Every cell in your body is itching to consume the blood, and to be honest, you are beginning to think of it as a possible solution to your problem. What did it matter if it was blood, so long as those who gave it up were willing? It didn't even have to be human blood, or former human blood. Maybe you could just stick to animal blood after this, but the glass before you was just so tempting, so you slowly begin reaching out. It couldn't hurt to merely take a sip...
At that instant, the faces of your little sister and brother flash before your eyes, and you freeze. If human blood is the most tempting, would you one day look at them the way you were eyeing that glass of wine, as something to be devoured? What if you couldn't stop yourself? Would you sink your fangs into their necks and not let up until...
Horrified by the thought, your hand which is reaching towards the glass under the marquis' watchful eye suddenly lashes out and slaps the glass full of blood off the table in a direction opposite the marquis. You do not notice that the marquis does not react to your action or the shattered glass, but simply observes. Your pupils are dilated and your breath heaves, but you think you have overcome the temptation.
How wrong you are. The glass no longer minimizing the scent of the blood, you find your eyes irresistibly drawn to the widening puddle of blood on the floor. Your body is taut, your fangs are bared, and you haven't even the presence of mind to worry that you might leap out of the chair to lap up the blood like a dog.
"Miss Vauntier, look at me," you hear a muffled voice say, as if from a distance, but you fail to acknowledge it. "Miss Vauntier--" the voice insists, but your every thought is focused on that blood. It is only when a strong grasp on your chin turns your face away that you even register that something is happening, but at first you resist. The hand, however, while gentle, is determined.
"Rian! Look at me!" The voice finally breaks through to your consciousness, and your eyes, while unfocused, being to take in your surroundings. Your chin is being held by Marquis Rajes, who is forcing you to face him. Finally, you gain enough self-awareness to do as he says, and look into his eyes. The crimson irises flash slightly, just as they did the first night you saw them, and suddenly you exhale, your muscles finally loosened.
"It is alright, your willpower is more impressive than I thought," Marquis Rajes says gently as he releases your chin and pats your arm. You sway a little unsteadily in your chair, but you are able to think clearly again. Mortification at what you had just done begins to show on your face. Nevertheless, the marquis does not give a hint of disgust on his face, but rather, his eyes even seem to show a gleam of interest.
"That being said," Marquis Rajes continues, and then slides his glass of blood across the table to you. "You will need blood to control your hunger, and denying yourself will only make you more likely to lose control at an inconvenient time."
You stare at the glass before you, but not in the same way you had obsessively glared at your own. You begin to realize that shame, fear, and disgust do not matter. What matters is being able to control yourself so you would not inflict harm upon others, especially your family. Steady and controlled, you reach for the marquis' glass and, closing your eyes, take a sip.