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The turning was the very worst.
Throughout his life, Laszlo had experienced plenty of excruciating pain and sickness. The various illnesses spreading through his town made sure to give him an unpleasant surprise whenever he thought the worst was already over. However, no fever, rash or heartbreak could compare to being turned into a vampire.
The feeling of fangs biting into his neck, of his blood being sucked out, was a piece of cake. Some part of him even considered it pleasurable. The next few weeks however, when his veins felt like fire was running through them, when each cough felt like this time, he was going to spit out his lungs, when his bones felt like they were made of paper thin glass, were absolute hell.
One thing Laszlo knew was that he would gladly declare this the worst experience of his life (or not really his life, considering he has been dead for a good few days) if it wasn’t for the fact that the one who had been the cause of all this, was the most beautiful creature Laszlo has ever laid his eyes upon. One thing Laszlo didn’t know was that the creature had used hypnosis on him. One thing neither of them knew was that the state of hypnosis had worn off the next day and Laszlo still thought the same thing.
Laszlo wasn’t the first one to whom Nadja was a sire. Yet, he was the first one she had turned for a reason, the first one she had promised herself to train and teach all of the ways of a vampire’s undead life. She has kept an eye on the man for quite some time and in between she has come to the groundbreaking realization that, as she stared at him through his window, or across the street, she didn’t just feel the familiar pang of hunger and desire. There was something more than this, something that felt akin to how she imagined a stake through the heart would feel like. A pang of love.
God help anyone who had been loved by Nadja. She knew what she wanted and she did anything to have it. Therefore, one night the walls of a third floor apartment in a charming building in London heard a cacophony of panting, moaning, screaming the sound of her name and a horrifying yelp as she bit into the vein of Laszlo's neck.
So there he was, in the bed with an ornate frame, with a duvet he kept covering himself with and then throwing it off over and over again, because his body kept on alternating between feeling like it’s burning and freezing. With his entire self tightly huddled, he tried his damndest to have even a moment of slumber, a moment free from this grueling pain. The lock in the door clicked loud enough for him to feel his head split in a headache, and through the door walked none other than the maker of his struggle.
“Laszlo, dear, I have brought you dinner.”
The most peculiar thing about Nadja that Laszlo couldn’t wrap his head around is that not only had she killed him, but also brought him the hell that was the process of turning into a bloodthirsty creature of the night and then proceeded to handle him with the most care he probably had ever experienced. She could have just fucking left him there, to let the poison rush through him as he laid helpless, wondering what is even happening to him. Instead, she was standing in the doorway, with a dying man clutched firmly in her hands, sweetly calling his name. Next moment she was at the side of his bed, reaching out the human’s neck to him.
“Drink up,” as commanding as her voice sounded, the act was so caring that all Laszlo wished for at that moment was to have the strength to get up and kiss her, “Or else it’s gonna feel even shitting worse.”
He feebly moved to sit up and looked at her with a gentle, thankful smile. Then his shaking hands reached out to grab the back of the guy’s neck and his waist and he sunk his teeth into the scrap of flesh Nadja had already bitten into. Oh, how wonderful it was to finally chew on something. The warm blood dripped from his mouth, tasting better than anything he has ever consumed. He didn’t even realize how hungry he was until he was there, a little giddy, desperately sucking all of that poor chap’s blood. The cadaver fell on the floor with a loud thud and so did Laszlo onto the many soft pillows below him. He closed his eyes to relish in the bliss that came after his meal, but soon enough all of the fatigue came crashing down on him again and a pained sigh escaped his mouth.
Almost instantly, he felt the cold touch of a palm against his cheek, “It’s very painful, right?” the brush of her whisper against his ear was quite relieving, but he nodded, “I know, I know,” she planted a little kiss on his forehead, “But it’s only a matter of time, you will feel much better very soon.”
Even in his fever-like state, Laszlo couldn’t bring himself to voice his opinion, that it’s all worth it if it means I can spend eternity with you, darling, but he definitely held onto the comfort of that thought.
