1 comments/  26058 views/  8 favorites

A Vampire's Tale

By: msnomer68



Throughout the centuries he had roamed. Over the course of time he was known by a great many names. He had known a great many people over the span of the centuries. He was confined to darkness. The moon and the stars were his constant companions as he roamed though the countless centuries of his existence. The beasts that were also confined to the night, the cat, the bat, and others, were his brothers, on the hunt like he. He was witness to countless human activities which took place in his night; love, hate, passion, birth, and death. Some met their death by his hands, but there were many more that met their deaths by the hands of their human brothers. 

He was human once, although he barely remembered it. He ate, slept, loved, hated, and felt as the humans do; once upon a time. A woman introduced him to the dark; lovely women with gypsy like features. She offered him a gift; her gift was darkness and he readily drank of it. Times were different then, he thought himself a man of the world, and to her he was just a mere infant. He was an artist in his prime, his works were well known to the people of Paris, he had painted the likenesses of kings; he painted churches and rolling meadows. His career was at its zenith and he was at the height of Parisian society. When he was approached to travel to a little known part of Eastern Europe to paint the portrait of an aristocrat, he readily accepted the commission. 

The journey was a long and difficult one, the days were short, the nights cold, they rode day and night, but the journey still took more than a fortnight to complete. Their destination was a rural palatial home at the base of a great river, almost as if it were guarding it. The chateau rivaled those of the members of the Parisian court; the outer wall was made of gray stone, bits of ivy scaled the towering wall, wild flowers sporadically took root along the base of the wall. Once inside the gait, the dwelling towered above him, the windows stared at him like eyes, the spires loomed heavenward like arms, the great oak doors were flung open bidding him entrance. The coachman carried his bags through the threshold dropping them with a resounding thud, which echoed throughout the great hall. The sun was setting low in the western sky, its light barely permeating the great hall, making shadows dance along the walls. 

A maidservant motioned for him to remove his coat and pointed up a towering oak stairway. He tried to ask her a question, but she replied in a foreign tongue, which he couldn’t understand. He followed her up the stairs without another word. The rough, dark wool of her peasant dress made ruffling sounds as it brushed against the granite floor of the hall. Candles dimly lighted the hallway, they passed door after door until she finally stopped, pushing one of the heavy oak doors open, and she pushed him inside. 

The room was lavishly decorated with thick, colorful rugs and wall tapestries. The bed was dressed with fine silks and linens, the bed curtains tied back to tall walnut spindles. A fire danced happily in the fireplace, the warmth chased the chill of the rest of the house away. His bags had already been deposited in the room and had been unpacked, his suit coats hung neatly in an armoire. The maid poured some steaming water from a pitcher into a basin and pointed to a pile of fine linen towels; nodding to him she shut the door behind her. 

He inspected his new quarters finding them adequate, all of his belongings had been neatly put away in drawers or in the armoire. He gratefully bathed in the steaming water, thankful to wash away the grime of the road. He shaved and applied talc, dressing in his finest suit; he waited for one of the servants to fetch him for supper. He pulled the heavy draperies away from the window; the glass was tinted from years of neglect. He noted the sun had set and darkness surrounded the land. A rap on the door roused him, it was time for dinner. The servant led him through the labyrinth of the house and sat him at a table laden with food. Hungrily he waited for his hostess to arrive. 

“Ah, my Cherie, you must be hungry, please eat.” A woman’s voice said from behind him. He heard the rustling of skirts, smelled the fragrant bouquet of a woman’s perfume, it peaked his senses. She approached him taking a seat next to him. Her hair was dark as a raven’s; it hung framing her face and shoulders in long dark waves. Her dark eyes reflected a golden hue from the fire. Her cheekbones were high; her lips were full and ruby red, her dark skin golden brown and flawless. Her dress reflected her nationality, it was low cut, revealing an arousing amount of cleavage, and the bright colored silks of the dress reflected the firelight, catching it in their sheen. He was stunned; she spoke his language as if it were her native tongue. “My dear, I speak many languages. Now please eat.” She replied as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He greedily obliged, devouring the roast chicken and wine, which had been prepared for him. 

“I am surprised that you have heard of my art all of the way in these remote parts.” He said in between mouthfuls of wine. “How did you become familiar with my work?” he asked as he wiped his mouth on a finely embroidered linen napkin. The fire behind him hissed and popped sending sparks wafting up the chimney. 

She smiled graciously as she replied. “ I have traveled to many parts of the world, love.” She took the napkin from his fingers and dabbed at a speck of food, which had gotten tangled in his cravat. “I found your artistic flavor especially enticing, I knew I had to have you for myself.” She placed the napkin back into his hand, the intimacy of her gesture made him uncomfortable. 

He faked a grin and slid back from her, “I meant no offence.” He replied. “ I hope that I can prove myself worthy of your favor.” He dropped the napkin onto his plate and looked up into her eyes. It was forward of him to do so, after all, he was merely little more than a glorified and overpaid servant, fulfilling the whim of his benefactor. He found himself lost in the beauty of the dark eyes, they glittered and gleamed like the night sky, he began to feel dizzy and swoon, his passion building up within him. 

The blur of his swoon was broken as she begun to speak, “Perhaps you would like to see where you will be working?” He nodded as she rose from the table offering him her hand. Her hand was tiny, the fingers long and graceful, the nails filed into tiny points, dangerous and sleek as a cat’s claw. Her grasp was firm and strong, the hand was as cold as death. He followed her down a long cavernous hallway illuminated by the glow of the candle she held leading the way. They entered a room, a solarium, the moonlight streamed through the leaded glass, highlighting erotic scented flora, glittering in a fountain which sung and babbled as the water splashed as it fell gracefully down. 

The room made a perfect studio for him; he would be able to paint a portrait that would rival all of his other works. The sunlight would stream in highlighting her dark features; he would reveal her beauty for the entire world to see. “No” she said as she sat the candle on a wrought iron table, “We work only at night.” He was baffled by her proposal, he had never painted by candlelight, and he was intrigued by her intention. He begun to speak to tell her what he would need, “Everything has been provided for you, “ she explained pointing to the corner of the room. Taking the candle from the table, he proceeded to inspect his supplies; he found them adequate.

She deftly unlaced her bodice, the skirts of her dress making a hushed whisper as they slid to the floor. She wiggled out of her corset, tossing it carelessly to the side. She stood in front of him fully nude, the flame of the candle making shadows against her creamy dark skin. She smiled unabashedly as she looked at him suggesting that she lay on the chase lounge. He tried not to stare, but she was so comfortable with her nudity. Her heavy breasts with tiny points of honey brown swayed as she walked to the chase lounge. He felt the heat of his desire grow; he could imagine himself deep inside of her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist encouraging him to drive deeper in. 

He positioned her on a chase lounge, he was very close to her, the scent of her, the softness of her skin and hair was making him heady with desire. He could have spent hours caressing and stroking them, but he had a job to do, with a sigh, he began. He had brought several canvasses with him, he had already stretched and prepared them, and he selected the appropriate size and began to outline his subject. The work was going so fast, so smoothly, it was almost as if the portrait was painting itself and he was just the vehicle. The gray light of dawn was filling the room now, She gently whispered to him “Perhaps the artist would like some rest now, we can resume our work tonight.” She rose from her seat and left him in the mid stroke. 

He lowered himself onto the chaise lounge, he could smell her perfume, although the impression of where her body lie was cold, he could still feel her there. He thought of her as he slid into the fitful world of dreams. His dreams were filled with her. He lowered her onto the bed, the cool silk bedding as smooth as her creamy skin. They kissed passionately, his tongue gently parting her lips and searching out the sweetness of her mouth. Her body arched against his advances, she moaned in desire encouraging him onward. He lowered his lips to her neck, her cool skin chilling the heat of his lips. He advanced downward to her cleavage, sliding his tongue along the tight lace and silk of her bodice. 

Adeptly she untied the laces of the bodice, parting them, giving him full view of her lacey corset. Hungrily he rested his face between her breasts, inhaling deeply of their intoxicating perfume. He ripped the bodice of her dress all of the way open, he stroked the confines of her corset, causing her to moan in desire. He slid the dress down her full hips; he could see her coarse dark hair peeking from under the sheerness of her underskirt. He inhaled deeply of her scent, the musky, enticing, odor forcing him to full erection. He parted her legs, gently sliding his hands along the smoothness of her inner thighs. She pulled at his shoulders and tugged on his hair encouraging him up, raising her hips to meet his mouth. 

He slid his tongue in between her wet, slick lips and lapped at her already engorged throbbing clitoris. She moaned in strange words which he had no understanding of, gently she rocked against him. Her taste was sweet and more intoxicating than wine; it made him dizzy with need. He slid his fingers into her wetness causing the walls of her vagina to spasm with pleasure, as he stroked and licked she rocked faster and faster, coming in the palm of his hand, eagerly he gulped it down. 

She slid down to meet him, kissing him deeply, her fingers untying the corset, releasing her ample breasts from their confines. Her nipples and areola were a dark brown, swollen and begging to be adored. He lowered his head to them and suckled them the way a newborn babe suckles his wet nurse. She urged him on. She rolled him onto his back and began unbuttoning his shirt and trousers; he could feel the gentle pressure of her weight resting on his cock, driving him mad with want. She stripped him of the last of his garments, his white skin making a startling contrast to her dark, erotic flesh. 

She inspected him, his white skin, his smooth firm naked chest, his throbbing prick in its height of erection, his thighs covered in a nesting of coarse dark hair. She stroked the full length of him making his body tense and quiver beneath her fingertips. He attempted to navigate her hips over him, he urged her to lower herself onto him, and she refused stating, “Not yet love, I have something for you.” With that statement she lowered her mouth onto his cock taking the full length of it into her. He was helpless beneath her skillful mouth and hands, trembling with the strokes of her tongue. He could hold back no longer, he came in her mouth with loud gasps and moans of pleasure. “Please more” he uttered barely able to form the words. Obediently, she lowered herself onto him, teasing him with her cunt as she slid it up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, her hips forming little circles when the full length of it was deep inside of her. 

He had taken many a French maiden to the bed, he partook of the comforts that the local brothels had to offer, but he had never known pleasure like this before. She had coaxed him to climax again, he filled her with his spray, she stayed on top and allowed him to remain inside of her, while his member softened, satisfied. He awoke to the soft glow of the evening sun, her words echoed in his head, “I have many more gifts to give you, love.” He awoke where he had fallen asleep, he was fully clothed, it was only a dream, a seemingly real dream, and he could still smell her erotic scent enveloping him. He wandered the halls trying to find his room.

Surprisingly, he dined alone on a splendid meal of roast lamb with cranberry compote, new potatoes seasoned with some type of herb, and a rich red wine, sweet and highly intoxicating. A servant led him down the hall to the solarium where she was waiting. Tonight, she had not bothered to dress formally; she was wearing a dark blue silk dressing gown, which highlighted her full breasts and tiny frame. He felt himself balloon with passion; he blushed, remembering the dream. “I trust you slept well?” she asked shooting him a knowing smile. 

He busied himself with preparing paints and lighting candles, he glanced up at her from over the top of his canvas trying to hide his embarrassment. He rationalized with himself, it was a dream, and no one can know another’s thoughts. She couldn’t know of the carnal nature of his desire for her. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t realize she had gotten up and walked over. Protectively, he guarded his work. “I just wanted a taste,” she said smiling underneath her pouting lips. His head reeled, she was so close to him, he could smell her perfume, he could smell her flesh, and he could feel his wanting for her climaxing to a fevered pitch. 

The neckline of her dressing gown was fully open, revealing her nude breasts, he lowered his head to her chest, inhaling deeply of her scent, and he could feel himself drift away. She lowered her lips to his neck, kissing him softly, her tongue feeling the bounding pulses of his neck; she was also in deep in desire for him. She took his chin in her hand raising his eyes to meet her stare, “Now we work, maybe later we taste,” she said as she placed a paintbrush into his grip and resumed her seat on the chaise lounge casting her dressing gown to the stone floor. 

