THE CRAVING.

Chapter Three.

Initiation

Terror gripped her as she ran. She knew there was no escape but could not stop herself from making an
attempt. It was either run or lay down and be a helpless victim. Marguerite, even now, when the situation
appeared hopeless, could not relinquished what was most precious to her. Her freedom. Her soul. In
essence: Marguerite did not want to die. And this is what was going to happen if she didn't get away and
quickly.

Fifteen minutes earlier she'd awakened on the side of a path, carefully lain on a lush mound of moss. When
Marguerite sat up and looked about the darkness around her she recalled, with dread, Roxton's visit to her
bedroom. She then looked down at herself. She was wearing only her flimsy night gown, which was bad
enough, but she was also without shoes, alone in the middle of the jungle!

Marguerite gulped and tried to calm herself. "John?" she called softly. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as she
thought. Maybe it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, something from a nightmare, a remembrance
from a past time when Roxton had been enslaved by a cursed woman who wanted nothing more than to drag
the hunter down to hell with her.

Frightened but steadfast Marguerite slowly stood and walked down the path. She heard an odd noise. A
sucking or grunting. Marguerite opened her eyes wide and focused on the darkened space from where it
came. In the moonlight she could see movement then, as her eyes became used to the darkness, the figures
came into view.

Puzzled, she wasn't entirely certain what it was she was witnessing at first. A man with furs, his back to her,
was leaning over a still animal. Perhaps he had gone night-hunting and had bagged food for his family? It
appeared to be a large cat-like creature of some kind. It wasn't until he shifted slightly that Marguerite
realized another man was directly in front of him, also leaning over the creature ... The hunter in furs had a
dangerous dagger drawn and was keeping watch. The other man had his teeth imbedded in the animal's
throat, drinking his dying victim's blood!

'Roxton!' her mind screamed and, all at once, her eyes met his as he fed. Her own hand immediately
clamped to her mouth. Feeling ill, Marguerite wanted to cry and scream her fear and revulsion. It couldn't
be true! Not this! Get away. Warn the others. Get help for Roxton!

She ran.

Unfortunately, as noble as her intentions were Marguerite, bare footed and physically weak in contrast to
the two men who were now chasing her, was at a huge disadvantage.

Roxton, energized after having just devoured a warm meal, caught her by the arm and spun Marguerite
around in a whipping motion. "Stop, Marguerite! Don't be afraid." His eyes blazed like amber coals and a
trail of blood slid from the side of Roxton's mouth, marring an otherwise handsome, if slightly pale, face. His
voice was low, almost threatening: "I'm offering you ..."

"Death!" she spat, terrified. The way he looked down at her might have silenced a lesser woman but not
Marguerite Krux. "I can't believe ... You want to kill me!"

"No, no." His voice grew gentler and Roxton, fiery eyes reverting to their natural hazel coloring, lessened
the pressure of his fingers against her arms. He and Finzure needed to eat and if he hadn't purge their
heated appetites before approaching Marguerite, when they returned to the palace, Roxton feared he might
lose total control and unintentionally, as she was now claiming, do her harm. "Not you. Never you. I love
you, Marguerite. "

"Then why do you want me to become a monster?" She nearly sobbed, feeling helpless. "Roxton, what are
you thinking? Do you really want to see me as one of ... you? Drinking blood and killing without
conscience?"

"I wish you could understand." Roxton implored, reaching to touch her hair. "Use that open mind of yours,
Marguerite. I want you to be with me, experiencing perfection!"

"Perfection?!" Marguerite barked, "How can you call this inhumanity perfection?"

Roxton cleared his throat and licked his lips carefully. He then raised a hand and wiped away the small trail
of blood as she watched. "Right now, you are slow death while I am pure life. I am a hunter while you, as you
are now, are the hunted. I can hear and see things as never before. It's an existence only special human
beings -people like you and me- were born to experience. Can't you see? Can't you understand that for
anyone but you and me, for our friends back at the treehouse, this is the end," He watched as she stared at
him, unbelieving but listening. "But for us it's how it should be. We are the elite in this world of predators
and always will be. We can do anything together, Marguerite. Absolutely anything."

