Merrick by Claire Cray

sound indicated that he was shedding his
robe.
    I had not the
voice to speak, nor the heart to face him. When his arm encircled my waist and
pulled me back against him, I let out a breath in surprise. He wore only
breeches, his chest bare.
    Supporting me with
his muscular arms, he started where I’d left off washing my chest and continued
to bathe me silently, his head next to mine.
    I could not
protest. In fact, though my mind was quite awake, I was so weak in body that I
couldn’t stop my head from falling back to rest on Merrick’s shoulder. Nor
could I feel anything beyond a relatively mundane trace of embarrassment when
Merrick washed below my waist.
    “Can you lean
forward?” he asked quietly, and when I nodded, he gently urged me forward in
order to wash my back and my legs. After he rinsed me, he laid his own robe
about my shoulders and guided me to sit upon a wooden stool.
    I pulled the soft
material around myself as he turned away. His bare torso was impressive, smooth
and strong, with elegant muscles that rippled as he moved. As I watched, he
shed his breeches.
    Well, there, at
least one question was settled. There was nothing about Merrick that failed to
impress.
    And I had nearly
killed myself for nothing, it seemed. The potion I’d hoped would cure my desire
had not. Even in this weakened state, I yearned to reach out and trace the hard
lines of his thighs, to test my grip on his muscular back.
    Tears pricked my
eyes and I looked away, unable to bear the sight of his Olympian body,
especially the parts that…
    I rose unsteadily,
wanting to go inside.
    “Sit down,
William,” Merrick said sharply.
    I could only obey,
hanging my head. He had never sounded so unhappy with me.
    Oh, I was a wreck.
    Wearing his
breeches again, he came to me and pulled me up. “Come.”
    Supported on his
arm, I walked into the cottage again. He deposited me on the edge of the bed
and then stepped back, crossing his arms and staring at me for a long, terrible
while.
    “Do you need to
sleep?” he asked at last.
    “No, sir,” I
mumbled. He was quite frightening looming over me like that, the not-human
creature that, in my memory, had recently sucked my blood straight from my
veins.
    And yet it was not
his bite I feared. No. I was terrified of his disappointment.
    “You were putting
on airs,” he accused at last, “When you said my nature did not offend you.”
    “No!” I blurted.
Desperate to forestall the interrogation, I abruptly asked. “Did you drink my
blood, sir?”
    “No,” he said.
After a pause he added, “It was too full of poison.”
    I couldn’t help
looking up at him then, and cringed inwardly and looked away from his glowering
face. Still, even as I stared at the floor, I pressed on. “But you would have,
if not?”
    “If you were not
in my care, I would have.”
    “Then you are a
vampire.”
    “Yes.”
    The admission was
surprisingly anticlimactic. I’d had a long time to get ready for such a
revelation, after all. “Whose blood do you drink? And do you kill them?”
    “Travelers, people
who won’t be missed. The occasional animal, if absolutely necessary.” He
paused. “Yes, I kill them. It is difficult to be satisfied if I do not.”
    I thought about
that for a moment, found I could not quite process it, and put it away for
later. “You must travel far to find them?”
    “I ride at night.”
    “And what do you
have in the cave?”
    “Records and
artifacts from other lives, and supplies for the natural magic I have practiced
of late.”
    “So you are a
witch as well.”
    “Occasionally.”
    I was silent.
    “Are you finally
disturbed, William?” He sounded a mite bitter.
    “What?” I looked
up at him, blinking. “No...”
    “You ought to be,”
he muttered.
    “You intend to
harm me, sir?”
    “No.”
    “Do you want me to
be disturbed?” I asked, a little lost. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me,
Master Merrick. I’m sorry if my reaction seems odd, but I’ve never met