Diligently he worked, cursing when he didn’t get the reflection of the moonlight in her hair just right or when he over looked some minute detail. Night after night he dined alone on gourmet cuisine, never questioning why she refused to join him. Day after day she consumed his dreams, taunting him with desire. His masterpiece was nearly complete, he only needed just a couple of more nights and he would be done. He was dejected at the possibility of leaving her, he regretted that he didn’t get to inspect the home, the grounds, he could spend a lifetime painting and exploring, but he had affairs to settle in Paris. He had debts to make good on, being a member of Parisian high society took a lot of the one thing he had little of, money. Her payment would be more than enough to reconcile his debts. At long last after weeks of jealously guarding his craft, he was ready to put the finishing touches on it and ready to reveal his masterpiece to her. 

That evening shortly after sunset, he ventured downstairs to the dining hall expecting to consume yet another solitary, but succulent meal. She was waiting for him, lounging by the immense fireplace, which roared with a cheery, blazing, fire permeating the room with a warm orange glow. “My heart, tonight we celebrate, tonight we taste!” she exclaimed rising from her lounge and turning circles with her arms flung wide. Her dark hair and skirts swirled in clouds around her. “Tonight you drink of my best wine,” she said as she poured him a generous portion of the red, shimmering, liquid. She handed him a gold and jewel encrusted cup. He took the cup from her raising it in a toast to her; he raised the cup to his lips drinking deeply of its sweet contents. “Come, let me see my portrait,” she said as she took his hand leading him into the moonlit solarium. 

The candles in the solarium snapped to life as she entered the room, ordinarily this would have frightened him, but his head swooned from the wine, his senses were tingling, alive. He searched the room for the flask; he wanted more wine to make a toast to her. “More wine later, sweet,” she said taking the cup from him and carelessly tossing it onto the floor. She led him over to the painting “Show me.” She guided his hands to the linen cover, which loosely draped his work; she helped him raise the cover, his work unveiled. She admired the work, her hand to her heart. Her portrait stared back at her, the hues of brown, orange, the blue-black of the midnight background, the rendering of her body, youthful and glowing tan, the brilliant red silk fabric of the chase lounge, her brilliant gold-brown eyes stared back at her, her lips were curled in a knowing, alluring smile. He had captured her very essence on this canvas; he gave her immortality in his work. 

“You will be immortal now,” she said embracing him. “You immortality, my immortality has been ensured in this canvas which will exist well past the last judgment, we are immortal. Forever young as we are now, locked together on canvas, you have captured my very soul.” His head reeled; he had not thought in terms of immortality, but it was so, he recalled the great masters, they would exist through their work for all eternity, and so would he. She led him to the chaise lounge and lowered him onto the soft, cool, silky fabric. “You should be a true immortal,” she said as she stroked his cheek. “You will be able to admire your work for all eternity, this is your payment, now I’ll have a taste.” 

She grabbed the hairs on the back of his neck in a vice like grip. He felt her lips as they caressed his neck, he felt warm and blissful in her arms. He gasped as she slid the points of her fangs through his fragile flesh. He felt as if he were on fire as she drank, he could hear her slurping and gulping, but he wasn’t afraid. He was lost in a dream world between awareness and unconsciousness; she wandered in this foggy world with him. She walked through the fog, her nude body forming a dark shape in the white swirling mists. As she approached him, her form aroused him. Her breasts swayed with the rhythm of her stride, her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders, gently brushing her nipples, teasing them to full hardness. His eyes lowered from her breasts to her flat stomach and full curving hips, the dark wilderness of her bush rested in between them. 

She took him in her arms, kissing him deeply, her tongue teasing his. He felt his desire grow and he became aware of his own nudity as the head of his cock sought refuge in her dark bush. She whispered to him in her native tongue, a language he had previously not understood, he comprehended with perfect clarity. He responded to her instructions, allowing her to lower him onto the deep, lush, green of a meadow. She stroked him and caressed him bringing him to full hardness. She lowered herself down on him, he cried out as he felt the smooth wetness of her walls as they gripped his penis. Wildly she rocked, he grabbed her hips, guiding her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. His heart beat in a strange and terrible rhythm, first very rapidly, then slower and slower, she rocked faster and faster coaxing him to orgasm, with the spurt of his orgasm, his heart had stopped. 


A Vampire's Tale



I was looking around the freshly packed bedroom. It was going to be weird I was going to be on my way to a different life in a different place. I was turned into a vampire when I was only 23. That was over 200 years ago. I was very lonely until I had met my dearest love Chase. I loved Chase from the very first moment that I had saw him. But I didn't say anything. He was with the ever so pretty Marie. My heart ached every moment they were together, I too had been taken by someone, but mine was not by choice. I was stuck with Adam.

The terror of my life. He'd turned me into what I am today and because of that I was forced to be his girl forever. Chase was human and I was not so it made things difficult but Chase didn't seem to mind. He loved me for who I am. He knew that I was a vampire and that I hated every moment of it, but soon I would be free from this life and I would be human again. I wouldn't be hidden in the shadows of the night any more. This was all thanks to my best friends Sean and Christy. They'd worked for 2 years to finally figure out how to make me human again. 

I had escaped Adam's clutches and fled from California to Iowa where I lived with Sean. Sean works at a tattoo-piercing place. He not only has tattoo's and piercing he was a slayer. He worked to protect and hide me and he did a very good job at it. Sean is the whole reason I moved to Iowa. 

I was out one night for a walk. I had just left Sean about an hour ago. He gave me an idea of getting a piercing, and God knows why but I loved the idea. So I got a tattoo of a fairy. Any ways, I was out for a walk when I noticed I was being followed. There was only one slayer and I had left him only moments before. Fear ran through my body as I continued to walk. It could only be one person's doing. I stopped in my place. I may as well find out who was following me. I turned around slowly after I heard the footsteps stop behind me.

"Dark eve, M'Lady." I heard continued behind me replied.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"I was sent to come and get you. The master wants to speak with you."

"When are you going to stop following him, Alex?"

"When are you just going to give in to him?"

"When hell freezes over. You are going to have to take me by force."

"I will give him that message."

Alex disappeared into the shadows. It didn't matter what Alex was going to do. In less then 24 hours I would no longer be in Iowa. I hated to leave Sean but I needed to. I was aware that my Sire was close but I had not known he was already in Davenport. There would be even more urgency for me to leave. I grinned for I knew which place I would show up next.

When Alex would return with others I would no longer be there. I didn't realize how long the night would have been until I woke this morning with the dreadful feeling. I was now in my new place with my new life yet when I rolled over I remembered that he had followed me. He was laying in the bed next to me and I was trapped. Adam stirred and rolled over wrapping his arms around me holding me down so I couldn't leave the room. I gasped half in fear and half in shock as he held me down.

"Dark Eve, lover." Adam said in an evil, eerie, cold voice. 

"Why must you follow me? Take me from my friends? I do not want to be with you. I do not want you. I am not yours." I replied.

"Oh, but lover you are mine. I am the reason you walk the night and until you are dead you will always be mine. Unless I am dead."

"Then I shall kill you and be free of you."

"When you become stronger then me then you might have a chance, my child. All this talk has made me hungry. You must be starved it looks as if you haven't feed in days."

Adam rolled over top of me and straddled my body then he grabbed his dagger from the wooden nightstand. I turned my head and closed my eyes. I knew exactly what he was about to do. He sliced one of his wrists and then put his dagger down. He grabbed my face and pulled it to his wrist. When I let out a gasp some of his blood got in my mouth, I tried to hold it in my mouth so I could spit it out but it didn't work.

As soon as his blood entered my mouth I couldn't hold back my hunger. I bit down into his wrist and began to drink from him. He moaned and grunted in pleasure as I drank from him. I could feel his man hood growing as I did. Before I could gain control of myself the damage was done. I had forgotten that he got off when I drank from him. I let out a soft whimper as he took his wrist from me. He licked his wrist cleaning the blood and it instantly healed. Then his hands ran down my breasts and upper body as un-buttoned the black silk nightgown top that I was wearing. The cool air touched my breasts causing them to get hard.

"Please...."I begged. 

He moaned and then pinched my nipple hard making me cry out in pain. I pushed the tears back and closed my eyes. I decided that I would think of something else and ignore him. I hadn't ever tried that before.

Once I closed my eyes I could see Chase in my head. I had been on my way to see him when Adam and grabbed me. I was pissed I was finally living close enough to be with Chase and Adam took me.

I had to find some way to tell Sean and Chase that I was all right. They both knew I had been on my way to Virginia. I had told them that I would call when I got there. Adam growled and it wasn't in pleasure it was in pure anger. His huge hand came down a crossed my face. I gasped as the tears filled my eyes. I was confused about why I had been slapped. Adam ripped my silk pajama pants from my body.

"You are nothing but a whore and now I am going to treat you like one, damn it." Adam snapped as he grabbed his dagger.

I screamed in horror as I tried to squirm out from under his body. I didn't understand what was going on he grabbed both my wrists with one of his massive hands and then tied my hands with the nylons I had been wearing the night before.

"You thought I didn't know that you had been living with a human. A male at that. You are going to be punished for that. Not to mention he is a slayer." Adam growled.

"He is just my friend I swear." I sobbed.

I was relieved that Adam hadn't found out about Chase. Sean could take care of himself and I knew it. Adam wouldn't stand a chance against Sean and that seemed to anger him more. I squirmed even more trying to get free from Adam when his hand slide down against my lacey see through black thong panties that I was wearing. Each time my body wiggled his hand came down a crossed my face.

After a few hard slaps I brought my hands down and trying to block my precious bruised face as I plead with him to stop hitting me. Adam grabbed my wrists tightly in one of his hands and yanked them away from my face he then held them above my head.

"Don't hit me any more, please. I'll be your good little Dark Angel. Just please no more hitting." I begged.

Adam grinned in pleasure. He loved to hear me beg him to stop, but it always urged him to hurt me more. This time he wasn't going to do so. He pressed his lips against mine and then parted my lips with his tongue. I parted my lips with the help of his tongue. Fear running through every inch of my body. Adam stuck his tongue in my mouth and began to massage my tongue with his. Our kiss seemed to last forever. He stopped and then pulled my panties from my body. 

"I am going to get something to tie your hands to the head board. Don't move from that spot. If you disobey I will be forced to punish you." He whispered harshly in my ear.

I laid there not moving. My face was sore from him. I closed my eyes sobbing lightly. I must have cried for what seemed like forever. I began to think about Chase holding me to him as his soft hands ran through my hair. This thought calmed me enough to make me stop crying. It was at that moment that I had wondered where Adam had gone. When I looked to the door he was standing there. I wondered how long he'd been there watching me.

Adam walked over to me. He once again straddled my body. He then pulled my heads over my head once again and then tied them to the headboard with some rope.

"Crying because you missed me so?" Adam asked.

"No, I am crying because of you."

Adam raised his hand to slap me causing me to flinch and try to bring my arms down to protect my face but he leant down and kissed my cheek where bruises had already formed from his slapping. I whimpered a bit as he did this. I was still unsure of what he was going to do to me.

"Why do you make me hurt your pretty little face? Why must you make me so angry?" He asked and with that he shoved his 11-inch cock into my tight pussy.

His thrust was so great that it shoved me up causing my head to hit the headboard. I cried out in pain. Tears ran down my face. He left his cock deep inside of me. He gripped my hips with his strong hands and yanked my body down on his cock more causing me to scream out in pain.

Then he pulled his cock all the way out of my pussy before he shoved it in again causing my body to get shoved up wards and my head hitting the wooden headboard. After a few more of his powerful thrusts I had passed out from the pain.

Adam continued to shove his cock in and out of me. He fucked my body as if I was a rag doll made for his using. He could fuck me for an hour without Cumming once. I didn't know how long I was out or how many times he'd cummed inside me but I knew he had at least cummed in me once.

Adam started to thrust into me faster and harder, gripping on to my hips tightly as he continued to use my body. He looked down and grinned seeing that I was awake. Then he reached up and grabbed my nipples with his hands. He began to pinch and twist them sending constant pain surges through my body. This was almost enough to cause me to pass out again and he knew it. He slapped me as hard as he could causing me to gasp in shock once more.

"Don't you dare pass out on me again! You will be awake for every moment of this, damn it. Each time you start to pass out I will slap you again. Each time will be harder then the next." Adam snapped.

"Please stop. I can't handle any more, please. My body is growing weaker and weaker." I whispered and begged faintly.