Marguerite noted the far away look in Roxton's eyes. By the end of his reflective speech his voice had
grown eerily calm. For a moment it was almost as it was when they first came to the plateau, when Roxton
had been initially infected. After the cure he had told her, in confidence, how he would miss it, how he felt
he'd come "home", and she listened, almost envious. Recalling their bond then and now, Marguerite tried
another tactic. "John, please." she urged, softly. "Take me back to the treehouse. Even if you want to stay
like this **I** don't want any part of it. I'm not like you. I can't ... "

"You, more than any one person I know, my love, were meant for this existence." His eyes then shifted
from her, to view a space over Marguerite's shoulder, only to returned to hold her gaze again, "I'll teach
you everything I know. Eventually, you'll come to love it as I do." Then: "Forgive me, Marguerite. This will
be my last betrayal."

She didn't understand at first but soon Marguerite felt a searing pain to the back of her head. Then there
was blackness. She fell forward into Roxton's arms and he tenderly lifted her.

Roxton glanced at Finzure who had dispensed the blow. "Let's go home."

****

"She smells so good." Annay approached her master as he and Finzure slammed open the front double
doors to the palace. A pale, dark-haired woman was unconscious across Roxton's arms and she was achingly
delectable. Annay licked her lips, "A sample master. Please, it is all I ask." She grinned widely, like a little
girl being teased with the gift of an ice cream cone, and her eyes were alive and bright green with want and
hunger. Annay's hands pulled convulsively at the hem of her sarong.

"No." Roxton spoke decisively and looked over at Calista as she slowly approached, from a shadow, into
the foyer. "She's mine. No one else touches her."

It took them nearly the entire day to walk to the treehouse but returning, even with the side trip to feed and
Marguerite's added weight in his protective embrace, Roxton and Finzure managed to return to the palace
in half the time.

"He's right." Calista said, "Annay, Finzure ... go hunt. Bring your masters home something warm to eat for
breakfast." She glanced at Marguerite, "Bring enough for three."

Again, the double doors open, seemingly on their own. Annay was anxious, pleased by the order but also
panting and staring at their unaware prisoner with the obvious intention of devouring her if given the
opportunity. Finzure, on the other hand, having eaten shortly after his master only hours before was not as
eager. He would have liked to stayed and see what it was his higher-ups intended for the woman. Still, he
had been given a command. The man and woman were off and running, almost liken to strays from a wolf
pack, without a backward glance.

"And you, my love ..." Calista noted how tenderly Roxton stared down at Marguerite. A feverish sweat,
which had nothing to do with appetite but everything to do with hunger, was beginning to wrack his body. " ...
have your reward. She is beautiful." Calista spoke gently, disguising jealousy, and looked closely at
Marguerite, "She seems vaguely familiar." Calista's eyes narrowed. "Do I know her?"

"You've seen her." Roxton tore his gaze from Marguerite to look at Calista. He then turned deliberately
and began to walk with his prize up the long staircase, "Three years ago she killed you."

Stupefied, Calista's eyes grew wide with remembrance.

****

She woke with the slight edge of a waning headache but this time, oddly, Marguerite felt comfortable. She
was laying in a plush bed, soft sheets underneath and over the top of her relaxed body. It was nice. It might
have been better if she could move her arms. Eyes closed and groggy, Marguerite pulled again but her arms
remained above her head, bound to ... her eyes opened ... a headboard. Bewildered, Marguerite's head
turned to look right. Her blue nightdress had been removed and was now laying over the back of a heavy
oak chair. She glanced down at herself and it was confirmed. Except for the sheet she was naked.

"Good morning." a whisper greeted. Roxton lay beside her, also unclothed, and smiled.

'I could get lost in that smile ...' she thought dreamily, feeling the warmth of his body, before reality
overcame Marguerite. She remembered what had happened during the night and now writhed against her
restraints, "John ..." she gasped, fear evident in her voice. Marguerite didn't know what to say or do. Her
lover - the one man she was willing to let in emotionally and see her as she could be - had gone mad and
there was no stopping his blood lust. She knew this now. Was it her time? Was he going to do away with her
now as he had with that poor beast in the jungle? Uncontrolled, he just might. He could not help himself. And
what could she do, literally tied as she was, against his manic strength and supernatural appetite? But
surely, after all they'd been through, after everything they shared, he wouldn't just turn on her. He couldn't.
Not John Roxton.

