horror story about the Sánge?
“You don’t want to know,” he said sharply, his tone extremely harsh as he got up and stepped out of the water.
“Yes, I do! Tell me, please,” she begged him as she clung as tightly to him as she could.
Tell her? Could he tell her? Impossible. At the moment, he was the only anchor she had in a world torn apart by terror. If he took that trust away, replaced it with fear, who would she have?
And how could he ever explain it so she’d truly understand that the drinking of a lover’s blood wasn’t the horrifying, blasphemous act other cultures thought it was? How to describe that moment, just before climax, when a man sank his teeth into a woman? That instant when the essence of her very life pulsed onto his tongue, slid down his throat, and then spilled through him in the most intensely erotic sensation, so that it made his entire body clench and shudder with pleasure until he came in endless, drenching pulsations of ecstasy? There was no delicate way to explain an act that was so intensely wonderful when he knew none but Sánge could ever really understand; could ever really accept. If he couldn’t explain that, then he couldn’t explain the rest. Acts of body and mind beyond outlander sensibilities. The possessiveness, the ferocity, the sheer intensity of mating with a telepathic Sánge. Especially a telepathic Sánge like him.
In a sudden fit of anger, Reule overpowered her physically to pry her off him and she landed on the bench with a thump and a small sound of pain. Regret twanged through him, but he couldn’t pause to apologize or he’d never leave the room. He had to leave. Now.
Reule reached down to Para and lightly smacked his fingers against her cheek until she opened her eyes with a flutter. “Wake, lioness,” he called to her gently. “Your cub needs you. Are you well?” She blushed and nodded vigorously and he felt her embarrassment over her display.
Reule surged up to his full imposing height, unable to find it within himself to reassure her just then. His tone was clipped as he instructed the servant. “Bathe her, dress her, and feed her. Install her in the north wing.” In his current temper, he wanted to forbid her from staying on the same floor as he. But her innocence didn’t deserve punishment. He was the only one she trusted, whether she should or not, and it would be wrong to exile her to a lonely place in a strange world. “Across the hall from my suite will do. No one is to approach her save yourself and another girl to help you. She’s frightened enough.”
It was all the instruction he could give. He turned on his heel and marched out of the bath. He didn’t have to look back to see the beseeching hand that tried to grab for him or to hear the panicked gasp of fear as he completed the act that terrified her from sense to soul.
He abandoned her.
But he felt it all quite plainly as that tidal wave of sorrow burst forth in full majesty once more.
As promised, Reule didn’t go far. Apparently he was something of a masochist, he thought grimly as he sat in a private bath across the hall and washed away the grime from his body, if not the spreading stain on his soul. He could feel her like a sharply rising and falling aria, painfully honest as her emotional expression expanded from mere sorrow to fear and a raw sense of betrayal and rejection.
Lord. Reule rubbed his fingers against his temple as his head began to throb painfully. He despised knowing that he’d provided those newer emotions to her mostly blank canvas of feelings and thoughts. But what was he to do? It was the only choice. If she knew the depth and truth of what was seen as Sánge savagery…
Sánge, bautor mo.
The phrase she had spoken rushed into his mind like a flatland wind scour, an infamous windstorm that scrubbed away everything along its path. People, animals, every blade of grass, all would be swept away.
Sánge, bautor mo.
Sánge, drink of me.
Reule
“You don’t want to know,” he said sharply, his tone extremely harsh as he got up and stepped out of the water.
“Yes, I do! Tell me, please,” she begged him as she clung as tightly to him as she could.
Tell her? Could he tell her? Impossible. At the moment, he was the only anchor she had in a world torn apart by terror. If he took that trust away, replaced it with fear, who would she have?
And how could he ever explain it so she’d truly understand that the drinking of a lover’s blood wasn’t the horrifying, blasphemous act other cultures thought it was? How to describe that moment, just before climax, when a man sank his teeth into a woman? That instant when the essence of her very life pulsed onto his tongue, slid down his throat, and then spilled through him in the most intensely erotic sensation, so that it made his entire body clench and shudder with pleasure until he came in endless, drenching pulsations of ecstasy? There was no delicate way to explain an act that was so intensely wonderful when he knew none but Sánge could ever really understand; could ever really accept. If he couldn’t explain that, then he couldn’t explain the rest. Acts of body and mind beyond outlander sensibilities. The possessiveness, the ferocity, the sheer intensity of mating with a telepathic Sánge. Especially a telepathic Sánge like him.
In a sudden fit of anger, Reule overpowered her physically to pry her off him and she landed on the bench with a thump and a small sound of pain. Regret twanged through him, but he couldn’t pause to apologize or he’d never leave the room. He had to leave. Now.
Reule reached down to Para and lightly smacked his fingers against her cheek until she opened her eyes with a flutter. “Wake, lioness,” he called to her gently. “Your cub needs you. Are you well?” She blushed and nodded vigorously and he felt her embarrassment over her display.
Reule surged up to his full imposing height, unable to find it within himself to reassure her just then. His tone was clipped as he instructed the servant. “Bathe her, dress her, and feed her. Install her in the north wing.” In his current temper, he wanted to forbid her from staying on the same floor as he. But her innocence didn’t deserve punishment. He was the only one she trusted, whether she should or not, and it would be wrong to exile her to a lonely place in a strange world. “Across the hall from my suite will do. No one is to approach her save yourself and another girl to help you. She’s frightened enough.”
It was all the instruction he could give. He turned on his heel and marched out of the bath. He didn’t have to look back to see the beseeching hand that tried to grab for him or to hear the panicked gasp of fear as he completed the act that terrified her from sense to soul.
He abandoned her.
But he felt it all quite plainly as that tidal wave of sorrow burst forth in full majesty once more.
As promised, Reule didn’t go far. Apparently he was something of a masochist, he thought grimly as he sat in a private bath across the hall and washed away the grime from his body, if not the spreading stain on his soul. He could feel her like a sharply rising and falling aria, painfully honest as her emotional expression expanded from mere sorrow to fear and a raw sense of betrayal and rejection.
Lord. Reule rubbed his fingers against his temple as his head began to throb painfully. He despised knowing that he’d provided those newer emotions to her mostly blank canvas of feelings and thoughts. But what was he to do? It was the only choice. If she knew the depth and truth of what was seen as Sánge savagery…
Sánge, bautor mo.
The phrase she had spoken rushed into his mind like a flatland wind scour, an infamous windstorm that scrubbed away everything along its path. People, animals, every blade of grass, all would be swept away.
Sánge, bautor mo.
Sánge, drink of me.
Reule
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