Under His Claw by Viola Grace

Chapter One
    Lela felt a sense of unease as the door opened. Cool night air cascaded through the hall until it crept up her skirt.
    “Lela? My love? Are you up?”
    Relief flickered through her as she heard her husband’s voice. “I am in the morning room, Fonso.”
    She looked toward the door, and he was illuminated by the flames in the fireplace. She could smell the alcohol on him, and his staggered steps made her sigh in resignation. Married only three months, he still sought out the local tavern more than he did her bed.
    “I need you now, love.”
    She doubted he would be capable, but she put her sewing aside and rose to her feet. “Come to bed.”
    He moved with incredible speed. “No. Now.”
    Lela squeaked in surprise as he pinned her to the wall near the fireplace. His hand clawed at her skirt and he forced himself past her resistance, pounding against her in a fever of motion.
    Lela ignored the discomfort and tried to sooth her husband by stroking his head and neck as he thrust into her. Instead of the heat which normally filled his body with each rock of his hips, he was getting colder.
    The scent of blood filled the air, and it was not from his rough treatment of her; she saw the slow flow pumping out of the two puncture marks in his neck.
    He looked at her, and she saw the red flames flickering in his eyes. “One last time, Lela.”
    He shuddered and arched against her, throwing his head back and showing his newly lengthened teeth.
    Tears in her eyes streaked down her cheeks as she drew back her hand and snapped his head back. He dropped like a stone and she scrambled free of him, his seed trailing down her thighs under her skirt, cold and icy.
    Lela flipped her sewing chair and pulled out the two silver blades her mother had gifted her with on her wedding day. In no nightmare had Lela ever imagined using them against her husband.
    “Lela, Lela, my dear gypsy bride. You don’t think I married you to have your blood mix with mine in my children, now did you? You were always destined for sacrifice.”
    She held the blades down at her sides in the folds of her skirts and watched him straighten his head and stand up with an unnatural motion.
    “Why then?”
    He turned toward her, his golden hair ruffled and his amber eyes glowing with red fire where his soul should have been. “Ah, gypsy blood is strong. The best thing for one of my kind to start their new life on is gypsy blood.”
    “I am your wife.”
    “And yet another reason you have to die, Lela. The wedding was only to keep you with me while I waited for my master to consummate the change. I cannot be a rising vampire with a living relative. Not in today’s age of vampire politics where everyone watches for weakness. I am afraid your bloodless body will be thrown from the parapet. Your awkward life as a filthy gypsy amongst good people will have become too much for you and no one will mourn.” He stepped toward her in a rush.
    When he caught her in his arms, two blades stopped him. He staggered back and she cut his face, slicing her fear and devastation into his flesh.
    She kept cutting, working at him until he was on the floor in a quivering heap. “You never could stand to go up against a prepared opponent. You will leave me alone and I will sign an annulment. We have no children and the local priest is carrying it with him. It will be done before I leave town, but do not think you can ever take my blood.”
    The handsome man that had swept her off her feet lay there hissing and twisting as his skin reformed with red welts where the silver had burned him. She pressed the heel of her boot into his palm and stripped off the wedding band that her family had offered him.
    “Tell me now that you will never seek out me and mine and I will give you what you need.”
    He blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
    “To gain your position, to fix your change, you need to consume gypsy blood. I will give you what you need and leave it in a goblet