Hearing me beg sent him over the edge he pounded my pussy a few more times before he unloaded his warm cum into me. He was moaning and growling at the same time. His body shaking with pleasure. He leant down and sunk his teeth into my neck and began to drink some of my blood.

I cried out in pain as he was drinking from me. This was new he'd never done this before. The only time he'd ever bit me is when he changed me into a Vampire. Tears ran down my face and my eyes closed I began to slip into Unconsciousness. My body was weaker then before. 

Him draining more of my blood and me not having much in the first place was killing me. When Adam realized what he had done he immediately cut his wrist and made me drink. I was barely able to drink. He called to one of his Hench men and told them to fetch a human for us to feed off of. I slowly regained part of my strength.

"Please, don't make me drink from a human." I begged.

"Then continue to drink from me and I will drink the human." He answered.

Adam's voice was half filled with fear, worry, and sadness, but it was also half filled with anger and coldness. His cock was starting to harden with in my pussy when I returned to feeding from him. Alex came in with one of the human girls that was one of the manners maids. He held the girl as Adam started to feed from her.

I closed my eyes whimpering and crying as Adam fed from the girl. Adam pulled away after only drinking a small amount. Alex was ready to pounce and drink from the girl when Adam growled. I began to cry uncontrollably as Adam growled. I feared I had done something wrong.

"Take her to the edge of town and drop her at the hospital. You drink from her and I will kill you." Adam growled.

"Yes, Master." Alex said bitterly.

Adam watched as Alex left the room. He then leaned down and kissed me as he untied my hands. He'd broken me again and he knew it. I would obey him until I was able to escape again, and until then he wouldn't have to worry about me. After I was untied he pull my body up and held me to his chest. His cock was hard and still in my pussy.

"Bite my neck and feed from me. You are still weak, my love." Adam whispered in my ear.

"Please, no more blood. I can't swallow another drop. I need rest. Sleep. "I sobbed.

With that Adam laid me back down and pulled his cock from me. He then laid down next to me wrapping his arms around me holding me. I fell asleep for many hours. The night changed from night to day and then now it was night again. I woke up to Adam's hands on my head. I whimpered not knowing what was going on.

"Shh... It's all right. It's not time to wake yet I was just about to let you feed from me. I've been doing it every couple of hours so you can regain your strength."

Adam had never been this gentle with me. I was confused at his newfound kindness. He chanted a few words and I once again went to sleep for another couple of hours. When I woke again Adam had been sitting in a chair near the door. I sat up and looked around the room.

My body ached from him; I pulled the covers from my body and then stood up. I was still weak, I could barely stand let a lone walked but forced my self to walk over to the cupboard and pull out three towels one for the floor, one for my hair, and one to wrap my body in. I then pulled out some clothes to wear.

I wrapped a towel around my slim waist and then I walked to the door. I held the other towels in my other arm and I then reached out and turned the handle of the door ever so slowly and quietly trying not to wake Adam. I nearly screamed when I heard Adam growl. 

I turned to him as he laid a hand on my shoulder. My body almost collapsed into his strong arms. I whimpered lightly as I managed to gather enough strength to turn in his arms and face him.

"What are you doing?" He growled.

"I need a shower, and I didn't want to wake you." I whimpered.

"You don't have the strength to be walking any where. I will carry you." He said before he kissed me.

He pressed my body to his as he kissed me. I could feel that he was harder then I could ever remember him being. He must have left his cock hard and just taken care of me. I rested myself against him weakly whimpering softly.

"You have nothing to fear unless I am angry with you. I have a soft gentle side." He whispered.

He carried me to the bathroom and set me on the floor. He stripped the towel from my body and then placed me in the shower. He had sat me on my but so I wouldn't collapse on the floor. Then he removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He shut the shower door and turned on the warm water.

He used this moment to get his harden cock sucked. Since I was on the ground in front of him he couldn't help but take this opportunity. He ordered me to suck as he moved closer to me.

I wrapped my soft lips around his harden cock and then I pushed it down my throat humming. I pushed it so far down my throat that his hairs tickled my nose. I held him down my throat for a few moments before I slowly pulled his cock from down my throat, I ran my warm pink tongue a crossed his shaft as I pulled it almost all the way out of my mouth.

My hand moved up and began to massages his sack as I began shoving his hard member down my throat once more. He began to gently fuck my mouth. I began to suck harder and move his cock in and out of my mouth faster only pausing for a moment as I held him down my throat. He looked down as he watched his cock disappearing and reappearing between my lips.

Pre-cum began to spill into my mouth as I sucked. I swallowed it as I continued to suck his cock. He gripped my hair tightly and began violently fucking my mouth. After 5 long minutes of him violently pulling my head down on his cock as hard as her could he shot his warm seed down my throat. I swallowed all of it in fear. He moaned as pulled his cock from my mouth.

"Ohhhh, lover you have a great mouth." He said as he pulled me up into his arms.

He grabbed the sponge as I grabbed the soap. 

"Lean against me." He ordered

I obeyed him quickly. I pressed my body against his and rested against him. I watched as he got the sponge all soapy and wet. He set the soap down and then began to wash my body. As his hands ran a crossed my body he began to grow hard once more. 

"I want to fuck your ass." He whispered as he nibbled upon my ear.

"All right..."I said nervously.

"Not now, you are not ready for that. I will do that when you bend to my every will and your pussy grows wet. When you enjoy my cock being in you then I will, but not until then."

He then turned my body around quickly causing me to gasp before he started to wash my back. His hand played with my ass a while before he rinsed my body and washed my hair. He didn't bother washing himself. Instead he made sure I was fully rinsed before turning off the water.

He opened the shower door and then he grabbed a towel and wrapped me up in it. I hadn't realized how cold I had gotten until my teeth started to chatter. Adam threw one of the towels on the floor and then picked me up and placed me upon it before he grabbed the other towel and wrapped his own body on it.

It took weeks before I was strong enough to plan my escape. I didn't intend on completely breaking and obeying him. I wanted one person in the world and that was it. I knew that one day I would have Chase as my own. I thought about Chase as I ran a crossed the yard wrapped up in two heavy blankets. I ran to a phone booth and called Sean. Then I slipped into a shadowy hiding spot where nobody could find me and the sun couldn't touch me. I was going to wait there until Sean would come for me.

I know that one day Adam would find me again and I hope when that day comes I will be human again. When it does come I know that Sean won't be far from my side and he will battle Adam to protect me from him. Until then all I can do is hide here and wait.



A Vampire's Tale



Jackson looked at his friend Samantha. She looked simply beautiful in her red dress. Her long black hair framed her slightly angular face. Her green eyes seemed to shine with an inner light and her light golden skin seemed to glow. She smiled, revealing sharp fangs. He felt a chill down his spine. They stood facing each other on the roof of a church, somewhere in the city of New York. 

Although they looked like an ordinary pair, they were not. Both of them were creatures of the night. Vampires. Jackson was a vampire. He had been one for a long time. He'd been turned into a vampire by a rather mysterious character named Rufus Maximus. Rufus was a vampire who had been around since the time of Ancient Rome. He was the lord of the vampires. One of the oldest of the undead who still walked the Earth. Rufus was the one who turned Jackson. Jackson was nineteen years old in 1922 when he became one of the undead. Samantha was far older. She was twenty three years old in 1890 when she became one of the undead. Jackson and Samantha had known each for a long time. He was the rather shy kid from the country and she was the vivacious and outgoing city girl. They met six years ago in Boston. Back then, they were both different. Jackson was a tall, well-built young man with black hair and pale blue eyes. His skin was very pale, almost bone-white. He was accustomed to wearing black. Jackson was still getting the hang of the undead thing.

There were a lot of myths about the undead that baffled young vampires such as Jackson. Vampires could not turn into bats. They couldn't turn into smoke either. They couldn't fly. They were stronger than most humans. Also, they were more agile. They could spontaneously regenerate, rapidly healing from injuries that would kill ordinary people. They could see their reflections in mirrors. They could walk into churches. Holy water and garlic couldn't hurt them. They were quite vulnerable to the effects of sunlight. Sunlight would burn to ash any vampire exposed to it. Vampires still needed to drink blood in order to survive. There weren't that many of them around in the world. Jackson was an outcast. He hadn't adjusted too well to life as a vampire. He only drank animal blood and shunned both humans and vampires.

Samantha was very different. She was a very beautiful vampire. She had grown stronger in the long time that she had been alive. She hunted anything she pleased. Samantha was known to be a dangerous vixen even among the undead. She served no one, but she went wherever she wanted. Her sire, the infamous vampire lord known as Rufus Maximus forbade anyone from hurting her. He saw himself as her father and although she would never admit it, she saw herself as his daughter. The fledgling vampire known as Jackson lived in the basement of an abandoned building in New York city. Samantha lived in a penthouse apartment watched around the clock by the Familiars, humans who were loyal to the vampires. Samantha lived like a princess. Jackson didn't like his newfound existence. He didn't like it at all.

Jackson had been walking around in the streets when he saw Samantha. As usual, she was causing trouble. There was a gang shoot-out between some gang and the police. Like all civilians, Jackson ducked for cover. Samantha went right in the middle of it. She was curious, as she would later tell him. She picked up a gun and shot a cop with it. Just for the hell of it. Samantha was a sociopath even before she joined the undead. Jackson had actually been a decent guy. He ran after Samantha and chased her to a building rooftop. He faced her there. Samantha was looking beautiful. She was cackling with a glee. She had killed a cop and gotten away with it. She wasn't worried about getting caught. Any vampire could take on a whole squad of police officers and come out on top. Samantha was no exception. In fact, she was stronger than the average vampire and far more ruthless. 

Samantha looked at Jackson, waiting for him to do something. She actually found him amusing. A vampire who wouldn't feed on humans. He was an anomaly. She loved to bother him. He'd been made by the same master as she was. He was way too meek to become a true predator. She thought he wanted to fight her. He was taller than her and a bit bigger. She was a lot stronger because she drank human blood regularly and was actually a trained fighter. She knew how to use her vampiric strength and speed to maximum efficiency. She felt confident that she could take on Jackson. She'd taken down vampires far stronger than he was. He glared at her.

"If you continue to hunt humans in my territory, I'll be forced to do something about it."

Samantha stared at him. Who did he think he was? She wanted to beat the bastard and crush him before killing him. Jackson met her gaze without flinching. His fangs were bared. She was almost shocked. She advanced toward him. She moved deliberately slowly and stood less than three feet away from him. She reached out and gently touched his cheek. He blinked. She smiled a broad grin.

" You're so cute, kiddo. Don't make threats, okay? I'd hate to have to kill you."

With that, Samantha leapt off the edge of the building. She landed on the nearby roof, fifty feet away. She ran from rooftop to rooftop, moving at a speed that amazed even Jackson. She was fast! Pretty soon she could barely be seen. Jackson watched her go. She had power. He knew that he might not be able to take her down if push came to shove. She was seriously dangerous. Samantha was the kind of vampire without any respect for others of her kind. She only lived for the thrill of the kill. He knew he would have to face her, and others like her sooner or later. The number of vampires in New York was growing and their predations on the human population was getting noticed. Jackson didn't want a war to take place between the humans and the vampires. He feared for himself and others of his kind should humanity learn of their existence. The vampire community needed to learn discretion. Jackson only drank animal blood. He had sworn never to prey on a human. If only he could convince his vampiric brethren to do the same.

The vampire Jackson looked up into the heavens. The sky was growing lighter. It was almost dawn. He hurried home. He had a lot of things to do. Like catching some sleep and formulating a plan for stopping the vampires who were invading his territory and the humans he had come to view as his to protect. Trouble was brewing on the horizon and the young vampire didn't know if he could survive it but he was gonna try....

To be continued...



A Vampire's Tale



He felt her claw like fingers scratching at his chest, “Drink of me my love, join me in immortality.” She laid back pulling him onto her and guided him down past her belly, taking a razor sharp nail she opened the fragile flesh of her inner thigh, creating a stream of dark blood. She guided his mouth to the stream; instinctively he lapped up the blood, no longer aware of his desire for her. 

Her blood raced through his empty veins filling them with fire. He drank deeply of her, clumsily gulping her blood. She could feel herself growing weaker with every swallow, she pushed him away barely able to form the words, “No more, lover.”

