#vampire laudna

laudna’s eyes caught on her hair first. it was practically loose around her shoulders—she hadn’t bothered to braid it, even, and everyone gasped and tittered like the little fucking fools they were and bent their heads together, idiot birds, to chatter about decorum and whatever else inane thing that stirred the puddles of their mind but laudna, oh, she couldn’t turn away. her hair, you see. it lay in lazy curls across the bare skin of her shoulders and it entranced her.

was it true that it could be blamed on decorum? on the difference of culture? in a group somewhere to her right, laudna could hear one of her lady’s needling laughs—poison tipped—and a snide comment on marquet, what passed for a lady there. laudna would deal with her. she would eat her alive and relish it. later.

the other option—more dangerous. this lord, this temult, had arranged herself on purpose. to tease from anyone who glanced her way the thought, the fervent desire, to see her in their bed the next morning. to see the sun kiss those sun-kissed shoulders, to count her freckles, to see the natural tousle of her curls against shoulders, bedsheets. did she smell of lavender? or was the likeness in colour alone?

laudna had to know.

her entourage squealed—idiots—when she stirred.

‘my lady,’ aurelia gasped, eyes prey wide. her hand flung to her chest in shock; laudna let her eyes dip to the red line of her necklace, the red line of her gown. the pale line of her throat. of the three, her throat and the rabbit-quick pulse bounding just beneath the skin, was the more enchanting. ‘you startled me!’

laudna arched a brow. she turned away, searching for the lord in her hall—the way was filled with dancing bodies, musicians, ivory-clad wait staff but every now and again she caught a glimpse of purple hair. she tracked her through the hall. temult’s path was slow and winding, as if she had all the time in the world.

did she know she ought to greet her host? that it was the first and only vital task of the evening? hunger licked behind her teeth, over the bonerasp of her jaw.

‘tell me,’ she purred, curling a hand around aurelia’s wrist, ‘what do you know of my guest?’

‘your…guest?’

the girl didn’t know who laudna meant. fool! another one for the pile. she knew well the slice of laudna’s displeasure and rushed to make herself useful, pressing up onto her toes in soft useless slippers. temult was wearing boots. she hadn’t more than glanced at her outfit—attention caught in the net of her hair, the gleam of her eyes—but she had seen that.

‘you mean the newcomer! yes? the - lord temult?’ aurelia leapt on the flicker of her interest, breadcrumb of a lure, and bobbed her head. ‘yes! i know of her! she hasn’t been here long—is staying in the city.’

‘the city? she is not a guest of one of my court?’

‘no, my lady.’

laudna stroked a pale thumb across aurelia’s wrist, her winsome pulse. ‘good. what else?’

‘i- i- oh, my lady, she’s frightfully dull. she never goes out and never invites anyone in. she has a small staff, no more than five, and they won’t say a word. ignatius thinks she’s some kind of charlatan—‘

‘ignatius is an idiot,’ laudna scolded.

‘yes, my lady. it is as you say.’

a pout touched laudna’s lips. ‘i don’t ever want to hear his name again,’ she said. behind her, pate scribbled down the decree. ‘and if he insists on coming to my parties, he must wear a mask. a different one each time.’ the pen nib scratched against the paper, and he murmured under his breath that it was done.

aurelia trembled so sweetly. when laudna finally let her go, she would flutter off and let everyone know—her whims were final, fantastic. there’s nothing fair at all about our fair lady.

laudna shivered in delight. it had been so very long since she’d played with the birds; she felt like a cat, stretching after a nice long nap. how had this temult done this to her? she felt…awake. alert.

‘what else?’ she asked, and dragged her thumb down that pulse again. the sharp point of her nail came to rest wear it was thinnest; with waking came such hunger.

aurelia stammered. ‘m-my lady, she does nothing. i have nothing more to tell you. she declined every invitation from every house.’

a rush of heat.

every house but mine.

laudna’s fangs pushed and pressed and slid free from her gums in a gush of blood and lust. with a groan, she lifted aurelia’s wrist to her mouth—spared a moment for the memory of the girl’s mother who had begged her not to feast on her, who hadn’t known how very sweet it was to break a promise—and sunk her teeth into soft soft flesh.

the first touch of blood was glorious. she was so thirsty—how long had she been waiting there? hunger bubbled in her throat, a laugh, a groan, and she was so so gentle she was a dutiful lady she was a kind lady to pull her teeth from broken skin, there, gentle, no tearing, and laved her tongue across the wound, swept each gush of red into her mouth, suckled at it until aurelia made a noise like she was going to faint. shock and hurt had drained her skin to white, and pleasure returned the pinkest flush to her cheeks. her eyes two dark dark bowls for feasting.

laudna licked her wrist one last time, then her fingers as she let the girl go. an attendant kept her on her feet.

‘food and wine for lady aurelia. medical attention if she should need it.’

the attendant bowed. laudna assumed they dragged her out, or called for another to help but she didn’t bother to wait and watch. she turned away—temult, where was she—and felt her veins alight to see her at the edge of the crowd that had stopped to watch her feed.

what was she? witch? warlock? laudna was hungry again. the blood she had drained from that girl curdled to ash on her tongue, tasteless, at a look from this stranger—she had to speak with her, had to know her, taste her.

‘lord temult.’

she stepped forward neatly with a nod. her dress was…fine. three seasons out of fashion, and a coarseness to the fabric that even a human—was she?—could feel. but what did that matter? it was nothing it meant nothing. it was just another skin around the power crackling inside. the lord was a storm, prowling through her dance hall.

