Chapter three

He felt the shiver run across her skin. His lips mere inches from her flesh, he took a sharp inhale of breath. Her scent invaded his nostrils,  filling him with an almost desperate need to taste her. Not just the pulsing blood coursing just beneath her flesh, but the soft curve of her lips. He knew this feeling. The hardening between his legs, the way his fangs elongated just from her scent, alerted him to just how inviting she was to him.

She felt it to. The heavy scent of her arousal wafted towards him, pungent yet sweet. Ripples of desire washed over her flesh, cheeks flushing. Yet, she denied it. Of course she would. They had only just met. Being immortal, Malik had learned long ago that life was fleeting. It was best to simply take what you wanted, when you wanted it. But with Annabelle, Malik found himself unable to take what he desired from her. He ached to hear words of acceptance fall from her tongue. Until that moment, he would do nothing to break her.

It pained him to do so but he retreated his hand, taking a distancing step back. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His eyebrow lifted, falling ever so slightly to the mounds of flesh hidden beneath cloth. Tiny pebbles hardened against the cloth, revealing just how aroused she truly was. 

“You may return to your quarters, Annabelle. We shall speak….later.” He promised.

Without a word, her back turned to him. She fled the kitchen, nearly running into Hans in her haste. The two did not speak. The older man simply stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. Once out of earshot, Hans turned on him.

“What are you doing?”

Malik shrugged, feigning innocence, “The girl simply desired food. I was offering my assistance.”

Hans lifted an eybrow, stepping further into the kitchen. His eyes settled on the half eaten piece of fruit, “Has the girl eaten of the forbidden fruit, Malik?” His fingers swiped the fruit from the table, eyes boring into the young girls teeth marks, “This room reeks of her weakness.”

Malik rolled his eyes, “I am hardly forbidden fruit, Hans. And, no, she has not. We’ve only just met. I would think less of her if she gave in so easily.”

The piece of fruit soared an inch above Malik’s ear. He jerked to the side, staring at his now red-faced friend, “Malik, how could you be so foolish?” Hans growled, “Have you learned nothing?”

“You forget your place.” Malik warned.

“No, it is you who forgets yours. This will end badly for her, Malik. It will end the same as all the others. She will never love you once she sees you for what you truly are.”

“You are not a seer.” Malik argued, “You cannot see the future.”

“No, I cannot, but I have seen this happen enough times to know what to expect.”

With that final sentence, Hans stalked from the room. Malik was left to ponder his words. He could blame Hans for his anger. They had both suffered equal heartache at the hands of mortal women. Unlike Hans, Malik did not blame those women for their refusal to accept their true nature. Fear was a natural response to what they were. 

Hans’ story was different than Malik. Hans had been human for longer than he had. Hans had a family, a wife and children, when he came to his brutal end at the hands of a callous and uncaring vampyre. He had been left, clinging to a quickly fading string of mortality, when Malik had come across him. His wife and children lay dead, slain by the same vampyre would had turned Hans. His change had been a mistake. Hans had fought for the life of himself and his family, using whatever means necessary to fight off the vampyre’s attack. Blood had been exchanged. Not enough to cause a full transition but enough to leave Hans in a paralyzed state between living and dead.

Malik had taken pity of Hans. He had completed the transition. Mad with grief, Hans fought Malik. He fled, killing and feeding whatever mortal he would get his hands on. Three days later, Malik finally tracked him to a small town on the coast. Hans did not know himself, held no memory of his family. He only knew hunger, like all newborns. Months later, Malik finally managed to quell the blood 

rage but that had left Hans broken. The things he had done, the horrific acts he had inflicted on others, it had carved a piece of him and left it hollow.

The clattering of dishes snapped Malik back into reality. The sun now show through the large window. Martha, the housekeeper stood at the sink. Worry flashed over her weathered face. Malik blinked, his own confusion far outweighing hers. How long had he stood there, lost in memories?”

“Malik? Are you well?”

He feigned a smile, “Aye. Just lost in my thoughts.”

Her eyebrow lifted in a manner that made her thoughts all too clear. She did not believe him, “What is this I hear about a new houseguest?”

“Do not tell me you disapprove as well?”

She crossed her arms as well as she could over her expanding bosum, “As a matter of fact, I do. This house is no place for a young mortal girl.”

Malik placed a hand above where his heart was, “You do not trust I shall behave?”

Her lips pursed, “It is not you I mistrust, Malik. Some of the other girls have spoken ill against Hans. They say he has made...unwanted advances upon them.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed, “Hans would never.”

She shrugged, “I report only what I am told.”

Malik frowned. He would have to investigate those accusation, “Would you please see if our guess requires anything?” He inquired of the woman instead, “I fear I may not have made the best impression last night.”

She scoffed, “I may work for you but, no, this is one mess you shall have to clean on your own.” She turned on her heels, exiting the back door.

Though he should, Malik could not be angry with Martha. She was like a mother to him, having never known his own. She was like them, immortal. She had come into their lives some years ago. Sick and ravaged with fever, she had begged to be given life. Malik had succumbed. She had flourished as a vampyre, never giving into the blood lust that often claimed many of them as newborns.

Hans had taken a near immediate dislike to her. She reminded him of his own weakness, of his inability to fight his own lust for blood. As far as he was aware, Martha had never been anything but kind to Hans, treating him the same as she did Malik. Eventually, she had stopped trying.

The creaking of stairs drew his attention towards the main foyer. Pushing away from the cabinet he had been leaning on, he approached the source of the noise. Annabelle stood at the foot of the stairs, a new dress clinging to her form. He stood just outside of view, watching from the shadows. He was glad to see that the dress fit her well. Not knowing her exact measurements, shopping for appropriate clothes had been difficult. When she turned, eyes searching the foyer, he noticed the dress hugged her bosom a bit too tight. Not that he was complaining, but resisting his moreprimage urges would be far too difficult should he be forced to gaze upon such an appealing sight for too long.

Before he could reveal himself, Martha appeared from around the corner. He lips twitched into a frown, head shaking slightly, “Oh dear, that will not do at all.”

Annabelle froze mid step, “Pardon?”

She clicked her tongue, “We cannot have you wearing THAT when there are men present. Why, they won't be able to control themselves. Lucky for you, I am an excellent seamstress. Go on, back upstairs with you.” She swished her hands at the girl, “I’ll have you looking proper in no time at all.”

Malik could not the smile that tugged at his lips. Bless the heavens and whatever god or gods filled it for Martha.