The Wolfkiller's Husband

I had finally gotten Lestat to come home, agonizing days that were turning into weeks of longing. Just because he was home didn't mean he was present, his thoughts were far off from me. The one who usually had no problem reaching for me, grabbing me, carrying me off to bed; Now, he sat far on the other side of the sofa, if our hands touched he would jerk his aside.

This dragged on for weeks, we navigated his vampirism together, when he would come home from hunts, it sparked jealousy under my skin.

He was still learning how to control what was enough and what was too much, looking back now I understand his caution, but back then, it was torture. I wanted him, I needed him. My lover, in our home once again, would shy away from my touch. Each bottle thrown, string snapped, the screaming arguments, the pushing until he would have to step back from how hard I would shove him. I was rotting more than I was when he was gone, how dare he be a phantom in a physical form infront of me and not reach to fight back.

Compromise was a bitter pill swallowed by the two of us, and eventually we allowed ourselves some relief to it. I could care for him once again, but still no fangs involved. I would make a cut, with a blade or his nails, thin, shallow, and let it pour into cups until I was dizzy. That turned into him pressing his nail into my skin, and I would be biting cloth to deal with the pain of such a deep puncture; He would lick at the wound, let it pool heavy and thick on his tongue. I would watch him swallow it with disgusted pride.

I was drunk, horrifically drunk , months later. I cracked our routine straight down the middle. I was on his lap, his shirt hanging off my body, finally I had gotten him to kiss me again as the weeks dragged on. But I was tired, I wanted intimacy, I missed our passion, the sex that he abandoned had left me desperate to drag it back home into our bed.

He hadn't held me like this in so long, just the feeling of his skin, cold or not, was more than enough. He was finally kissing me again, touching me again. Once again, he was stripped down bare, I didn't know what I wanted first. We were teenagers again, fumbling hands and sloppy kisses that he would jerk back from if I got too close to his fangs. Stretched with a fullness satiating a hunger that I had been feeling for weeks. A drug made of man, bodies rocking, nothing as rough as we were used to.

Like he'd always done when his body was desperate for more friction, more touch, anything; he buried his head in my neck, kisses all over my shoulders. He drools like a dog, he always has. I was distracting myself with my fingers tangled in his hair, desperately trying not to get off too fast and end the night. I didn't hear the tone of his panting change.

Then it was pain , sharp and stinging, buried just below the pulse point. The same crook he's bit a million times but it was nothing like this. The room blurred before I could realize what was happening , my body jerked, tense from the shock and rush. Before I knew it we were back in our element, I was no longer sitting on him and he never pulled out. He'd slammed my back into the sofa and was back to towering over me but the teeth never left. Everything was rough and raw, every sound he made was like a starving animal. I could see stars , I my veins felt like they were full of ice and lava at the same time, my skin was prickling. For a moment I believed in God again somewhere between the second orgasm and the third dry one he dragged out of my body. He didn't drink the full time, I would've died. He bit , tasted and held on.

The world blacked out not long after he stilled and let go. Back to whispered apologies against the wound he healed, but they were dark murmurs. Triumphant ? I think that would be the word. Satisfied that he had broken himself down and still not killed me in the process. The first feeding was shock.

The second time

I was still human, time had ran us along like leashed and abandoned animals. We were navigating what we could, and then of course , what was destined had arrived.

Armand, all of his tricks; Les Innocents, and their starved desperation. Lestat had come to my aid, he had fixed me the best he could; and here he was now, Gabrielle not far from the room we were in, telling me was leaving. My Lestat? Leaving?

He was going to leave me in that damn town, after spending my entire life planning our world in the middle of one that was turning slow and against us in its orbit. All these gifts were useless, I had been a lover, a partner, a supply of blood and sex. He was going to leave me and find another, maybe make another. I was the drunkest I had ever been.

A model of my Father, throwing bottles, beating on a closed door. My demands shaking the doorframe between my voice and my hands. He was sitting on the other side, ignoring me. I could see it without needing to be there, his head in his hands, blocking out the noise of my crumbling dreams as they turned into dust and fell away from my grasp.

He abandoned our lives and I abandoned my humanity. I demanded it, I wanted the fangs one more time, the blood. An endless eternity with the one person who I couldn't see myself without.

I carried on until my voice was hoarse, and then I carried on some more. Every emotion I felt I demanded he feel it with me, determined he would hear me even if he tore out his eardrums and they healed on repeat. I know he wouldn't do that but God, I made him want to. The anger was in waves, destroying me from the inside out. What wasn't anger at the abandonment that was incoming, would turn into isolated misery. When I wasn't screaming, I was sobbing. I was watching everything burn to the ground, and he hadn't even left yet. I was going between screams, damning him to hell, to pressing my entire body to the door, sobbing violently. Telling him between agonizing waves of emotion about how he was a coward for leaving me there, all the way to each sunset we'd shared. All of our plans, all of our dreams. Offering myself, my life, my blood to him in ways I never had before. Desperate for companionship as though I was the vampire, preparing to face loneliness, and not the human, fearing an unimaginable loss. There was a blur as my vision tunneled, my head hit the floor and my entire body was dragged at once before I could process what was happening. I was being hauled into his lap, finally the door had been opened; He had knocked me off my feet, pulled me into his lap, and before I could open my mouth to insult him again, there was agony. Teeth embedded in my throat, his jaw locked against me in a suffocating hold, my hands immediately rushed to push at him, hit him, but his hands wrapped around my wrists, his nails threatening in a way they had never been before. This time he was pulling, the blood was being robbed from my veins, in each disgusting swallow my pulse was in my ears. I could hear myself screaming in the distance; my face was warm, meaning I was crying. My pushes became weaker fast, my feet that were dragging across the floor, desperate to get away were feeling like they were in slow motion. The begging slurred in my own ears, and with it, my vision faded out with it into raw euphoria. Like sex between lost loves, we were entangled in each other, no different than we were in the sheets at home. While my memories flitted across my mind like a lucid dream, my body felt each crash like when I would fall asleep by the fire, post sex. The weight against me of him rolling back over to climb back on me, uncaring if I was asleep or not, before he would reclaim each inch of skin while I rested against the floor, sometimes blissfully unaware until I woke covered in sweat and sin. The pain of the bite ebbed off into orgasmic bliss, while I begged in my mind for God, for Lestat, for anyone to help me; my body was trembling, my mind no longer my own. I could hear my heartbeat skip and fade as his roared. My Lestat, he was killing me, and my body was letting him. The third time