Katrina opened her eyes, ready to greet the world again. For a moment she relished the cold and dank of the coffin in which she slept. She climbed out, her hair a tangled mess and her satin nightgown crumpled, yet still lovely. Katrina was not surprised to find Edmund waiting for her in the cellar. He was sitting on a simple wooden chair, charcoal and sketchbook in hand.
"Hold that pose," he said," keep your hand on the lid, that's excellent, dearest."
Edmund had taken up drawing ever since he had joined the ranks of the vampires. In those wonderful first nights of Katrina's adjusting to vampiric nightlife, he told her many stories. About how he was seduced by a young woman on his deathbed, how she had arranged for a fake funeral and how she taught him how to survive well beyond any human years. He also told her that writing did not capture the emotions of people as well as drawings and paintings do, so Edmund had switched to drawing instead. Their rented rooms were covered with charcoal sketches of the banks of the Thames, still lives and Katrina. She watched his hand dart across the paper, eyes flicking to and fro as he sketched with abnormal speed. Katrina waited, keeping her pose and the heavy lid perfectly still. Strain or weight no longer mattered to Katrina. This was confirmed every time Edmund gave her another goblet of blood or let her drink straight from him, two creatures of the night caressing and feeding from each other. She could lift the heavy dining room table if she wanted to, and this notion made Katrina feel even more revived, compared to the brittle creature she once was.
Edmund's hand stopped moving and she got out of the coffin, stepping behind him to look over his shoulder. Katrina looked at the stunningly accurate sketch of herself, a waif climbing out of a coffin with a surprised look upon her face. The pin-stripe delicacy of the charcoal lines made her shiver. It was as if she was looking at some kind of demon familiar, a carbon copy of herself in another dimension. She wrapped her arms around Edmund's neck and kisses his fiery hair.
"Let us bathe now, Edmund. You promised to take me out hunting this evening." She purred the words in his ear, and a fanged smile graced his pale face.
"The bath is steaming and ready, my love," he answered. With that he dropped the sketchbook and charcoal on the floor and pulled Katrina up on his back, who could only giggle as she was swept off to the bathroom, where the porcelain tub let off hot steam, the water smelling of sandalwood and roses. Edmund let Katrina slide off his back and turned to face her. For what seemed to be an eternity they simply stared into each other's eyes, mesmerized by the river of thoughts floating between them. Katrina had found out that the art of not speaking is widely practiced among vampires. Well, Edmund loved it anyway. Their minds instinctively found each other, embracing each other at the end of their auras, telling each other their darkest desires and confiding in each other's immortality. As if ordered to they began to undress each other, Katrina unlacing Edmund's very much-outdated brocaded shirt and unbuckling his trousers, watching them fall lifeless on the floor. Edmund took his time with taking of Katrina's nightgown, slowly pushing down the straps of her nightgown until they were both naked. Edmund stepped into the tub and offered his hand to Katrina, who deftly let herself being guided into the tub with all the grace of a ballerina.
Both of them smiled contently as the heavy fragrance clung onto their statuesque bodies, and began to wash each other with their bare hands. Katrina sighed as Edmund's hands passed over her breasts, making the nipples rise to attention. Grateful, she slid closer to Edmund, lifting him slightly out of the steaming water so that his cock hovered around the surface. With deliberately slow gestures she poured water over Edmund's half-hard member, washing it with her fingertips before Edmund closed his eyes and let his cock come to its full hardness. She began to stroke it intently, eager for him to orgasm. She was young. And hungry. Edmund knew this. Each night as they bathed the same ritual took place and he had no intention of breaking this newfound tradition. He clutched the edge of the bath as he brought his body further upwards, signalling Katrina to come claim her reward. Without a lost moment she leant in and placed her mouth around the throbbing pale head, moaning loudly as the hot blood spurted against the back of her throat. Her eyes, blood-shot, narrowed to feline fierceness as she sank her teeth in the flesh of Edmund's cock, wanting only more. Greedily she made sure every drop was safe inside her mouth, before Edmund's orgasm had wavered and had healed the puncture wounds in his flesh. Katrina moved herself up and put her head next to his, closing her eyes.
"Who needs hunting when I can feed like that?" she murmured fondly. Edmund threw his arm around her. "I might not always be around to feed off leisurely. God knows what could happen," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
"You're never, ever going to leave me," she retorted curtly "and God has nothing on us."
Edmund merely sighed and pulled himself up out of the bath, offering his hand again to Katrina as she giggled slightly, her undead heart fluttering at the impending excitement. She had not seen Edmund hunt yet, and she was curious as to how he did it, yet she was also afraid that she could not do it. To force someone, to hunt someone down until they were cornered and could only serve as food to her, and killing...she shook off the thought and gratefully accepted Edmund's gentle rubbing of a soft towel on her back. Both dry, they donned fancy clothing and gazed at themselves sin the ornate mirror in the centre of their drawing room. Edmund, looking like a nomad
artiste
in his brocaded white shirt and tight black trousers with added mystique through his grey boots and greatcoat. Katrina wore her favourite outfit as of late; a widower's ensemble, complete with a black veiled hat and a tight corset. She loved the look of the seedy widow, bereft of all and giving the hint that she might perform unspeakable acts of sin in order to make ends meet...but that was just Katrina's delightfully sick mind.
The streets greeted them heartily. London's infamously thick fog congregated around the musty gaslights that struggled for prominence in the ever-dark night. None of the gentlemen or composed ladies were around at this time of the night; the nights of London belonged to the derelicts, the shivering beggars on the wet pavements, the wide, nervous eyes that lurked in the numerous alleyways and to the laughter and banter of burly labourers in the taverns and inns. This was Katrina's and Edmund's world, this was
their
London. Their beauty and majesty crowned them as king and queen of all that could hear the bells of St. Mary Le Bow, and whoever sampled every vice and decadent luxury on the East End would someday yield to their opaque and hidden reign. The night was forever there for the taking. They let their feet follow the murky Thames, both of them silently marvelling at the beauty of nocturnal London. When they had stepped down to the banks of the Thames, in a district where no sane gentleman or lady would dare to tread, Edmund suddenly halted and looked around. Katrina noticed that he seemed to be sniffing the air. The bestial gesture surprised her, and she could not repress a slight giggle.
"Just what are you doing, Edmund?" she asked gaily. Edmund held out his hand, as if to halt her. Again he sniffed at the air, and his eyes took on a yellow sheen, mimicking the moon above. The hand he held out withdrew save for his index finger, which slowly moved toward the horizon until it came to an abrupt halt. Edmund smiled. "Look, there is our host for the evening." But as Katrina followed his finger, she could only see the churning waters sprawled across London. She turned to Edmund, her expression positively bewildered. Edmund laughed and laid an arm over her shoulder.
