When I stepped out of the room, my chest was still pounding; my body burned, my mind stung with a strange numbness. Yes, the woman's hair was flawless, and yes, she couldn't bear children, then why did I still want her? My instincts had already learned what would never happen, so why…
why did my loins ache? I rubbed my temples, wiped the sweat gathering at my brow. I couldn't command the ancient male biology thrumming through my veins.
If I went to Miss Wood now… would all of this vanish?
Would all my torment dissolve? But no this body burned specifically for Miss Jane Florence Euphemia. I was ruined for her endless, abyssal straight black hair. When a tightness seized my chest, I pressed my palm there, trying to soothe it. She couldn't bear children just like Miss Vivienne and I didn't want to become my father.
Was this love?
To want someone so fiercely, so irrationally?
To crave them even when logic condemned the desire?
Was this the poison of love, at last finding me too?
With these empty, confused tremors shifting through my body, there was only one way to learn the truth.
I stormed back into the room and slammed the door shut behind me.
Miss Jane had just been slipping into her bed when she noticed me.
"Mr. Ravencroft, I thought you had left. The rain has long stopped."
She approached me, her brows drawn in questioning concern.
"Is something wrong?"
"You said you were infertile."
"Yes, I've had issues since childhood. You may ask my father if you wish, though the subject upsets him. He thinks I'm useless… and that no one will ever marry me."
"He is right."
I swallowed, staring directly into her eyes.
"And yet right now I feel a kind of helplessness I can't describe."
"Tell me," she said softly, almost innocently.
"I want you, and I don't know why. I don't want to want you, not at all. I should be with Margaret right now, and yet I can't bring myself to leave this room."
"Oh, Mr. Ravencroft…"
She lifted my chin with the tip of her finger, amusement circling her features.
"You feel this way because I fit your ideal criteria. And the matter of infertility has crushed you, naturally. I can see you want to be with me."
She cupped my cheeks between her hands.
"But unfortunately, you don't meet my criteria for an ideal husband."
"There was something in that tea."
"Perhaps… or perhaps not. It must be exhausting for you, not knowing whether these are genuinely your feelings or the effects of some possible remedy." She drifted past me with a lazy grace and sat on her bed.
My condition didn't concern her in the slightest.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
One touch, one brush of skin and I knew my vision would go black with hunger.
"The fact that Edinburgh's elusive serial killer is standing before me, desperate and aroused is utterly hilarious. I only wonder one thing;"
she clasped her hands over her stomach.
"What is stopping you right now?"
"If our union can't result in a child, then I don't want a union."
"I am not a child–bearing machine, baron."
"You speak as though you wish for me to use you for my own pleasure. You should be grateful that I value you for your womb."
"So a woman is worthless unless she has a womb? Is that what you're implying? And men? What do you see them as?"
I leaned over her, my shadow swallowing her face.
"I don't see them at all, Jane. Women are valuable because they carry wombs, men are worthless. I thought you were a good observer of my murders, if you had paid attention, you would know I have never killed a woman, and every man I killed was infertile."
Her hand brushed my cheek.
"Will you kill me too?"
My entire body trembled at her touch. Every limb numbed.
"Do you want it to be by my hand?"
My eyes grew hazy with the edge of frenzy. I began to see her as prey, flesh I would tear apart, devour raw.
"If you were to kill me, I know you'd be gentle. You've never been one to enjoy spilling blood."
"Just for you, I'll make an exception. I'll ruin you, Jane."
My lips pressed a deep, wet kiss over the pulsing artery in her neck.
"I didn't know you wanted to die so badly."
"I don't want to die," she murmured, tucking my hair softly behind my ear.
"Before you can kill me, I will destroy you."
Was that her intention from the very beginning? To defeat a serial killer? I didn't know what kind of thrill she sought but she wouldn't win. With one hand I loosened my belt, and with the other I opened a few buttons of my shirt.
"I like your confidence, but it won't last." I gripped her hips and pulled her toward me.
