The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1158: Feasting Without Hunger (Part One)
While Ashlynn entertained Erkembalt’s antics across the length of the table, Zedya watched Lennart staring at his sorbet with an expression she’d come to recognize over the past few weeks since the night of their marriage, or rather, since the night that he became Zedya’s first and only progeny, leaving the world of the living behind to accompany her as a vampire.
It was a look that contained a mixture of appreciation and confusion that crossed his scarred face whenever they sat down to an ordinary meal, particularly when they did so around people like Virve whom Lennart had known well when he was still alive.
Her bear of a man, who had once been able to put away entire roasted chickens and still have room for a loaf of bread, was still adjusting to the vampire’s relationship with food, so when she saw the slightly lost look on his face as he stared at the glistening, delicate sorbet in front of him, she recognized the look immediately.
After all, she’d worn it herself, decades ago, when she first realized that eating was no longer about satisfying the deep, gnawing hunger that never entirely left the bellies of the men and women who served in the manors of the lords, but about experiencing flavors and textures of the food, and more importantly, clinging to the simple joy and normalcy of sharing a meal with others.
Nyrielle had warned her long ago, when she’d celebrated the fact that she no longer needed to search for a normal meal so long as there were people willing to offer up their blood, that she shouldn’t give up the habit of eating, and especially eating with others. Eating was a reminder of being alive and all the feelings that went with it.
If she ever relinquished the habits that went with life now that the necessity for them was gone, she’d soon find the millstone that wore away at her heart grinding faster than before, mercilessly crushing her ability to find any joy in day-to-day life and leaving her to face the hunger of the abyss without a reason to resist its siren call.
She hadn’t understood then, but she listened anyway, and over time, she came to realize the wisdom of Nyrielle’s warning. Now that her heart had reawakened, thanks to the priceless gift bestowed on her by Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn, she could feel the complete joy that accompanied one of Georg’s artfully prepared meals, but it looked like her husband was still learning to do the same.
"Not hungry, Lenny?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him innocently, even as she plotted to make her move.
Lennart glanced at her, his pale lavender eyes soft with affection despite the fierce scar that ran across his face; a grim reminder of the battle that had nearly claimed his life and prompted Zedya to take him as both husband and her progeny rather than risk losing him. The scar didn’t define him, or their relationship, but it would be an eternal reminder of how close they’d come to losing each other before they ever acknowledged their feelings for one another.
"It’s not that," he said quietly, his deep voice barely above a murmur. "It’s beautiful. Lady Ashlynn brought us something really delightful, and I can smell how good it is. But looking at it..." he gestured at the two small quenelles resting gently in the center of the bowl, only just beginning to melt as the heat of the dining room overcame the cold of the frosted metal bowl they lay in.
"I keep expecting to feel hungry," he said, looking away from the dish to gaze into his wife’s beautiful, amethyst eyes. "I feel like my stomach should be growling, demanding that I eat, especially when I haven’t had anything since our meal last night. But the hunger isn’t there anymore."
For a moment, he paused, and his bushy eyebrows drew close together in thought as he realized that wasn’t entirely true, particularly when he looked at the dark red quenelle, the one that was closest to the color of blood spilled from the veins...
But then, the hunger he felt, the bone deep yearning that called out for him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of one of the gather’s living guests... that hunger was far more intense than anything he’d ever felt for a cut of meat or a delicate dessert, and only the fact that he’d fed the night before allowed him to push that hunger to the back of his mind.
"I know it’s silly," Lennart said, shaking off the briefly intrusive feeling of bloodlust and gesturing to the delicate dish in front of him. "These portions that are perfect for vampires, for us," he amended as he gently cupped Zedya’s face with a soft, gentle pas. "But they still look so small to the part of me that remembers feasting and drinking with Virve," he said as he nodded toward the woman who had been one of his soldiers just a few months ago.
Virve’s expression was filled with the subtle signs of impatience as she watched the conversation flow up and down the table. Unlike Lennart, she’d already finished the palette cleansing course, and she kept glancing in Georg’s direction, as if she wanted to urge him to bring the next course.
The two of them had once commiserated that it was both a delight to be invited to share a meal with the lady they guarded during the day, and a form of torture as they waited for one course after another to arrive.
When the meal eventually progressed to the main courses, Georg would likely serve larger portions for the living guests than he did for the vampires, but the beginning of the meal felt like a special form of torture while Georg brought out small delights and tiny delicacies one after another, with plenty of time for savoring and appreciating them in between.
Once, Lennart and Virve had sat side by side in discomfort during the parade of small bites, but now, their lives had taken very different paths when one became a witch and the other a vampire. The difference was only made sharper by Lennart’s vivid recollection of the taste of Virve’s blood. She’d only offered it to him in order to help him heal from the burns he suffered while rescuing Rosy Pyre and her son, Tonnis, from their home in Hurel Village, but he would never forget the rush of power and the almost intoxicating blend of sweetness and earthiness that came from drinking the blood of the Oak Witch.
Next to that, no matter how much effort and artistry went into the food Georg prepared, it all felt a little... bland, and the feeling left Lennart feeling a bit lost.
"Well, since you’re more interested in other women than you are in your dinner," Zedya said in a light teasing tone as her hand moved faster than even Lennart’s eyes could follow to capture his bowl of sorbet before he could react. "I’ll just help myself to your portion."
"Hey now, wait a minute!" Lennart hissed in genuine panic. "Don’t, don’t say something that she’d misunderstand," he pleaded, hoping that Virve hadn’t noticed the way he’d been looking at her. His eyes hadn’t been impassive when he watched her craning her neck to look toward Georg... but the desire that filled his eyes wasn’t a man’s desire for a woman.
It was a predator’s desire for the blood of their prey, and he hated the fact that he’d looked at his longtime friend with that kind of hunger in his eyes.
