SUMMARY: Dr. Rebekah Seabree (known as Becca) is the favorite child of René Beaumont, the Master Vampire of Mobile, AL, and is the Deputy Coroner for the county. René is the childe of Spike, Master of New Orleans, and Spike's extended family is known as The Pride. Wesley and Drusilla, soul-mates who've been married about ten years at this point, are part of this family, and they make a deliriously happy husband-and-wife team. Becca is shy and apprehensive by nature, not allowing any man to touch her because of an abusive childhood, and the fact that she's empathic doesn't help her to trust too many other people. But when, because she so cares for and admires René, she is adopted as his daughter and moves into his big pink house on Old Government Street, she begins to open up to other members of The Pride. And when Wesley and Drusilla come to Mobile to help catch a serial killer, Becca forms an instant bond with Wes and is officially welcomed by him as a sister in The Pride. This is a vignette from that time, showing how Becca was able to break through further barriers in her growing development toward self-reliance.

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Becca paced around and around in her small office. The question, the central question that she had concentrated on for weeks, was still haunting her. And though bringing in René and Wesley had gotten her closer than ever to the answer, it hadn't provided the miracle solution she'd been looking for. Just two hours before Wesley had advised her to take a break from her thinking, to have some fun--and he'd been quite suggestive with that last phrase. But she'd refused, needing to drive herself into a frenzy so that she could tell herself later--when guilt kept her from sleep or peace--that she had done all she could and had not even taken a break for a delicious bout of sex with Wesley.

It was the stuffiness of the room that forced her to open the French doors and step out onto the back porch. The moon had just risen above the treetops on this sweltering evening, but in the rose garden behind the house all was calm. She had planned the rose garden--or rather, been given the task of planning the garden by René--and she liked looking out on the orderly rows and the mixture of flowers with brambles, all leading to the gazebo. The dominant roses were the Just Joeys, which she loved for their simplicity, even though it had been a chore putting in the clayey soil they preferred. At this time of night, though, they were invisible compared to the charm of the hybrid perpetuals like the Mrs. John Laing. And of course the Eglanteria, showing off pale blossoms in the night and hanging with the brambles to form a thorny encumbrance. She'd have to prune them back sometime soon.

And it was only because she'd focused on the Eglanteria that she noticed the movement among the thorny bushes. Becca stepped further out onto the porch and saw that it was a person walking between the roses and brambles, dipping from one to the other in a drunken walk. She was pale as the moon herself, a statue that giggled and danced in the moonlight, sporting in her own make-believe Eden. It was Drusilla, and she was nude, her arms and long tresses catching in the thorns of the garden. But the vampiress was unmindful of the rips in her flesh or the tugging on her hair by the plants' hooks--she continued to dance in circles and laugh to herself, yanking her hair away so that it was filled with stems, thorns, and blossoms.

Becca launched herself off the back porch, running in a straight line toward Drusilla. She'd been told that Dru had spells of madness, that they were rarer than before but they still happened. She couldn't really imagine it from the graceful, quiet woman she'd come to know, and it was frightening seeing her "sister" in the family putting herself in harm's way. She burst through a line of roses to stand beside Drusilla; the vampiress was entangled in two rose bushes and was almost to the point of pulling them from the ground and dragging them behind her.

"Dru!" Becca said, and the vampire turned on her with wild eyes. That was a shock in itself: she had never seen Drusilla surprised, not in the weeks since she'd met her. "Dru, what are you doing out here? You're cut. Here, let me help." Dru had thankfully stopped moving, and was staring at Becca as if at a stranger. Becca moved slowly, not wanting to startle the powerful and deadly vampire in the slightest. She reached out to see if she could remove one of the lines of thorns from Dru's arm, but the arm surged forward and caught Becca by the throat, lifting her off her feet with ease. The vampiress stood like a statue of vengeance, golden eyes blazing, leonine game-face showing that her demon was ascendant. Becca stared down at her like the face of her own death.

"You're interrupting the music," Drusilla stated, anger shaking her tone. "The moon and I are having a ball, and you're not dressed for it." She shook Becca once, and the woman felt her entire skeleton vibrate inside her. "What are you doing here, human?"

It was what Becca had asked Dru--for a moment she felt like she needed to prepare a crazy answer of her own, like the Goblin King had called her out for tennis. But she had nothing better to say than the truth. "I was worried about you. You're bleeding. I wanted to help."

