The Iron in Blood

Mum finally came in carrying a tray with our eclectic collection of mugs. She placed the tray on a small oak side table and began handing out mugs. It was a given in our house - if someone made tea we all got a mug of it. We drank a lot of tea.

Angus took his mug from my mother's outstretched hand with a murmur of thanks, glancing towards her briefly before his eyes settled on my face again. His dark eyes seemed to grow darker, and his brow furrowed. I felt that flipping, rushing, tightening sensation in my lower abdomen again, and looked towards the television, trying to breathe normally and not blush, all the time acutely aware and completely fascinated with this man who sat opposite me.

"I was wondering if you'd babysit the kitten for me tonight, Mark." That devil's voice, deep and rich and seductive. I sat motionless on the settee, eyes glued to the television. I was starting to feel dizzy. I never feel dizzy. Ever.

"Absolutely!" was Mark's enthusiastic reply. "Can we, Mum?" he turned to my mother, who had perched herself on the armrest of the settee, just next to me.

Mum looked a bit doubtful, until the stranger looked enquiringly up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Of course," she said. Clearly she was not immune either.

"Thank you. I would prefer not to leave her in a hotel room tonight. I have an urgent matter I need to take care of tonight." Angus drained his mug, and stood up, towering above us. "It was good to meet you all," he said. I could feel his eyes on my face again, and I glanced up at him. The intensity of his gaze was almost shocking. Fear and excitement mingled erratically in my chest. Abruptly he looked away, shaking hands with my mother and nodding to my brothers, who barely noticed him leaving. I noticed, and I felt bereft and drained. I wanted to cry, for some strange reason.

Angus

I wasn't prepared for that.

I knew intellectually that I was possibly about to meet a female vampire, so to speak. But I wasn't prepared for that.

When I first glanced at her sitting curled up on that settee with that unnecessary white plaster cast, I was struck by her luminosity. Silvery blonde long hair, slightly darker eyelashes and eyebrows, pale flawless skin. Unremarkable in many ways, but with her it all worked together to create something that was finer and far more attractive than the individual features themselves. I shook hands with her mother, gently touching her mind and feeling the kindness and bewilderment. And then I stepped inside the house, and was battered by the heady, intoxicating scent of a female of my own species. Jesus. I have never felt such a raw, powerful need for anything in all my years. I wanted to take her right there, to taste her skin, feel her heat. I thought about how I could kill her family, I went through the process in my mind; mother first, then Mark and Joe. It would have been so easy, and so quick. Then decades of rigid self control came to my rescue, and I was furious with myself for even thinking those thoughts. I knew they would haunt me, and I used the anger to subdue my hunger for this young woman. I was only partially successful.