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Drake remembered another woman, and her fantasies. A woman of such mixed state; her softness and her hardness inextricable. Different than Claire's, equally intertwined. But he knew he had to do something to fix the fight with Claire. Love, whether natural or contrived, could turn to hatred, and that scared him more than it invited his darker needs.
That which is solid may become mist; that which is flesh may become air, if its blood descend aright. Airy spirits penetrate tiny vents and find their way into locked rooms, where they could be seen in ghostly manner, were any awake to view.
Demon lover coheres from mist in the vantage of tangled sheets and warm bare limbs, through which the blood of youth pumps eternally. Cool to the touch as the touch of mist would be, yet solid, marble pale and unscarred. Smoothly ripping marble flesh on sharp fang, fingertip to knuckle laid open, finger slid into sleeping mouth.
She began to suckle gently, still asleep. Desire woke and then awareness, Claire's eyes flying open for a moment then lidding again heavily as the sweet drug of her imprisonment flowed bountifully from his finger laid against her eager tongue.
"I love you," he said softly into her ear, feeling her throat tighten and the pull of the vitae out of him, enervating yet arousing his hunger. His mouth sought her throat, felt the beating artery and ever so softly bit down, sucking at the trail of blood so that as he fed her, she fed him.
Waking to such constricting bliss, Claire wanted the moment to go on forever, entwining her in its decadent stranglehold in which she was enslaved to rule eternally. All that mattered to her, now and ever, here it was and it was ecstasy.