Drusilla took a step forward, and the rose bush that had entangled her right arm pulled from the ground, dragging behind her. The one dangling from Dru's upraised left arm was already uprooted and hanging at the vampire's side. Becca couldn't help but mourn for the care that had been put into those plants, now wasted. And now she might join them, torn from life and cast empty on the soil. All her trust blown away like the flowers' faith in sunlight. She knew that no sane vampire in the entire state would kill her, especially not at René's own house; but Drusilla was clearly being carried by other passions.

She was set on her feet, but Drusilla's hand still held her and kept her close. Becca could look at nothing else, see nothing as clearly in the night as this pale humanoid form in front of her. Blood trailed down her bumpy visage, thorns having caught and held at the hairline, emphasizing the hellish mass of grooves and lines that made up her demonic face. How had human beings ever not worshipped these monsters as gods and demigods? This otherworldly creature had the power of life and death over her and some deep inner instinct begged for a solution to this, for some sacrifice she could make or ritual she could perform that would satisfy this vampire's need for a soul tonight. But she feared that only her blood would fill the necessary desire.

At this thought, Drusilla leaned forward, bringing their faces to within inches of each other. "Blood?" she asked harshly. "What do you know about it, Doctor? Platelets and plasma, is that all that you've learned? That it flows to fill a wound and seal it up?" She let go of Becca's throat and stepped back, watching while Becca rubbed at the bruises Dru had inflicted and gathered herself. She wiped at Drusilla's blood, which had flowed from that capturing hand and poured down the front of her shirt. As frightened as she was, she still wasn't running. She might be angry or even disappointed but she wouldn't leave. Like a sister. Drusilla, demon and woman, wondered at this. She wondered how far she might push this girl.

"Blood flows from pain," the vampire continued, "and nothing else. It rushes to find more. It calls the hungry dogs from the darkness, ready to lap it up--and they come, they always come. Pain is life, dearie; it keeps us all awake and vital." Becca drew on some of the strength that Drusilla herself had taught her, the power that came from truth rather than hiding. She stood her ground and said, "I know."

The demon face smirked. "Yes. You've tasted pain, haven't you? From your earliest years." Drusilla held up her right hand, the one that had just held Becca. Blood was pooling in her palm, a deep gash there pumping it forth. "Would you taste this, Rebekah? It should be familiar. Have you drunk from one of us yet?"

"I-- No. I've been careful not to."

"You're wise," Dru said. "But a cupful won't make you a minion. What you take from me will be just a saucer of tears. It can be bitter. But it's worth it." She held the hand out as an offering, not moving forward.

Becca stepped up and took the proffered hand. She held Dru's yellow eyes with her own as she brought the palm to her lips, tipped it, and drank the collected blood. The wound was still open, and she kept the palm to her lips, gulping as it flowed. She tried to keep her eyes locked on Drusilla's, but something was happening behind Dru's head.

The night, which had been growing increasingly black, suddenly exploded into brightness, like the biggest fireworks display she'd ever witnessed. Most of it was caught in stark whiteness, but there were also surges of red and blue, yellow and green, orange and violet. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears so that she could hear nothing else, and its rhythm was taken up by the vibrancy of the of the colors around her. She broke contact with Dru's hand so she could look around in awe at the procession of flowing pigments. The house, which had been a hulking shadow with a few tiny flickers of night, now stood in crimson against the blank white night, the lamps at various windows guttering in green shadow. The garden that surrounded her was a scattered chromatic jigsaw, each bloom sparking in various colors, each leaf flaming with its own colored life. The stems rushed with red streamers, and the ground--ooh, the ground was a dark purple like the earth's own bruise, and the grass rising from it at the garden's edge was butter yellow. And Drusilla, when she turned her eyes back on her, was such a constantly-shifting prismatic display that she couldn't look on her without cringing, her parts flaming and shifting through a hundred different patterns.

Her heart was still racing and drumming through her head, and when it started to slow she found the rhythm of color and vision slowing as well. It all faded in waves, with each dropping heartbeat, down into the normalcy of the night she'd known, the blackness that offered her no clues. She turned back to Drusilla, still pale and lovely in the night's air. Her face had turned back into the human features Becca was familiar with, but she wouldn't ever forget that the demon was there, or how it smiled at the mention of pain. "Was that--?" she began.

"No," Dru answered. "That was not how we see the world. It was your heart, opened to all that you saw, the full limits of your power. If your ability grows, someday you could see the world like that, feel its heart beat with yours, see the essence of life in every leaf and stem." Becca understood that Drusilla's mind had reached out and experienced it with her. The vampire looked up at the moon and, obviously talking only to herself, said, "I wish I saw as little. I wish the world were as beautiful to my eyes." The vampire now looked down shyly, then caught Becca's eye again. "You smell like my sister now. You feel more like family." She raised her arms, pulling the uprooted bushes with her. "Can you free me from these chains, Sissy?"

