Lucius had been lost for too long - trapped in a storm of heat, thirst and darkness. He could hear little as he sat on his bed. Not Alistair as he questioned him; not Arnold as he tried to understand Lucius' position; not Sam as she tried to heal his mangled arm, that chain biting deeper and deeper until he couldn't feel anything but that poisonous pain. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, fierce with a desperation to live, and Susan's voice whispering in his head. That was all. Just her.
He'd become lost within his sleep or within waking dreams, just possessed by her. Susan. They'd become worse than ever. She'd come to him, her feminine body naked and bared, coaxing a male response from him as she touched his face and brushed herself against his chest - her skin unbearably soft and hot. Then she'd offer herself. A tilt of her head, her fingers trailing sensually over her swan neck, or she'd guide his head down to the swell of her creamy breast, encouraging his mouth to seek out a pulse, pleading him to with gentle desperate cries. His teeth would sink in, his mouth would swell with hot sweet blood, her fingers would delve into his hair, drawing him closer as she arced, pleasure rippling through her.
Then he'd wake, his body drained and his sex painfully stiff, sweat glistening over his skin, his room dusted in hoarfrost that turned his bats white. He'd seek her out in his home, desperate to find her scent, hear her voice, and then realisation would come crashing down that she wasn't here. Outrage flared. She should be here. She had to be here. This was her home. Their home. Why wasn't she here? Why wasn't she sleeping beside him like she should be? Where was she?
Then the chain squirmed tight, digging in and flaying his skin, pulsing sickness thought him, feverish heat and acid pain in his blood so heavy he roared, and then he remembered. He'd told her to leave, fearful he'd kill her, and he vowed to her he'd bring her home when he wasn't tempted to lure her to him and drain her of every sweet drop.
Lucius wasn't safe to get her yet. He had promised to only bring her back home when it was safe, and he intended to do just that. Even as his teeth burned and his throat cracked, parched like a desert, he wouldn't bring her home.
So, he drank bottle after bottle, drank and drank until Doc eventually told him there was nothing left. Yet his teeth felt like they were on fire, unable to sink away and instead remaining stiff over his lower lip. His throat grew drier, his stomach shrivelled, his body screaming and screaming it was starving but nothing sated him. All the blood Alistair and Oliver brought did nothing to appease him. It didn't rid him of the dreams of Susan, of his aching teeth, of his entire being roaring to be sated.
Then he broke after a dream so real; her beneath him, crying for him, silken heat surrounding him as he drank from her, filling her with rough thrusts that shuddered such relief and bliss through his starved being. He had to get to her. Her voice was calling him, his body craving to feel her heat, his mouth desperate for the relief of her blood.
No.
But Lucius couldn't stop himself. It was like he was detached, watching himself as he ripped at Alistair, and snapped Oliver's arm. But he knew it was real, distantly. He knew he was cutting open Arnold's feline back and crashing into Doc's huge canine body, those massive teeth latching into his shoulder and shredding him until Lucius wrenched him free and split his face open.
Lucius found her swiftly. He always could. He knew her sweet scent like no other, like summer and spice, a smell so different to any blood he knew. And when he found her, laid eyes on her, he was lost again. Those almond eyes of hers were like pools swallowing him up, beautiful and full of emotion, and her skin was on display, lithe feminine strength rippling beneath supple flesh. And how her heart beat. It was fluttering a flustered rhythm, her breath heavy, the scent of hers shifting into a sweet aroma as her body warmed with yearning.
His teeth throbbed. He called her, reached for her mind as he whispered of his longing. His desperation for her touch. He needed her to breathe, to live, and craved nothing but her.
But others got in his way. He couldn't tell who they were, his entire being was fixed on that sensual woman whose blood pulsed tantalisingly in her veins.
Lucius hunted. He ripped through everyone who tried to stop him, not even really registering they were there, only seeing Susan. She fled him. It angered him. Why did she run when she was drawn to him? Her scent betrayed that excitement she had at the sight of him and he'd known of her growing attraction to him for years. He tried to reach for her mind, to meld them together, but she resisted. Anger turned to fury. Why was she running?
Then he reached her and she fought him, her brow locked into defiance, her body trembling. She feared him. He didn't want her to fear him. She wanted her to want him, to feel the desperate drowning need for him like he did her.
'You'll kill me like this.'
Those words shattered his state long enough to think, to realise what he was doing and going to do. Fury rose in him, self-hatred that he was forcing himself upon her. Trying to kill her.
But she knew. She knew what he needed to do. To bite her.
She roared at him, her beautiful flames flickering over her pale skin, her eyes bright and silver. She demanded her bite her again and again. Offering herself, not in the way he dreamt but in her savage way, all fury and fight. He broke. There was no way he could stand against her. His will was feeble whenever it came to her, his wild witch.
Lucius claimed her mouth first. He had long been curious to know what she tasted like, long been hypnotised by those lips of hers, brushing his mouth over them whenever he could, a kiss of his thumb. His hunger for that sensual mouth rivalled his craving for her blood, lustful and possessive. She welcomed him as he knew she would, fierce and hungry, reaching for him, claiming him. She moulded herself against him, all heat and femininity, the soft swells of her breasts pressing against his chest in a maddening way, a way he had long dreamt of so desperately, long desired but kept hidden deep.