He awoke in his room, the draperies closed shut against the outside world. His head was pounding, his body ached, his stomach rolled like a ship in a stormy sea, he mussed he had way too much wine last night; he tried to remember last night, but could not. Gingerly, he peeked around the drapes and saw that nightfall had surrounded the chateau. Weak, he returned to bed. He dozed in a light slumber awakened by his bedchamber door being flung open. “My love sleeps,” she said as she entered the room and flopped on the bed, the bounce of the bed set waves of nausea flowing over him. “Come, come, I have something that will make you feel much better.” She grabbed his hand firmly and roused him from the bed. Hand in hand she led him down the hall, opening a door, she guided him into a bedchamber. “She is for you,” she said pointing to a young peasant girl sleeping on the bed. Giggling she shoved him in the room, “Lover, you’ll figure out what to do,” she said as she shut the door tightly.

He contemplated what she meant as he stared at the young girl sleeping fitfully, her tiny body dwarfed by the immensity of the bed. He watched her chest rise and fall rhythmically; she stirred in her sleep, her mouth slightly open. Tresses of blonde wavy hair peeked out from under her cap, her breasts confined by the tight, coarse, wool peasant dress; he watched them rise and fall. He could hear her heart beat in the rhythm of sleep and innocence; he inhaled deeply of her scent. She smelled of the sweat of hard work and of the harvest, the pungent earthy scent of her caused sensations to rumble deep within him. He approached her, these new sensations roaring within him; suddenly he knew what to do. 

He lowered himself on top of her, startled she awoke, he could smell her fear as the weight of his body pinned her against the bed. He whispered words to her in her peasant language, the words seemed to calm her, and she reached up to touch his face. The scent of her, the heat of her body, the thumping of her heart against his chest drove his instincts on. He lowered his head, driving his fangs deep into the soft, fragile flesh of her neck causing a river of blood to flow. He drank deeply, the fluid was sweet and fresh, more intoxicating than the best wine he had ever tasted. He knew her thoughts; he knew her life, her birth, and her kin; now he knew her death. Her heart beat a last few terrible beats; he stopped just before her heart slid into the abyss of death. 

He felt her life as it surged through him, he felt invigorated, alive. He could hear things he had never heard before; thoughts from miles away came to him like whispers. The rustling of the leaves of the trees and of the grasses of the field created a symphony. He saw colors he had never seen before, the brilliant crimson of the silk bedding seemed to glow, the brown of her dress, he could see every thread of in the weave, every dimple in the stone wall of the bed chamber stood out, the fire in it’s brilliant red-gold danced as if it had a life of its own, the hissing and popping of the wood as it burned added melody to his symphony. He was bedazzled by the newness and awe of the ordinary, he wondered to himself, how could I not of seen all of this before?

The girl’s body grew cold under him; he could smell the scent of decay already beginning to consume her form. Another wave of sensation rolled over him, he was appalled at what he had done. He was beginning to understand what the price of his gifts truly was. Horrified he backed away from the girl, in death, she was still beautiful, and she reminded him of a wildflower which grows in the middle of a field only to be trampled by warring armies, the fragile beauty of the flower never appreciated. “Sometimes, a taste is enough, darling,” she said from behind him pulling him out of his revere. He turned to face her, he had questions, and she held the answers. “You will learn,” she said as she wiped a stray trickle of dried blood off his chin. Taking his hand she led him downstairs, closing the door to the bedchamber she stated, “Needn’t worry about that, it will be taken care of.” She was referring to the girl. 

She sat him down on a Persian rug in front of a great roaring fireplace, he had never been in this room before, and it appeared to be a music room. Velvety blue draperies hung, covering immense spaces of window, a harp rested in the middle of the floor, taking a seat, she began to play. The sweet sounds coming from the harp soothed him, he basked in the warmth of the fire, lying back on the plush colorful rug, and he drifted. He waited for her answers although he had asked no questions. “I was like you, long ago,” she said, her voice floating above the melody of the harp. “My music drew her to me, she gave me this gift, this life, I gave it to you.” She continued to play, gazing intently into the fire. “None of us is truly immortal, we exist in this plane of shadow and dark, living through the lives of others, awaiting our own demise,” her fingers flew over the strings of the harp, creating ethereal sounds. He pondered what she had said, mussing at its meaning. 

“We can die?” he asked turning to face her. He was torn away, distracted by the gleam of the firelight as it danced, reflected in the folds of her skirt. She nodded her head yes. He could sense her sadness, it reflected off of her as the firelight reflected off her skirts. “Is that what happened to the one who gave you this?” he asked making a broad gesture with his hands. Again, she nodded her head yes. Sighing, she lowered the harp, rising from her seat, she took his hand, “Enough of this, “ she said leading him from the room. 

Arm in arm they walked the banks of the mighty river. He reveled at the moonlight as it shone in the black waters. He reeled in the symphony created by the beings of the night, crickets, frogs, owls, and other forms of life. He listened intently to her as she recited the dogma of this new life he had been given. One rule was simple enough, be as a shadow, and leave no trace. He listened as she talked on. He stopped her and turned her to face him, kissing her on the forehead, he whispered to her in her own tongue, pledging to remain at her side for all time. His beauty, his mother, his companion, his love, his Marguerite. 

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, she played her music, he painted; together they hunted and pondered the mysteries of their existence. They visited the little burgs that dotted the countryside, choosing their dinner and leaving no trace. One night they were visiting a little villa, she had chosen a strong lad who had, much to his misfortune fallen asleep on his watch in the fields. The white curly backs of the sheep could be seen wandering in the tall grasses, he watched as she stealthily crept up on her prey. He loved to watch her hunt, she possessed a grace and skill, which he doubted that he ever would. He was still clumsy, sometimes taking too much, sometimes spilling more than he tasted. There was no danger of him creating more of his kind, in order to do that his own blood had to be spilled and tasted. She forgave him for his mistakes, dutifully erasing every trace, waving him off as he apologized for his clumsiness. 

She slid her fangs into the tender flesh of the sleeping youth; he stirred beneath her. He felt his hunger mount, raising her head, she invited him over for a taste. Eagerly, he accepted her invitation. Driving his fangs deep into the boy’s wrist, he drank. Together, they exhausted the boy, draining him completely. They were roused by the sound of approaching footsteps, still some distance away. The footsteps were loud and numerous, surrounding them on all sides. She shot him a look of panic, grabbing his hand she led him away from their supper, no time to erase their traces. Together they fled, only to be encountered by the rush of footsteps from all sides. The dawn was fast approaching them, they could exist in daylight, but it weakened them, leaving them defenseless. 

They were greeted by the onslaught of the angry mob, pitchforks and torches waving high in the golden-yellow light of dawn. She saw a small gap in the encroaching mass; she pushed him toward it, instructing him to seek a place to hide. He refused to let go of her hand, she pushed him away stating “I can take care of myself, you need to take care of yourself now, it is time for my fledgling love to leave the nest.” He ran quickly becoming lost to the mob in a thicket of brush and tall trees still shrouded by darkness and mist. 

He could hear her cries as the mob rose to a fevered pitch, bearing down on her. She was quickly over powered, he felt the bite of the ropes as her hands and feet were bound, he shared her fear as she was tied to the stake, he felt her agony as the flames licked her flesh, smelled the stench of her burning flesh as they greedily consumed her. He heard the roar of the crowd as her body turned to ash. He cried for his lost love, his creator, unable to withstand the golden light of day, he slid into unconsciousness, dreaming dark vampire dreams of his lost Marguerite. 

At nightfall when he awoke, he could hear the sounds of a great celebration taking place, he smelled the burning wood of their fires, the stench of cooking meat, the clumsy strum of their instruments, laughter and joy from the villagers permeated his sensitive hearing. He timidly approached the gravesite of his love, charred bulks of wood still steamed in the cool night air. Of his love, not a trace, no bone, no unclaimed piece of fabric, nothing, and it was as if she had never been.

He traveled the miles back to the chateau as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels he was shocked by what he returned to. His home was no more, the servants had suffered the same fate as his love, windows were broken, the stone walls were all that remained, the rest was smoldering ash. He sifted through the rubble, gathering small remnants of their life together, a hair pin, a small jewel encrusted goblet, nothing of value to the villagers, but very significant to him. In a smoldering pile of ash, he saw what remained of her portrait, the burning massive oak frame. He had no time for grief now, she had sacrificed herself to save him, and he meant to survive. 

For weeks he traveled on foot guided by the light of the moon, dining on the lesser forms of life, cats, rats, birds, anything that crossed his path that wasn’t human. He shied away from civilization, avoiding the welcoming warmth of a fire, avoiding the alluring scent of humanity and human flesh. He wasn’t sure where he was, only that he followed the path of the moon away from his cursed past. He tucked himself safely away from the light of day, preferring an overgrown cemetery as his temporary home. The living didn’t disturb the dead as they slept, rotting in crypts and mausoleums. He would chuckle to himself when he entered such a place to find it filled with toys for the undead, strings of garlic, crosses and other religious symbols, yard after yard of rope tightly tied into tiny knots, meant to keep the undead contained and busy for an eternity. Idly he would untie the knots, not that anyone would ever bother to check, but it kept his mind off of Marguerite. 

He slept very little; when he did his mind was full of dreams of Marguerite. He could hear her laughter, her whispers, he heard her as she played an unknown melody on her harp, and he saw her skirts swirl around her as she danced in the moonlight. He could feel the softness of her hair, the cool smoothness of her skin, the muskiness of her alluring scent. His sweet dreams would turn into nightmares as he recalled her screams of agony as she burned. 

He was amazed at his new physical abilities, he could move faster than a mortal man could see, he could travel miles in a matter of minutes, he could hear the thoughts of others, he could see color in the dark, even in the midst of his pain and loneliness, he was awe struck by the gifts she had bestowed upon him. In the distance he saw the din of the lights of Paris, his heart was lifted, how long had it been since he had been in Paris? He could not recall, time has little meaning to an immortal. His pace quickened. 

As he approached the city, he looked at his disheveled appearance, his clothes hung in tatters and rags, his body was soiled and unkempt, he had no money. He crouched down low in the bushes and waited for a lone rider; he was about to take his first taste of human blood since that fateful night. In the distance, he heard the clop of a horse’s hoof, a gentleman approached on a midnight black steed. As the rider passed him, he bounded out from behind the bushes, taking him easily. The blood was thick and sweet, bringing him new life as he drank deeply. The horse munched happily on grasses that grew along the road, seemingly unaware of its rider’s fate. After he had disposed of the body, relieving it of clothing and its purse, he took the reins of the horse leading it to a nearby stream. He bathed ridding himself of months of grime; the clothes of the rider fit him quite well. The silky smoothness of the white shirt, the grip of fine breeches tight on his thighs, the snugness of the shoes as he slid them on; running his fingers through his hair, he gathered it back into a ponytail tying it with a stray piece of silk string. He counted the money in the purse, enough to rent a room. Unsaddling the horse, he set it free, it trotted down the road away from the great city. Whistling to himself he followed the road toward Paris. 

He roamed the streets, discovering how much the city had changed in his absence. He had been gone a great many years, buildings had been torn down, companions had died or moved, new artists had come, taking his place, he did not belong here any longer, he was a foreigner in foreign streets. He searched galleries looking for some sign of his former self, finding none; his work was unknown and obscure. The longer he stayed in the city, the lesser he could tolerate it. The city was crowded and the stench of people drove him mad. Their thoughts, once mere whispers were shouts, he could barely control the onslaught. He left the city as quietly as he had come, leaving his native France bound for England. 

He found comfort in the fresh air of the English countryside, gentle rolling meadows, tall grasses which in the cool northern breezes made waves like those of the sea. He purchased a small simple country home, in time, he began to paint. He relished his imposed isolation, for years he hid away painting portraits of his long lost Margaruite. The small towns around him grew becoming cities, a new world was discovered, steam ships replaced sails, railways were carved into the countryside, electricity and indoor plumbing made the misery of human existence more tolerable. Everything around him changed, but he did not. He did not age, his hair did not grow, his memories did not fade, in his prime for all eternity. 