Want you, I don't want you, I don't want this, I want this, want you, want you, Iwant you, Jane.
The joining of our bodies had never felt so searing, so storm–loud, so devastatingly soothing. Her moans, her touch against my skin, her scent, her taste, I absorbed it all. Yet despite everything, I was distant from her, and she from me. If murder was simply a job to me, then this... this sex was nothing more than a necessity.
We weren't kissing, nor engaging in any unnecessary motions she either adapted to my rhythm or had been aligned with it from the very beginning.
When her moans ceased despite my movements, I lifted my gaze from her hair and fixed it on her eyes. She smiled at me.
"Did you know that women don't actually moan? They only do it to feed men's egos. If I breathe through my nose instead of my mouth, it becomes impossible."
"If you don't want to, you don't have to. I have no trouble satisfying my ego on my own."
The room had grown warm; the candle had long since died, and the moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating us.
I opened the three buttons on Jane's nightgown, revealing her breasts. Only my breathing filled the air.
"I would have liked to see your whole body naked, but unfortunately I don't have time for that."
She was clever enough to understand that my desire to see her naked wasn't born of lust but rather from wanting her laid out like a corpse.
Or perhaps she simply knew me that well.
On the bed, I flipped her over and gripped her waist tightly, pulling her against me. I could see the tremor running through her entire body.
I couldn't see her face now, only the cascade of her long black hair filling my view.
"I don't like this position."
I grabbed her chin and lifted her head, inhaling her hair. My body ignited.
"Unfortunately, I don't care."
The sweet floral scent of her hair pierced through my lungs; each strand was unbearably soft.
I sped up, faster and faster. I felt every drop of blood in my body pooling below my waist, never in my life had anything felt so overwhelming.
I pressed her against me hard enough to crack ribs, my nasal receptors growing drunk inside the curtain of her hair.
"Jane… Jane… Ja…ne."
My warmth spilled into the softness of her body. I turned her over and laid her on the bed, she looked drenched in sweat. I held her by the arms. She shot me an angry glare.
"Why did you fill me?"
"A woman who can't get pregnant shouldn't be bothered by that."
"Now I have to shower because of you."
"Then make sure you cleanse yourself thoroughly of me."
Just as I was about to pull away from her, she caught my cheeks with the hands I'd left resting on her arms and yanked me back toward her.
For a moment I thought she would kiss me, her lips brushed my ear as if to suck on it… but when a sharp, indescribable pain, pure agony, tore through my earlobe, I shoved her off and rose from the bed, clutching my ear.
Miss Jane had bitten off my earlobe.
"Ugh!"
I stared at her.
Her mouth was smeared in red, like she wore a lipstick made of my blood.
She spat the small piece of flesh at me, her tongue flicking it out like a scrap she found distasteful.
"I told you I didn't like that position."
I dragged my bloodied hand down her chest, tracing shapes across her breasts.
"Red suits you as well, Miss Jane." Leaning down, I gently took her chin and sucked on her lower lip, kissing her.
The metallic taste of my own blood spread through my mouth. "Mercy? From you? After you tore my flesh off without hesitation? What a liar you are, my dear. I quite like it."
I stepped away from her, straightening my clothes, fixing myself, even as my ear continued to bleed. The blood kept flowing, dripping onto the floor, onto my shirt. Miss Jane looked far worse than I did: the bed, the nightgown, her breasts, her lips, everything was stained with me, covered in me, soaked in every fluid I had. If she had been able to conceive, I might have found this sight… intoxicating.
Because she looked as though I had torn apart my prey.
Before long, we heard a key turning in the front door. When the lower door opened, the cold night air, dragged in by hours of rain, flooded the house. There was a faint scent of mud in the entryway, and the dampness from outside crept in. The heavy door groaned, the sound echoing through the silent corridor.
Martin MacLeod's thick-soled shoes thudded against the wooden floor with a deep resonance.
By then, I had already descended the stairs. I attempted to mask my expression, though the thin streak of blood trailing from my ear left a noticeable mark on my skin. It had begun to dry, but the warmth of a freshly torn vein still pulsed there.
