The burning engulfed her secret parts and spread until Faith felt she must be consumed by it. She laid her head back against the woman's shoulder, not merely surrendering to but embracing that unholy touch, desperate for that moment of surcease and freedom. When her release came this time, the woman bit her shoulder and sucked hard, and it seemed the burning of Faith's need was being pulled out of her, into the woman's mouth, and irrationally, Faith wanted to follow.

“My darling,” the woman rasped, not taking her lips from Faith's shoulder, “you are a treasure, an absolute --” But the fire was returning now, though more sluggishly than before, and Faith boldly laid her hands over the woman's and pressed. Asking. Demanding.

Five, eight, ten times, the woman quenched Faith's fires in that dark alley; at the end, Faith was too exhausted to even stand, but the burning -- the burning was gone, quenched, finally. The woman half-carried Faith up the dark stairs to the apartment, but it wasn't until she laid Faith on the narrow bed and began to draw up the coverlet that Faith protested. “Take me with you,” Faith begged hoarsely, trying to gather the strength to throw back the counterpane and managing only to lift a hand.

The woman kissed Faith's brow and smoothed the bedclothes. “Fear not, my treasure,” she whispered, “I'll return soon, and we'll feed again.”