"Oh, of course," Becca said, rushing to Dru's side without hesitation. Her fear for her sister seemed to have flowed out of her along with her experience with the blood. And Drusilla seemed chastened by it as well, though Becca couldn't have explained why. She took Dru's right arm and slowly pulled the thorns and wraparound vines out of the pale flesh. This close, it was evident that Drusilla had inflicted more than a hundred little cuts and tears all over herself, from her bare feet to her razored lips, staying silent and sipping at her own blood which ran into her mouth. Becca wasn't quite sure what to do: wouldn't a vampire's healing take care of all these little wounds? Did they need bandaging? They wouldn't face infection, but wouldn't they draw greedy bloodsucking insects? She sighed mentally and wished that Wesley were here.

And just as if her mind had been hooked and pulled by one of the garden's thorns, his presence was there with her, his strength and his careful, frightening patience. His detached view was like a voice in the back of her mind, cautioning her to treat Drusilla with tenderness. Becca didn't know where he was: the link was still inexact enough so that she could only tell that he was anywhere from 30 feet to half-a-mile away, and his emotions were coming through more clearly than his thoughts. In fact, his emotions were quite . . . intense, focused as they were on Drusilla. As Becca turned the woman around so she could free the left arm, she let herself notice Dru's nudity for the first time, allowed her eyes to linger over the vampire's pale, thin frame. Welts, tears, and cuts adorned her breasts like ruby sparkles, only a few large enough to weep blood in a stream that joined in the center of her chest. This stream ran down her flat belly, detoured around her navel, and slicked her hips and thighs with a wash of blood. And of course, her legs were covered in large scratches and deep cuts, so that in the yard's blackness the pale ghostliness of her flesh was swallowed by flowing dark shadows. Becca herself was drowning in a sudden panicky concern for Drusilla's safety. She didn't know if it came from Wesley or her own feelings at losing a new and beloved sister, but she didn't question it. She put her arms around the suddenly weakened Drusilla. She thought that Dru might limp from the wounds, but the vampire still took almost no notice of them, though the blood running freely down her arms splashed about when she made motions with her hands.

Becca pulled her toward the gazebo, setting Dru down on one of the benches near the front steps. Beneath the empty benches of the gazebo one could find things only expected in a vampire's garden: a large tarp that could cover the entire gazebo and keep it safe from sunlight; candles and matches and spare hunting knives; jars of salve for burns; a Glock 9mm with a trigger lock sitting on a box of ammunition; and three first aid kits. Becca took a first aid kit and got out the lengths of bandage she expected to wrap around the vampire's arms and legs.

Drusilla, meanwhile, had started to talk to the roses that crept up the side of the gazebo. She turned to Becca and asked: "What are these?"

"Roses," Becca answered, distracted, kneeling next to Dru and starting to wrap gauze around her bloody right ankle. For some reason she found herself fascinated with this dainty foot, with the vampire's strong legs and well-muscled calves. She was so delicate and durable at the same time, and as she had just found out, as deadly as she'd been motherly. Becca didn't know another vampire who so completely displayed the contrasts of vampiric life.

"I know they're roses, Sissy," Dru groaned. "What kind?"

Becca looked up. "Uh, those are the Mme. George Staechelins. I thought that pink roses on the white gazebo would match the house well." As she spoke her hands were moving up Drusilla's thigh, and she was unaccountably nervous and excited at the same time. Her fingers grew ever closer to Drusilla's sex, blood-soaked though it was, and they twitched with energy, with wanting to move and open and dive . . . when the roll of gauze ran out. Ah, switch to the other leg. Starting at another ankle, Becca felt more in control. But just the thought of moving up that leg, of getting her hands around those slick
hips and running her tongue up that stream of red to those sharp and tasty breasts . . .

Becca drew back, leaving the bandaging undone on that leg. She knew these weren't her thoughts now; she had never thought of Drusilla in that fashion, certainly never tasted her boobs. These had to be Wesley's emotions infecting her own train of thought, his lust melding with her own need to help, his knowledge and experience with Dru coloring her own impressions. Maybe Drusilla's blood was giving her increased insight into the woman. And yet . . . and yet, hadn't Drusilla been comforting to Becca since that first night that they worked together at the house? Hadn't Dru brought her peace and sleep when nothing else would do? Hadn't she felt immense kinship and love for this woman, who knew the pains of a psychic mind better than even Becca? Hadn't there been a strong desire within Becca to bring Drusilla . . . closer? To bring her within herself, to join their minds as only two telepaths could? And even when terrified of Drusilla's darker side, as she'd been just minutes before, wasn't there a part of her that wanted to worship Dru rather than hate her? It was easy for Becca to admit to herself that she lusted over Drusilla's marvelous mind; but could she admit to some curiosity about the vampire's cool, smooth body as well?

