A wave of self-reproach washed over Freya as she looked at Myra’s injured form, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in her chest. Why couldn’t I have controlled myself? The beast within is a constant battle. she thought, the memory of her bloodlust a horrifying echo in her mind. To see Myra, so delicate and kind, bearing the marks of her own monstrous hunger was a pain far greater than any physical discomfort she herself could endure.

  With a gentle sigh, Freya reached out and took Myra’s hand in hers, her cool fingers entwining with Myra’s slightly cmmy ones. I must be gentle, careful. She then leaned closer, and with a hesitant tenderness, began to slowly lick the angry red scratches on Myra’s chest. Her touch was feather-light, her actions imbued with a deep sense of apology and a fervent desire to mend the damage she had caused.

  After a few moments, Freya paused, her lips briefly lifting from Myra’s skin. Her gaze softened as she looked at Myra’s other hand, still protectively covering her breast. “Myra,” she murmured softly, her voice filled with understanding, “would you mind… removing your other hand? The scratches extend further, and I want to ensure they heal properly.”

  Myra, her eyes tightly closed against the unexpected intimacy of the treatment, nodded almost imperceptibly. With a slow, deliberate movement, she lowered her other hand, her vulnerability id bare beneath Freya’s careful ministrations. The only sounds in the room were Freya’s soft breaths and the gentle, rhythmic licking against Myra’s skin.

  Freya continued her careful ministrations, her tongue tracing the infmed edges of each scratch with a delicate, almost reverent touch. So fragile, so resilient. The sensation was unexpected, a strange mingling of the clinical and the intimate. Myra found herself focusing on the rhythmic pping, the cool dampness against her heated skin, the surprisingly gentle pressure.

  As Freya moved lower, tending to the longer scratch that extended towards her breast, a different kind of warmth began to bloom within Myra. It was a sensation that had nothing to do with pain, a stirring in the pit of her stomach that spread outwards, a subtle awakening of her senses. The intimacy of Freya’s touch, the undeniable vulnerability of the moment, was creating an unexpected reaction within her body.

  A soft sigh escaped Myra’s lips, a sound that was perhaps more pleasure than discomfort. Did she…? Freya paused, her lips lifting from Myra’s skin, her crimson eyes meeting Myra’s with a question in their depths. “Is it… is it feeling any better, my dear?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a note of genuine concern.

  Myra’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. The initial shock and apprehension had given way to a confusing mix of sensations. The stinging of the scratches had indeed lessened, repced by this unexpected stirring, this strange undercurrent of arousal. She wasn’t entirely sure how to articute what she was feeling.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Myra’s gaze flickered from where Freya’s lips had been to meet the vampire’s eyes, a shy yet undeniable longing reflected within them. “Um… yes,” she murmured softly, her voice a little breathy. “It… it feels a little better. If… if you wouldn’t mind… could you perhaps… continue a little bit more?”

  She wants more? Or is it just to heal properly? I must be careful not to misinterpret her needs, Freya thought, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her mind.

  The request hung in the air, a delicate invitation born of both the lingering physical discomfort and the surprising sensual awakening that Freya’s touch had ignited. The vulnerability of her exposed body now felt intertwined with a different kind of exposure, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected feelings stirring within her.

  A soft smile touched Freya’s lips at Myra’s whispered request, a flicker of understanding in her crimson eyes. “As you wish, my dear,” she murmured, her voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate against Myra’s skin. She resumed her ministrations, her tongue tracing the delicate network of scratches on Myra’s chest with a slow, deliberate tenderness.

  As Freya’s attention lingered on a particurly sensitive area near the curve of her breast, a soft, involuntary moan escaped Myra’s lips. It was a sound barely audible, quickly stifled, but it did not go unnoticed by Freya. The ancient vampire paused for a fleeting moment, her gaze lifting to meet Myra’s, a hint of knowing amusement dancing in their depths.

  Freya then shifted her focus to Myra’s shoulder, her licks becoming slightly more insistent, her tongue exploring the contours of the delicate joint. Healing requires thoroughness, Freya thought. A deeper, more unrestrained moan escaped Myra this time, her body involuntarily arching slightly against the soft bedding. She had been holding her breath, trying to suppress the confusing sensations that were building within her, but the unexpected pleasure was proving difficult to contain.

  The coolness of Freya’s saliva against her heated skin was an increasingly potent sensation, no longer merely medicinal. It was a direct, intimate touch, igniting a fire within Myra she hadn’t anticipated. Her breath began to come in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart pounding against her ribs in a rhythm that echoed the strange new urgency in her veins.

  Freya then moved higher, her lips tracing the sensitive skin of Myra’s neck, dangerously close to the still-tender bite marks. A shiver ran through Myra’s body, a mixture of lingering pain and a burgeoning anticipation. Freya’s tongue flickered against the delicate hollow of her throat, and Myra’s head fell back against the pillows, a soft whimper escaping her lips. The healing touch had become something else entirely, a sensual exploration that was leaving her breathless and increasingly aroused. The memory of the previous night’s terror was fading, repced by the intense, confusing pleasure of Freya’s unexpected ministrations.

  Freya observed the subtle shift in Myra's reactions, the initial apprehension giving way to a mixture of relief and something akin to pleasure. A warmth spread through her own ancient veins, not of bloodlust, but of a profound connection, tinged with a burgeoning desire. She had yearned to soothe Myra's pain, a penance for her moment of madness, but the unexpected turn this healing had taken was… undeniably stirring. She reminded herself to be patient, to not mistake Myra's physical responses for anything more than the body's reaction to her touch. Myra was still vulnerable, still recovering, and Freya’s priority remained her comfort and well-being. She hoped this strange method of healing was indeed making Myra feel better, both physically and emotionally, easing the lingering trauma of their encounter.

  The faint sounds escaping Myra's lips were a confusing symphony of discomfort and something else, something that resonated within Freya on a level she hadn't anticipated. As Freya's gentle tongue traced a path closer to the bud of the breast, a jolt of pure sensation shot through the mortal woman, a startling and undeniable wave of arousal that made her breath catch sharply. She hoped, above all else, that Myra would feel some measure of relief, that the physical scars would fade, and perhaps, in time, the emotional ones as well. Patience, she told herself again, was paramount. And I truly hope Myra feels better soon.