Mariella took the glass from him, the sight of the dark red liquid making her crave another and the scent of the wine – red grapes and alcohol, the underlying hints of the casket it had resided in – was a disappointment to her senses. She took a sip, not wishing to be inhospitable. She had rather hoped when he had told her there would be special wine tonight that he would have had some blood on hand but it seemed that he was not such a magnanimous host.
“Very nice.” She commented dryly. The light meal she had had before she left should sustain her well enough until she could return home but it was so much harder now he had reminded her of the taste she would rather be enjoying. Mariella longed for the days when she could have chosen a pretty, young thing from the crowd that thronged behind them and drain them of every last drop of their sweet life force.
It was a pity that things had to change but she valued her life, as much of a life as it was, and did not wish it to end with a stake through the heart and the loss of her own pretty head. Blood, like any great enjoyment, was better in small amounts when the sensation was heightened.
“I will no doubt care for this building for many years, and hold it in a special place in my heart because of its connection to you. Speaking of which, when you are gone, have you made any plans about your successor. I know it is early in the game, but your father left it rather late to die and you are still not married or with an heir. An oversight on the late Lord Edgar’s part I am sure.”