And then his mouth was at her throat, her body arcing, her head tilted, her breath terribly flustered. Her scent was strong, the lust in her thick and as savage as her, her pulse a fluttering bird against his lips. His teeth lengthened, so heavy with need, and he scraped them against her skin. She trembled in his arms, her breath rushing out with a gentle moan. He groaned at the sound, the feel of her so hot in his arms, and he bit.
The moment his teeth broke her skin, he felt relief, like he had finally had water upon parched lips. He drew her close as he bit down hard, her spiced blood swelling into his mouth with relief and rushed down his throat. He shuddered with pleasure, this hot, heavy-tasting blood that slipped through him, rushing with sweet relief and sating that hunger in his belly. For days he'd needed this. Weeks. Months.
Years.
He held her close, listening to her pleasure, the sort he had wanted to give her for so long. Those keens of hers slipped hotly down his spin and unforgivingly gripped his sex, filling it with lust, with furious need. He wanted more. He wanted her body, the vampire male in him desperate to make her his. To share his blood with her and have her own ivory teeth in his throat, swallowing his taste as he buried himself deep inside her, his hard sex drowning in liquid heat. He wanted her like he'd never wanted another before.
Then slowly he registered her slowing pulse, her breath becoming weak, her body growing limp. It confused him. He hadn't drunk that much, and the offering of his own blood should be exciting to her, something she craved.
Then voices screamed. He recognised one as Tabitha, another as Arnold.
Then he remembered. Susan wasn't vampire. She was human. Mortal.
He wrenched his teeth from her throat and instantly lowered her to the floor, gathering her against his chest as clarity shined in his mind, his eyes seeing for the first time in days, his ears hearing. Everything was too noisy, the city a cacophony of screeches and rumbles, even his own ragged breath was too much.
'Susan.' Lucius breathed, his voice cracked and husky.
He touched her face as he settled her against his chest. Her skin was an unhealthy pale, her lips, swollen from his rough kiss, were parted with her breath puffing out weakly. Her throat was bloodied slightly, her normally powerful body limp as he cradled her protectively in the crook of his larger body.
Fury touched him. He'd done this to her. This was why he refused to bite her. He'd drain her - kill her. He didn't trust his control when it came to Susan. She was so tempting, her heat, her ferocity. Everything about her he desired and humans never lasted from a vampire's lust. And that was ignoring how his venom was like rot to her mind, turning her mindless if he continued to bite her. A ghoul.
'Susan!' Arnold shouted frantically as he rushed forward, his shirt black with blood. He crouched before them, his weathered hands touching his daughter's face carefully.
Lucius kept his gaze fixed on Susan's face, the touch of pain on her brow. His jaw tightened, a growling hiss slipping out between his bared teeth.
'She's okay, Lucius. Arnold.' Tabitha said as she loomed over them, assessing without a word. 'She'll need rest, that's all. A witch recovers quickly.' Lucius felt her gaze burning into him as she quietly let slip she knew what Susan was and Lucius' predicament. 'If she were human though, she would be dead.'
That clawed at Lucius deeply. Shame, fury, malice burned in his chest as he gazed at Susan's sleeping face, her long lashes touching her cheek. He would've killed her. He nearly did. He just wanted to drink and to have her drink from him in turn as any male of his kind would. But Susan wasn't his kind. For all her strengths, she was fragile. Mortal. Worse. She was a witch.
Arnold touched Susan's brow, then gave Lucius an assessing look. 'Lucius. Are you well?'
'I'm fine.' Lucius said icily. 'It's Susan who isn't.'
Arnold watched him a moment, sharing a look with Tabitha as she spoke in his mind, then gently parted his hands from Susan's face.
'Let's bring you both home, then.' Arnold sighed and rose, patting Lucius' shoulder firmly. 'I assume you'll want to carry her.'
Lucius held Susan closer, an instinctive guttural growl slipping from him. He couldn't bare her being out of his arms, not after what he'd done. He needed to protect and care for her above all else. Arnold didn't fight him, even as he looked down at them with concern.
'And can I trust you're in control?'
'I'm well, Arnold. Better than I've felt in months.' Lucius murmured.
Arnold bowed his head, his gaze trustful. He waited as Lucius rose, Susan limp in his arms and gathered against his chest, then followed Arnold as he slipped ahead. He knew he had things to mend, his home and his family. He recalled distantly, like a vivid nightmare, of the wounds he inflicted upon Oliver, Doc and Alistair. He needed to heal them, to apologise.
But those were distant goals. The woman in his arms was the immediate problem he needed to handle. As sanity settled comfortingly upon him, his teeth no longer hurting for the first time in months, he realised Eva had been right, which meant she was right as to why the addiction had morphed like this after years of stability.
But Susan was a mortal woman and, as he'd proven, he struggled to control himself in the feed, slipping into thinking of her as vampire. He feared too what these feeds would do to her mind, whether it would rot her and turn her ghoul. Her ferocity, her independence and her life were all things he wanted to protect.
Which meant he needed to break the reason why he needed to sink his teeth into her throat and feed from her.
But as he gazed at her, her body so light in his arms and almost glowing to him, he realised he wasn't sure he ever could.