The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen
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months ago, Babette had only occasionally tasted venison. Now she scarcely knew how to go without it.
Korbinian looked up from his work and regarded her. He had blood on his hands and forearms.
“Come,” he said, motioning to her.
“No,” Babette replied. “I think I shall sit awhile and read my Schiller.”
“No, no, come here,” Korbinian said. “I want to show you something.”
“Very well,” Babette said.
She knew what to expect. Since they had started hunting together privately, Korbinian had taken it upon himself to demonstrate the finer points of skinning and butchering to Babette. He seemed to delight in it, just as he delighted in showing her how to shoot or to read German.
She knelt beside him and folded her hands in her lap.
“Another lesson?” she asked.
“Yes,” Korbinian said. “I have taught you anatomy. Now it is time for you to put what you know into practice.”
“With a deer?” Babette asked.
“The animal is not so unlike a man in body,” Korbinian said. “A pig is closest, but the deer shall suffice.”
“I find this all very questionable,” Babette replied.
“Here, remove your coat,” Korbinian said. “I will show you.”
Babette did as instructed and took the added step of rolling up her sleeves. There would be a great deal of blood involved.
Korbinian knelt behind her and placed his hands upon hers. Babette smiled to herself at the sensation of his touch. The deliciousness of his scent—stronger now from the sweat and vigor of the chase—tickled her nose, tempting her toward follies that she would not allow herself to indulge.
“Take the knife,” Korbinian said, pressing it into her hand. He had already cut back the hide from the top flank of the deer. “Begin cutting here.”
Babette allowed Korbinian to guide her in cutting a long slab of meat from the flank.
“There,” Korbinian said. “You have a good hand. Steady. But I knew that from the way you write your letters.”
“You are too kind, Monsieur von Fuchsburg,” Babette said.
She leaned back and turned her head to look at him. They shared a smile. Korbinian gently tilted her chin up and kissed her. Babette closed her eyes and leaned back into him, feeling his chest against her shoulders.
When Korbinian drew away again, Babette’s eyes fluttered open and she said, dreamily, “I think you ought not to have done that, Monsieur von Fuchsburg.”
Korbinian placed one finger against her lips, painting them with a smear of blood. The taste of it was delicious.
“I disagree,” he said. “A fitting reward for a fine cut.”
“A kiss for a cut?” Babette asked. “That seems a dangerous trade.”
“Dangerous, but fair,” Korbinian said.
Babette grinned at him and gently sliced off another slab of meat. The smell of heated blood mingling with Korbinian’s scent made her confused and heady. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of the knife sliding through flesh. It was such a strange experience to find violence so sensual.
Father would never have approved.
Babette removed the next slab of meat and held it up for Korbinian to see.
“A good cut?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Korbinian said, kissing her.
Babette dropped the knife and took Korbinian’s face in her hands, holding him close to her as their mouths pressed together. Amid the blood and excitement, she hungered for his touch and his kiss as she had never hungered before.
Korbinian took her in his arms and pulled her close to his chest. They pulled at each other, practically devouring one another in a fury of passion and desire.
Without thought of what she was doing, Babette tore Korbinan’s vest from his body, sending the buttons flying into the grass. His fine shirt beneath came untucked as they tumbled about in the soft, sweet smelling grass. She felt his warm hands caress her body, gently undoing the mother of pearl buttons down the back of her blouse. In reply she strained against the confines of her corset, yearning to feel the touch of Korbinian’s fingers against her skin. She felt hot and alive. All sense of reason vanished into a sweet burning haze.
They had held each other many times over the past three months and kissed more often than Babette could count, but this was different. She had delighted in Korbinian—in his touch, his smile, his kiss. Now she yearned for him in a way that she could not describe.
She pulled herself up and away from Korbinian, breaking their kiss abruptly as she pushed him back against the grass. He fell gracefully on his back, his hands ever so gently resting on her hips. His gray eyes stared intently into hers for a moment, a charming half-smile playing about his lips. Babette shifted slightly, the rustling of her skirt enveloping them. She moved atop him and kissed him while his hands caressed her shoulders and arms. She ran her hands through his black hair and down to his soft shirt.
After a moment’s hesitation, she tore open his shirt to expose his smooth, pale chest. So elegant. So beautiful. She ran her fingers against his warm skin.
Korbinian grabbed Babette’s throat, making her gasp in surprise. His grip tightened and he pulled her to him until their lips met again. Korbinian ran his fingers through her hair, tossing it wildly about her face. Babette smiled and laughed softly. She kissed him, biting his lip and drawing blood. She savored the taste of it.
Korbinian took her hand in his and gently pressed her fingers to his lips, kissing each fingertip in turn.
“Liebchen,” he whispered, his voice heavy with desire.
“Korbinian—” Babette breathed.
“Babette, my love,” Korbinian said, brushing back the hair behind Babette’s ear. “You are like fire. You are the heat that has drawn me in from the cold.”
He kissed her palm and wrist tenderly, making Babette gasp with delight.
“Ah, my love, my love!” Korbinian cried, as he held her close, his hands caressing her tightly corseted waist. “Since first we met I have desired you with all my being, with my very soul!”
“Your words, Korbinian,” Babette said, “they are my words to you!”
“Liebchen!”
Korbinian held Babette tighter still and kissed her fiercely. Babette held him in turn, feeling the lean muscles of his back rippling beneath his shirt.
“Free me,” Babette whispered, pulling off her blouse. Together, she and Korbinian tore at her clothes until she was reduced to skirts and corset. She tugged at the corset but it held fast.
“Allow me,” Korbinian said.
He drew one of the knives and cut the laces along Babette’s back in a single, smooth stroke. The corset fell to the ground, and a shiver of delight flowed through Babette. Free from the confines of her stays, she clutched Korbinian with renewed vigor, yearning to feel his touch upon her skin.
“We are as one,” Korbinian said, kissing her neck with gentle lips. “Now…and forever.”
* * * *
William was in the back hallway, on his way from the library to the stairs, when he scented blood. It was not fresh—an hour or two old perhaps—and it was faint. But it was there.
He turned and saw Babette and Korbinian standing near the side door. Some effort had been put into straightening their clothes, but lost buttons and torn laces could not be covered up.
They