Hidden desires

"Young master, it's me, Maurice," Maurice stammered, his voice trembling with a blend of anxiety and reverence. Harvey's patience wore thin at the unexpected interruption, but he couldn't resist the urge to approach the door, eager to uncover Maurice's reason for seeking him out.

With a forceful pull, he swung open the door, locking eyes with Maurice who couldn't help but gulp nervously. Maurice mustered the courage to speak, his voice low and hesitant. "Young master, dinner is ready and the maids you asked for have arrived. Would you like to meet them?" He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding Harvey's cold stare.

"Are they humans?" he asked, his voice dripping with coldness and distance.

"No sir. They were sent from the old house," Maurice replied.

"Well, if that's the case, there's no point in me seeing them," he exclaimed, his voice filled with frustration. The door slammed shut, making the butler jump in surprise. Maurice couldn't fathom what he had done to provoke such anger. All he had intended to do was deliver a simple message, yet his master's reaction was beyond his comprehension. With a bewildered expression on his face, he turned away and walked off, his mind swirling with confusion.

Harvey let out a weary sigh as he made his way back to the chair, only to find Imelda already perched on the edge of the bed. Her eyebrows arched inquisitively as she asked, "What happened?"

Harvey took a brief pause, his mind deep in thought as he considered how to respond. "Not anything too serious," he finally replied, his voice carrying a weary undertone. "Shall we continue?"

Imelda's curiosity was piqued, and yet she couldn't ignore the weariness in Harvey's voice. She nodded in understanding, rising from the bed and gently taking his hand in hers. Harvey's gaze lingered on the petite woman before him, finding her presence both captivating and enigmatic. He couldn't help but wonder about the thoughts swirling in her mind. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he shared his cautionary words.

"Don't push me, Imelda," Harvey cautioned, his voice carrying a seductive murmur laced with a potent mixture of desire and darkness. "I've held this burden for decades, locked away deep within. If you push me, there's no telling what I might do your body, and it won't be pleasant."

As he withdrew, a shiver cascaded down Imelda's spine, a testament to the power behind his words. The room fell into a hushed stillness, the unspoken connection between them hanging heavy in the air. Imelda couldn't help but contemplate the depths of Harvey's concealed desires, wondering what secrets lay hidden within his enigmatic soul.

He released her hand and elegantly walked towards the door, his gaze lingering on her. "Let's have dinner," he instructed, his tone softening. "I don't want it to get cold." With that, he left her alone in the quiet room, leaving Imelda to ponder on what he had just said.

The dinner was dead silent, like nobody dared to utter a single word. Imelda's mind was consumed by Harvey's warning, unable to shake it off. Meanwhile, Harvey keenly observed the impact his words had on her just by the look in her eyes. He had spent decades in search of his destined bride, that one soul who could unleash both torment and solace with a mere touch.

A sense of anticipation filled his heart, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had finally found her, his long awaited bride. But deep down doubt lingered, making him question if he was simply overthinking things. There were tasks that demanded his attention, pressing matters that needed to be addressed before he could fully immerse himself in the search for his beloved. For decades, he had yearned to be touched, to feel the intense connection that only his bride could provide. Yet, whenever other female vampires attempted to approach him, he couldn't help but feel repulsed, instinctively pushing them away. This pattern had persisted for decades, leaving him longing for the one who would truly awaken his desires. His bride must have blooded him, giving him his first needs as a vampire,then stoked it to fever pitch— only his bride could work his body free to release the first time.

He yearned for those desires, aching for someone to fulfill them. Cursed with these hidden cravings, he couldn't escape their relentless grip.

He looked at the woman once again wondering how her blood would taste like if they got intimate, he was definitely bound to drink from her. He had never drunk from a person before but he listened to stories from his friends and brothers that a minuscule blood taken directly from their brides body did more than make any other blood taste like tar to them —it did just what the Forbearers feared. To him, it seemed like they were spinning tales, but a nagging curiosity tugged at his mind as he observed Imelda devour her meal. He couldn't shake off the thought that there might be some truth to it after all.