I realized with sudden dread that I was expected to bite into a vein and drink the blood of this man, who was, it seemed, entirely in favor of the procedure. My stomach twisted and I viewed the man with some alarm.
“I am Jehan, Master Marlowe,” the big man said gently, and pressed the pulsing vein in his wrist to my dry lips. I had meant to turn my head away, but the scent of his living flesh overcame my reluctance, and instinctively my teeth caught the vein, penetrating the skin. My mouth filled with his warm sweet blood and my body with new strength as the liquid flowed like sparking fire down my throat. There was a different gratification suffusing me, not overwhelming, as when Rózsa had taken my blood, but a warmth of feeling that deepened as I drank. All too soon the wrist was forced from me. Geoffrey had returned and pulled Jehan away. Jehan, his eyes content and sleepy, leaned forward and kissed my lips, still wet with his blood, then turned to rest his head across my knees and sank into slumber. I felt the familiar lethargy claiming me, and I too, slept.
Awaking slowly some hours later, I jerked against the restraints, for the head that rested so warmly on me was not that of a man at all, but that of a large wolf. A very large wolf. The animal raised his head and eyed me with a lupine grin before spilling off the bed to the floor, where, before my unbelieving gaze, a mist seemed to envelop it, a mist that elongated then solidified into a man’s shape: Jehan. A very naked and well-built Jehan, who smiled at me, scooped up the tangle of his clothing from the floor by the bed, then left the room. Almost immediately, Geoffrey entered, crossed to the bed, and began to unknot my bonds. “Mayhap you should wait, for I may yet be mad!” I told him, and described what I had just seen, but he only nodded and finished his task.
“No, you are not mad; Jehan is a wolf, but he is also a man. His clan has served my family for centuries, an association of benefit to us both. His folk are easily swayed by their animal natures and would often run afoul of society if they had not someone to protect and guide them. They serve us in return. Now, do you dress yourself and come downstairs.” Geoffrey did not seem to think that I should require any assistance, and I was most eager to prove him right.
I dressed in the clothing I had worn before and started down the stairs. At the landing a wave of giddiness swept over me and I might have fallen, had not a serving-wench dropped the bundle she carried and caught me in her arms. She had the look of Jehan about her, the tip-tilted gold eyes and the dark burnished hair. She held me a moment then stepped back before the nearness of her, the vitality, could entice me further. She caught my right hand in both of hers and pressed a kiss into my palm before picking up her bundle and scurrying up the stairs. Bemused, I made my way to the study with no further mishap, and found Geoffrey and Nicolas awaiting me. I sat in the vacant chair between them, as I had before. “Tell me about vampires,” I said. Geoffrey gave me a long, considering stare before replying.
“There are several kinds of vampires,” he began. “Bloodlines, we call them. You may think of us as families, with many characteristics, some differing and some the same. Our bloodline is the Alexandrine, but more about that at another time.
“There are many myths about our kind, most of which have no factual basis. We breathe, but perhaps from force of habit rather than need, as a lack of air does not kill us. There is actually very little that may kill those of our family; fire, certainly, or decapitation; wood is harmful to us, but metal is not. Oh, a blade will cut our flesh and we will bleed for a short time, but we heal completely from the most grievous wounds, and do not die. If Frizer had used a wooden weapon you would indeed have died from the injury he inflicted; as it was you were much damaged, and will be healing for some time to come. It is often so, with the wounds