She shifted her thoughts away from provocative items and sat next to Dru on the bench, taking a free arm and starting to wrap it in gauze from the palm to the elbow--it instantly soaked and looked like black gloves she'd slipped on. Drusilla looked to the roses on the edge of the gazebo's entrance and said with a sigh, "Mother."

"Hmm?" Becca said, already switching to the next hand. The next delicate, beautiful hand, whose o-so-talented fingers could perform wonders, she knew. Becca shook her head to clear those thoughts away.

"Mother used to cook with rose hips," Dru sighed. "Such nice dishes. She'd send us out to collect the pretty little buds, and we'd race back to the kitchen with them to see how she'd use them this week."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that," Becca said. "Cooking with flowers, like rose hips. It's just coming back now. But it hadn't been a popular traditions since . . . I don't know, Victorian times?"

"Oh, pretty Queen Vic," Dru said, smiling once more and turning a bright expression to Becca. "She was such a nice girl at the beginning. Then she grew so fat."

Becca stared. It now entered her mind that she had never asked how old Drusilla was. She knew that René was rather young for a Master Vampire, but he still wasn't very old even if one counted the years since his birth. She knew that Spike was much older and from the nineteenth century, and she assumed that all older vamps had his same strength and regal manner. She'd heard at some point that Drusilla was Spike's sire, but it was a fact that she'd catalogued somewhere and never connected to the real Dru even once until this moment. Dru was older than Spike. It hit her with renewed force just how powerful this delicate, courtly woman was, all that danger like a hurricane kept in check by one of the strongest psychic minds on the planet. The power that could easily have killed her when she ran into the garden--and just as easily have eliminated René should he seek revenge--yet had offered her a further connection to the family. The mystery that was Drusilla deepened with each moment she knew her.

She finished bandaging Dru's let arm and then adjusted the gauze so that it covered evenly. "There, you're all done," she said. Settling the bandage around the vampire's hand, Becca unthinkingly drew the hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it, almost as a finishing touch. She kept the hand at her face, though, holding it with both of her own, looking closely at the scratches and tears on the fingers, wanting to wipe them away like cleaning a mirror so that Dru's flesh was once more milky and perfect. She looked up from the hand to find that Dru was staring at her, those large luminous eyes casting almost visible rays into her.

"Are you mine, pet?" Drusilla asked, but Becca was too frozen in wonder to answer. "Are you to be the sweet sister I don't deserve, the human girl who can bring me down to earth?" Dru leaned forward, drawing Becca's hands closer. Her right hand caressed Becca's cheek, leaving striated trails of blood behind, then cupped the young woman's face. Her cut lips met Becca's soft, full mouth, and the slight sting this caused Dru only made her hungrier for more. She brought both hands up to dive into that thick blonde hair, holding the human woman's head so she could have perfect control. Her mouth was hungry for anything Becca could give her, and she was pleased to find that the doctor could be passionate when she chose: Becca's tongue was desperate to explore her cold mouth, to swirl around Dru's own strong tongue, to pull back and bring Dru into her heated self. She brought her own hands up to Dru's dark brown locks and almost immediately felt one of the thorny stems matted there cut into her.

The prick against her skin woke her from the spell, and Becca drew back to look at Dru's tangled, leafy hair. "Oh, darling," she cooed. "That must hurt you. We have to get that out somehow."

Drusilla pulled Becca's hand away from the thorny mess. "That don't signify," she said, once more stabbing Becca's eyes with her own powerful gaze. "I don't even feel such minor cuts. But your soul is bleeding far worse, dear Sissy, our Pixie-love. You need comfort, you need care."

Becca nodded slowly, fascinated with the power in Dru's eyes. "I do," she said.

Drusilla's hands began to work under the light cotton top that Becca was wearing, moving softly across the warm skin there, bringing her cool touch to the woman's center. "You need to learn that some touches are here to help you as well as hurt," Dru breathed. She leaned forward for another kiss, and Becca was only too happy to oblige, moaning as her tongue danced with Dru's. The vampiress used her teeth to nip the living girl's tongue, and Becca broke the kiss with alarm. Dru smiled at her warmly, her eyes still holding Becca where she was. "And not every hurt should be avoided," she whispered. "Some of them are educational." As she finished speaking she finally unhooked Becca's bra and let it drop away.

