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White As Snow, Red As Blood

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“All right, fine. You want Chesterfield, you’ve got him.”

He shuts the door, locks it, and stalks away. Still, even as he turns his attention to the matter at hand, there’s something nagging at the back of his mind; and the fact that he can’t quite place it only seeks to irritate him more.

Damn Suki and her combat skills, he thinks to himself as he gingerly feels the bump that is forming on top of his head. She’s surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, and fiercely protective of those she considers her own; the irony of it all is that Sir Maxwell doesn’t fully realise how valuable an asset she is to him, the idiot.

In a way he’s quite impressed she had the brains to protect herself against his influence. More’s the pity, for he would have enjoyed turning her so that he could have her at his beck and call. She’s smarter than the lot of them, and she’s a woman – and why is he thinking of the Scottish Highlands all of a sudden?

He should be focussing on his plans to take over the country, not on those pitiful humans and their pointless struggles. He hasn’t met a living person even remotely worth his attention in centuries, and – oh, now he remembers, he realises with a jolt, and everything falls into place at last.

There had been a woman, once. The lord of the manor was about to marry her, and as his archenemy he thought it might be fitting to feast on the blood of his betrothed on the eve of their wedding. She didn’t even scream when he sneaked upon her in the middle of the night, only shivered as he ran his fingers down her slender neck; it would have been so easy to sink his fangs into her pale skin, drink the life out of her pulsing veins.

Still she didn’t fight back, didn’t try to run away. She was soft under his touch, and warm – so very warm. He hadn’t had a woman in longer than he cared to remember, back in that half-forgotten time when he was still among the living, alive and breathing.

She let him touch his mouth to the skin of her neck, let him push at the hem of her dress until she was clothed in nothing but the shadows that lingered in the room. When it was done he all but fled the castle, shocked at his own unexpected weakness, at the ridiculous sentimentality of sparing the life of someone he had shared a brief moment with. Her eyes had followed him all the way out of the room – brown, intelligent, unwavering eyes, so very similar to the ones that were glaring at him not ten minutes before.

So that’s what Suki reminded him of. That he should dwell on this of all things, it hardly makes any sense to him; this is neither the time nor the place, even without taking into account the fact that the woman in question has been dead for centuries.

It shouldn’t be long before Lorrimer turns now. Time to get back to the business at hand.