The Vampire & Her Witch

Ashlynn started her work in the opulent, marble bathing chamber that adjoined their bedroom. It would take time for a fire in the hearth to warm the cold stone of the chamber and more time than that to heat the heavy iron balls that would provide warmth to the water in the bathing pool.

In the early days of their relationship, Nyrielle had used hot baths to soak up the warmth of the water, warming her own body to a temperature that resembled the living so that she wasn’t cold to the touch when she held Ashlynn close. She worked hard to give Ashlynn moments when she could forget that her lover was a vampire, allowing her to come to know the woman behind the fearsome power.

Now, a warm bath was just what both women needed to melt away the tensions that had accumulated in the muscles of their necks and backs, and to share a few moments of soft, gentle touch while they washed each other’s hair. The time was still precious and special, but it had a different meaning to them both than it once had.

From the large chest in the corner of the room, Ashlynn pulled out several fresh towels, hanging them to warm next to the fire, and followed those with a tray of carefully selected soaps and perfumed oils. Once, the chest would have smelled almost exclusively of lavender and night-blossoming jasmine, but Ashlynn had added a collection of her own soaps and perfumes that added notes of evergreen and primroses to the mix.

Their once separate spaces were slowly blending together, and that continued to be true as Ashlynn left the bathing chamber behind, returning to the bedroom and the pair of wardrobes where there had once only been one.

Tonight belonged to the two of them, at least until Marcel returned to the Vale, and Ashlynn didn’t select anything fancy when she laid out their outfits. From her own wardrobe, she pulled out a simple skirt in dark, chocolaty brown and a green, poet-sleeved blouse that would leave her shoulders and neck completely bare.

She didn’t intend to tease her lover with her exposed neck, but she couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that experienced an electrifying shiver and a surge of warmth whenever she caught Nyrielle with a look of hunger in her eyes that no other person’s blood could provoke.

For Nyrielle, she selected a rich, midnight blue tiered skirt with ruffles that were more playful than anything the vampire had worn before meeting Ashlynn. She paired it with a light, fluttery blouse in deep burgundy that would have been more appropriate for a warm summer night than the middle of winter if it had been worn by anyone other than Nyrielle or her vampire kin.

A smile tugged at the corner of Ashlynn’s lips as she imagined her lover’s graceful, fluid movements in the loose, flowing garments. For a moment, she wished that they could invite a musician or two to join them for the evening, to let them dance in each other’s arms the way they had on the night of their betrothal. But, as much as she would be delighted by a night of dancing, she valued the time alone with Nyrielle more than anything else.

Outside the ancient fortress, Ashlynn could feel the last light of the day fading from the tops of the trees in the forest. She might not be as rigidly attuned to day and night as Nyrielle and her progeny were, but nature had its own rhythms that told her that Nyrielle would soon be waking. Once she’d hung their outfits near the fire, banishing the slight chill that clung to the fabric, Ashlynn moved to the four-poster bed where Nyrielle lay sleeping, sitting next to the vampire and waiting for her lover to wake.

She didn’t have to wait for very long, though the change began so subtly that Ashlynn almost missed it.

There was a slight shift in the quality of Nyrielle’s stillness, like the difference between true death and deepest sleep. The faintest tremor ran through her emaciated frame, barely perceptible even to Ashlynn’s heightened senses, but unmistakable once she noticed it. It was as though something deep within her body had recognized the sun’s final surrender and begun the long journey back from the places she hid herself away during the unescapable hours of daylight.

Slowly, Ashlynn reached out, taking one of Nyrielle’s cold, skeletal hands in both of hers, cradling it gently as she watched the transformation unfold. She’d witnessed this reversal several times now, but it never failed to fill her with wonder and relief, proving once again that Nyrielle would always return to her and that the withered husk she’d been reduced to was only temporary.

The first visible change came in Nyrielle’s skin. The dull, lifeless gray began to fade like morning mist burning away under sunlight, replaced gradually by a bone-white pallor that was as pale as polished alabaster. The transformation spread from her chest outward, following the path of her near-silent heartbeat as it began to quicken. The echo of Nyrielle’s heartbeat in Ashlynn’s chest was still slow by the standards of the living, but it strengthened with each beat, reclaiming territory from the abyss that had kept her away during the day.