Becca was drowning in sensation and emotion, each touch from the vampiress affecting her like a drop of acid on her supersensitive skin. Feeling those wrapped hands slide around her breasts, those sharply-nailed fingers tease and twist her nipples, she let out another moan. After all these years of abstinence, she'd never known just how sexual a creature she could be until Wesley and Dru came into her life. "Come, pet," Dru said quietly. "Join me in the night's embrace. Let us be free." Without hesitation, Becca lifted her arms and let Drusilla pull her shirt off.

Becca then stood up from the bench, and Dru joined her, dropping to her knees in front of the petite blonde. Becca stared down in absolute wonder, and Dru looked up in lust and warm joy as she undid Becca's belt. With the first button of her jeans undone, Dru said, "Not every attempt to get past your defenses is an attack." Her voice was soothing and yet strong, something for Becca to hold onto in the steadily deepening night. "Some of us," Dru said, and undid another button on Becca's fly, "just want to open you up," and another button was undone, "and enjoy all that you have to give." With that, she undid the last button and pulled Becca's jeans to the floor.

Drusilla laid her ear against Becca's belly, sweeping her thorn-thick hair to the side so she didn't cut the girl. She listened to the blood move within her, to the gurgling and flowing that made up the young woman. And she could smell the arousal rising from Becca's depths, dampening the white cotton of her panties. It warred with the perfume that adorned Becca's slick body, smelling of Oriental flowers--Cinnabar, it was called. Dru snaked out her tongue and ran it around Becca's abdomen, tickling her navel, taking in sweat and perfume, night dew and the thick scent of roses. The woman shivered all over at Dru's touch and dropped to her knees, falling into Drusilla's embrace. Dru leaned to her right and sat on her hip, bringing Becca with her, so that the two women reclined on the wooden floor with arms propped to keep them up, one naked and the other nearly so, staring into each others' eyes as though there was nothing more fascinating in the entire night.

Dru hugged Becca close, their mouths merging once more in a fiery kiss, slick breasts rubbing provocatively, hard nipples dueling and twirling around each other. Drusilla's back hit the wood floor and she sent them both tumbling, back over back, three times across the gazebo floor before resting once more with Dru below and Becca above. Becca had been shocked by the move, and cried out into Drusilla's mouth, but the vampire's only response was a pleasant chuckle and a playful bite on the girl's tongue. She was completely in control here, and wanted Doctor Seabree to know it. Becca's eyes were sparkling as she drew back to take a breath. She was being taken far beyond where she would normally stop, and was loving it. The trust and affection she felt for both Wesley and Dru--very unaccustomed but very welcome--were transforming her bit by bit. She wondered who she'd be when she came out the other side, and if her current passion was indeed her own or borrowed from Wesley. Then came to the conclusion that she didn't care, and leaned down to Drusilla to capture another mind-bending kiss, her thoughts reaching out to join in a latticework with the vampiress' complex mental pattern.

Drusilla pulled away and looked lovingly into her sister's face, running her hand through her thick blonde hair and brushing it away from her face. "Not bad for an old lady, eh, lovey?" she asked.

Becca's eyes flew wide. "Dru, I-- I never meant--"

Dru giggled and playfully tugged on Becca's hair. "I know that, Pixie-love. Simply teasing you." She slid cold fingers down Becca's sodden back, as the blonde closed her eyes and hissed in delight. "Ooh, you feel so good," Dru moaned. She slipped her hands beneath the edge of Becca's cotton panties and cupped her ass. "I want to feel every inch of you, inside and out." She jerked her hips forward to emphasize her point, shocking Becca once more with the pure sexual power Dru generated.

Becca stared down at her sometime-sister, now possible lover, and memorized the tenderness and care flowing from her eyes. Whatever happened from this point on, she would never see Drusilla in the same way. She'd been shown so many faces of this woman tonight, more than she ever expected to see. To call her simply demon or woman was not enough, and yet she was more than the combination of the two. Becca's hair fell down like a canopy, joining with Drusilla's, so that the vampire's face was obscured in shadow, but her eyes were as bright as ever. She ran a thumb across the cuts on Dru's cheek. "I thought you'd be just like Wesley," Becca said. "But you're not."

Dru chuckled, her deep voice enticing. "Wesley needs to hear that you belong to him," she said, and traced a finger along Becca's cheek. "I already know you do."

