Myra lifted her head, her emerald eyes now fixed on Freya's face. The haze of the recent sensations lingered, making her gaze soft and pleading. There was an undeniable vulnerability in her expression, a silent yearning that transcended mere practicality.
It was a raw, unguarded appeal that seemed to reach something deep within Freya, bypassing the ancient vampire's carefully constructed defenses.
Her lips slightly parted, and a faint tremor ran through her hands still resting on Freya's arms. The unspoken request hung in the air between them, a silent begging that spoke volumes. It wasn't just about the need for Freya's strength to translate the book; there was a strange, almost inexplicable draw, a magnetic pull that Myra herself likely didn't fully understand.
The unusual pleasure she had just experienced had awakened a confusing longing, a desire for that strange, intimate connection to continue.
Freya's gaze met Myra's, and the resolve she had just mustered seemed to waver. The raw vulnerability in those emerald depths was disarming, stirring a protectiveness she hadn't felt in centuries.
The pragmatic part of her warned against further indulgence, cautioned against weakening her food source, but the unfamiliar stirrings within her, the echo of a connection she couldn't quite define, pulled her in a different direction.
A sigh, barely audible, escaped Freya's lips. The internal struggle was evident in the subtle flicker of indecision in her crimson eyes. She knew this was unwise, potentially blurring the lines of their agreement in a dangerous way. Yet, the intensity of Myra's silent plea, the lingering taste of her blood, and the undeniable allure of that unexpected pleasure created a potent combination she found difficult to resist.
"Perhaps…" Freya conceded, her voice a soft, almost hesitant murmur, the firmness of her earlier pronouncements gone.
"Perhaps… just a little more." It was a surrender, a yielding to an impulse she didn't fully comprehend, driven by the compelling vulnerability of the mortal in her arms and the echoes of a forgotten sensation reawakening within her ancient being.
The boundaries of their unusual relationship were blurring further, venturing into uncharted and potentially perilous territory.
Freya leaned in once more, the yielding softness of Myra's neck an irresistible invitation. Her fangs grazed the skin before piercing it gently, a mere taste this time, a small concession to the unspoken plea in Myra's eyes.
The familiar warmth flooded her senses, a faint echo of the more intense draw from before. She savored the brief taste, a fleeting moment of connection that transcended mere sustenance.
Pulling back almost immediately, Freya's gaze softened slightly as she observed the delicate puncture marks on both sides of Myra's neck. With a tenderness that surprised even herself, she gently licked the small wounds, her tongue tracing a soothing path over the broken skin. It was an instinctual act, a vestige of a more primal time when saliva held a slight healing property, but in this moment, it felt like something more – a gesture of care, an almost maternal instinct towards the vulnerable mortal who had offered herself so willingly.
The simple act of licking the wounds seemed to create a new level of intimacy between them, a silent acknowledgment of the physical connection they shared.
For Myra, it was a strange sensation, the cool, smooth touch of Freya's tongue a stark contrast to the earlier sting. It sent a fresh wave of tingles through her, a confusing blend of vulnerability and an unexpected sense of being cared for.
As Freya drew back, her crimson eyes met Myra's, a silent understanding passing between them. The air in the shop felt charged, the boundaries of their relationship continuing to blur.
The simple exchange of blood for knowledge had evolved into something far more complex, a tangled web of need, curiosity, and a burgeoning, unsettling intimacy that neither of them fully understood.
The translation of the ancient book now seemed intertwined with this strange and unexpected connection, their fates subtly, irrevocably intertwined in the dusty quiet of the antique shop.