Ghoul Fiction, Part 4
She was not sure when the awareness first started to crepe into her mind, that sense of him that was always present. It was not the bond, the false love that bound her to him in so many ways. Nor was it the feeling of him in her mind, heavy and watching even when there was nothing to say.
It was something new to her, something grown between them as it had with no other masters. It was so small at first that she mistook it for her own training in how to serve a Vampire, a false sense given by the greater demands it took to serve him perfectly. It took time for her to be certain in her awareness of him; the dim emotions were truly his own and not the frantic product of his imagination.
The night of the gathering she became certain in her new sense. Separated by some distance, she could still feel his elation, his pleasure in the blood of man, and in his elevation to a new standing. Everything else that night was so clear to her, the moment of fear when the Invictus argued for her yet again, the dull headache from the noise. Though she was silent, she could still feel his unvoiced desires.
Not even the feeling of his hands in her hair could drive away the sense she had of his annoyance after he had retired to his haven. She did her best to sooth him, relaxing away all the tension that had crept into his muscles throughout the evening. Each tension soothed away, each though that was calmed was as much a relief to her as it was to him. At the end of it she was at his feet again as he allowed her a drink of the richness of his blood.
When the dawn came the sense of him was only the faintest echo as he slumbered. The dim presence at the back of her mind had left her alone in a skin that she wondered if she could truly call her own again. She understood now that she would never be free of what a single careless word had made her into, never be free of the dark courts and the barbed words of politics. She never wanted to be free, as long as there was the blood and there was him.
It was something new to her, something grown between them as it had with no other masters. It was so small at first that she mistook it for her own training in how to serve a Vampire, a false sense given by the greater demands it took to serve him perfectly. It took time for her to be certain in her awareness of him; the dim emotions were truly his own and not the frantic product of his imagination.
The night of the gathering she became certain in her new sense. Separated by some distance, she could still feel his elation, his pleasure in the blood of man, and in his elevation to a new standing. Everything else that night was so clear to her, the moment of fear when the Invictus argued for her yet again, the dull headache from the noise. Though she was silent, she could still feel his unvoiced desires.
Not even the feeling of his hands in her hair could drive away the sense she had of his annoyance after he had retired to his haven. She did her best to sooth him, relaxing away all the tension that had crept into his muscles throughout the evening. Each tension soothed away, each though that was calmed was as much a relief to her as it was to him. At the end of it she was at his feet again as he allowed her a drink of the richness of his blood.
When the dawn came the sense of him was only the faintest echo as he slumbered. The dim presence at the back of her mind had left her alone in a skin that she wondered if she could truly call her own again. She understood now that she would never be free of what a single careless word had made her into, never be free of the dark courts and the barbed words of politics. She never wanted to be free, as long as there was the blood and there was him.