Becca drew back, her fear of drinking Dru's blood resurfacing. "Wait, I--"

"We belong to each other," Dru told her, her finger running down Becca's neck to her chest. "We are sisters, in mind and flesh and heart, luv, which is how the undead relate. You have so much in your heart that you need to let out." She tapped the living girl's sternum to point out her heart. Then she giggled at a random thought. "Mine gave up long ago--yours has to beat for both of us." She slid Becca up her own body and put her ear against the woman's chest, listening once more to the beating and swirling within her. Opening her eyes, Dru saw a pink, rosy nipple in front of her and moved to latch onto it with her mouth.

"Oh!" Becca yelped, surprised at the electric suddenness of contact, but pleased at the attention Dru was giving to her sensitive nub. Drusilla's hands drifted down to Becca's waist and, with two hard tugs, ripped away the cotton panties and threw them to the side. As soon as this was accomplished, her strong hand moved to the small of Becca's back to support the woman as she flipped her over, resting Becca against the wooden floor while Drusilla hovered over her, active mouth buzzing from one nipple to the other.

Becca was overwhelmed in sensation and movement, moving slowly as though caught in a wave and trying to find the surface. When she reached for Dru she felt only gauze bandages and a thorny, leafy mane; she pouted in frustration that she couldn't give Dru back the pleasure that she was receiving, that they weren't kissing once more. Drusilla's mouth was instantly on hers, cool tongue enforcing and enfolding, bruised lips giving rough and layered caresses to Becca's soft mouth. "Don't worry, little sister," she whispered, voice full of panting excitement. "I'm here for you. My fun is arriving." Before Becca could contemplate the meaning in this, Dru was using her tongue like Wesley would his knifepoint, drawing a line down Becca's exact center from her chin, down her neck, down her chest and belly, and finally into that sweating, needy core at the apex of her legs. She teased the long, golden hairs there, waiting for Becca's frustrated moan of need, which she promptly received.

Dru's descent into Becca was gloriously slow. She laved the entire mound with the flat of her tongue several times, drinking in everything Becca had to offer there, before fixing the tongue into a point and separating folds into layers. She brought her fingers down to help, dipping two of them in and running them around inside Becca's depths. The concentrated smells of Cinnabar and roses, the deliciously vanilla-like taste of her sweet juices ("Like toffee," Wesley had said, and he was right), the blast-furnace heat of the young woman--all combined to make Drusilla drunk with lust. She searched out the sensitive clitoris with her tongue and swirled around it, carefully, teasingly, her fingers still making inroads into Becca's sex.

Seemingly far away, Becca writhed with the ecstasy Dru was bringing to her. The only other time she'd done this while her mental abilities were developed was with Wesley, so her mind cast out for him. She hooked into his mind almost immediately, and knew that he was close by because of the pleasure he was taking in feeling her pleasure. He was considering the Rosa borbonia that dominated the garden, while noting that the Rosa odorata were still the favorites, being given places of importance within its scheme. And as for the Rosa rehderana, well, they were sweet--but nowhere near as sweet as the spiced honey taste of Becca's Cinnabar perfume in his mouth, in his lungs, the perfume he had tasted on her before but was now appreciating from a distance, coming upon it like a jungle cat finding prey along a favorite path, for he had been following Drusilla's scent and came upon this flushed rose of life atop his expected pale orchid. Becca's thoughts whirled with his, while Drusilla's talented mouth caused her to spasm. Her left arm flew up . . . and struck another arm, where she had expected empty space. She opened her eyes, upside-down and looking at the floor of the gazebo. She met Wesley's heavy stare, since he'd removed his fogged glasses; he was upside-down as well, his back against the floorboards, arms outspread, grinning at her.

"Hello, Pixie," he said, cool voice flowing smoothly in the night. "And what chalice have you been drinking from?"

Becca was jerked out of her shock at seeing Wesley by suddenly having the feeling of Dru's tongue stop. She looked down at herself and said, "Dru-SIL-la!" Then she could be no more articulate than to whine.

Dru chuckled from her place at Becca's crotch. "Don't worry, luv. My Wesley's come to entertain us both. Haven't you, dear?" Faster than Becca could see, she was suddenly standing, moving over to Wesley.

Wesley, as naked as the two women, had flipped over and risen to his knees. He offered a hand to Becca and levered her up. "I have?" he asked. "And why am I doing this?"

"Because I say so," Drusilla told him, smirking down at him as they shared the same smile.

"Not quite enough incentive there, princess."

"Because if you're very good to me now you can be very bad later," she promised.

"I always did prefer an eclectic menu," Wes responded. "Where do you want me?"

"On your back."

