraser.
I scold myself even as I pull my spare key from my cloak pocket, jostling it inside the door as quickly as I can without dropping it. I don't even know for certain that anything is wrong with the man in the first place. Or, vampire. Creature?
I don't know for certain if he's in danger.
Either way, I'm here, and it's too late to turn back now.
Hardly paying enough attention to clicking the door shut behind me, I rush down the stairs, pulling a small chamber stick from under my cloak, checking to make sure the candle is still aflame. It is, but barely, flickering weakly in the darkness.
I sigh in relief, hardly able to feel relief from such a breath. My anxiety is too strong.
When I finally make it down to Fraser, I am not prepared for what I find.
He lays on his side, away from me. His shirt is gone, and what is revealed underneath sends a whimper tumbling from my lips.
"What have they done to you?" I beg, falling to my knees as the pain in my body increases tenfold.
Deep gouges run vertically up his back, blood and bone showing beneath the wounds. They're enough to kill someone, any normal person.
The severity of the injury has me trembling, gasping for breath. For a moment I wonder if the tragedy was enough to kill him.
I gasp, gripping the bars to get as close as possible, drying his side to ensure myself that he lives.
Fraser takes a deep breath in, and a long breath out.
The relief is short and sweet.
"Fraser, please. Please, please." I don't know what I'm begging for, but I can't stop.
I reach my arm through, and sure enough it's just enough to touch his shoulder.
His skin is cold, too cold.
Fraser flinches, and then he's moving, but very slowly. I remove my hand tentatively, my fingers hovering anxiously over him.
At a snails pace, he rolls over, landing on his back. I cringe as his wounds make contact with the dirty ground.
He releases a low, rumbling groan, a groan of pain. Tears spring to my eyes.
My back spasms. I lean my forehead against the bar as I pant in pain.
Why am I feeling this?
I look down at Fraser, his dark eyes hooded and dark. Despite everything, he smirks up at me, his hand falling to his chest that is lightly covered in black, wiry hair.
"Mo Cuishle. You have come to me." His voice is nothing but a rasp.
My cheeks flame at the use of the old language. It hasn't been used for centuries, and yet he speaks it so casually, so easily.
It begs the question just how old he is.
He lifts a weak hand, straining as if it weighs more than a boulder, skirting his fingertips across my own.
"Fraser. How can I help you, please."
Fraser's eyebrows scrunch, mouth opening as he breathes heavy, clearly in pain.
I read back when the light catches on the white fangs that have appeared.
"Blood." He says shortly. "I need blood."
His eyes flutter shut, as if simply speaking has drained his energy entirely.
"I can't... I can't get any blood, there's no..." I trail off, realizing that there's nothing I can do. I can't risk drawing that much attention to myself. It's too daring, too dangerous.
All the swarming thought of blood has the pulse in my temple tripling in speed. At the thought of my own veins, I half entirely, becoming stone.
My blood. I have blood.
I shove my arm through the bars, positioning my inner wrist right above Fraser's mouth.
"Drink. Please. Please, Fraser, I need to give you what you need."
It's true, the instinct to save and protect him goes far beyond a want, it's as if it's a necessity braided into my very being.
Fraser's nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open, wide and unfocused.
He tilts his head to look in my eyes, flicking his hungry gaze to my blue veins and then back to me, so quick I hardly see the movement.
"Are you sure, Ailsa, I cannot ask this of you if you do not want this. I won't force you." He whispers, pain in each word as he holds himself back.
He wants this with a supernatural hunger, but he's giving me a choice.
"Yes. Do it, please. Take what you need."
Gingerly, he grabs my arm, his grip wholly encompassing my hand and elbow, locking me in place as he drags me to his mouth.
Once his teeth prick my skin, it's white hot and intense, but not painful.
When he begins drinking, I nearly collapse.
The pain, the anxiety, the fear, it's all washed away. It's replaced with sheer bliss.
My eyes roll back in my head.
I never thought a sacrifice to save the one I love could feel this good.
Mo Cuishle ('coosh-la') : My Pulse, the one who makes my heart beat