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[fitzroyal]

Sometime in the middle of the night, Henry is sitting at a typewriter he gained before the plothole checked out and typing rapidly. He stops abruptly and leans back, frowning. Though he'd never admit it, he's almost certainly a little put-out. He hasn't hunted for days, and fed in even longer, and while he's not unwell yet, it isn't pleasant at all

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[phedre_25]

She walks slowly in the corridor to her room. Phedre is a bit restless - unnerved would be more correct. Melisande's attraction on her does trouble her more than she would ever own. The room is located, and she presses her hand to the handle.

A man, her neighbour, mayhap, is exiting. "Oh, good night, M'Lord," she says with a little curtsy.

[fitzroyal]

Henry's eyes flick to her - dark, nearly black eyes with the prevailing hunger - and he twitches toward her but turns the motion into a bow. "My lady," he says in a smooth, slightly dangerous voice, unable to completely hide the Prince of Darkness face. "Good night."

[phedre_25]

"Sweet Naamah," she whispers. His eyes. What, or who is this? She freezes - it is the anguissette in her calling, rather than anything else. He exudes danger and dominance, even if he tries not to.

[fitzroyal]

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain himself, but instead gathers in a deep breath of her bloodscent. He takes an involuntary step toward her, the scent sharp against his hunger. "Lady," he says in a softer, more dangerous, voice, trying to will himself away until he looks in her eyes - and sees the response there.

The hunger that surges then is twofold.

[phedre_25]

"Yes, My Lord?" She looks at him as she can. Black eyes, filled with something nnatural and dangerous. Desire flares in her as her breath catches. She's never met him before. Not D'Angeline - Alban perhaps, but he has no woad marks. "Do you suffer?" The question is murmured softly. The lypiphera senses it - it is deep.

[fitzroyal]

"No," he murmurs, and his voice is nearly a rumble. "No, I do not suffer..." Just hungers. For you, Phedre - and the scent of desire takes him another prowling step nearer, almost seizing her and kissing her savagely before he reigns himself back again.

[phedre_25]

To Phedre, hunger and pain are very close - and as this one is achingly frustrated, she takes it for a lie.

Kushiel's Chosen is not crossing his path without reason, it seems.

His movement startles her, but only feeds her nature further. "Do you wish for the services of Naamah's servants, My Lord?" Her breath is halting - broken, almost.

[fitzroyal]

He takes a sharp breath, nostrils flaring - ohGod, her bloodscent is like a whetstone to the knife of the hunger - and lets it out between clenched teeth. "Naamah's servants?" He manages to ask the question, though he knows, instinctually, what she offers.

[phedre_25]

"Naamah lay in strangers, in the gutters of Bodhistan, that her lord Blessed Elua may live," she whispers, her body leaning into him. "I am her servant. Do you wish to contract me?"

She will accept, she knows, for sheer need. She knows this will strengthen her in the face of Melisande.

[fitzroyal]

In the face of that willingness and her closeness, there is nothing he can do. He moves like a snake, faster than an eye can catch him, kissing her almost savagely, his ferocious sensuality unleashed.

[phedre_25]

She moans in the kiss, pressing against him wantonly. She returns it, with the skill and sensuality that was set in her from her tender age, and her desire is more than evident. Her mind flashes to memories past but she forgets it - it is swallowed in the need.

[fitzroyal]

Henry deepens the kiss for a long moment, pressing her body to his with hands on her hips, her buttocks, before shifting and picking her up without waiting for any more permission, moving easily back toward the room he just exited.

[phedre_25]

She compliantly lets him - the assignation has started. Everything in her is quickened by his dominance, and she whispers, "What is your name, My Lord?"

[fitzroyal]

He lowers his head to her neck and bares his teeth against the skin, his voice low and soft. "You may call me Henry Fitzroy," he says softly, and then closes the door softly behind them, fighting back the urge to take her right there and then.

[phedre_25]

The feeling of his teeth against her tender skin is almost pushing her over the edge - she finds herself pressing against the canines with wanton urgency. "Phedre no Delaunay," she murmurs - or is it a gasp?

[fitzroyal]

"Phedre," he breathes, and shudders, nostrils flaring, greedily drinking in her desire and the sweet smell of her. He lays her on the bed and stretches out beside her, picking up one wrist and laying his teeth to it, eyes half closed. "No," he murmurs, and pulls back to kiss her again instead.