‘lady br—‘

‘laudna,’ she interrupted, extending a hand for the lord to kiss. she didn’t bow, she didn’t curtsey, she sounded as though she barely cared for the honorific. enchanting. laudna wanted to sink her teeth into that neck and drink from her until she begged her, lady lady lady please.

something told her it would be easy.

there was blood on her hand. lord temult didn’t flinch. she stepped closer, took her bloody hand. hers was gloved and the realisation resonated, loud, in her chest. a wolf howl, lonely, lonely, calling.

lord temult’s eyes flickered down to the blood and to somewhere behind. lightning—real lightning!—licked behind her eyes. gorgeous, gorgeous, phenomenally dangerous. Laudna’s breath caught; the storm pressed in on all sides like a mighty hand.

was she showing off? it was a funny little game if she was. maybe she wanted laudna to beg for her. my lord? she would say it if this stranger asked. but no, her eyes flickered again—behind laudna, and who could possibly have captured her lord’s attention? laudna twisted, followed her gaze to—aurelia?

oh.

jealousy.

laudna pressed her hand harder into temult’s hold. shivered when a gloved thumb pinned her in place, helpless little butterfly.

‘kiss my hand,’ laudna said.

‘what?’

‘you’re new to this land. you don’t know our customs. that much is…’ laudna let her eyes trail the bare shoulders. her bare neck. her loose, lovely hair. ‘obvious.’

irritation was lovely on temult’s face. the mulish set of her chin begged for someone to grasp it, flay it, drain the marrow and defiance out of her. what a pretty thought.

‘i am the lady of the castle,’ she continued. ‘you must kiss my hand.’

temult glanced down at it, blood spattered up to the wrist. her eyelids fluttered—there, laudna had been right, she knew it—and she bent her head. pressed a branding kiss against her knuckles. heat burned, seared into her skin. when she lifted her head, laudna saw it—the red lash of a burn, already welting. how bold! how miraculously stupid! how exciting!

‘do you feast on all your ladies?’ temult asked, tone burned dry. her eyes dragged across laudna’s face, lingering on her mouth, her chin.

she wondered how much red she had wasted; she’d never been particularly neat.

‘only the ones who have pleased me.’

‘and what of lord’s?’

‘not yet. but one has recently…caught my attention.’

temult smirked. ‘i thank you for your invitation,’ she said. the words tasted rote, quickly learned. ‘it is most gladly received.’

‘i thank you for your attendance. the moon would not be a more welcome guest.’ behind her, pate gasped. he scribbled in his book.

temult did not know the formalities. what did words matter to a storm? what did castles matter? they didn’t, not at all. but for whatever reason, she had accepted the invitation and kissed laudna’s hand. and stared hard at the blood flaking her chin as though she wished fiercely it were gone. or that it were her own.

‘any other customs i should know about?’

laudna smiled. wide. ‘oh yes. you must stay with me all night. you must dance with me.’

temult rolled her shoulders. they were still holding hands. laudna let the slight move draw her closer; she felt like a feather in those violent winds. she would go anywhere, as far as temult wished. let her be flung into the deepest sea!

‘i can manage a dance or two.’

‘marvellous.’ more demands cluttered her tongue. she had to follow her to her throne. had to let laudna peel back the skin on her throat—what were those scars? gorgeous! a map just for her!—and let her feast, drink. the thought of her, what she would taste like, filled her mind. laudna could think of little else. except,

‘you must tell me your name,’ she whispered as temult let herself be pulled out onto the floor. ‘you must, you must.’

what was this creature? heat beneath her skin, red in her scars, her veins. white power behind her eyes.

a smile curled her lips. what would they look like, coated in blood? laudna groaned at the thought of her blood on these lips. oh what a creature she could become…

‘imogen,’ she said.

‘imogen. imogen, yes. yes.’

‘i think it’s about time you showed me—yeah,’ she cut herself off with a gasp, as laudna pressed her head to the side, dragged her hand down the column of her throat. ‘oh gods, yep.’

‘you wanted to be in her place.’

‘fuck. the second i saw it happen.’

laudna laughed. dipped her head. ‘gorgeous. gorgeous creature.’

power, powerful arms curled around her. they were not dancing. they merely stood on the dance floor as the music struck up and glimmering couples spun around them. laudna’s lords and ladies were good for something. to be pretty. to be obedient. imogen was not those things.

‘are you here for long?’ laudna whispered.

‘only til the solstice.’

‘and then gone.’ oh longing, that wolf-toothed howl.

imogen stepped closer still. the warmth of her neck, so close. the thump of her heart. powerful.

laudna’s teeth pushed from her gums. it hurt so sweetly, a tiny nip they were so sharp and then the hungry press as her fangs dropped and—oh oh power and lightning and the burn of it was right it was good she had never tasted blood before not like this, a curse on every other ugly creature she had drunk from, worthless worthless things they were maggots they were ash they were nothing compared to this, to her. my lord, my lord! how imogen hissed as her fangs sunk in, butter soft and smooth, how her blood rushed and rushed how it filled her mouth like it was begging to be drunk, how imogen begged to be drunk, her words cloying and sweet and starting to slur at the edges, rasped smooth, how she clung to launda’s shoulders, how she shuddered in her arms, oh what a dance it was.

laudna drank until imogen’s knees buckled. when her girl, her storm, her love sank to the floor laudna followed, the wine red of her gown pouring over imogen’s legs, her practical boots.