Something Laszlo had realized about Nadja at the very beginning is that the woman seems to get even more ethereal with each passing second. Whenever he thought it cannot get better than this, she proved him wrong time and time again. For a moment, he figured it might be just because she’s not even human, but then she would do something so human with such grace the man couldn’t help but marvel at her. Just like in that moment, when she swiftly untied her intricate corset, took off her massive underskirt and climbed onto the bed, wiggling her body closer to Laszlo so she could hold him. With her chest pressed tight against his back, she wrapped an arm around him and took his hand in hers to press kisses against his fingers.
Laszlo could have melted right there, especially when she repeated the process each night for the next two days.
On the third day, Laszlo stopped feeling like he’s going to bloody burn down any second. He still felt too weak to get up and go about his day (well, night), but it sure was nice not to be curled up with an excruciating headache all day. Trouble has arisen in the early morning, when all he wanted was to finally fall asleep and yet, he couldn’t have that one thing. He stirred and reached out for the chalice full of blood Nadja set on his bedside table, took a healthy swig and went back to restlessly turning in his bed.
When the bathroom door opened, so did his eyes and thank fuck they did, because he couldn’t have missed the sight before him. Nadja stood at the foot of the bed, holding a dimly lit candle. She had shed all of the layers of fancy clothing and wore only some plain, white undergarment. The lush waves of her hair framed her face, the full cheeks, prominent nose and sharp eyebrows were outstanding in the pale candlelight, which moved when she set the candle on the table as she spoke:
“Hard time falling asleep?” the question didn’t really need an answer after she sat down, patting her lap as a signal for Laszlo to rest his head there, “I can sing you a lullaby my mother and my yaya used to sing to me when I was little. If I remember, of course.”
Laszlo laid down, reaching out for one of her hands, “Please do.”
Nadja started out a little quiet, vocalizing some words he couldn’t understand. I have eternity to learn some Greek , he said in his head. As her voice reached its full potential, her hands absentmindedly wandered into Laszlo’s hair, delicately stroking his scalp in circles. Her face was just slightly visible, her expression soft, so soft it was unbearable. This vampire, who had fucked him senseless and bit into him like he was a tasty piece of pie, was singing him her childhood lullaby, touching him with the most gentle hands he has ever felt and most importantly, cared for him like no one did in quite some time.
If only a month ago you mentioned the perspective of getting married to Laszlo Cravensworth, you would have been laughed at. Cackled, even. Why would he ever do that, when he could enjoy the pleasure of being with another person whenever he wanted to? He did love to be a bit of a romantic, charm his partner for the night with his flowery words, but marriage seemed to him like just another unnecessary bind.
And then, Nadja came along. In the flickering candlelight, dazed by the sound of her voice, the concept of marriage popped up in his head. Seemed just right, even. With this beautiful, sweet, wild, one of a kind and slightly insane woman next to him marriage felt exactly like the thing he wanted for the rest of his life (in his case, forever).
Laszlo rose up from her lap with a feverish feeling and looking her straight in the eyes, interfered, “Nadja?”
The singing stopped as a grimace entered her face and she whined, “What? Did you not like it?”
“No, it’s not this,” even though he was as cold as a witch’s tit because obviously, all vampires always are, he felt all of the heat rise to his face and his brain disconnecting, “I- I need to ask you something.”
“What is it?” her eyebrows twitched up in suspicion.
Laszlo has had his fair share of hasty decisions he wished he never made and just like with all of them, he assumed he might regret it, but if so, he’s going to regret it tomorrow.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Nadja’s eyes went wide and sparkled, he could notice the exact moment they sparkled, as she opened her mouth, stunned, only to yell out:
“Yes, Laszlo, yes!”