Occasionally, he would walk to a near by town to purchase art supplies and to have a light meal, he had not killed since his stay in Paris. He was careful not to speak to anyone, simply collecting his supplies and retreating to the sanctity of his solitude. The store clerk watched him intently as he gathered his art supplies and made his way to the counter. She was a young girl, judging by her thoughts; which she made no attempt to hide, today was her twenty-first birthday. She smiled at him as he laid his selections on the counter, her cheeks were rosy red and full of life, her cherub like face and great round blue eyes, told the story of her youth. Her hair, red and cropped short, shone and glimmered reminding him of the life force which flowed within her. 

She began to speak, “I remember you, and you’ve been coming here since I was a little girl.” She smiled as she added up his purchases. “You never seem to change, not even your clothes,” she said pointing to his worn shoes. He stared at her coldly, not saying a word. Shocked, she put her hand to her mouth “Oh, I’ve offended you. I am so sorry, daddy always says my big mouth gets me into trouble and I’ll never find a husband with this mouth of mine.” Her face was ablaze with embarrassment. Her cheeks were as red as the fabric of her sweater. Shocked at himself, he replied. 

“Perhaps you could help me select some new clothing, miss.” He shot her a warm alluring smile; she was stirring feelings in him that he had not felt in centuries. He looked around the room, finding a calendar, the early twentieth century; he had been in England for well over a century, an eternity of solitude. She shot out from behind the counter, her daddy would be so proud of her, her big mouth may have landed them a big sale, the little shop was in danger of closing, this could be her big day. Hurriedly, she sized him up, guessing, she gathered trousers, shirts, and ties. Holding them up to him, she selected the most flattering colors; browns, navy blues, and blacks, highlighting the pale blond of his hair and the glowing green of his eyes. She selected matching argyle socks and sturdy black oxfords, grabbing his foot out from underneath of him, she almost toppled them both over. He could feel her warmth; he smelled her sweet perfume, lavender oil. He felt a stirring in his loins, a yearning barely controllable. 

“Would you like to try them on?” she asked pointing to the shoes. “Shall I ring them up?” she asked piling the clothing on the countertop. He nodded his head yes as he reached in his pocket for his purse, the coins jingling from its depths. She rang up item after item, carefully folding his newly acquired garb. She gleefully took his money, her fingers brushing against his hand as she gave him the change; he took her hand, holding it in his icy grasp. “You keep the change, for your birthday,” he said carefully avoiding her eyes. Elated, she obliged. He left the store, the moonlight lighting the dirt road to his home, he tried to get her out of his mind, her scent clung on him like the mists clung to the fields, her essence had begun to thaw the ice which surrounded his heart. 

That night, after his meager meal of wild goat, he sat by the flickering of an oil light, thinking of her, her name Elise. The hour was late, the tiny town slumbered, in the coolness of the autumn night; he stood in the shadows of an alleyway across from her bedroom window. Silent as mist he slipped through the open window, he watched her sleep, the rise and fall of her chest, and he listened to her heartbeat, hearing the whoosh of blood as it traveled through her veins. He whispered to her, bidding her to be silent, freeing her from pain, yielding her to his will as he slid the rough linen of her bed sheets down, revealing her form clad in a white satin nightdress. Her body told the tale of her youth, narrow hips, and small breasts, virginal and pure. He longed to taste of her innocence. 

Through round open eyes she watched him, the moonlight causing her eyes to glow like two dark sapphires on a white silk pillow. He watched her, whispering to her. She slid her nightdress up over her thighs, pulling it up over her head she cast it carelessly onto the floor, she slid her panties down, abandoning them in the same manner. Her sparse, curly, rose colored pubic hair hid her purity. Gently he parted her thighs, whispering now in his own tongue. He slid his fingers into her wetness, she moaned rising against him in desire. These sensations were new to her, as foreign as his tongue, more desired than the gold he paid her with earlier that night. She spread her legs wider bidding him entrance. He found the evidence of her innocence, gently pushing through the fragile tissues. Pulling out his fingers, he sucked the blood off, cleansing them. The taste of her flesh aroused needs in him, his need for her body, and his need for her blood. 




A Vampire's Tale



He felt his prick grow hard, something it had not done for the better part of a century. Clumsily fumbling with the zippered front of his new trousers, he lowered them to the floor, the rough white cotton of his undergarments felt constrictive, he released his manhood from them abandoning them. He lowered himself upon her; her warmth, the scent of her blood, the pounding of her heart, the urgency of her desire creating an intoxicating brew of sensation and need. He lowered his head down between her legs, tonguing her softness, relishing the taste of her broken virgin blood as it trickled in tiny rivulets. She gasped in pleasure, wriggling underneath him, grasping at his hair, guiding him further in. When he could withstand his own need no longer, he entered her, causing her to gasp, her flesh yielding to his bulk. In unison they rocked in the archaic rhythm of passion and need until they were both exhausted and the gray of the dawn highlighted the buildings of the tiny town. Gently he slid his fangs into the tender flesh under her breast, taking a small sampling of her blood, its life giving sting burning in his veins. He whispered to her as he descended from the window “Sleep well child, remember nothing.” He left no traces. 

She awoke late the next day, the morning sun high in the sky; sleepily she wandered down stairs greeted by her parents performing their morning chores. ‘Why did you let me sleep so late?” she asked pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sinking to the kitchen table she drank deeply of the dark liquid. She felt weak and dizzy as if she was coming down with the flu, the black liquid causing her stomach to churn. 

“Oh, sweetie,” said her mother feeling her daughter’s forehead, “you’re as cold as ice, pale as cream, why don’t you go back to bed for a while.” She looked up at her mother, setting her cup down, she rose from her chair. Her father, a round redheaded burly Irishman entered the room depositing a pail of coal by the stove; he assessed her. 

“Aye,” he said as he took her face in his burly, calloused hand, “Too much of the drink last night, eh?” He patted her on the butt as he ushered her up the stairs and into the bed. He pulled the covers high, tucking her tightly in. He sang an Irish tune to her as she drifted back into the world of dreams. She dreamt strange dark dreams of a pale man with piercing green eyes and a wide toothy grin. 

For the first time in centuries, he sank into the darkness of his day, dreaming of the vivacious redhead with the sweet smile and the still sweeter blood. He had been in one place too long, mortals knew him now, and he booked passage to this new world, this America. The ship, the Britannia, the finest British steamer in the world, his passage to a new life would only take 4 days. He waited for the day of his departure, packing his meager belongings in a deep steamer trunk. He painted a portrait of his new passion, leaving it silently on her doorstep; he left for South Hampton, left the old for the new. 

The ship was scheduled to depart at noon, the mid day sun left him weak, his body ached, his head throbbed, he was in sheer agony as he advanced through the throngs of well wishers making his way up the second class gangway. Once nestled inside of his cabin, well out of the reach of sunlight, his condition began to improve, he became consumed with a gnawing hunger, even though he had just fed, he would have to hunt again soon. It was once said that the sun never sets on the British empire, he felt as if the sun would never set on this cursed British ship, he waited in the confines of his room for darkness to fall. He dressed for dinner, silently descending to the third class portions of the ship, grabbing up rats for appetizers as he went along. He needed blood, human blood, the girl had awakened a need in him, which had lain dormant, and he needed more. 

He watched the throngs of passengers in the third class compartment, immigrants like him traveling to the new world in pursuit of a better life, the crying of children, the mingling of many different tongues forming a kind of phonetic opus. He saw her, reading her thoughts, he discovered that she traveled alone, barely finding enough money to finance her journey. She ventured to the new world to join her French cousins. He approached her, speaking his native French, she smiled to him welcoming him to join her, grateful for someone to talk to, someone from her home soil amidst this onslaught of outsiders. 

Guiding her by the chin, he raised her face, gazing deeply into her eyes, entrancing her. The voices of the others, an endless babble, dulled to whispers, wordlessly he navigated her to his cabin, this demanded privacy. He whispered to her of his desires, she understood complying with his whim. She unbuttoned her blouse and loosened her undergarments allowing him full view. Unbuttoning her skirts, she lowered them to the floor; he took in the portrait of her nudity. Kissing and caressing her, making little nips in her flesh and tasting of the minute trickles of blood, he deepened his desire for her. Her flesh, almost as pale white as his own, her tiny breasts adorned with small pink peaks, her ribs shone through her translucent skin, her narrow hips and protruding hip bones; her hair long, wavy, deep walnut, her eyes hazel, somewhat sunken in. She was a tiny, wraith of a girl. 

Gently he took her, drinking shallowly of her blood. He was careful not to take too much, she was frail; he wanted no traces left behind. When he had had enough to satiate his thirst, he lay with her enjoying her warmth, her scent; his inhumane act making her seem all the more human and vulnerable. He could feel the dawning of a new day, his body began to ache, his head to throb, deftly he assisted the girl with her clothing, he instructed her to remember nothing, except to know that she had been loved by a most unusual stranger. He guided her down the stairwell to the third class compartment where he had found her; the dining hall was empty, devoid of life. He slid a measure of money into her tiny, pale, chilled hand and lowered her to a bench to sleep of his spell. 

He returned to his cabin, carefully placing the do not disturb sign on the door handle. He dreamt dreams of the past; of Marguerite, Elise, and the nameless, countless others. The twentieth century, how many had there been? How much time had slipped away from him silently never to be reclaimed? Days, weeks, months, years, time meant nothing to him. He had the luxury of time, the curse of immortality. Nameless, faceless, immortality, he felt a longing for a new companion, to help him pass the meaninglessness of eternity. 

The ship docked in New York Harbor on schedule, ah the predictable nature of the British, he mussed as he disembarked the hulking vessel. The glowing din of the city glimmered with the promise of a diamond in the starless night sky. He roamed the rough cobblestone streets; he heard the clomping hooves of masses of horses, the chugging of horseless carriages, the tromping of tiny human feet, a soup of voices one indiscernible from another. He inhaled the smoke from coal furnaces and cooking stoves, the stench of humanity was intoxicating to him. He rented a room in a luxurious hotel, settling in, and the sounds of the city at dawn lulling him to sleep. 

He partook of everything the city had to offer, its bountiful life, its sounds, smells, endless onslaught of faces, nationalities, and tongues. He found a peaceful existence in the anonymity of the masses. He could walk amongst them, these strange people knew no fear, and the customs of the old country had been tossed aside. He could blend in with these strange masses, pretending to be one of them. He nodded his head as he passed gentlemen and ladies in the street, purchased the services of a divinely sweet whore from time to time, purchased goods from accommodating shop keeps. He had found a companion in the whole of the city, time passed quickly for him in his contented state. 

The city around him expanded, bringing more and more people, new people to meet. He changed his name, so many names, he couldn’t recall them all. He roamed the endless supply of galleries and museums, took in live plays, ventured to the movies, he was happy in his quiet existence. His happiness was always temporary; he was always moving, abandoning acquaintances, and taking little drinks of life from the city. The only permanence in his life was the promise of immortality. He grew bored, he traveled the continent, searching for new experiences, new life.

She clamored up the iron grid work of the bridge, the roar of traffic far below her, unaware of her intentions. At long last, she reached the catwalk at the top of the bridge, the icy black midnight waters swirling beneath her. The cold gnawed at her as she stood on the narrow catwalk buffeted by chilling drafts of air. She stared into these cold, black, waters contemplating if she truly had the nerve to jump. In the shadows, he watched, her only witness. 

She drank deeply of the fifth of Jack Daniels she had purchased on her way to the bridge, draining it dry; she cast the bottle down into the icy depths. The whisky warmed her, burning her stomach as it churned, the intoxicating liquid numbing her senses. It was now or never, she would make them suffer for their wrongs, they would realize how sorry they were once she was gone. She hefted herself over the guardrail, precariously perched upon it, her body swaying in the wind. 

“Who wronged you?” he asked approaching her, skillfully navigating the narrow catwalk. If indeed this young woman wanted to end her life, he could help her out, she would fill a need of his, he a need of hers. In his embrace, her death would be quick, sweet, and painless; she would drift into the netherworld on the wings of a dream. Death in the river would not be so; she would struggle in the icy waters, her lungs filling with the black liquid, frightened with her lungs starving for air, she would claw her way to the underworld. 

