Again he thumped her away. He detected a pine branch lying next to the pit, one that had broken, so its end was sharp and pointed, he got it, and as Alexandra ran at him a subsequent time, he slapped her, driving her against the stone. Before she could assemble herself, he flung himself on her, bowing her regressive over the stone; he tore the front of her dress and her trim underwear, fitted the sharp finish of the pine branch to the internal side of her left bosom and pushed until brilliant blood displayed against the freckly white skin. She solidified, stopped her battles. Her eyes were wheels of mirrored light, as frozen vortexes in a green stream. He didn’t turn away, however met her astonishing gaze with the hot press of his displeasure. “I should kill you,” he said. “I don’t have the foggiest idea why I’m in any event, delaying.” “You’re just about as distraught as Agenor! I’ve never really merited—” “You planned to sell out me!” “And first I attempted to exchange my life for yours. Does it appear to be legit that I would do that and afterward deceive you? No sense by any means. Except if, obviously, I was attempting to divert Agenor in the two cases, to postpone his assault.” He checked out her dubiously. “You were generally persuading.” “I’m persuading in all that I do. Particularly in those things I do due to conviction.” “Even this… presently?” She made a clicking clamor with her tongue and teeth. “How about you stop it? You’re not going to kill me.” “I’m not, eh?” “No.” “And why, supplicate, will I be lenient?” “In light of the fact that you need me.” He thought from the outset that she was deriding him, however there had been nothing of joke in her tone. Her look was honest, open, and he had the feeling that she was welcoming him to closeness. He attempted a giggle, however it rang bogus even to his own ears. “Assuming I discharge you,” he said, “then, at that point, you should pass on Agenor to me. His destiny will be chosen by the Patriarch.” “That ‘foul thing,’ you mean?” Beheim overlooked this. “Will you swear not to hurt him?” “I’ve no wish to hurt him now. I was overexcited. With respect to his destiny, it is now settled. He will consume. Regardless of whether here or on the palace statures, it has no effect to the Patriarch.” “Swear.” “As you wish.” A shrug. “I swear he will be protected from me.” He backed off his strain on the branch, thrown it to the side; then, at that point, he lifted his weight from her. “You’ve failed to remember something,” she said, as yet leaning back half on the stone. “Have I?” “This.” She highlighted the globule of blood welling from the side of her bosom, a ruby bead. “You’ve drained me. Presently you should drink or break with custom.” Beheim watched the bead slide down her ribcage and onto her stomach, leaving a smooth track; one more was framing in its place. The sight was effectively stirring. “I think,” he said clumsily, “I think this falls beyond custom as it is characterized.” “Regardless,” she said. “I need you to drink.” She lifted her arms, let them fall back behind her head, and grinned. Her disheveled hair, practically red in the daylight, made the ideal casing for her face. He was unable to keep his eyes from her beautiful bosoms. Warmth went to his face. “This is absurd,” he said. “This present time’s not the opportunity.” “Joy’s rarely absurd. It’s significant business. What’s more, this now, this is especially significant.” “I don’t comprehend.” She didn’t say anything for what appeared to be seemingly forever. Something got through the underbrush close by, made a rushed stirring in the leaves. The light diminished, then, at that point, lit up. There was a significant inclination to the quietness, as though, Beheim thought, a divine being had turned his eyes their direction. That significance fed him. He felt nearly content with all the difficulty of the day. The pines were abnormal, gigantic infantrymen in shaggy, dim green coats, and the light was right then and there gentle as honey, and the stirs in the forest were spirits and the stone was a raised area rock. “Drink,” Alexandra said, her voice so delicate it was scarcely discernable from an unexpected surge of wind through the limbs. “To satisfy me. To satisfy yourself. Drink.” Her bosoms tasted of sweat and aroma, and her blood was a solid character, not complicated, as he had assumed, but rather basic and direct. It warmed him, it recharged his solidarity, yet didn’t inebriate besides in the method of all blood. After he had taken the new bead from her bosom, licked the tissue clean, he rested his head there where he had plastered. Her fingers played in his hair. The inclination, as well, was straightforward and immediate, simple on the heart. He needed a greater amount of it. “A kiss,” she said in a sluggish voice, pulling at him, attempting to pull his face up to hers. “Give me a kiss. Only one.” Her lips separated for his tongue, her hands followed fragile, prodding designs on his chest; her legs separated, allowing his part to push against the yielding warmed spot between them. He could feel how it would be with her once more.