She would concede that she found herself unwinding during the meal with Israel. It was so noticeable that upon her return to the house, Beatrice gave her a curious glance. True to her nature, Beatrice refrained from questioning, knowing Colette would share what she chose to disclose.
Now, she sat combing her hair, enveloped in the thick robe she habitually donned after her shower and before bed. She was aware that the quantity of food she consumed had taken the man by surprise. To those unacquainted, it was amusing. Yet, the humor dissipated as she confronted her reflection. Uninitiated.
She stood abruptly, flinging the comb onto the dresser as she strode from her bedroom to the office within her suite. She didn't need to verify the numbers; the house's count was alarmingly low. In principle, she and Michael should have merged their households since they were once unified. But now, cohabitation was unbearable, and neither was willing to relinquish the title of master to become subordinate to the other.
She required more initiates.
She craved blood.
"Beatrice," she called out, lifting the phone to summon her most reliable aide.
"How may I assist you, my liege?"
"I thirst. Fetch me a bottle of something light... make it two."
"Passion or Delight?" inquired Beatrice.
"One of each shall do," she responded.
By the time Beatrice delivered the bottled blood, Colette had resumed her seat at the vanity to continue combing and braiding her hair.
"Here you are, Master Colette. Will there be anything else?"
"No, the accounts can wait until tomorrow," she remarked, tapping a novel on the table.
"Very well, I shall see you then."
"Goodnight," she acknowledged Beatrice, delaying until she had exited before uncapping a bottle and settling into a plush chair to savor the rich, lively blood blend.