Page 22 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
“Think nothing of it,” said Hurst. “May I have my wife back?”
Louisa smirked, looking over her shoulder at him. “Yes, by and by, I come, sir.”
“Good night,” Darcy told them both.
But when he lay down in the bed, he could feel her through the bond that had been forged as she suckled his blood. He could feel her, feel an echo of each of her emotions, feel a shadow of whatever sensations she felt in her body. She was just there.
He’d never had a bond with a human before, only the temporary ones with other vampires (for if vampires drank each other’s blood, it created something similar, but it only lastedfor a day or two). This one would fade too. It would not stay quite this strong. Perhaps it might fade and fade and dwindle to nothing. He’d heard that sometimes happened with these sorts of bonds. But sometimes, they didn’t fade, just settled in at a certain level that lasted and lasted until the human died.
Damnation.
ELIZABETH DREAMED OFMr. Darcy.
She dreamed of being inside his body, in his skin, of being tall and dark and cold and controlled. Of the ache that welled up inside him at the sight of her, of the way her blood tasted in his mouth, of the way her body felt in his arms, of the pain of desiring her, the sheer agony of it.
She woke late that day again, but she felt quite strong and quite well. Her senses seemed sharp. The sun seemed brighter, the birds were chirping louder, the food in the breakfast parlor seemed better.
Mr. Hurst said they were leaving today, which proved awkward, because the entire Bennet family had come to visit, sans her father. All of her sisters and her mother were there, looking all over, and everyone was commenting on how strange it was that everyone was still abed in the midst of the afternoon.
Jane kept protesting that she was ill and that she was meant to stay for at least a few more days, but it was very obvious that Jane was not ill.
Together, between herself and Mr. Hurst, Elizabeth was able to convince her mother that they must all leave, and Mrs. Bennet took her brood home, commenting all along on how very strange it was that everyone was asleep.
“Have you all been staying up until the sunrise each day?” she said.
“About that time, yes,” said Jane dreamily, gazing out the carriage window. “I do think they wished me to stay longer. I truly do.”
Elizabeth could still feel Mr. Darcy.
He was this strange new presence, always there, just on the periphery, and she found she could slip into him, like sliding into another skin, or she could push him to the side, and then they were separate, and she did not feel his sensations as if they were her own. But he was always just there.
It was maddening.
She hated it.
She also would have thought she were going mad if she did not know that it must be some kind of vampire magic.
She was quite confused about what had happened, but she thought that Miss Bingley had attempted to kill her.
Despite everything Mr. Darcy had said about how she wouldn’t be harmed or how vampires didn’t need to kill anybody, Elizabeth was almost entirely sure that was what happened. She had been gone, out in a dark place, a peaceful place, a done place.
And then…
Mr. Darcy.
She had slowly come back, the presence of Mr. Darcy tugging on her, pulling her back to herself, and she had settled into herself to find herself drinking Mr. Darcy’s blood! And she had liked it. It had tasted… oh, she didn’t know. It had sort of tasted like blood, truly, that metallic and salty taste, not exactly something she would have liked to taste, but sustaining just the same. However, there had been some other taste to it, not a real taste but sort of a taste that she could sense, like an idea of a taste. It sounded so strange and odd. Mr. Darcy tasted like safety and strength and pleasure and excitement and adventure.
But that was perhaps only because Mr. Hurst had told her it was an adventure?
She wanted the taste of it back, though. She wanted to drink from him again.
That was horrendous!
She could not wish such a thing. Shewouldnot.
Surely, this was part of this awful monstrousness of Mr. Darcy and the others, surely it was simply evil.
One thing she did not do, of course, was to tell anyone that they were vampires. As for why this was, she could not entirely say. Mr. Hurst had told her that they were all charmed against believing it, which may have been the reason. Even if they had not been, it sounded mad. No one believed in vampires, not truly. That may have been the reason. Or it may only have been because she knew Mr. Darcy didn’t wish her to tell, and she liked the idea of pleasing him.
