(Click the title to go back to Chapter One)
by Brenda Williamson
(A Free Read ~ A Work in Progress)
Copyright 2010
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Chapter Two
Valentina rose up from her place on her mother’s bed. She looked at the old furnishings, nothing new, nothing changed. Warm browns of wood paneled walls and carved dressers were usually the perfect backdrop for the vases of roses and the patchwork quilt on the bed. Those things didn’t seem so vibrant now.
As she walked to the door, she tried to keep in mind the good times. How the sanctuary of the room made her feel safe. How she had spent many hours—many days—many years being herself in there with her mother. The privacy let her speak about anything and everything. Whom would she talk to now?
She stepped outside the room.
Instinct must have guided Mary, because she appeared without being called.
“Please see to mother now,” Valentina ordered quietly, and then walked down the hallway to furthest door. She touched the cool glass knob. When she was little, her mother told her it was the safest room for her. She always thought because it faced the northeast and had the least amount of sunlight shinning in the windows. Later, as she matured, she suspected it was to keep her far from her drunken father.
She took a deep breath. With her riding attire in hand, she went in her room and closed the door. Life would be different. She had to be brave and make her mother proud.
Carelessly, she tossed her riding gloves on the vanity. She placed her hat on the hat stand and carefully straightened the layers of netting.
Strolling over to the window, she looked out at the full moon, so bright and inviting. Time had flown by while she sat vigil with her mother. Only a couple hours remained before dawn. She hoped it was enough.
She drew the thick cumbersome drapes shut. Then plucking the combs from her dark hair, she let it cascade around her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the thick locks and shook the strands loose. It felt good to let her hair down. She unbuttoned her jacket and tossed it to the chair. One by one, she removed the garments she wore. From blouse to skirt to underpants, she stripped her body free of the entrapment of clothing. She sat on the bed to unfasten her boots. Her cat, Mollie slinked out from under the bed just as she was rolling her stockings off her feet. Walking back and forth,Mollie brushed across her legs.
“Yes, yes. I know. You’re ready to hunt.” She wiggled and stretched her toes.
She hated the confines of clothing. If it were up to her, she’d stay naked all day.
“I’m hurrying the best I can, Mollie.” She shook the buttonhook at the impatient feline. “You know, you can leave this house without me.”
She finished undressing and then slipped on a short, thin black nightgown. It clung to her slender form.Her mother only approved because she assumed no one would ever see her flitting about the night in the indecent attire.
She twirled about the room running her hands over the ebony silk. Her nipples puckered, knotting beneath the touch of her fingers. Aroused by the caress, she lost herself in the moment and continued stroking and kneading her breasts.
Then Mollie bumped against her legs again, drawing her attention to the late hour.
“I’m ready.” She scooped the cat up off the floor and rubbed her nose into her furry warm neck. “You’re all I have left, Mollie.”
A sweet purr riffled the air.
Valentina opened her door and looked into the hallway. Harold lived in a room in the stables and Mary had a room off the kitchen. Tonight they’d be in her mother’s room, getting her ready to put in the crypt.
When she didn’t see anyone, she left her room and hurried for the back staircase. It led to the kitchen. No one was there either. She crossed the room and moved outside quickly.
“There.” She sat Mollie on the stoop. “Be off with you. If you’re not at this door before the sun begins to rise, you’ll have to find your own way in.”
Mollie pranced down the stone paved walk, her tail standing tall, swishing from side to side. Valentina followed until she reached the gravelly path that led into the rose garden. She didn’t have time to linger and smell the flowers. Even though, it was her favorite pastime.
She took the shortest route to get to the other side of the garden. Her bare feet squished the resilient wide blades of grass as she ran down the slope of the hill. The full moon’s boundless brilliance made it seem like day. The sweet fragrance of roses had filled her nose, but then she picked up the scent of something much more desirable than a flower.
Blood.
The feral boar was close. Her pulse quickened. She ran toward the dark forest. The ground lay latticed in moonlight filtering through the treetops. She tracked the scent and she found him. The nocturnal feast rutted along the wide base of a sycamore tree. She stopped and watched, waiting for him to finish eating what he had found. Her chest wheezed as her lungs tightened with excitement.
Then the beastly sized boar saw her.
A wave of apprehension ran through her chilled veins. She had one chance. If he got away, she’d not find another creature in time for her feeding. Calling upon her instinctive skills, she ran toward him. If she feasted on the fresh blood of the boar on the night of the full moon, she would stave off the ill effects of her hungering for entire month.
She lunged at the massive animal, jumping on his back. He squealed in surprise, or maybe with the terror of how he was about to die. Her fang teeth dropped and she impaled the tough, coarse flesh at his neck. The reward bubbled up like a hot geyser. She drank greedily, hanging onto the thrashing animal as he toppled to his side. The crimson sweetness, slid easily down her parched throat. She slurped steadily at the warm liquid, letting the taste of his death enliven her veins. The cataclysmic surge of euphoria shook her insides fervently. With time ticking away, she rushed to drain the poor creature of his life. She had no choice. His existence was her salvation from pain.
Valentina sat back when she finished. She observed the carnage with compassion. But there was no quilt. It was her hate of what she was that enraged her. Yet, that anger was set aside as she lay back on the leaf-strewn forest floor to bask in her body’s awakening.
Under the forged beat of her renewed heart, the barmy charge of fluids coursed her blood vessels like a climactic, raging river. The erogenous delights suckled her cool skin and spread heat from head to toe. She kneaded her aching breasts with her blood-covered hands. She pinched and twisted her nipples, and writhed from the feral carnality. She raked at her aroused body, squeezing, and digging to slake the throbbing spasms, but the sensations escalated.
She drew her nightgown up her thighs, enjoying the silk caressing her skin. Then she pressed her fingers between her legs. The first touch was always the most sensitive. She stroked again, rubbing and dipping into her clenching vagina. Faster and deeper, she pumped. An orgasm erupted almost instantly. She jerked on the ground like a jitterbug—uncontrollably pleasured by the sensation.
Once the initial spasms passed, she withdrew her fingers and licked over them. The sweet blended cocktail of sex and blood left her exhilarated. She hummed a sound of satisfaction. The internal quakes slowly subsided, but the ecstasy lingered.
“Dawn,” she sighed, exhausted. “Always too soon.”
She had no more than twenty minutes before the sun came up. Not suitably dressed for its rise, she ran on trembling legs for home. Several times, she stumbled. In her pauses to catch her breath, she wiped at the drying blood around her mouth. She looked up to check the sky again for the dawning and Valentina froze in shock.
She stared at the shadowy outline of a horse and rider headed right at her. She thought of the blood on her hands and face. No one but her mother had ever seen her after a slaughter. How would she explain?
..............Read more in Chapter 3.
Brenda