"Mr. Martin MacLeod, I have been expecting you."
My voice carried its usual confidence, though a faint tension, born of the pain in my ear, blurred its edges.
My presence here could have seemed odd, but given my place in society, I knew he would listen.
Mr. Martin M. halted, his eyes widening. His face blanched; his heavy brows pulled together at once.
"Good Lord, Mr. Ravencroft…" he murmured, hurrying toward me.
"What happened to your ear?"
I tilted my head slightly, offering a smile as though it were a trivial mishap.
"Your maid… I believe she entered without knocking, mistook me for an intruder, and well, here you see the result." I brushed my fingers against the blood beneath my ear, attempting rather unsuccessfully to wipe it away. "But don't blame her. Edinburgh nights can be dangerous. Her concern is understandable."
Mr. Martin's brows tightened even further.
"The maid?" He repeated, his voice deepening, sharpening with suspicion.
"She had the day off."
"Then who was the woman I saw?"
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A NOTE FROM TIMTIM TEMTEM
WARNING! This section contains scenes intended for ages 18 and older!
When I stepped out of the room, my chest was still pounding; my body burned, my mind stung with a strange numbness. Yes, the woman's hair was flawless, and yes, she couldn't bear children, then why did I still want her? My instincts had already learned what would never happen, so why…
why did my loins ache? I rubbed my temples, wiped the sweat gathering at my brow. I couldn't command the ancient male biology thrumming through my veins.
If I went to Miss Wood now… would all of this vanish?
Would all my torment dissolve? But no this body burned specifically for Miss Jane Florence Euphemia. I was ruined for her endless, abyssal straight black hair. When a tightness seized my chest, I pressed my palm there, trying to soothe it. She couldn't bear children just like Miss Vivienne and I didn't want to become my father.
Was this love?
To want someone so fiercely, so irrationally?
To crave them even when logic condemned the desire?
Was this the poison of love, at last finding me too?
With these empty, confused tremors shifting through my body, there was only one way to learn the truth.
I stormed back into the room and slammed the door shut behind me.
Miss Jane had just been slipping into her bed when she noticed me.
"Mr. Ravencroft, I thought you had left. The rain has long stopped."
She approached me, her brows drawn in questioning concern.
"Is something wrong?"
"You said you were infertile."
"Yes, I've had issues since childhood. You may ask my father if you wish, though the subject upsets him. He thinks I'm useless… and that no one will ever marry me."
"He is right."
I swallowed, staring directly into her eyes.
"And yet right now I feel a kind of helplessness I can't describe."
"Tell me," she said softly, almost innocently.
"I want you, and I don't know why. I don't want to want you, not at all. I should be with Margaret right now, and yet I can't bring myself to leave this room."
"Oh, Mr. Ravencroft…"
She lifted my chin with the tip of her finger, amusement circling her features.
"You feel this way because I fit your ideal criteria. And the matter of infertility has crushed you, naturally. I can see you want to be with me."
She cupped my cheeks between her hands.
"But unfortunately, you don't meet my criteria for an ideal husband."
"There was something in that tea."
"Perhaps… or perhaps not. It must be exhausting for you, not knowing whether these are genuinely your feelings or the effects of some possible remedy." She drifted past me with a lazy grace and sat on her bed.
My condition didn't concern her in the slightest.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
One touch, one brush of skin and I knew my vision would go black with hunger.
"The fact that Edinburgh's elusive serial killer is standing before me, desperate and aroused is utterly hilarious. I only wonder one thing;"
she clasped her hands over her stomach.
"What is stopping you right now?"
"If our union can't result in a child, then I don't want a union."
"I am not a child–bearing machine, baron."
"You speak as though you wish for me to use you for my own pleasure. You should be grateful that I value you for your womb."
"So a woman is worthless unless she has a womb? Is that what you're implying? And men? What do you see them as?"
I leaned over her, my shadow swallowing her face.