"Oh, yes ma'am," he said in mocking tones, but laid down again, teasingly running a hand across Becca's ankle.

"Pixie-love," Drusilla said. "My Wesley's mouth is as talented as my own."

Becca looked with wide eyes from one lover to the other. This was completely outside of her experience, and yet she could say the same for most of this evening. She could fall back to her standby position of frightened yet professional young woman, or she could rise to this new challenge. She looked at Wesley's suggestive leer, and his proud erection, then back to Dru. "I guess I'll have to find that out myself."

And you will, Wesley sent to her through their link. Becca could feel that it had grown stronger since she had tasted Dru's blood. She herself was stronger, regaining the confidence she'd had the last time she'd been naked around Wesley. The more she revealed herself to him, and to Dru, the more secure she felt.

Drusilla was first to move, kneeling at Wesley's side and running a caring hand down his cheek. Then she braced a hand on his chest, climbed on top of him, and shoved herself onto his aching cock. It was a position obviously very comfortable and familiar to her--Becca could see bruises on Wesley's side that fit the placement of Dru's knees. She leaned down the length of Wesley's torso to kiss him deeply, then sat up once more. Her raised-eyebrow look to Becca was challenging, and Becca stepped forward to meet it. Wesley already had his arms up to support her as she placed herself in this unfamiliar position, and Drusilla helped, and sooner than it takes time to say it, she found herself kneeling over Wesley, facing Dru, upright and empowered, Wesley's face buried in her melting core, his tongue and nimble fingers working wonders that she'd never dreamed.

"Oh. My. God," she panted, moving her pelvis to increase the friction, better the angle, make this experience last as long as possible. Wesley's hands dug into her hips, keeping her in place, and his mind was firing off messages to her over their link. Lovely . . . God, what a taste, what a succulent thing you are . . . a confection, my shy beauty, my sweet sister. Becca had never imagined the possibilities of telepathy when a man's mouth was otherwise engaged. She herself was having trouble vocalizing, but her thoughts flowed to her partner as they poured from her mind: faster, yes, faster, and to the left, yes, yes, just like--OH! Oh dear, Wes, you treasure, oh that was, yes, yes, oh keep it up keep it up keep it up. Drusilla's mind was obviously interwoven with theirs, but she kept any words to herself, choosing instead to channel the ecstasy she was feeling through the threefold link they now enjoyed.

Becca stared at the vision Drusilla presented, riding Wes with eyes closed, head thrown back, bandaged arms hanging at her sides, breasts bouncing with each grinding thrust she gave to her husband. And Wesley was meeting her thrust for thrust, holding up the human end in their personal sexual Olympics. She seemed to have drowned in a sea of pleasure, allowing herself to drift until she hit bottom. The blood and gashes along her torso were like a shadow-tattoo etched in a secret language, and it was expanding as she still bled in a few places. Becca now knew that rust-red taste, that iron-and-passion flavor that was vampire blood, and a part of her wanted it again, wanted it every day, even wanted to be turned. But like other self-
destructive voices within her, she would turn away from it. Still . . . tasting Drusilla did not mean tasting her blood.

Connected as she was to her two lovers, Drusilla knew what Becca wanted as soon as Becca did. Dru's head swiveled forward, her shadowy eyes open once more, and she smiled wickedly as she leaned toward her sister. Becca leaned forward also and the women met in the middle, their mouths joined in a furious kiss that knew nothing of sweetness or sisterhood. This was pure, naked desire and dominance, as animalistic and wholly satisfying as it came, without regret or questioning but a need to reach the point of explosion. When Becca grabbed Dru's head to steady herself she felt thorns from the other's hair sink into her hands, yet she didn't care. In fact, she delighted in it-this was what Drusilla knew, what she herself had wanted to know: that pain and pleasure could mix to become quite the heady cocktail. It hadn't made sense before, but that was because she'd never been driven to this extreme of pleasure.

Wesley's beautiful voice was echoing in Becca's head: You're near that point, my toffee-girl, I can feel it. But should I let you over the edge so soon-that is the question. Dru's voice butted in: Why not? It's only the first of many, after all. Becca's voice was small compared to theirs, matching her panting exertion: Never thought . . . I'd have to . . . vote on . . . an orgasm. Can I suggest . . . NOW? Then we . . . could go inside. Drusilla crowed: Ooh! Lovely idea! I'll be first in the tub!

