Haydn gave no indication that she’d heard my whispered plea. She spoke quiet words that made no sense, but were clearly significant for her, and then she broke skin. There was a twinge as her daggers entered my vein, and then…
Rapture. Ample, undiluted rapture. All good things flowed in. All bad things flowed out. The fear went first. Whether I lived or died was no longer of consequence to me. There was only Haydn, her lips on my throat, and my hand in her hair, where it had latched on to pull her closer.
When death is slow, you can feel it coming. I felt my body slacken, my ever-working mind go silent, and my soul drift away. Tranquility… I could see it there in the distance. But, before I could move in that direction, death left me. Haydn’s daggers drew away and I felt the sting, but only for the briefest moment. Then, her lips were on mine, and I knew a different kind of peace. I tasted my own blood, my own desire and her. Within that sacred trinity, there was strength, life, and boundless pleasure.