The Interview

The Interview - Chapter II

"Can you smell that?" he asked her, as he tightened the bonds holding their prey to the chair.

The prey--she would not describe him as mortal; she would not do it, she couldn't. She would do it no more than she would bite her own arms off. The prey struggled weakly against the leather straps that held him. When she looked into his eyes she could see his fear framed there, as sweat dripped from his forehead. Were she mortal, she would have placed the label of Muggle upon him, but deadened with this dark apathy as she was, she saw no purpose in doing so, he was only the prey to her

"Yes," she answered. Of course she could smell it--it hung on the air, filling the atmosphere with its sticky presence; it made her muscles tense, made her throat move compulsively. It was blood.

"It is better to build the hunger inside you, increase the temptation, the anticipation." His voice filled the heavy silence in the dark room. "How do you feel? Does it hurt yet?"

"I'm hungry. The wait is painful. Let us do it now," she answered, never taking her eyes off of the young man tied to the chair in front of her.

"Contemplate, for a moment, on the pain inside of you. It is important, at this early stage, to know your limits." He looked out of the window, gauging with senses no mortal possessed the time left to them before the sun rose.

She whipped her head around, locking her eyes upon him for the first time since entering the room "Limits? Explain," she bit out.

"Ah, my dear Hermione, it is simply this: you must know how long you can wait to drink before your strength fades, before you succumb to the forces that will and have battled against you since your body died. On the other hand, the blood tastes so much better if you wait," he looked out the window again, and nodded to her. Waving his hand in a theatrical movement, he motioned her forward to drink.

Gliding forward across the cold stone floor, she sat on her prey's lap in a purely sexual motion that made her prey's eyes widen in surprise, and then fall back into his head. Stroking a hand along the profile of his chin, she took a minute to examine his neck, leaning back from him, with her arms laced around the back of his neck. She opened her mouth enough to reveal the sharp incisors that were the hallmark of her race, and then with a sharp juddering motion, she fell forward against him and sunk those deadly teeth into his neck. His eyes flew open as she collapsed further against him in a swoon. For her, it was a sensation beyond anything she could describe, anything she had ever experienced before. Her heart fluttered faster, beating now in time with his as he struggled to live. She exulted as his heart beat faster and faster, bestowing upon her more of this ecstasy that made her limbs jerk, that made her body flush with heat, made her feel mortal.

With a mental wail, she realised that it was coming to an end. His heart was slowing, his body cooling. She felt a hand grip her shoulder, and a voice warn her that if she did not draw herself back, she would be pulled into death along with the prey that hung limply in the chair beneath her.

She came back to herself, feeling weak, but also infinitely stronger than she had been before the feeding. "More," she whispered, before sliding backwards onto the floor.

"No," he replied. "You took a full measure from our dead friend there, and if you drink any more, you will become sick." He squatted down, and stroked her cheek. "Rest assured, my sweet, there will be other feasts."