–
Laszlo didn’t regret his decision the following day, nor the day after that. And especially not when he woke up on the evening after their wedding night, with his sweet Nadja slumbering right next to him, her hand gripping his chest and their legs tangled. With his stare fixated on her, he finally understood why the poets he had read waxed poetic not only about their muses, but also about the love they had for them, the connection that wasn’t attraction, desire, but something much stronger, much more enigmatic. Something that made him feel excited about choosing a right term of endearment he would call her when she wakes up.
Good lady wife, was what his mind provided.
Nadja stirred in his arms, dragging her strong arm against his midriff.
Laszlo whispered, to see if it felt right, rolled off the tongue nicely, “Good lady wife.”
She lazily opened her eyes, stroking his torso.
“Good evening, my good lady wife.”
–
What comes to Laszlo’s mind on a warm spring night is a memory from when he was still human.
A memory of him, still a young lad attending an art gallery with his family. As a member of the high society he was raised to appreciate the fine arts, sure, however, after seeing the twentieth still life depicting vases full of flowers and bowls full of fruit it frankly got very boring. He had been standing in the corner, anticipating the end of the outing, when he will finally be able to leave and perhaps stumble into a nearby pub with his cousin, when his mother called him. She stood at the doorstep and walked into another room, which as she told him displayed the works of a fellow named Rubens. Laszlo lazily followed her, prepared to see yet another fucking bouqet or portrait of a maid.
Instead, what awaited him were pictures of dynamic classical scenes and what has mostly struck him, bewitching women. Firm women with soft bellies and waves of windswept hair. He was fascinated. It wasn’t as much about seeing a gorgeous woman in the nude, but rather about seeing the form of such a woman be so appreciated it inspires numerous pieces of art. He could relate to that, with his attempts to capture the beauty of his partners with his amateur poetry, poems about people whom he didn’t yet have the courage to share them with. The sentiment had been the same as with the Rubens’ women he knew he would remember.
And he remembered, as he gazed at the woman that looked straight out of a Rubens painting. The piece could have been called Nadja resting, for example.
However, it couldn’t have been real because all of the Rubens’ women paled in comparison to his dear wife. In that gallery, after a while he wouldn’t see anything he already hadn’t, marvel at something he already did, whereas Nadja, he could watch for hours. Watch the line of her tricep as she held her arm above her head, her eyebrows, knitted together (perhaps she was having a dream where she was very angry at someone), the crook of her nose and the curve of her upper lip and the mole on her cheek. Her breast heaving with deep breaths that she had only kept as a habit, as they lulled her to sleep, the softness of her tummy and her wide thighs, the trail of tiny hairs from her navel to her vulva.
He wanted to run his finger through a strand of her hair or kiss the tip of her nose, but as you wouldn’t touch a work of art in a gallery, it only felt natural not to touch the work of art sprawled across his bed.
Instead, Laszlo took his quill and a tiny bottle of ink and made his way to his piano. He hoped he could finish composing the piece as quick as possible, so he could share it with his darling Nadja.
–
The room felt even colder than usual when Laszlo entered. He felt a little shiver as his gaze searched for his wife.
They had been fighting earlier that evening, just the usual: Nadja getting annoyed, Laszlo trying to calm her down and failing, as she got on his nerves even more, then Laszlo saying one stupid word too much and Nadja’s bickering turning into silence, her walking away. They have been through it so many times someone could have assumed they would be wiser the next time. That someone didn’t know the power their pride had over them, making them yell things they didn’t really mean just to be the one who gets the last word in. And also, didn’t know that Laszlo Cravensworth, no matter how hard he tried, was quite an idiot.
As usual, he sat on his own for a while and slowly contemplated what he just said and as usual, the wave of regret hit him as he replayed the moment Nadja went dead silent in his head. When she would stop screaming and whining and only stared at him, wordless, that was the telltale sign of it being real bad. That was Laszlo’s cue to apologize.
From the bedroom, where he sat, deep in thought, he heard her storm out of the apartment and come back, fortunately, come back. He wasn’t completely doomed, after all. Due to his heightened senses, he could smell the trace of fragrance his wife left behind and followed it.
