Havelock shudders at the command, but doesn't break away, teeth still locked on the woman's throat until a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him away and breaking the flow of hot blood. She staggers when he releases her abruptly, skin very pale under her modest peasant's dress, but expression dreamy and untroubled even as she slumps down against the wall. He shakes himself, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Margolotta's hand.
The bloodlust is fading faster than before now, but still only once he has stopped drinking - been forced to stop.
(The woman is not dying, he can tell. Though weak, she will recover- but it should not have gone that far.)
Havelock presses the back of his hand against his mouth, and nods once. Margolotta releases his hair and then smooths it down again, oddly gentle.
He shivers, even though his skin feels warm for once, alive and prickling with sensation.
"How do you do it?" he asks, hearing his voice come out rough and shaking.
"Practise," comes the silken answer. "Nothing comes immediately, my boy, you should know that. At least you are not trying to tear my head from my shoulders vhen I interrupt you any more, hmm?"
He rather wishes at times that he did. It would be stupid and counterproductive, but a way to channel the rush of heat and need - and yes, anger still.
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Havelock shudders at the command, but doesn't break away, teeth still locked on the woman's throat until a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him away and breaking the flow of hot blood. She staggers when he releases her abruptly, skin very pale under her modest peasant's dress, but expression dreamy and untroubled even as she slumps down against the wall. He shakes himself, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Margolotta's hand.
The bloodlust is fading faster than before now, but still only once he has stopped drinking - been forced to stop.
(The woman is not dying, he can tell. Though weak, she will recover- but it should not have gone that far.)
Havelock presses the back of his hand against his mouth, and nods once. Margolotta releases his hair and then smooths it down again, oddly gentle.
He shivers, even though his skin feels warm for once, alive and prickling with sensation.
"How do you do it?" he asks, hearing his voice come out rough and shaking.
"Practise," comes the silken answer. "Nothing comes immediately, my boy, you should know that. At least you are not trying to tear my head from my shoulders vhen I interrupt you any more, hmm?"
He rather wishes at times that he did. It would be stupid and counterproductive, but a way to channel the rush of heat and need - and yes, anger still.
It's taking too long.