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Clementine studied the deep red liquid in her goblet. Blood red, even. It sloshed against the metal of the cup, leaving crimson rivulets as it receded.

The lifeblood of Barovia.

She took another sip, almost out of curiosity. As if, in that moment, the mental connection might have transmuted the liquid into something else.

The bitter taste of the wine hit her palette and turned the corners of her mouth downward.

Distraction, she thought. The cravings were already returning, far sooner than she could even have feared.

Her mind, disciplined enough to turn from the subject yet not enough to let her relax, conjured to its forefront an image of her hometown. Krezk, it’s enormous stone walls, formidable from without and comforting from within. The abbey, perched atop a hill and separated from the village by more than distance, its reclusive abbot one of her few true friends. The burgomaster and his only son, missing, or ill, or worse.

Her father. A hulking giant of a man, wielding hammer against metal with deft skill. The mental image of Igor looked up, and wore disgust on his face like a mask. It was replaced in a moment with disappointment, then fear, worry, and finally, resolutely, with cold indifference. What would he think of her, having left with no goodbye? What would he think should he know what had become of her since? Would he think it no more than she deserved? Was he alright, was he safe – what was happening in Krezk-

Her spiralling trail of thoughts was abruptly cut short by a smooth baritone.

“Would you like to try some of the good stuff?” Elvir gestured with a small nod at her downturned mouth. “We have some in the cellar”.

Clementine opened her mouth to reply and was immediately sidetracked by the meandering route her eyes decided to take up Elvir’s face.

Clipped lines of dark stubble framed a pair of gently rounded lips – currently curving up at one side – above which sat a surprisingly delicate nose. His cheekbones to either side were, well, the word that came to mind was certainly not appropriate for describing cheekbones. A narrow and angular face was crowned with a pair of strong dark eyebrows that loomed above eyes so strikingly pale that the irises almost blended with the whites.

One of the looming eyebrows arched upward to match the curve of his mouth. And Clementine, having completed her visual pilgrimage, realised in that moment that she was piss drunk.

“Er, yes,” she stammered, all class. “I would love to.”

Elvir chuffed, that curved mouth tugging up even further. That meant something, a small part of Clem’s brain told her – she would have known had her head not suddenly been trying to elevate itself through the ceiling.

The youngest Martikov son lead her away from the dining room, down a hallway, and onto the balcony that encircled the huge wine vats.

“I had no idea that you could cast magic,” he turned to her as he spoke, one hand trailing along the railing as his gait switched smoothly to a backward walk. She responded with a blank stare, struggling to suppress the mental image of herself tipping headfirst into a vat should she try the same manoeuvre.

“The wine, I mean,” he continued. “Earlier, when the two of you were purifying it.”

“Oh, of course. I only know a little,” she said, “the abbot of Krezk taught me a few things, when I visited. To bring him food.” She paused, was that too much information?

“You truly saved us. Not only from the blights, but had the wine been spoiled…I can’t imagine the devastation.”

They turned onto the wide staircase that descended between two of the huge vats, and emerged onto the ground floor of the fermentation room. Elvir slowed his pace to walk beside her, and as she paused by the corner where, only several hours before, she had stood vigil over Ludwig as he bled out onto the floor…she felt his hand brush her arm.

“Come, I promise you,” there was no blood there now, Ludwig himself had seen to that. “It’ll be the best wine you’ve ever tasted.”

His hand was not insistent, merely comforting. And when her eyes were eventually drawn away to his, she felt grounded there. She smiled.

“I don’t doubt it.”

They continued past the vats, past where an enormous spectral elk had shattered several blights into twigs – and turned into a stairwell. The wood smelled sweet in the enclosed space, as if it had absorbed over scores of years the essence of the wine brewed here. She filled her lungs, clearing her head with the cooler air.

The wooden walls soon gave way to stone foundations, and the temperature dropped by several degrees as they emerged into the wine cellar.

“The best vintages are in the casks at the back,” said Elvir as he led her past row upon row of huge barrels, stacked to the ceiling. It occurred to her in that moment in a ridiculous, detached sort of way that if he’d lured her here to kill her, she would most likely be unable to stop him. Despite the absurdity of the thought, she felt a chill pass over her, and glanced back over her shoulder. The doorway seemed awfully far away.

“Here, allow me,” Elvir gestured for her goblet, which she gladly passed over. He lifted it to his lips to drain the mouthful that was left, and her eyes tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the small bead of red that escaped into the seam of his mouth, only to be caught up by his tongue.

Lord be praised.

He lifted the goblet to a tapped barrel and released some of its contents. Clementine’s eyes traced the tattooed lines that emerged from beneath the collar of his shirt and wound their way up the side of his neck. She wondered how much that might have hurt, and what they meant.

Elvir turned back to her, goblet full to the brim. As it passed his lips he took another sip, and hummed in appreciation. The sound sent shivers up her spine.

“Try this,” he said, and passed the vessel. Clem’s fingers brushed his as she took it, and she told herself she hadn’t done that on purpose. She lifted the cup to her lips, and tasted the wine.

It was good, certainly. Undoubtedly the best she’d ever had, just as Elvir had promised. In fact, she thought she might have tried it before, under unnervingly similar circumstances.

He was watching her, and his eyes reminded her of the icicles that hung from the tips of tree branches in the depths of winter. She took another sip. His ice shard eyes flicked down to her mouth as she lowered the goblet, and licked her lips.

Eivor cleared his throat, and that infernal mouth curved up again at the corner.

“Good?”