“My dearest,” he started already at the doorstep, “I’m so profoundly sorry for all this nonsense I have said. I didn’t mean it, you know I wouldn’t have ever wished to hurt you. I was only being a moron again.”
When he settled his eyes on Nadja, a macabre, yet captivating scene unraveled. She was sat on the floor with a human body sprawled unceremoniously over her knees, bloody flesh under her fangs as she bit and sucked in desperation, the red liquid dripping down her elegant palms and her eyes wild, slowly looking up at Laszlo.
“Well, can’t argue with that.”
There was only so much he knew about her past, from her jokes, casual anecdotes and whispered memories that turned her eyes watery. But as he stood there, watching her, he could have sworn he saw the hunger reminiscent of the time when she was still human. Nadja’s bloodlust had been truly insatiable, that was one of the many things he found so alluring about her. And, but that had been the fault of his body and subconscious rather than his own, so bloody arousing.
“Then, will you accept my apology?” his voice shuddered ever so slightly, he was unable to tear his gaze away from the way her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure of the meal and her throat moved as she swallowed.
Sweet relief hit him when she tore her mouth away from the human’s throat and spoke, “Yes, just let me finish my feast.”
It was a sight for sore eyes when scarlet droplets fell down her neck and with the low neckline of her dress, slid down right over her breasts. In an instant, Laszlo’s mind dwelled on the concept of following the trail the blood left with his tongue, licking it clean. Naturally, it made his stomach clench and his knees tremble. He would rather be the master of his own fate than have his legs give out underneath him, so he kneeled down, close enough to have the corpse’s leg pressed against his thigh.
“Share, would you?” his voice was a pleasant, rough grumble against Nadja’s ears.
She looked right into his eyes and what he saw in them wasn’t hunger, but something much more wicked. Lust so raw he could feel his skin prickle. Nadja only flashed him a sultry smile and followed his suggestion, reaching out to pull his face closer in a sharp motion and pressed her lips against his own. As she parted them, the blood spilled from her mouth right into his, but she didn’t stop there. Laszlo felt the fluid drip down his chin, but he couldn’t give two fucks about wiping his beard because Nadja, with a firm grip on the back of his head, passionately sucked on his lower lip, intertwined her mouth with his like her undead life depended on it and pushed her tongue inside hungrily. When she moaned against his mouth, it was just about enough to send a dull, striking pain right in between his legs.
She pushed the carcass away, inched closer, not pausing the kissing and sucking for even a second and her firm thighs gripped his own. Feeling completely dizzy, Laszlo blindly reached out for her waist, deciding to fulfill the task he came up with before. Nadja let out a quiet gasp as he kissed her neck, licking up and down and she grabbed his shoulders tightly. He removed one hand from her side to pull the edge of her dress down and reveal more of her décolletage. Nadja was so delightful, eagerly expressing her satisfaction when his mouth reached the curve of her breast. Delight struck him as well when she gathered up her skirts with one hand and grasped his hand with the other, moving it from her waist to her thighs and then between them. The response to his fingers sliding in the midst of her folds was a wonderful whimper.
His lady wife whined right away, when he pulled his mouth back to speak, “Sometimes I wonder how, regardless of the truly idiotic things I do,” he dipped his fingers in the wetness pooling up at her entrance, “You still like me this much.”
“Laszlo, you absolute imbecile,” she snorted and couldn’t help but stammer through her next words because of her husband’s circling fingers, “I’ve met thousands of people, ah, let me speak,” he slowed down his pace, “Thousands of people through hundreds of years and still chose to spend my eternity with you. It’s bloody obvious you turn me the fuck on.”
An adoring smile graced his face as her words sank in. She returned it, more of a cheeky grin and he could have walked through hell and back if only she mentioned she wanted a necklace made of a devil’s teeth. His entire world was in his arms, bucking her hips as she urged:
“Now, get your tongue to work on some other things than your stupid talking.”