"I don't see them at all, Jane. Women are valuable because they carry wombs, men are worthless. I thought you were a good observer of my murders, if you had paid attention, you would know I have never killed a woman, and every man I killed was infertile."
Her hand brushed my cheek.
"Will you kill me too?"
My entire body trembled at her touch. Every limb numbed.
"Do you want it to be by my hand?"
My eyes grew hazy with the edge of frenzy. I began to see her as prey, flesh I would tear apart, devour raw.
"If you were to kill me, I know you'd be gentle. You've never been one to enjoy spilling blood."
"Just for you, I'll make an exception. I'll ruin you, Jane."
My lips pressed a deep, wet kiss over the pulsing artery in her neck.
"I didn't know you wanted to die so badly."
"I don't want to die," she murmured, tucking my hair softly behind my ear.
"Before you can kill me, I will destroy you."
Was that her intention from the very beginning? To defeat a serial killer? I didn't know what kind of thrill she sought but she wouldn't win. With one hand I loosened my belt, and with the other I opened a few buttons of my shirt.
"I like your confidence, but it won't last." I gripped her hips and pulled her toward me.
Want you, I don't want you, I don't want this, I want this, want you, want you, I want you, Jane.
The joining of our bodies had never felt so searing, so storm–loud, so devastatingly soothing. Her moans, her touch against my skin, her scent, her taste, I absorbed it all. Yet despite everything, I was distant from her, and she from me. If murder was simply a job to me, then this... this sex was nothing more than a necessity.
We weren't kissing, nor engaging in any unnecessary motions she either adapted to my rhythm or had been aligned with it from the very beginning.
When her moans ceased despite my movements, I lifted my gaze from her hair and fixed it on her eyes. She smiled at me.
"Did you know that women don't actually moan? They only do it to feed men's egos. If I breathe through my nose instead of my mouth, it becomes impossible."
"If you don't want to, you don't have to. I have no trouble satisfying my ego on my own."
The room had grown warm; the candle had long since died, and the moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating us.
I opened the three buttons on Jane's nightgown, revealing her breasts. Only my breathing filled the air.
"I would have liked to see your whole body naked, but unfortunately I don't have time for that."
She was clever enough to understand that my desire to see her naked wasn't born of lust but rather from wanting her laid out like a corpse.
Or perhaps she simply knew me that well.
On the bed, I flipped her over and gripped her waist tightly, pulling her against me. I could see the tremor running through her entire body.
I couldn't see her face now, only the cascade of her long black hair filling my view.
"I don't like this position."
I grabbed her chin and lifted her head, inhaling her hair. My body ignited.
"Unfortunately, I don't care."
The sweet floral scent of her hair pierced through my lungs; each strand was unbearably soft.
I sped up, faster and faster. I felt every drop of blood in my body pooling below my waist, never in my life had anything felt so overwhelming.
I pressed her against me hard enough to crack ribs, my nasal receptors growing drunk inside the curtain of her hair.
"Jane… Jane… Ja…ne."
My warmth spilled into the softness of her body. I turned her over and laid her on the bed, she looked drenched in sweat. I held her by the arms. She shot me an angry glare.
"Why did you fill me?"
"A woman who can't get pregnant shouldn't be bothered by that."
"Now I have to shower because of you."
"Then make sure you cleanse yourself thoroughly of me."
Just as I was about to pull away from her, she caught my cheeks with the hands I'd left resting on her arms and yanked me back toward her.
For a moment I thought she would kiss me, her lips brushed my ear as if to suck on it… but when a sharp, indescribable pain, pure agony, tore through my earlobe, I shoved her off and rose from the bed, clutching my ear.
Miss Jane had bitten off my earlobe.
"Ugh!"
I stared at her.
Her mouth was smeared in red, like she wore a lipstick made of my blood.
She spat the small piece of flesh at me, her tongue flicking it out like a scrap she found distasteful.
"I told you I didn't like that position."
I dragged my bloodied hand down her chest, tracing shapes across her breasts.
