The Blood That Sings

Chapter 7 - Through His Eyes

Rhys POV's

Alicia's crimson dress lay in a torn heap on the polished floor, a silent testament to the raw, unbridled act that had just consumed us. She lay beside me, nestled into the vast expanse of the four-poster bed, her breathing soft and even, the faint scent of champagne and her own unique essence clinging to the silk sheets.

I watched her sleep. My kind did not need to sleep, and for centuries, I hadn't truly rested. But seeing her there, utterly vulnerable and at peace, brought a strange, profound quiet to the chaos within me. My hand, still tingling from the friction of her skin, moved to brush a stray strand of dark hair from her face.

It had been... a long time since a human had affected me like this. Her heightened moments of pleasure, that vibrant, almost violent burst of pure sensation, had been an irresistible allure. In the throes of our c****x, when her senses were completely overwhelmed, I had taken a sip from the delicate pulse point on her neck. Just enough to sate the burning demon that roared to life within me, to deepen the connection, and to ensure she felt only pleasure, no pain. Her cries had been for me, for more, and the taste of her had been a narcotic, unlike any blood substitute my sister Lyra had ever concocted.

From the moment I had tasted her, not just the intoxicating flavor but the very essence of her being, I had felt it all. The deep resentment simmering beneath her polished facade, the quiet anger at the expectations placed upon her, and the profound loneliness she felt amidst the chaotic situation of her family—all of it had flooded my senses, painting a vivid picture of the woman beneath the crimson dress. It was a depth of emotion I hadn't expected, a vulnerability that had only amplified the powerful pull she exerted over me.

My gaze drifted to the antique nightstand beside the bed. Alicia's phone, a starkly modern rectangle against the Gilded Age wood, vibrated, its screen blasting with a flurry of text messages. One, in particular, caught my eye, bold and demanding attention:

ALICIA TEXT BACK IF YOU'RE ALIVE OR I AM SENDING A SEARCH PARTY

A soft, almost imperceptible smile escaped my lips. An unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest, an unexplained feeling that I was happy that she had people who cared for her. It was a stark contrast to the dominant, possessive hunger that usually consumed me.

Without a moment's hesitation, I took her phone. My action was undeniably rude, possessive, a blatant disregard for human social norms, but I did not need a search party barging into my residence, not tonight. My fingers, accustomed to far more complex systems, quickly typed out a concise reply:

I am fine. Explaining tomorrow.

I set her phone back down on the nightstand, its screen dark again. Then, I resettled myself beside her, propped up on an elbow, simply watching her sleep, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath. This quiet stillness, born from her unconsciousness, brought an unexpected peace to my centuries of internal chaos.

And then, the realization hit me. A cold, sharp clarity that cut through the lingering satisfaction. I was utterly, completely f****d. Because I had just mated a human. I had sealed my soul to the only human whose blood truly sang to me, the only one whose essence ignited such a feral, all-consuming need. I had not expected her to answer my unspoken declaration back, to affirm "I am yours, Rhys, and you are mine, Rhys Marnach." Modern-day humans, especially ones as guarded as Alicia, didn't easily utter those words out loud, moreover on the first stumbled act of making love. I was happy, truly, deeply happy that she had, that she had met my claim with her own. But I knew that I had a whole lot of trouble to face in the morning when she woke and inevitably felt the raw, undeniable connection between us.

Vampires of my kind mate for life. And mating with the blood that sings held a potential danger far beyond mere commitment. It meant that I would only be able to feed from her, or nothing else would sate the burning demons in my body. It was an addiction, a dependency. I had seen the madness before, the slow, agonizing descent of vampires who lost their mated blood-singers, starved by an unquenchable hunger no other source could fulfill. I hoped, with a fervent intensity I hadn't felt in centuries, that I would not come to that.

My family had sworn off human blood for a century after Lyra developed a potent, if somewhat bland, blood substitute. I knew I was breaking a sacred code. But I also knew my family would understand. Eventually.

Talking about family, I heard it then: the faint, familiar whisper of footsteps, impossibly light, coming down the gilded hall. No other but my sister.

I rose from the bed, moving silently as a shadow. A heavy silk robe, from the closet that I had not touched and forgotten for many decades, since the Marnach ancestor home hadn't been my home for a very long time, I shrugged it on, tying it loosely at the waist. I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, pulling the door almost shut behind me, ensuring Alicia remained undisturbed and unseen. Just as I did, a soft knock echoed at the chamber door—not my chamber door, but the main door to this private wing.

"Rhys… I thought you were arriving tomorrow?" Mirella's voice, as smooth and cool as ancient marble, drifted through the hallway. The main door opened a c***k, then fully, revealing her elegant form in a simple, dark traveling dress. She stepped into the hallway, her eyes, the same burgundy as mine, flicking to my slightly disheveled state, then back to my face. A knowing, amused smile played on her lips. She gave me a proper, formal hug, as if I hadn't just defied a century of family rules.

"Mirella, it's been a long time," I returned her hug, feeling the familiar, reassuring coolness of her skin. I pulled away, holding her at arm's length.

Her smile widened, her gaze intensifying as she took in my lingering scent. "I smell fresh blood on you." Her tone was laced with dry amusement, no judgment yet.

"I can explain," I offered, knowing it was futile to try. I held out my hand. Mirella had a special power, a subtle gift of our lineage: reading people, or rather, reading vampires, through touch. A mere brush of skin, and she could see the truth of the past few hours in me.

Her cool fingers touched mine. Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened, even wider, brimming with surprise and a touch of genuine delight. "Aah… I am sure you can, but nonetheless, I am happy for you, brother. Alaric might not be as happy of this. Or maybe just the timing." Alaric, my elder brother and Mirella’s mate, had been the ruling force of Manhattan, the pragmatic and fiercely protective head of the Marnach clan. He valued order above all else.

"He will understand," I said plainly, though a flicker of unease went through me. Alaric had a temper.

"Oh, he will, eventually. But he will still give you hell for the timing," she said, her voice now openly amused, her eyes twinkling. She gestured subtly towards my still-shut bedroom door. "Welcome home, Rhys. And thank you for making life exciting again."

With a final, knowing glance, she turned and walked away, her footsteps retreating silently down the gilded hall, leaving me to my own thoughts and my very considerable problem. For a very long time, as I stood there in the silent hallway, the scent of Alicia's blood a sweet, tantalizing ghost on my tongue, I somehow felt like a teenage fledgling in trouble again.

Fuck.