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She placed a hand weakly upon my chest, causing me to pause in my approach. Her face was flushed, and she swallowed as she trembled even more. “I thought you said that you wouldn’t do it to me unless I asked.”
    I stared, surprised, and then ashamed at my readiness to give once again into my instincts. She indeed wanted it, and she was not playing coy. She wanted me just as I wanted her, but wanted to confirm that I had not lied to her.
    “I attacked you the first time,” I said. “But I would never take your blood without your permission. I meant that. It’s just that you’re…very hard to resist.”
    “I am?”
    “If only you knew.”
    “Your voice sounds funny,” she said, and shook with a suppressed giggle. I felt oddly self-conscious at this, and my hand went to my mouth.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “My fangs make me lisp when they’re extended. It’s not something I can help.”
    Amelia’s expression softened into a sweet and understanding smile. “Why do I find it so hard not to hate you, even after what you did?”
    “I wish I knew,” I said, “but I’m thankful for it.”
    With all her strength, Amelia pushed herself into an upright position and slumped onto my chest. Her arms pulled herself upon me. She pressed herself to my chest, her breasts warm and soft against me. I felt her tremble as she turned her head to the side, exposing her neck, and her scent utterly broke me.
    “Y-you…” I heard her swallow. “You have my permission.”
    I could no longer bear it.
    Her fingernails pressed into my shoulder as I bit. Amelia gasped, and then became putty in my arms as I fell into the bliss of the drink with her. She moaned and sighed as the blood erupted from the wounds and that grand euphoria took us both.
    The rivulets of blood poured down my throat and I shuddered in rhythm with each swallow. Her arms slid around my neck ever so gently, and her scent drove me to nearly give into my desire. Oh, how beautiful were the sounds she made; oh, how exquisite was her taste!
    I was nearly driven to ignore how much I had taken before. Had I been less strong, I would have taken her down in death.
    Despite the languidness of my drink, my toxins were potent, and Amelia’s wordless choked cries and gasps became more urgent. As if gaining new strength from a source outside of her, she proceeded to pull me tight against her, hips moving against me, vehement and rhythmic, breaths forceful, attempts to form words melting into husky, dissonant, pleading vocalizations as she lost herself in my passive feeding.
    But I could not continue. I had taken nearly too much already. With anguished reluctance, I pulled in one last gout…and Amelia screamed with delight.
    I felt her ecstasy fire sympathetically through my spine and across my skin as her muscles tensed and she arched her back to me. For several seconds, her body shook in the throes of the orgasm to which I had brought her, and then she loosened her grip. Again, she went limp in my arms, heaving a melodious, lilting sigh.
    I sealed the wound and wrenched myself free the spell of her blood, panting and shaking with the effort of leaving her.
    I settled Amelia back into the bed. She was once again unconscious. I wanted more, so much more, but I would not take it now. Though her changes had already begun, and would soon make her more able to support multiple feedings, she would, at this moment, need food, and badly.

Chapter Three
    Half an hour later, Amelia was awake, and the small banquet of bread loaves, cheese, and beef slices that had been scrounged from the pantry was halfway gone by way of her surprisingly large appetite.
    “Be careful,” I said, amused as I gazed at her, “your fingers begin somewhere.”
    She gave a muffled laugh, her cheeks puffed full of food like a chipmunk. She was now more comfortable with me than she had ever been.
    I reached over to the platter of food and picked up a slice of beef. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said,