"Red suits you as well, Miss Jane." Leaning down, I gently took her chin and sucked on her lower lip, kissing her.
The metallic taste of my own blood spread through my mouth. "Mercy? From you? After you tore my flesh off without hesitation? What a liar you are, my dear. I quite like it."
I stepped away from her, straightening my clothes, fixing myself, even as my ear continued to bleed. The blood kept flowing, dripping onto the floor, onto my shirt. Miss Jane looked far worse than I did: the bed, the nightgown, her breasts, her lips, everything was stained with me, covered in me, soaked in every fluid I had. If she had been able to conceive, I might have found this sight… intoxicating.
Because she looked as though I had torn apart my prey.
Before long, we heard a key turning in the front door. When the lower door opened, the cold night air, dragged in by hours of rain, flooded the house. There was a faint scent of mud in the entryway, and the dampness from outside crept in. The heavy door groaned, the sound echoing through the silent corridor. Martin MacLeod's thick-soled shoes thudded against the wooden floor with a deep resonance.
By then, I had already descended the stairs. I attempted to mask my expression, though the thin streak of blood trailing from my ear left a noticeable mark on my skin. It had begun to dry, but the warmth of a freshly torn vein still pulsed there.
"Mr. Martin MacLeod, I have been expecting you."
My voice carried its usual confidence, though a faint tension, born of the pain in my ear, blurred its edges.
My presence here could have seemed odd, but given my place in society, I knew he would listen.
Mr. Martin M. halted, his eyes widening. His face blanched; his heavy brows pulled together at once.
"Good Lord, Mr. Ravencroft…" he murmured, hurrying toward me.
"What happened to your ear?"
I tilted my head slightly, offering a smile as though it were a trivial mishap.
"Your maid… I believe she entered without knocking, mistook me for an intruder, and well, here you see the result." I brushed my fingers against the blood beneath my ear, attempting rather unsuccessfully to wipe it away. "But don't blame her. Edinburgh nights can be dangerous. Her concern is understandable."
Mr. Martin's brows tightened even further.
"The maid?" He repeated, his voice deepening, sharpening with suspicion.
"She had the day off."
"Then who was the woman I saw?"
I stretched the conversation as much as I could; every second bought Miss Jane enough time to rid herself of the blood and change her clothes.
From the upper floor, the faint sound of fabric brushing against stone steps echoed down the stairwell.
Jane descended in slow, measured footsteps.
Her shadow slid long across the railing.
"Father?"
Her voice was soft, but something taut vibrated beneath it a strain that only tightened her father's expression.
Mr. Martin turned his head toward his daughter.
"Florence…"he said, attempting to steady his tone.
"Did you do this? Is my daughter the reason Baron Ravencroft is in such a state?"
Jane's face froze instantly.
Her eyes flicked between him and me; a brief redness warmed her cheeks, yet there was no anger, no frantic defense, only a heavy silence, dense and unreadable.
I bowed my head politely.
"Ah, forgive me," I said, pressing a hand to my chest in feigned surprise.
"Your daughter, was she?"
Jane stepped off the final stair. She stood one step behind, saying nothing;
silence, a breath, silence again.
Mr. Martin turned to me with shame clouding his face, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, a weight that carried both apology and a promise to make amends.
"Let my daughter tend to your ear," he said with a deep, steadying breath.
"Words can't express how embarrassed I am… Please, come inside."
Soon enough, I found myself alone with Jane. She dipped a cloth into the whisky and began cleaning the blood from my ear
with meticulous, almost reverent precision. There was no trace of blood left on her face or dress; she had surely wiped her mouth clean and hidden the dried stains on her chest beneath fresh fabric.
My eyes drifted downward, to her legs. They trembled. And only then did I understand that I was still inside her.
"Miss MacLeod," I said quietly.
"May I ask you something?"
"I'm listening."
"You know I am a killer, and yet you have neither reported me nor shown fear. There are two… no, only one possible reason." I turned my head toward Jane; my first guess had been that she loved or hated me, but such sentiment was hardly a logical explanation.
