Chapter Seventeen
Michelle heard the shower turn on in Lavinia’s en-suite bathroom.
She was glad to have a moment to catch her breath.
The night had passed in weirdly proportioned time.
First, they’d had that moment when Lavinia said goodbye, which had left her breathless.
Then, there had been the absolute agony of waiting in the quiet house with two wounded vampires, tortured by the thought that perhaps Lavinia would be next to be carried through the door, unconscious.
She has tormented herself with thoughts of all the ways in which Lavinia could get hurt, how the other vampires would return, carrying their fallen Sister.
It had been a relief when the doctor had arrived, though that was only short-lived, lasting only until he told her how he planned to remove the stake from Proserpina’s chest. That process had been nerve-wrecking in a different way.
All of Michelle’s instincts had screamed at her when he’d grasped the slick surface of the wood with a tea towel and removed it from her chest with one swift, squelching movement.
He had assured her that vampires were very resistant to infections and that there was no danger from that source.
Still, seeing this procedure done on a dining table, without any sterilised tools or even an IV with a blood infusion to help replace the blood pooling freely into Proserpina’s chest wound, had made Michelle queasy.
Vampire medicine was not for the squeamish.
Lavinia had returned safe and sound, though somewhat battered and bruised.
For a moment, she almost hadn’t recognised her in the bright light of the foyer.
That glint of otherworldliness that flashed forth occasionally had been on full display, her green eyes blazing with a bright, unnatural sheen.
Then Michelle’s perception of her adjusted, stretched, and she was Lavinia again, Lavinia her protector, and also just plain Lavinia, who brought her cups of tea and had watched her detective show with her.
She understood now, or at least thought she did, how being a warrior was in her nature.
Dressed in her armour—even splattered with blood as she had been—she looked right.
She had also looked terrifying. At the same time, Michelle found herself absolutely captivated by her, attracted to her like a moth to a flame.
There had also been a softness to her as Michelle had helped Lavinia remove her armour.
She had held up her arms patiently while Michelle undid the straps that had gotten sticky with blood.
It was an intriguing dichotomy, the unyielding warrior and the softness underneath.
Michelle felt dazzled by Lavinia, by her complexity, by her apparent otherness and her simultaneously recognisable humanity.
She was glad to have a moment to herself in this oddly sparse room to digest all she had seen and experienced in the last couple of hours. She sank down onto the unrelenting wooden chair at Lavinia’s desk, listening to the familiar pitter-patter of the shower.
She should probably leave, but oddly, she felt protective.
Lavinia had come back to her. She would keep her right under her nose, where she could keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay.
It was an irrational thought—this was Lavinia’s own home, and Michelle’s presence probably didn’t make much of a difference, but she indulged herself and took in this inner sanctum of Lavinia’s.
There truly wasn’t much to look at. The windows were large, but the night outside obscured any potential view.
The curtains were of a pale grey, barely providing any variation to the room.
The walls were completely white. The main feature was a simple king-size bed framed in a pale wood that matched the chair and desk.
The sheets, neatly made, were also white.
A couple of doors, one of which she assumed must hide a closet from view, branched off from the room.
Finally, there was a nightstand with a single drawer topped with a minimalist modern lamp.
Michelle had seen roadside hotels with more personality.
Yet at the same time, it didn’t surprise her, this empty environment.
In a way, it was incredibly Lavinia, to have pared everything down to the absolute essentials.
Lavinia was never frivolous, in word or deed, always moving with a purposefulness that awed Michelle, who often felt like she had floundered through life.
In a way, she envied it, but sitting on the unforgiving surface of the chair, she also thought there was an element of self-denial here that made her a little sad.
There was no pleasure here, not a single item designed for more than utility.
There were signs of life here and there, of course, a pen that hadn’t been returned to its drawer, a half-full glass of water left on the windowsill.
But Michelle couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing here, a warmth that she had seen so many times in Lavinia that wasn’t reflected in her space.