She held tightly to the iron girders as she looked up to face him. She didn’t need to reply; he could read her as easily as one would pick up a book and read it, knowing its contents. “Are the affections of a man really worth dieing for?” he asked, close enough to touch her now. He could see the girl clearly in the darkness; she was at the height of her beauty, at the zenith of her womanhood. Her shortly cropped brown hair danced in the breezes, her blue eyes were buried in the chubby, pale, white fleshy face, and her lips were thin and drawn. She wore old tattered jeans and a sweatshirt, her dirty tennis shoes dangled as she perched herself on the guardrail. 

She had been jilted by a lover who left her for another, he could sense this man and knew that she would be better off alone, living a happy, fulfilled life, but if she truly wanted to die, he was willing to accommodate her wish. “It’s the only way he’ll ever see how much I loved him,” she said through tears and snivels. She stood on the guardrail, balanced on it with a loose grip on neighboring steel rails. He watched her, reading her, she meant to jump, and he meant to take full advantage of her sacrifice. 

“There is another way,” he said offering her his hand. “The death you have planned is certainly to be full of pain and suffering. I can show you another way.” She contemplated his offer, not fully understanding how else she could accomplish her goal. “I promise you won’t have any pain, you’ll just drift away as if you were falling asleep. I promise you that your unintended will fully understand the dramatic sacrifice you have made for him.” His hand was still extended, she turned balancing herself on the tiny rail, looking down at him, she asked, “You promise me you’ll take care of everything, he will know what I gave up for him. He will understand how much I love him?” She was starting to climb down from the rail. He offered his hand to help her; steadying her he lowered her to the catwalk. 

She was shivering in the cold night air, looking up at him. “You are safe in my hands, love. I will take care of everything,” he said shooting her a smile. “Let us go some place more private.” Taking her hand he guided her down the iron railings of the bridge.

She followed him through the streets of the town to the tiny set of rooms he had rented “Is this your place?” she asked as he led her inside. She inspected the apartment with curiosity, the white plaster walls, its’ sparse furnishings. He could sense that the effects of the whisky were wearing off; she was starting to become afraid. “What did you have in mind?” she asked. He read her thoughts, she was thinking about every homicidal maniac from every low budget horror movie she had ever seen. 

Chuckling at her innocence he approached her, “Just a kiss my love, simply a kiss.” He encircled her body with one arm pinning her arms in his vice like grip, with the other hand he grabbed the back of her head firmly, pulling it back exposing the tender flesh of her neck. He felt her heart as it pounded against his chest, he smelled her fear; this excited him, driving him on. He plunged his fangs into her succulent, tender flesh, relishing her gasps of surprise and pain. He whispered to her between sips, urging her to sleep, instructing her to feel no pain; her body went limp in his arms, he could feel her drifting in the shaded land of dreams. He drank of her deeply, taking every last gulp that she had to offer; he felt her sweet life force as it raged through his veins. Thanking her, he lowered her lifeless corpse to the floor. 

Holding up to his end of the bargain, he wrote a suicide note for her and shoved it in a pocket of her jeans. In his note, he accused the boyfriend, blaming him for her death. He took her cool, limp body back to the river, cutting her wrists with his fingernail before he tossed her in. She was quickly lost to the current, her body sinking below the black, murky waters. Humming a forgotten tune, he went about his business.

He walked through the teeming masses of humanity, wandering from nightclub to nightclub, watching, catching random thoughts; sometimes he found the thoughts of humans genuinely amusing. There was one he could not read. The man stood in a dark corner also watching the debauchery. The man was tall, almost two meters in height, his curly hair trimmed close to his scalp, his blue eyes shining against the dark. He was ominous looking, brown gleaming skin, adorned in dark garb. The man nodded in his direction, raising his drink to him but not partaking of it. He watched the man as he set down his drink and left the bar, casting him a casual backwards glance. 

He followed the man out, to find him leaning against a light post waiting for him. Another of his kind, it had to be. He approached the man, waiting for an introduction. “I am known as Dominicus.” The man spoke, not extending his hand in greeting. He pondered the man, sizing him up, surely his thought could not be read. He sorted through his mental list of names choosing which one to give him, the man knew what he was, given this fact he revealed a name he had not used since his birth, his Christian name; Lucian. 

Judging by the man’s thick accent, he was also European in descent, possibly from Spain. “Yes, you are right, I come from a little village in the south of Spain, a village which no longer exists, called by a name I no longer remember.” He could read his thoughts, Lucian pondered at what else the man had extracted from him. “I only see what you reveal to me.” Dominicus replied, grinning. Lucian became angered by the man’s flippant remark. “I have watched you for a long time,” Dominicus went on to say. “Very clever, a clever, clever vampire, never leaving a trace. Surviving the centuries in solitude. I have revealed myself to you to bring you into the light, in this day and age; science is king, our kind little more than a myth. The old tales are long since forgotten, there is no need to hide any longer.” They walked together in silence till the gray light of dawn approached, the city stirring in the final draughts of slumber. 

“Let us dine together tonight,” Dominicus said turning away from him, “I trust you know how to find me,” with that remark he disappeared into the depths of the city leaving Lucian alone to his slumber. Lucian’s dreams were filled with thoughts of Marguerite, her life and her death. There were others like him, he knew that to be a fact, but he had never come across one before, Dominicus was an enigma to him. 

Now aware of his existence, Dominicus was not hard to locate. Lucian found him in a back alley, taking a taste of a wayward, runaway youth. “Just an appetizer,” said Dominicus as he dabbed at his chin with a silk kerchief. Lowering the youth to the pavement, he led Lucian out onto the streets. “Let me show you my home,” said Dominicus as he guided him down a maze of streets leading to the heart of the city. 

They stopped in front of an art gallery, Lucian thought he had patronized every gallery in the city, perhaps on the continent, but here was one he had missed. Dominicus unlocked the door, directing him inside. The gallery displayed works of sculpture and paint, photographs, and the mish-mash called modern art. The floors were made of highly polished white marble; the walls were painted the same brilliant white. Lucian wandered through the displays; he never tired of admiring art. “I have more to show you,” said Dominicus as he directed Lucian away from the main floor of the gallery and to the closed doors of a side room. “This is part of my private collection, “ he said as he opened the massive, ornately carved oak doors, guiding Lucian inside. He didn’t need light to appreciate the sight he beheld, but Dominicus flipped the lights on anyway.

His paintings, every piece of work ever created by him hung on the walls of this great gallery. He was speechless as we walked about the room, touching his art, feeling the roughness of the oil paint against his fingers, and feeling the cool, metal and wood of the frames. Lucian was immortal, his immortality hung on the walls before him for the entire world to see. Marguerite had made good on her promise. “Another gift for my new friend,” he said his voice echoing in the room as he gestured to a portrait, which rested on a gold easel, carefully covered by a black velvet cover. Lucian gingerly lifted the cover not sure what to expect, he sank to the floor in tears at what was revealed with the lifting of the cover. 

Her seductive smile greeted him, his long lost portrait, his long lost Marguerite. He looked at Dominicus in wonder, how could this be, he saw the smoldering frame himself. “I’ve known you for a very long time, when you were young, I was very old.” He explained lowering himself to the floor to sit beside Lucian. “Marguerite was one of my children, I gave her this life, she in turn gave it to you. I couldn’t save her from the flames, but I was able to save her memory, I see her through your eyes. Take her, keep her near your heart,” he said gesturing to the portrait. He continued on, “I ask you a favor, let me know her as you did, give me your memories of my beautiful first born.” Lucien had little understanding of what Dominicus was asking, but agreed. Without a word, Dominicus led him to his apartment in the basement of the gallery.

The walls of the apartment were made of rough brick, painted in a variety of color, the furnishings were plush and soft, an aquarium bubbled in the background, creating a warm welcoming appeal to the domicile. Lucien sat beside him, unsure of what to do or say next. Dominicus unbuttoned the black silk of his dress shirt, with the razor sharp nail of his index finger; he cut a slit in the skin of his chest, above where his still heart rested. “Drink Lucien, share my life, know my secrets, partake of my strength.” Lucien grew heady, the scent of the dark blood, which flowed from his companion intoxicating him, he drank lapping up the blood in great mouthfuls. 




A Vampire's Tale



The blood was thick, cold, and still; unlike mortal blood which flowed in great fountains, warm and bright cherry red. The blood burned his throat as it slid its way down, he found himself lost in memories which were not his own. He traveled to countries in which he had never been, he knew sweet women he had never kissed, tasted the strength of men he had never known. He experienced the mortal death and the immortal birth of Dominicus, he saw the ones Dominicus had chosen to share his gift, he saw the whole of mortal and immortal life though the eyes of Dominicus, he felt a renewed strength flowing through his body, the silence of other immortals now shouted, he languished in these new feelings and sensations, his body uncontrollably quivering. 

Dominicus pushed him away; he rolled in the floor, alive with sensation. Dominicus was upon him; eagerly he dug his fangs into Lucian’s neck, gulping with greedy anticipation. Lucian too weak from his own revere allowed Dominicus to drink deeply of him, sharing his existence and experiences with him. At long last, Dominicus withdrew, reeling in the estacacy of Lucien’s blood. A gentle wrap at the door and the tinkle of feminine laughter pulled Dominicus out of his revere. A whispered greeting to the ladies he had hired and paid a generous sum to be their companions for the night, Dominicus shot Lucien a knowing smile as he wrapped his arm around one of the prostitutes guiding her to the bedroom. 

Lucien still weak watched as the prostitute descended upon him, unzipping his wool trousers, massaging him to hardness with her lapping tongue. The prostitute was very skilled with her mouth; waves of desire began to build within him. He ran his fingers through the ringlets of her blonde hair guiding her head, ramming himself deeper into her throat. When he felt as if he were going to explode with need he pulled her head back, her tiny mouth appealed to him, he kissed her deeply, her warmth and the taste of her mouth plunging him into a whirlwind of need. Hungrily, he plunged his fangs into her neck while he plunged his cock into her feminine depths, satisfying both needs at once. He pummeled her ruthlessly, pounding deeply inside of her, she gasped beneath him as he sucked mercilessly on her neck pulling out her blood in great mouthfuls. He had never known such desire or such hunger. He came in great spurts, fulfilling his want. He sipped the few remaining drops of blood from her, fulfilling his need. Dominicus stood in the bedroom doorway watching silently. 

Dominicus and Lucien remained companions for many years, hunting together, one knowing the thoughts of the other, appreciating art and music, sharing one another’s secrets. Lucien grew weary, appreciating the company, but knowing that all things are temporary and that he had been in one place way too long, he bid Dominicus goodbye taking his Marguerite with him as he left the lights of the city.

As he traveled from place to place, dropping anchor in a little town in southern Arizona, not for the fine cuisine, but for the solitude. Quietly, he would roam the streets of this little burg, sneaking little drinks from unwitting donors who slept with windows open, it seemed as if someone was always down with the flu or suffering from a strange anemia. He occasionally ran into a brother or sister vampire, but rarely acknowledged them, guarding his thoughts from them, resenting their intrusive nature. He knew such a relative was in the shadows watching him as he hunted, he could feel her eyes on him as she tried to probe his thoughts. He turned to face her, probing her mind, he was much stronger than she, and he crept his way in with ease. He didn’t care who she was, how long she had been like him, who had created her, he wanted to know what she wanted and why she was following him, he probed deeper hoping to extract the information. “Why don’t you just ask her?” a voice asked from behind him. She had been a decoy, distracting him while another vampire read his thoughts, nosy bastards he thought to himself. He would have to relocate sooner than anticipated.

“We’ve come to invite you to dinner,” said the woman as she walked across the pavement to greet him. She was slight of build and small of stature, her long crimson hair swayed about her waist as she walked. Her brown eyes, almost black, shone in the illumination provided by the streetlights. Her pale skin looked all the more white in the lamplight. Her companion, a tall fellow with flowing black hair and beard stood near her, guarding her, he was as large as she was small. “This is Kristoff, “ she said pointing to the hulk which stood at her side, “I am Natallia,” she said pointing to herself with a tiny hand adorned by rings. She wore a loose gauze skirt and blouse set of brilliant emerald green, he was clad in black denim. The two of them made a strange pair, he was intrigued by their proposal and all the more intrigued by his inability to read them. Usually, younger vampires weren’t as strong as their older siblings and read easily. This pair may have been as old as he, maybe older. The night was young, he accepted their invitation, and together they sped down a deserted Arizona highway in a sleek vehicle expertly driven by Kristoff. 