"You are a killer as well. You are like me. I may be wrong, though I doubt it very much. Isn't that right?"
Jane was gathering the medical supplies, lips parting to answer until Mr. Martin entered with two glasses of whisky and began speaking.
"Are you feeling better, Baron Ravencroft?"
I rose, shook his hand and offered a polite smile.
"Yes, sir. Your daughter has a very gentle hand." A lie. "And quite the talented lady." She tore my earlobe off. "I don't recall seeing her at any of the balls."
Jane left the room with a graceful nod, utterly uninterested, almost fleeing.
Once she was gone, Mr. Martin answered:
"Ah, she attends from time to time. She is rather shy, you see only goes to masked balls. And ever since her mother passed… well. I do wonder how long she intends to use that as an excuse."
I picked up the whisky Jane had used on my wound and refilled our glasses. Mr. Martin took a few sips, set his glass down with a faint chime, and settled into the chair, crossing one leg over the other the shadow of a father's frustration lingering on his face.
I still felt the warmth of Jane's touch on my torn ear; with her mouth she had inflicted cruelty, and with her hands she had mended it.
As Mr. Martin spoke, my eyes drifted toward the door to the cold, emotionless elegance with which Jane had withdrawn.
Then I returned my gaze to him, glass in hand.
"Miss MacLeod's shyness is paired with a rather striking refinement.
Masked balls… must suit her well."
"Perhaps," he said. "Tell me, are you here to discuss business or are you interested in courting my daughter, Baron Ravencroft?"
"Forgive my many questions about her. At the fair today, my younger siblings behaved poorly toward your daughter. I was searching for a way to make amends."
"Despite the fact that my daughter injured your ear?"
"Of course. Such matters hardly excuse my siblings' behavior."
I placed a hand over my chest and inclined my head slightly.
"As the Ravencroft family, we would be honored to extend our apologies formally. I am unavailable tomorrow, I'm afraid but I would like to visit within the week, if that pleases you."
"Of course, Lord Ravencroft. I'm sure my daughter would be pleased as well. But forgive my curiosity… was this matter important enough for you to wait for my arrival at such a late hour?"
"No matter the circumstance, I'm certain Miss MacLeod's heart was wounded. And is winning back your daughter's goodwill not worth the wait, Lord MacLeod?"
"It is quite shameful not to know that the Baron of Edinburgh is such a good man. Then again, it is somewhat predictable, I knew your father, Mr. Alastair; you are just like him."
you are just like him
you are just like him
you are just like him
you are just like him
you are just like him.
My jaw tightened as I clenched my teeth to keep from speaking. My father had loved a barren woman and died in her service. Now I had lain with another barren woman, and it had been the most satisfying sexual experience of my life. When the disgust in myself grew unbearable, I exhaled deeply.
"Well then, I should take my leave."
"Yes, of course." He was about to rise, but I stopped him.
"Please, don't trouble yourself to escort me. You must be tired from your travels." I placed the whisky glass on the table. "I wish you a good night."
I walked toward the front door, opened it, and just before closing it, glanced up the stairs one last time, Jane was probably in the bath, relieved to be rid of me and stepped out. When I descended the steps, I found Jane sitting on the stone steps.
"Aren't you cold, Miss Jane?"
Her long, straight black hair spilled around where she sat as she turned her head toward me. She rose and began climbing the stairs.
"I expect no apology from your brothers. But if you force one out of them…"
I reached out and stroked her earlobe. "Are you threatening me?"
"No. A threat is a warning, Lord Ravencroft. I am a results-oriented woman, I'm sure you can feel that in your ear."
Now I was certain: this woman didn't like me at all. She was the first woman I had been with who felt nothing for me despite our intimacy. I wished she weren't barren, I would have loved to decorate a family tree with her… with that straight-haired lineage of hers. God, either make this woman fertile, or place before me someone like her but capable of bearing a child.
If You want me to believe in Your existence, to stop killing, and to become a good father, then please hear my voice.
Amen.