"Don't be frightened. If you really don't want to stay I'm going to let you go, Marguerite."

She stopped struggling. "Then why am I tied?" Marguerite demanded with a growl.

"Precaution." Roxton replied, his head resting languidly on the pillow. A look of indecision caused his lips to
press together with concern. "I want to ask you something but can't be certain how you will react."

Marguerite stared at him for a moment, searching for deception in his expression but saw none. He could
be saved. She was certain of it. "John please ... please listen to me," she urged, "This isn't you. Come back
with me to the treehouse and we can have Challenger cure you. He did it before."

"No Marguerite. Never. I'm here to stay. I want you with me but I won't force you to remain. But you can't
stay if you're not willing to change."

Marguerite was astounded to see the pain and honesty. This was genuine. "You understand ..." Marguerite
began, feeling the need to be honest with him as well, "... whether you want it to happen or not, I can still
bring Challenger and the others here after I return to the treehouse. We can help you ..."

Roxton nearly smiled again, "The location's changed, Marguerite. The palace is not where you last saw it
and when you leave here you will be blindfolded. Our trail has been well concealed. Not even Veronica could
find it." His fingers lifted to gently touched her cheek, to push back a strand of straying dark hair. "I've
already resigned myself to the fact I will not be seeing my plateau family again. I can't. The temptation to
feed is too great."

"But you haven't fed on me yet?"

"No." His eyes looked into hers with a deep felt longing, "But if you stay, without becoming one of us, I
can't vouch for the others. So yes, you can go. I only ask one thing, Marguerite ..." Roxton sat up slightly
and pulled at the rope which bound her hands. It slackened and her hands fell free, to her sides. He watched
as she, puzzled, massaged them gently. "Before you go," he whispered, settling beside her again, running a
finger down Marguerite's bare shoulder, "I want to be with you one last time."

"John ..." Marguerite backed away ever so slightly, unsure.

"Please, Marguerite. We'll never see each other again after today and I want a memory that will last me for
eternity. You're the only woman I could ever love. The only person who could ever break my heart ..."

Please don't let our last memory together be of fear and loathing ...

Moved, Marguerite's fingers reached to touch his lips. To never see him again, never feel his touch, hear
his words or know what it is to feel such devotion and love ... He had changed but his feelings for her hadn't
and, yes, she still loved him. To be with him, their two bodies moving together in passion, just one more time
...

Slowly, with a hesitancy born from emotional torment, knowing this could very well be their last loving
moment together, Marguerite turned gently onto her side and lifted both hands. She placed them gingerly on
his chest. With purpose, she moved upward, feeling the tight muscled shoulders. Roxton lay on his back now
as she hovered above him, her lips coming down now to kiss his cheeks and throat. She could feel his rapidly
beating pulse with her tongue and it both excited and frightened her. She felt his arms moving around her,
caressing gently, pulling Marguerite close. She could feel his heat and wondered, as he was, if he could feel
hers as well.

Gently, Roxton ran his hands through her hair and pressed Marguerite close. He wanted every inch of her
body touching his. His senses were attuned to Marguerite. Her softness and passion surrounded him and he
could feel nothing other than the need to love her and make this woman his own. He pulled her up and kissed
Marguerite full on the lips. Then gently, he rolled her over, feeling her thighs part and her silky legs rub
gently against his. "Marguerite ..." he whispered hoarsely with need. His mouth opened to hers and he
drank deeply of her fervency. Would she ever know the power she had over him?

"My love ..." Marguerite murmured, her eyes closed, savoring his touch and the passions he had aroused,
"Take me ..."

"... to heights you could never imagine ..." he replied.

And soon he was moving inside of her, her back arching to meet with him, and a part of her mind could hear
him speaking words of love and asking forgiveness. For what she didn't quite know and didn't care.
Marguerite was on the verge of no return and just when she had reached that devastating peak, with the full
knowlege that their passionate encounter would soon be over, she could hear him ask a pointed question, as
lost in her as she was in him. Marguerite could reply in only one way.

"Marguerite, my love, will you stay with me here forever?"

"Yes ..." she whispered, "... oh yes ... forever ..."

And that was when his teeth closed on her throat.

Marguerite cried out once, her eyes suddenly wide with a terrifying realization.

There was pain for an instant, then the gentle lapping of his tongue, and then there was no more ....

***