A woman.

Selkine's uncanny servants carry off your heavy armor, leaving you in your underclothes--your Three Drow Night concert t-shirt and a pair of underpants.

She arches a brow at you. "And you were criticising MY fashion sense?"

"Hey." You tug at the t-shirt. "Three Drow Night is my favorite band."

"I have to confess that I lost patience with album-oriented rock a couple of centuries ago."

"Don't make me go find my sword."

She smiles at that, steps up to you, takes your face in her hands and kisses you. You're pleasantly surprised to find that although she may be undead, she feels very much alive. Her lips are soft, her tongue is nimble. When you kiss her back and slip your hands under her pajama top, you find her skin smooth and warm.

Then she reminds you of her dhampiric nature by sweeping you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. She carries you to her four-postered bed as if you were as light as a pillow, then sets you down in the middle of her silk bedsheets and climbs in beside you.

You haven't quite recovered from your surprise before you find your arms full of her. She drapes herself over you, nudging a knee between your thighs, pressing her chest to yours, resuming her hungry kiss where she left off. The way her body shifts against you is intoxicating. You run your hands through her glorious red hair, sighing as her lips move to your ear and then down the side of your neck.

At this point a doubt strikes you, and you give her shoulders a gentle push. She lifts her head to peer down at you with her swirling crimson eyes.

"You're not planning to bite me, are you?" you ask.

"Um."

You make your voice a little firmer. "You're not going to bite me. Right?"

"Maybe just a nibble?"

"But no blood."

"No blood," she repeats, with a shake of her head. "Promise."

"Okay."

She grins and ducks her head, bringing her warm breath and her teasing lips back to the nape of your neck. You feel the tip of her tongue, and the merest graze of her sharp teeth, which is enough to make you shiver all over.

Then she lifts her head again and watches your eyes intently as she slides one hand down your stomach. When her fingers find the patch of hair between your thighs, you hold your breath.

"You're very wet," she says, and proves her point as her fingers slip easily into your pussy. When she finds your clit, you give a sharp little moan, almost a hiccup. Her lips part at the sight of your pleasure, and it's clear that turning you on is turning her on.

"What would you think," she whispers, "if I..."