They chit chatted making idle conversation as he navigated the car onto a dirt road. As they approached the house, which was as out of place in the middle of this deserted area as the trio was, he heard the whispers of the thoughts of sibling vampires, no one thought was more discernable than another, their thoughts blending into one. As the car pulled to a stop and they exited approaching the house, he sensed curiosity and interest in their dinner guest, no hint of danger or animosity amongst them. 

The house was a great two-story dwelling made of brick; there were very few windows and many, many rooms. Fledgling vampires yielded giving them passage as he followed Natallia to the home’s core a great meeting room. A fireplace blazed in the heat of the Arizona night, filling the room with warmth, casting shadows along the dark paneled walls. Comfortable sofas and chairs were scattered about the room; lamps, books, and tiny collected brick-a-brack items added a welcoming touch. Not all of the home’s inhabitants were vampire, a myriad selection of mortals moved about adding interest to the mix. 

He sat next to Natallia on a plush, ruby colored, overstuffed sofa. He came to learn that the coven, as groups of vampires cohabitating were called, took in runaways offering them shelter and the comforts of home in exchange for small donations of blood. Taking of mortal life was strictly forbidden on the grounds, leaving the mortals in relative safety. Failure to follow this one simple rule resulted in excommunication from the compound, dangerous for any inexperienced vampire. He felt the hunger begin to well within him, he had not been in such close confines with humanity since he had arrived from Europe, and the smell of them was pushing his control to its limits. “Do you see one you’d like to try?” she asked openly offering him his pick. He was free to choose any of the humans that roamed about that he would like, the mortals were rotated like stock, taken out of circulation and moved to quarters upstairs once fed upon until their blood supply had been replenished. Once revitalized, they were returned to the main floor until they were selected. 

He asked her how they held the mortals to their end of the bargain. “It’s simple,” she replied. “They feed us, we feed them. We feed their addictions, sex, drugs, alcohol; we supply a need, as do they. Remember, these are mortals with no ties to the past, this is their present, and they are fed and satisfied. They have only one future, once they become inappropriate for feeding purposes, we dispose of them; we’re in the middle of a great stretch of deserted land, if they tried to escape, they wouldn’t get far before we hunted them down, or they succumb to the harshness of the wilderness.” The living arrangement was practical and logical, humans and vampires together forming a symbiotic life cycle, how perfect he thought to himself.

“Please, feel free,” she said pulling him to his feet. She bowed her head to him and gracefully left the room, her guardian quickly on her heels. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he chose a girl in her early twenties, she was pixie like in appearance, short fluffy blonde hair, big round blue eyes, a pug nose, he found her adorable. He pulled her onto her feet as she exhaled a long drag off an intoxicating substance he could not identify, she handed it to a boy as she took his hand leaving the room. He did not have to spellbind her; the substance had done that for him. Obediently she slid her tee shirt up over her narrow shoulders, revealing tiny, perky breasts with pale peach peaks. Her ribs peeked out as she stretched pulling off her shirt. She guided her jeans down her narrow hips, revealing a nude clean-shaven mound, thin shapely thighs trailing down to well-developed calves. 

He didn’t take her physically as he had at first wanted to; he found her drug-induced submission dismaying. He slid his fangs into her, avoiding the bruises left by a prior diner. He sipped on her blood, enjoying its warmth, relishing the calming effect of the drugs as the tainted blood flowed within him. When he had taken the edge off his thirst, he covered her with a warm, fuzzy fleece blanket, leaving her to sleep off her drug-induced state. Although he would have been safe to take a deeper taste of her, he ventured downstairs to join the others. 

The vampires, fledgling and elder alike gathered around the body of a youth, his tanned skin dulled by pallor, his breath coming out in short labored gasps. Natalia approached him offering him the youth. “He has overindulged himself, he is dieing, and perhaps you would like to demonstrate to the new generation how to enjoy the fullness of human life and death.” Lucian knelt beside the dieing youth, he had never dined with so many witnesses before, and timidly he dipped his fangs into the youth. With just a few draws, the youth silently slid away into the darkness of death. 

The darkness of the night was evolving into the brightness of dawn, Lucian bid his company farewell and retreated to the solitude of his home. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what he had witnessed. Surely, it was an ingenious plan, but he liked to engage in the hunt, he liked to select his victims; he enjoyed studying humans, participating in humanity, from a distance. Something about Natallia and Kristoff deeply disturbed him; there was more going on than what had been revealed that night. Rarely he joined Natallia and Kristoff for a meal, preferring to dine alone. 

The Arizona rains fell for what seemed like weeks, when it rains in Arizona, which is rare, it seems to rain a whole years worth at once. Lucian watched the rain run in rivulets down the windowpanes of the coven house. Hunting was difficult in inclimate weather; he had decided to pay the coven a visit. “Ah Lucien, you are always welcome to our little home.” Natallia said as she flung open the door bidding him entry. He heard strains of rock music filtering through out the house, he smelled the pungent smoke of marijuana being enjoyed by the youths, and he heard their laughter and the din of their drug-clouded thoughts. “We’re having a party tonight, it is a very special night,” she said as she took his rain drenched jacket from him flinging it over the back of a chair. “Come join our festivities.” She led him by the hand directing him into the main room. 

The room was filled with a mix of vampire and human kind, he had not seen most of these vampires before, and he had not seen most of the humans before either. He felt their vampire minds as they tried to read him, probing his mind. “What’s the occasion?” he asked Natallia, glaring at a particularly intrusive vampire, intent on reading him. “Mind your own mind,” he said in his thoughts without saying a word. The vampire, a tall, thin, raven haired beauty with creamy pale skin and shimmering green eyes; nodded her head in acknowledgement to his thoughts and turned away to join a group of elder vampires in conversation. 

“Tonight, we feast. Tonight we build our ranks, sending the young ones out into the world and bring new ones into our fold. Tonight is graduation day.” She danced and turned in circles of excitement, he red hair flowing about her as the human blood would flow later that evening. He tried to understand why Natallia was so intent on filling the world with vampires. Granted he sometimes had problems with humans; telemarketers, door to door salesmen, TV evangelists, pesky shop keeps, but for the most part, his co-existence with humans was satisfactory.

Reading his thoughts and sensing his questions Natallia began to speak. “Since the first vampires reveled at the beauty of the night sky, our kind has been confined to shadow and dark. How many of us have they hunted and burned? Did they not burn your precious love Marguerite?” At the mention of Marguerite’s name, he turned away, looking down at the pattern of the carpet beneath his feet. “ I see after all these centuries, the heartache of her loss still lingers with you,” she went on to say. “What if you could make those who burned her pay? What if you could curse their offspring for all time? What if you could walk about, dining on who you will without fear of being caught, with out erasing any traces?” His mind reeled as she continued on. “I’m not suggesting that we over run the world with vampire kind, just that we reclaim the night, coven houses in every town, keeping the mortal world tightly held in our grasp,” she said clenching her fist, her eyes ablaze with fervor. 

He looked up into her eyes, how different from Marguerite and Dominicus she was; they were. “Marguerite died a long time ago. I don’t wish revenge on the mortals; perhaps long ago I did, but not now. I don’t want any part of what you’re suggesting.” Lucien turned away from her leaving the main hall. 

“Lucien, we need your help, we need your strength on this night. Please dine with us, please pass your strength on.” She said in a pleading voice. Lucien’s back was turned to her; he did not see that she was motioning to the elders and that they were approaching him. He felt the iron like grip of Kristoff’s arms surrounding his middle, he felt the icy cold vice like hands of the others upon him, fruitlessly, he struggled. Overpowered and weak from lack of feeding, he succumbed to the strength of their black numbers. 

They bound his hands tightly with thick ropes; his legs were bound in the same manner. A young man, short and stout with spiked brown hair and tiny round blue eyes clad in jeans and a tee shirt was brought over to him by Kristoff. The man, pulled his shirt off revealing his chest which was covered in a layer of coarse dark hair, standing close, tilting his head over to the side to grant Lucian access to the great vessels of his neck, he waited offering himself to him. Lucian, hungrily smelled his flesh, heard the rushing of blood in those great vessels, baring his fangs in want, he stopped mere millimeters from the man’s neck. “I won’t do this,” he said struggling in the ropes. The elders and infant vampires encircled him; Natallia broke the circle approaching him she stated, a quite simple phrase. “Yes you will,” with one quick deft movement, she slid her razorblade fingernail across the man’s throat opening it. 

The salty smell of the man’s blood was too much to resist, Lucian lowered his head taking the heat of the red flow in with great, greedy, gulps. The vampires who enclosed him with their dark bodies began to chant; “Lucian, you are one of us. Lucian, Lucian, Lucian.” He reeled in the rich, iron flavor of the man’s blood as it ran down his throat, finding his own vessels, filling them. The man, Lucian now knew as Justin was in the beginning throws of death, sliding darkly into it. Natallia pulled Lucian away from him, breaking his suction; the remaining blood contained in Justin’s body trickled from the great gash she had created. “Let’s bring the poor boy back to life,” she said as she opened Lucian’s shirt. He struggled against the ropes with renewed vigor, she meant for the boy to drink from him, stealing his vampire life force. She withdrew a tiny dagger from the sheath she wore about her waist, deftly, slowly, she drug the dagger across his wrist causing his black blood to trickle forth. She lowered Justin’s head to the wound and bid him to drink. Justin did so obediently, lapping up Lucien’s blood in mouthfuls. Lucien could feel his strength leaving him and entering Justin, he knew of Justin’s secrets, Justin knew of his, together they merged in a vampire bonding; Lucian the elder, Justin the newborn, lapping his blood as a babe would nuzzle its mother’s breast. 

She pushed Justin away, taking his place sipping gently on Lucian’s blood. He felt his strength leaving him, too weak to stand, he fell to the floor; he felt his flesh rip as the other vampires tore holes in it, tasting of his blood. All his secrets, the secrets of his lifetime were revealed to this unholy coven. His birth, his life, Marguerite, his centuries of wandering and solitude; all was known. Lucien slid into the refuge of unconsciousness unable to bear anymore. 

He dreamed of Marguerite, he heard her whisper to him, he felt his body as it was lifted up, and he felt himself drift for what seemed an eternity. He mussed that he must be dead and that this was the afterlife. He had sent so many souls there and now he was here, he waited from the Devil to ascend from the pits of Hell to claim him. He felt his movement stop, he felt his body fall and land with a thud, he felt the fall of great clumps of earth up on him as he was buried. In silence he lay, between life and surrender, knowing he could be stuck here for all time waiting to be discovered. 

Dominicus moved great piles of earth, digging furiously in the cool sand. The moonlight aided his vision, after digging for what seemed like miles, he felt the smooth cloth of Lucian’s jeans. With a great huff of effort, he pulled Lucian from his earthy confines. Hefting him over his shoulder, he carried him to the black sports car, which sat by the roadside, its engine purring quietly. Dropping his dirt-covered companion into the passenger seat, he slid into the driver’s side spinning the tires in the loose gravel as they sped into the night. 

When they were what Dominicus considered to be a safe distance away from the coven house, he pulled into a truck stop, turning off the engine; he slapped Lucian in the face repeatedly, waking him. “Dominicus,” moaned Lucian, “Where are we, am I dead?” Dominicus laughed aloud at Lucian’s question. Brushing the dirt from Lucian’s clothes and straightening his hair, Dominicus began to speak.

“It takes more than that to finish off my bloodline.” He shook his head at Lucian and continued to speak. “It looks like you got yourself in with a bad crowd. A very bad crowd.” He walked to the passenger side door, opening it; he helped Lucian out of the car. “You’ll feel better once you have a hot meal.” Dominicus said as he helped Lucian walk towards the men’s room. Dominicus rested Lucian against a bathroom stall door and proceeded back to the parking lot to scrounge up some dinner for his companion. 