Color returned to her lips next, that lush dark plum red blooming like wine staining silk, spreading from the center outward until her mouth no longer looked like cracked parchment but regained its soft, inviting fullness.

Ashlynn felt the change in the hand she held next, the icy cold of death beginning to warm, though much like her lover’s heartbeat, it never reached the warmth of the living, but rather regained that cool-marble sensation she’d come to associate with Nyrielle’s touch. As she cradled Nyrielle’s hand, the fingers that had seemed brittle and fragile as dried twigs began to fill out, the skin smoothing as power and life flowed into her flesh.

Nyrielle’s fingers curled almost instinctively around Ashlynn’s, holding her hand firmly as if she had latched onto the strong, steady root of a tree to use to pull herself up out of a frigid stream. There was no desperation in Nyrielle’s grasp, but there was a sense of relief, as if finding Ashlynn’s presence made the rest of waking easier.

Nyrielle’s breathing deepened, becoming less of a faint whisper and more of a proper rhythm. Her chest rose and fell with increasing regularity as her body remembered how to move, how to exist, how to be something more than a preserved corpse waiting for nightfall.

The brittle, straw-like quality of her long, dark hair transformed strand by strand, the dullness giving way to that characteristic silken sheen. The curls that had lain limp and lifeless against the pillow began to regain their elegant shape, cascading across the fabric with renewed luster.

Most striking was the change in her frame. The emaciated, skeletal appearance filled out as though invisible hands were sculpting her back into wholeness. Her sunken cheeks rounded slightly, the sharp angles of her bones softening as her supple, willowy form reasserted itself. She still looked slender, graceful, ethereal, but no longer like something that might crumble to dust at a touch.

Ashlynn watched the hollows beneath Nyrielle’s eyes melting away, as the gaunt quality that had made her look ancient and worn faded into that ageless beauty that made her heart ache with desire. The transformation was nearly complete now, the withered husk giving way to the stunning creature who had stolen Ashlynn’s heart so thoroughly.

Finally, always last, always the moment Ashlynn waited for with bated breath, Nyrielle’s eyes opened, like deep pools of endless night, caught in the moment of transition as Nyrielle crossed the void to return once again to the world of the living.

”Drink, my love,” Ashlynn said, releasing Nyrielle’s hand to bring her wrist to the vampire’s lips. Ashlynn’s other arm slipped behind Nyrielle, helping her to sit up in bed and pulling her close enough that she could feel Ashlynn’s warmth and touch the softness of her skin.

The brush of Nyrielle’s lips was feather light across Ashlynn’s skin, eliciting a shiver that ran up the entire length of Ashlynn’s arm before she felt the faintest prick of Nyrielle’s fangs on her wrist, followed by a spill of warmth and the soft sounds of sucking.

For Ashlynn, the world fell away in that moment as she felt herself being carried away on dark, feathered wings. Nothing was real, and nothing mattered but the warmth in her wrist and the sound of two hearts beating in perfect harmony with each other.

The sensation of being caressed by feathers flowed up her arm before wrapping around her chest, leaving her feeling naked and vulnerable despite the tunic she wore, but no matter how vulnerable she felt, the sensation was accompanied by a deep, reassuring warmth, as if strong arms had wrapped around her, ready to catch her if she fell from the heights of ecstasy the dark, feathered wings were carrying her to.

The sensation spread lower, tracing its way down her sternum and leaving her gasping for breath as the warmth built within her, tickling and teasing at her most intimate of places. At the same time, the sensation flowed upwards, dancing over her neck and pulling a gasp of pleasure from her barely parted lips.

”Good evening, my sweet,” Nyrielle whispered as her lips left Ashlynn’s wrist, sliding up her arm and leaving the faintest red streak across Ashlynn’s pale flesh as she did. The next moment, her lips met Ashlynn’s in a kiss that tasted sweeter than honey and at the same time, slightly metallic as Ashlynn’s tongue caught the faintest trace of her own blood on Nyrielle’s lips.

But none of that mattered as their arms wrapped around each other and their lips parted for a kiss that reached so deep, it touched the strong, steady beat of their hearts...