Myra, witnessing the immediate and dramatic shift in Freya’s demeanor, the pyful amusement repced by a raw, almost feral hunger, felt a shiver of both fear and a strange sense of acceptance run through her. The potent intensity in Freya’s crimson eyes, the low growl that had rumbled in her chest, spoke volumes about the ancient predator she truly was. The spell of their earlier intimacy had been broken, shattered by the simple, undeniable fact of her bleeding.
Despite the sudden wave of apprehension, Myra found herself strangely calm. The earlier arousal had faded, repced by a sense of crity. She understood, in that moment, the fundamental nature of their connection, the underlying current of Freya’s existence that could never truly be denied.
Meeting Freya’s gaze, her own eyes held a surprising steadiness. The vulnerability she had shown moments before was still present, but now tinged with a quiet resolve. “Freya,” she said, her voice softer than before but devoid of fear, “you can… you can have it. If you need to.”
It was an offering, given freely, without coercion. In that moment, Myra seemed to understand that this was a fundamental part of Freya, a need that couldn’t be simply wished away. And perhaps, after the intimacy they had shared, the knowledge Freya had imparted, a strange sense of trust had blossomed within her. It was a recognition of the delicate bance of their unusual retionship, a silent acknowledgment of the price of the connection they had forged. The fear was still there, a faint tremor beneath her skin, but it was overshadowed by a strange sense of acceptance and a willingness to offer what was so clearly desired.
Freya’s breath hitched at Myra’s unexpected offer. The raw hunger that had surged through her, the primal urge to simply seize and consume, momentarily receded, repced by a flicker of… something else. Surprise, perhaps. Or even a nascent form of consideration. This mortal, who had just moments ago been a source of unexpected intimacy, was now offering herself as sustenance, with a calm acceptance that belied the potential danger.
Her crimson eyes, still bzing with a residual hunger, searched Myra’s face, seeking any hint of fear, of coercion, of anything other than genuine willingness. What she saw was a quiet resolve, a strange understanding that transcended the simple predator-prey dynamic. It was an offering born not of terror, but of a complex tapestry of gratitude, a burgeoning connection, and perhaps even a touch of resignation.
A low murmur escaped Freya’s lips, a sound that was no longer a growl of hunger, but something softer, more contemptive. “Myra,” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of the primal urge, but now ced with a note of hesitation. The ease with which Myra offered herself was… unsettling. It forced Freya to confront the nature of their bond, to acknowledge that it had evolved beyond a simple transaction.
The blood continued to trickle from Myra’s nose, the scent a potent lure. Yet, for the first time since it began, Freya’s gaze flickered away from it, back to Myra’s eyes. The raw hunger warred with an unfamiliar reluctance, a hesitation born of the unexpected depth of their interaction. The choice was hers, the ancient instinct pulling her one way, and the strange, complicated connection with this mortal woman tugging her in another.