He returned with a middle-aged prostitute, in trucker terms, a lot lizard, named Dottie. Her leopard print top and black satin skirt hugged her bony, sagging, wrinkled frame. Her frizzy hair bleached a white platinum blonde was piled a top her tiny head. “Dottie is looking for a little fun, I thought you might be able to help her out, Lucien.” Dominicus winked at him as he stepped back away from the pair. Dominicus never joined Lucien while he was dining, but he liked to watch. Dottie’s breath was tinted with the smell of cheap wine and bubble gum, her cheap dime store perfume nauseated Lucien, but he was too weak to be choosey. Barely possessing the strength to spellbind her, he plunged his fangs deeply into her, taking her quickly. Dominicus was right; he did feel better after a hot meal.




A Vampire's Tale



Regenerated, the pair sped eastbound on the Arizona freeway. “Dominicus, how did you know I was in trouble?” he asked, as he stared out the window, watching the landscape whiz by. Dominicus tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, not taking his eyes off the freeway as he pondered his response. 

“You called, I came.” Was Dominicus’ reply. “We are bound through the sharing of blood, I always know you, and you always know me.” Lucian mulled over Dominicus’ reply, not knowing what to say next but wondering. The din of an approaching city loomed before them. 

“What about the ones who fed off me Dominicus?” Lucian asked the question with a foreboding dread; he already knew the answer to his question. It was an unfortunate reality, those who had fed off him would always know him, and they would be locked together in a psychic brotherhood until either he or they no longer existed. No matter where he went, no matter where he hid, they would find him, they could seek him out. “Dominicus, I have to go back, I have to end this.” Dominicus turned the car around on the freeway with a reckless abandon for traffic laws, together they sped back to where he had come from. The coven knew they were coming, coming for them.

They arrived to the crux of the small town, at Lucian’s home at the rising of the dawn, sleeping lightly, they thought of what sundown held in store for them. When the moon rose high on the horizon, they set out. Cutting electrical lines, snapping phone poles like twigs, they cut the coven off from the rest of the world. When they arrived at the main house, Natallia was waiting for them. Grinning she leaned against the doorframe, Kristoff at her side. “Come meet your beautiful children Lucien,” she jeered faking reverence. Lucien and Dominicus pushed her aside as they entered. Lucien was assaulted by an onslaught of the thoughts of the supernatural, so strong, he was almost knocked back. Dominicus steadied him, pulling him further into the great house. Natallia close on their heels. Dominicus slid into the basement of the house leaving Lucien to handle Kristoff and Natallia. 

“Have you ever seen a vampire die, Lucien?” she asked him. “Yes of course you have, your beautiful Marguerite, you stood by and let her die didn’t you?” she said as she pointed to an easel holding Marguerite’s portrait. Taking a candle, Natallia set the portrait a flame laughing, Lucien could smell the stench of lighter fluid as it engaged the flame, he shuddered at the scent of burning canvas and oil paint. Lucien charged for her only to be intercepted by Kristoff. With brutish strength, Kristoff knocked him to the floor falling upon him, Lucien slid a sharp hunting knife out of his boot, ramming it into Kristoff’s ribs, feeling his flesh give under the blade of the knife. Kristoff looked at her in shock ripping the blade free of his ribcage and dropping it onto the floor. Lucian wasted not a moment, in a lightening fast move, he gripped the knife, freeing Kristoff’s head from its perch on ogre like shoulders, it fell to the floor with a resounding thud rolling before it came to rest at her feet. The body teetered for a few moments before it collapsed, the sound of its fall echoed through the silent room. 

The fire she had started was spreading, having captured the draperies in its grasp, lapping at them greedily. Natallia, flung herself at him, digging her claw like fingers into his flesh, ramming her needle sharp fangs into his chest. Grappling with her, he jerked and twisted freeing himself from her fangs. The pair struggled like two lovers in a passionate embrace, he dipped and rolled freeing himself from her, mustering all his strength, he threw her into the bulk of the fire which now raged consuming paneling, draperies and furnishings. Writhing in agony she rolled, the fire tearing through her flesh as easily as it would through dry parchment. She cried out, begging him for help, assaulting him with images of her pain and torment. He shook them off blocking her from his mind as he set out to find the others.

In the cool darkness of the basement, Dominicus found the infant vampires still dozing in the dimness of sunset, he easily dispatched them, cutting through them like a sickle cuts through a field of wheat. The elders were upon him, tearing at his flesh, gnashing at him with their great fangs. He struggled beneath them, casting one than another to the side then separating their heads from their necks with the sickle he wielded. He smelled the smoke of the fire, smelled burning flesh, and heard screams as the fire ripped through the rooms above him. He didn’t have much time to complete his task. He charged for the basement door, fighting his way through the onslaught. 

Lucian bounded up the staircase; he was searching out mortals, waking them and guiding them to safety. “Father,” a voice said from behind him, turning he saw Justin standing before him. Justin walked closer and closer to him, weary of his blade. “Father, take me with you.” Justin held his hands behind his back as he approached Lucien. Lucien sensed that he was in danger from this impetuous imp who had stolen his blood. He felt no kinship for Justin, only distain. Justin charged Lucien, attempting to jam the blade of a dagger into his throat, the very dagger used to open his flesh for Justin to drink of his blood. Deftly, Lucien tossed him to the floor, using that same blade; he cut Justin deeply and began drinking from him, repossessing his stolen bounty in gulps. The fire inched its way up the staircase, dangerously close to the pair. Lucien lifted Justin easily, renewed by Justin’s offering of blood, tossing him to the fire watching as the flames charred his fragile, pale flesh. 

The upstairs rooms were devoid of life, human or otherwise. With a bounding leap, Lucian descended from an upstairs window, free from the danger of the fire. He could sense that Dominicus was safe already some distance from the home, eager to be free from the terror he had witnessed, the terror he had inflicted, he readily joined him. Once together, he asked Dominicus an alarming question, “How many more coven houses are there?” 

Dominicus, not looking him in the eye responded, “More than either you or I know of, this was the only one that concerned us though. Do not interfere.” Dominicus lowered his head to his dinner, a voluptuous brunette with drowsy brown eyes. Glancing up, Dominicus asked Lucien, “You want some?” grinning, Lucien dove in, sipping on their delicate morsel. 

The pair wandered from place to place, careful not to engage conversation with those of their kind, shielding themselves from the curious minds of the others. Neither one of them made a mention of the coven house or of Marguerite again, both topics lost to never ending memory. This time, it was Dominicus who left; he wished to return to his home, wished to return to his art gallery, which was becoming quite the success. Lucien was comforted by the fact that no matter how far apart the pair was, they would always be bound together psychically. He bid Dominicus goodbye, knowing he would see him again, sometime, someplace, some century.

Lucian, alone again, traveled the country, never staying long in one place, city-to-city, town-to-town, year after year, careful never to leave a trace. His current home was a large metropolitan city; he hunted by night and slept by day. This was a special night for him; it was his birthday, and the day he was delivered into the arms of darkness by Marguerite. He purchased a solitary ticket to the symphony; quietly he took his seat, in the middle of human warmth and comfort. The thoughts of the symphony patrons around him created a symphony of their own; happiness, anger, hate, love, plans for the future, lust; the whole of human experience blended into one splendid song. He sat in his seat waiting for the performance to begin, heady, listening to the melody created by the crowd. 

The lights of the house dropped, the curtain was lifted, and the music began. Flute, violin, trombone, drums mixed playing a harmonious melody; he drifted listening to the mix of the music from the instruments as it combined with the music from the heads of the crowd. His experience was almost otherworldly as he took it all in. He was listening to the soloist, a golden harp rested in the lap of a slender, blonde haired, beauty. Her hair, golden ringlets, bounced in rhythm to her rocking body as she gently strummed the harp, for a moment, it was the moment of his birth, the harp played by Marguerite. He could see her, her dark skin and raven black hair swaying to the music of the harp as she made it sing its ethereal melodies. He was brought back to this world, this time by an encore from the crowd as the house lights went up, the crimson curtain sliding back into place. He had to meet this angel, the reincarnate of Marguerite’s talent and beauty. He pushed through the crowd to the stage, and slid invisibly behind the velvety fabric of the curtain. 

He saw her standing in the midst of a mass of her peers; laughing, hugging, joking, congratulating; he stood in the shadows watching. She was wearing a black silk dress, it clung to her seductive curves, her pouty red shaded mouth, its corners bent up in a smile. She was perfect, in form, and in her craft. He mussed, he must make her immortal, her music, her gift, her talent should live for all time. He stayed in the shadows long after the crowd had dissipated. He mulled over his thoughts, he knew her name, her past, her present, her future flowed through his veins. He left the theater, seeking her out. 

He walked through the rain soaked streets of the city; cars passed him spraying him with gentle sprays of mist from the road. He stood below the window of her apartment, listening. He heard the whisper of a brush as it passed through her golden locks. He heard the groan of the ancient bed as she crawled in, he heard the sheets slide against the cool, slick, satin of her nightgown. He felt that old familiar desire rise within him; he waited for her to slip into slumber. When he read her thoughts and found her dreaming, he slipped silently into the apartment building and let him self into her home.

Her apartment provided him with glimpses of her personality. The living room was carpeted in a lush, soft, burgundy carpet. Leather furniture complemented the tiny living space, photographs, candles, and houseplants decorated the room. He crept past the kitchen, decorated in glimmering white, nothing out of place. He slid past the bathroom door, decorated in the same white, flawless. Her bedroom door was half open, inviting him in. He slipped through the doorway and watched her as she slept. 

Her bed was an ancient antique bed, the headboard tall and stout, made of dark maple with ornate tiny cherubs carved into it, reflected the light that filtered in through her bedroom window. The floor was hardwood and covered in scattered finely woven Persian rugs. The comforter on the immense bed that dwarfed her tiny frame, was pure white filled with goose down. 

He stood within inches of her now, the hunger building within him, his desire barely controllable. He smelled her perfume, a blend of rose and musk, he felt the heat of her breath, and his wanting of her humanity and his desire to pass on his dark secret overcame him. Securing her firmly on her back, his fangs fluttered over the vessels of her neck. Softly he whispered commands to her, bidding her to sleep, ordering her to be free from pain, deftly with the experience of the ages he pressed his fangs deep into her neck. 

He took tastes of her humanity, relishing its sweetness and vigor. She surrendered herself to him without fight, he loosened his grip on her, and she slid her arms around his shoulders pulling him closer urging him on. He eagerly partook of her offering, sliding the straps of her nightgown down past her shoulders, revealing round, full breasts, tanned brown from the summer sun. He lapped at her nipples, rising them to firm peaks, gently as though not to hurt her, he tore a nipple open with the tip of his needle sharp fang, he sipped the blood down, nuzzling her taking nourishment from her. 

She rolled in passion underneath him, raising her body up to meet his, pressing him onward. He slid her nightgown down past her slender hips revealing her womanhood. He deeply inhaled of the scent, resting his cheek on her fluff of light, curly coarse hair. Sliding his tongue along her lips, he felt the warmth of her need for him, tasted the slick, salty, juice of her want. Hungry with need, she parted her thighs for him, welcoming him in. He took his time, teasing her, taunting her with his fingers and tongue till she could take no more. She rolled him on his back; resting her buttocks firmly on his bulging, firm, cock. He could feel her wetness as it dampened the front of his trousers. She teased and taunted him, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, nibbling on his chest, and sucking his nipples as he had suckled hers. She lowered her head down to the top button of his pants; with deft fingers she released him from his confines of cotton and wool. He groaned and cried out as she took the full length of his vampire cock into her mouth, sucking harder and faster until he begged her to stop before he lost himself to her. 

She refused his request, pushing him on. Her tongue stroked the veins of his penis and with her own sharp mortal teeth; she ripped his soft, tender, flesh. He came with a rush, blood and cum spurting out of him in great waves. She sucked him, unknowing that she was drinking the blood of an immortal, partaking of an unholy communion. He was lost in his own universe, unable to stop her as she drank, his secrets revealed with each mouthful. He mustered what was left of his strength, sinking his great fangs into her flesh, already cooling losing its warmth to immortality. He shared in her secrets, the two of them locked in a blood lust, until they were both satiated. 

She slid into the darkness of her immortal life; together they hunted the limitless tastes of the city, pondered the meaning of each other, and slept in the inky darkness of their day, blinded by the light of their night. He had his companion, she her teacher, together they roamed if only for the moment, leaving no trace.