The shower had stopped running a little while ago.
No further sounds came from the bathroom.
Michelle waited for another five minutes, time creeping by slowly, until she decided to get up.
She was probably being overbearing, but still she knocked gently on the door.
Vampire or not, she wasn’t taking any chances with that head wound.
“Lavinia? Are you alright?”
No answer.
She knocked again with a little more force. “Lavinia?” She wouldn’t have passed out on the floor, would she? She had seemed fine before—a bit bruised and battered perhaps, but steady on her feet regardless.
“Come in,” Lavinia’s voice filtered through the door.
Michelle turned the doorknob and stepped into a spacious bathroom.
The fresh scent of lemon hung in the humid air.
Condensation coated the expanse of mirror above the double sinks, a walk-in shower and a standalone bath completing the scene.
Lavinia sat on the edge of the bath, wrapped in a cream bathrobe.
Her wet blonde hair lay loose across her back, darkened to a deep brown by the water that had soaked it.
“I can’t see the wound on the back of my head properly, even in the mirror,” she said with a shy smile. “Would you mind terribly giving me a hand?”
“Let’s have a look.”
The shower had washed away the majority of the blood that had clotted around the cut, but some still clung to the scalp around it.
It was almost uncanny how good the cut looked already.
A crust had formed, and there was practically no redness surrounding it.
If she’d had to guess, she would have said it was three days old.
The ability of vampires to heal wounds was nothing short of miraculous.
If only the injuries of the children on the paediatric ward would heal half as well.
“Shall I wash your hair for you?” Michelle asked.
“Please, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” It was the least she could do.
A certain sense of a debt unpaid had hung over her ever since Lavinia had intervened and saved Michelle’s life.
Tonight, again, she had risked her own life to protect others from harm.
All Michelle had been able to do was sit around and eat their food, until today.
It had felt good to take control of the situation earlier, to flex that muscle that had lain dormant since she had been to work last.
And now, this was something she could do, something she knew how to do. A way she could be useful, even if it was only to provide a small sense of comfort and support to Lavinia right now. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was enough.
She got Lavinia a stool to sit on and let her lean her head backwards over the rim of the bathtub.
She ran the showerhead until it was the right temperature.
Carefully, she lathered Lavinia’s hair with the shampoo that she found on the side of the bath.
Lavinia closed her eyes as Michelle’s fingers ran across her scalp, gently loosening the debris of her fight.
“Does it hurt?”
Lavinia hummed a negation. “Stings a little.”
The water ran pink as Michelle rinsed the shampoo from her hair, a small trail of blood appearing along the bottom edge of the cut. Lavinia didn’t seem to mind much, not budging or flinching as Michelle lathered it again.
It was intimate, to be so close to her. Michelle was used to helping people in their most vulnerable states.
Over the years, she’d helped people of all ages wash, eat, and even perform the most basic human functions.
As a trainee nurse, she’d initially been somewhat hesitant touching people, but that was a shyness that quickly abated under the immense pressure of the work that had to be done.
She learned that it was impossible not to form personal connections with patients, some fleeting as they were discharged after only a couple of days, and some more sustained.
In a way, the intimacy of this moment, washing Lavinia’s hair in her bathroom, was familiar.
At the same time, it was absolutely nothing like being at work.
Michelle tried to keep her attention on the task at hand: the methodical massaging of Lavinia’s scalp to remove the dirt that had somehow made its way into her locks, the slow untangling.
Over and over, her glance wandered to Lavinia’s face, which had relaxed into a serene calm.
In some ways, Lavinia had been somewhat unreachable ever since they had met.
But tonight, something had shifted between them.
She couldn’t put her finger on how it happened, or what any of it meant.
All she knew was that she was inexorably drawn to her, wanted to be close to her.
It had started as a somewhat awestruck crush, but now it was growing into something more.
She rinsed Lavinia’s hair one last time, the water running clear down the white porcelain of the bath. She grabbed a towel and carefully squeezed any last moisture from her hair, mindful not to pull on the wound.