“Mm, excellent,” Clem responded. She closed her eyes, and took another sip. It really was delicious; incredibly sweet and far richer than the standard Barovian brew. Far more potent, too, if the heat in her cheeks was anything to go by. She opened her eyes again, and was relieved to see that Elvir had leaned back against one of the casks.

“So how does Clementine of Krezk come to find herself travelling the roads of Barovia with a collection of outsiders, vanquishing blights and saving our winery?”

The question startled a short laugh from her. “That, my lord, is a tale far too grim to be telling alongside such brilliant wine,” she smiled to belie the tone of her words. “Suffice to say that I yearned to be free of the walls of Krezk, free to see what the rest of Barovia had to offer…my wish was granted, and though I was impossibly naïve, I have found myself among…friends.”

“They seem a curious group,” he held out a hand to receive the goblet as she offered it. This time his fingers lingered.

“I’m more curious that you remember who I am, after all, you must visit every village in the valley,” she responded, thinking of all the times she had watched from the walls as Elvir and his brother Adrian had delivered their cargo of wine barrels to the city of Krezk.

Elvir smiled and both sides of his mouth curled upward this time, pushing creases into his cheeks. “How could I forget? You were just so…” his eyes danced across her face, “…curious. All the time.”

She snorted gently. She had been that.

“Everywhere we go we are welcomed and treated with respect, but we are as unfamiliar as outsiders. People rely on us, but they do not trust us,” Elvir paused a moment, took another sip of wine, and passed the goblet back to Clem. “Whenever we visited Krezk though, you would greet us, speak with us, ask us about our travels. It was…a nice change.”

“I envied you,” Clem said. “And admired you – still, admire you,” she felt herself blush. Damned wine. “I, well, you know.” Her eyes darted everywhere but Elvir’s face as she buried her nose in the cup. More wine was definitely the solution.

“What do I know?” His tone was gentle, laced with laughter.

“This wine really is very good.”

Elvir smiled again, a flash of teeth that sent Clem’s belly into somersaults. Before she could recover the situation, he pushed his shoulder off the barrel, took a step, and narrowed the space between them. His snow-brushed eyes drew hers upward, so close she could smell the sweetness of the wine on his breath.

He lifted a hand. The backs of his fingers brushed her temple, cool against her flushed skin, as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His other hand was taking the cup from her hands and placing it – somewhere – it could go to the void for all she cared. She suddenly found that she couldn’t quite breathe properly.

The hand that had been dealing with her errant hair traced a line of fire down the contour of her jaw, till it rested beneath her chin.

“You are also incredibly beautiful,” his eyes captured hers, and she found herself lost in the storm of them. The common tongue eluded her, though it would have been no use to her in this moment as she still hadn’t rediscovered the mechanic of breathing.

Elvir’s eyes dropped slowly, purposefully to her lips, parted just above where his thumb rested, then returned to hers.

“May I?”

A mute nod, barely perceptible but that he would have felt it. Those lips curled upward again, then he dipped his head closer, and kissed her.

Her body came alive as she breathed in, parting her lipsfor his. His hand, firmer now, moved to cup her jaw, while his other settled loosely on her waist. Her own hands reached out in response as he closed what little space remained between them and nudged her backward. She felt her back touch a wall of cold stone, a shock of sensation that juxtaposed the warm press of Elvir’s body against her front.

The kiss deepened, as he teased her bottom lip with a scrape of teeth she responded in kind, meeting his tongue with her own. His arm wound its way around her waist, pulling her in while his other hand cradled the back of her neck. They broke apart for but a moment and Clem’s eyes opened to meet Elvir’s, a silent question in his gaze. She smiled, and pressed her lips against his with renewed fervour. He met the kiss with a low groan, pulling her ever closer to his body, hand roaming up her back.

Her own touch explored him, slipping past the buttons of his coat and under layers of linen until they found hot skin. A breath escaped his lips as she traced muscle with her fingers, and his lips left hers to burn a path of kisses across her jawline and down her neck. As his mouth reached the crook just above her collar bone she sighed in breathless need, time and sensation seeming to blur and shift as memories tangled with reality. Her eyes gazed unfocused at the ceiling as her whole being became the press of lips and the scrape of teeth against the skin of her neck.

Eventually, eons later, Elvir’s tongue traced a line back upward, where he paused to nibble on her earlobe while his hands, having at some point found their way under her dress, caressed the soft skin of her hips. Returning belatedly to her mouth, he kissed her again, swallowing her little pants of breath as she endeavoured to regain her grasp on reality.

At length, their lips parted. Long sensuous kisses giving way to light pecks and gentle licks, then Clem opened her eyes again to the pale grey gaze mere inches away. Elvir’s hands withdrew from her dress, and smoothed down the fabric. Though she wouldn’t have objected, his touch had never strayed to between her thighs. He lifted a hand now to trace her lower lip.

“You are so very beautiful,” he said, voice noticeably hoarser than before. “But I shan’t ravish you in the freezing cellar of the winery.”

“That’s too bad,” Clem smiled, and was met by a full-toothed grin.

“You’d best not tempt me. In any case, we still have a goblet of excellent wine to finish.”

Elvir withdrew, leaving Clem boneless against the wall. He reached beside one of the barrels and retrieved the cup, raised it to his lips, and took a sip, then passed it to her. Resting his shoulder against the wall beside her, his hand comfortably drew lazy lines up and down the curve of her waist as she drank her fill of the goblet. She looked sidelong at him, that curved smile putting a dimple in his cheek.

“This wine really is very good.”