Drusilla broke the kiss, and Becca straightened in her place on Wesley's mouth, feeling how he had brought his fingers to bear on her clitoris. She really was far closer to the edge than she had thought. Dru was bringing matters to a head by slipping into game-face and leaning down to sink her fangs into Wesley. She was biting a particular scar on his chest, which Becca assumed was his consort-mark, and it had a strong effect upon him, causing him to buck and moan under the two women. Becca catalogued that information in the ever-growing Wesley Index within her mind.

It was her last coherent thought for some minutes. Wesley's orgasm arrived thick and fast, completely unlike her own, and it barreled through their linked minds like a triphammer. Drusilla roared with the power of it and her orgasm went off like a supernova, scorching Becca and Wes with its heat. Becca could only imagine how she looked when it happened, because her eyes were shut tightly. Her own orgasm was slowly expanding within her, a tide that crept upon them but soon engulfed them all, wave after wave lashing them with its intensity.

***

Two hours later saw them in the bathtub of Wes and Dru's suite, Becca coming down from her seventh orgasm, Wesley kissing her neck and sweeping wet hair from her forehead. Drusilla had kept her word, and he had been allowed to be just as bad as he was nice before, to everyone's delight. But both he and Becca had treated Drusilla with extreme tenderness as they removed the thorns and blooms from her hair, washing her dark locks and then washing her and then all of them moving on to other activities.

When Becca had regained her senses, she noticed that Drusilla had withdrawn from their threefold link. She mentally reached out for Wesley and found that he had closed himself off as well. This caused her to open her eyes and sit upright in the large tub. She saw Dru whispering something to Wesley, and he nodded and kissed her and said, "Yes, it sounds good."

Becca looked nervously from one to the other. "What's going on?" she asked.

Wesley re-opened their link, sending her calming, soothing feelings. "My dark princess has a gift for you," he said. As he spoke, Drusilla moved next to Becca in the tub.

Becca's gaze was caught by Drusilla's own shadowy eyes. She felt the vampire's arm pull her into a strong embrace. Earlier, she'd been amazed to see how Dru's wounds had healed for the most part, leaving her flesh smooth and pristine. That slick skin now slipped around her shoulders, then drew back to hold her head in place. Drusilla placed a chaste kiss on Becca's lips, then touched her lips to Becca's forehead, allowing her mind's power to reach into the human woman's brain.

Becca felt the mental contact immediately--it compared to her link with Wesley like a honeybee compares to a jetliner. For entire seconds she had no idea who she was or where she was: everything was Drusilla, light-years wide and deep. Her sense of self was a pebble in the stream of mental power that was this undead prophet. Then just as suddenly she was popped back into her own skin, blinking at the grinning face of her sister Dru, knowing that something had changed within her but not knowing exactly what.

Drusilla brushed a hand across her forehead. "I've left my kiss there in your head," she explained to Becca. "It's a gift I've only given to my sweet Wesley before. But everything within me says that you will be as precious to us all in the years to come."

"What--? What is it?" Becca asked, touching her forehead to see if some mark had been left but detecting nothing.

"My mark is on you," Dru explained. "No other mind can touch yours without knowing that you are mine. No one can look into your mind without alerting me, even if I'm across the planet from you, luv. And no vampire can ever put you in thrall, not even that nasty Dracula."

Wesley snorted at that. "Not that you have to worry about him," he said. "If I ever run into him again I'll stake him good and proper. The bastard."

Drusilla left Becca's side to join Wesley, running her hands across his chest. "You're so beautiful when you're jealous," she told him before covering his mouth with hers.

Becca put her elbows up on the rim and pulled herself into a full sitting position. She looked on her siblings in The Pride with affection. She'd never really known what it was like to have family--or rather, had never seen anything positive in the connection. Those people who smiled when they talked of their relatives, or confided to her how precious their family was to them, were like Martians to her. She couldn't comprehend what it was like to trust someone else so completely. Meeting René, the man fated to be her true "Daddy," had changed everything for her. And now she had siblings who she loved with a strength and ferocity that scared her at times. She would do anything, turn on anyone, to defend her family. It wasn't even a question anymore: no one and nothing came before family duties, not since she had moved into the house with René, not since she had become so closely bonded to Wesley. It was frightening to recognize that her life was now completely changed, that it would run in one course and no other for as long as she lived (and possibly longer, knowing how easy it would be to turn her and bring her into the fold of the undead). But when she looked at Wes and Dru cuddling in the warm water, she had no regrets or doubts. Becca was proud to call them family, happy to know that they accepted and loved her, and awed to know that they considered her worthy of joining their Pride. She closed her eyes and reveled in the interior feeling of joy and acceptance that Wesley had introduced to her mere weeks before: "family." There was nothing else like it.

~Fin~

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