“There,” she said, draping Lavinia’s clean, thick hair across the back of her bathrobe, running her hands through them one final time. She found it surprisingly hard to stop touching it now that she had started.
Lavinia sighed. It sounded a little bit wistful. Lavinia opened her eyes, and Michelle started. “Your eyes.” Lavinia’s pupils were dilated into wide black. There was only a thin rim of the green of her iris visible.
Lavinia blinked, the pupils tightening slightly. “Sorry.” Her voice sounded a bit odd, too.
“Are you alright?”
Lavinia smiled, tight-lipped. “Fine.” Something had changed in the last couple of minutes, but what?
Only moments ago, Lavinia had been relaxed, loose-limbed.
Now there was suddenly an edge to her gaze, a sharpness to her movements as she stood up and tightened the bathrobe more closely around her.
Lavinia’s glance met Michelle’s, then wandered down to Michelle’s neckline.
To where her heartbeat was pounding under the surface of her skin.
Oh. Oh.
“You’re…” Michelle swallowed. “Hungry?”
Lavinia looked away, shrugged. She busied herself with rearranging the scant few items beside the sink. She obviously wasn’t an adherent to a twelve-step skin routine. Like everything else with her, simplicity was everything.
The action was clearly meant to give her space to collect herself.
To rebuild the walls she upheld so tightly.
Michelle could see it happening in real time.
How Lavinia suppressed the hunger that must be intensely physical.
How she turned from view to regain that calm that she presented so meticulously.
Once again, the real Lavinia, that wonderful blend of warrior strength and vulnerability, would disappear from view.
Michelle wasn’t going to let that happen.
There was a reckless desire to keep the real Lavinia within her reach that made her step forward.
She laid her hand on Lavinia’s robe-clad arm.
She wasn’t thinking about the consequences of the choice she was making in offering herself in this way.
Didn’t consider how dangerous it might be.
There was no thought of safety in her mind. All she wanted was to be near Lavinia.
“Take me,” she whispered. Lavinia froze. Michelle could see their shadowy silhouettes in the fogged-up mirror. She tightened her grip on Lavinia’s arm. “Drink from me.”
Lavinia turned slowly. All the green had fled from her eyes, replaced with limitless black.
That uncanny gaze searched Michelle’s as if seeking a handhold as they both lost themselves in each other.
Michelle certainly felt like she was drowning, drowning in the magnetic gaze pinning her in place.
She held on to Lavinia, fearless. She trusted her.
Trusted her with her life, in a way she had never done before. With anyone.
Lavinia gently took Michelle’s hand between hers. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice low. It had a slight lisp.
Michelle nodded, unable to form words. It was intoxicating, letting herself trust with such abandon.
Lavinia’s arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer.
Their heads curved together, and for a second, Michelle thought Lavinia would kiss her.
But then Lavinia’s head tilted, nuzzled Michelle’s neck.
Michelle closed her eyes, leaning into Lavinia’s touch.
A sharpness of teeth, a pressure, a flash of pain.
Lavinia’s fangs penetrated the skin at the tender spot at the base of her neck.
There was a dizzying sense that she was falling, like on that cusp between being awake and asleep, but Lavinia’s arms held her close.
Pain receded, and intense pleasure came in its place.
As Lavinia drew blood from her, Michelle lost herself in the sensation, the heady contrast between the softness of her lips on her neck and the pressure of teeth, of her overwhelming presence all around her.
Time ceased to matter, as everything became enclosed to this one point.
She surrendered herself to the feeling, to Lavinia.
The distance between them had been obliterated, and Michelle rode the waves of unexpected pleasure.
Finally, an eternity later, an ending that came way too soon, Lavinia’s fangs pulled back. There was a slight wetness—her tongue licking the last traces of blood from Michelle’s neck. Still, Lavinia held her in her arms, and Michelle snuggled close into the embrace.