The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Note: I know I have never put this before but my writing is only for those 18+. If youre under that, it isnt really appropriate for you to read my writing unless i say so beforehand. With this said, read with caution. This is the first part of another story aside of the tears of the forsaken, this story only has two parts. Enjoy :).



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



“Jesus Christ! Would you look at that!”



Melanie turned at the woman’s cry. She saw nothing noteworthy. - Until she followed the woman’s gaze upward.



A man seemed to crawl up the side of the apartment building behind her. Surely that was some kind of trick? A cat-burglar who took his work too literally? Melanie frowned, raking her hand through her short blond hair. Well, she couldn’t see where he found his footholds. He seemed to run up that wall, if such a thing could be possible. In a flash he went up to the roof and disappeared.



Melanie sighed. Shame, it would have been a good story for the paper. Slowly she strolled on, always on the lookout for something interesting to report. Every now and then she looked up to the rooftops, wondering where the man had got to.



Murdoch glared at her. “You do that story, or you can forget about freelancing for us again.”



Melanie sat across from the editor and glared back at him. “You always give me those kind of stories! Why can’t I do a decent one, for a change? I did your UFO report the other day, and now this!” She swatted at her brief. “Talk to some freaks who believe they are vampires. They should go and live in the real world.”



Murdoch grinned. “I hear the leader is pretty good looking…”



“So?”



“He’s also reputed to like female company. Well, if you’re his type, then maybe you can get some more information? With the some, uh, persuasion, he might tell you stuff that he’d otherwise keep a secret?”



She gasped in outrage, her green eyes nailing into the editors. “Are you suggesting I get laid for the sake of research?”



“Might do you good.” Murdoch muttered under his breath. Stuck up little bitch. She deserved having her reputation in tatters. It would teach her to flaunt that tight, sexy body in front of him. It would teach her not to turn him down. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying you might want to be nice to him. Who knows? You might get an exclusive?”



“What? I hope I misunderstood what you are implying.” Melanie got up, almost kicking the chair to the floor. “And I think I’ve worked for your stinking little paper long enough! I’m outta here!”



“Melanie!” Murdoch ran after her, catching her by the arm. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. But if you flirt a little with him, he might be a little more open. Just do this one for me, and next week you can get some serious stuff. I swear I’ll give you a good story to follow up after this one.”



“That’s what you said after the UFO hoax.” Melanie wrenched her arm free. Without a backward glance she stormed out.



Outside the newspaper building she took a deep breath. Damn. She needed that job. She couldn’t really afford to turn it down. The rent was due at the end of the week and if she walked out on The Chronicle she’d never be able to pay it. With a wry smile she recalled the card a friend had given her a few weeks ago. It had said “Why I work - a short story” and on the inside “I like food - The end” How true. Slowly she turned and went back upstairs.



She walked into Murdoch’s office without knocking. “Okay. Where do I find this freak?”



“I see you’ve calmed down.” Murdoch handed her a piece of paper. He gazed at her slender form and indicated to the denims she wore. “You might want to consider wearing something a little more feminine.”



Melanie snatched the note from his hand. “What I wear is none of your business.”



“Well, the club where they meet is very exclusive.” Murdoch pointed out. “No doubt they have some kind of dress code.”



“Yeah,” Melanie smiled derisively, “Like no high necked sweaters.”



Murdoch chuckled at that. He pointed at the note in her hand. “I’ve put the guy’s name on it. Ask for him. And be nice, you hear? I want that story.”



She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.



“Look, it’s up to you how you get him to talk. I’m not suggesting you jump into bed with the guy. Just that you don’t bite his head off, if the should come on to you.”



“Since this is a vampire story, I’ll just assume he’ll do all the biting, while I’ll do all the swooning and the being bitten.” Melanie rolled her eyes. “You know, Dracula never was one of my favorite films. I’m not the simpering female type and I don’t get the vapors. - Which more than likely is the type of woman this guy likes.”



Ian Murdoch couldn’t help but laugh at that. “That’s why I said you were not to bite his head off. Knowing you, you’d reverse the roles.”



A quick mischievous smile lit her face. “Only if I like him. Now there’s a twist. Imagine his face if I’d start nibbling on his neck.”



Melanie was surprised to find that the club was in the building where the strange man had walked up the wall. She stared up the side of it, almost expecting to see him again. Then she looked down at her little black dress. The only one she owned. God, why couldn’t Murdoch set up an interview with this guy at some other place? It was damned cold and she didn’t have a coat to go with the dress. Against her better judgment she’d set out without a coat and now she was paying for it. A chill made her shudder and she hurried towards the ambiguous club. Bord de l’enfer The Edge of Hell. What a name… Melanie shook her head and hurried around the back, where the entrance was.



Just her luck. There was a long line of punters and she would have to wait in the cold. Melanie muttered curses under her breath. She shuddered again, and almost jumped out of her skin, when something was draped over her shoulders. Hastily she spun around and was faced with a tall man, who seemed to be concerned about her for some reason.



“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you shudder and -” He shrugged.



Melanie was stunned. The coat he had draped across her shoulders was heavenly warm, and she was grateful for it, but that didn’t explain why this man should have given it to her. “Thank you. I guess I didn’t appreciate how popular this place is.”



He nodded and stepped forward, into the light of a street lamp. Melanie gasped at the sight of him, staring openly. God, where had he come from? She had never seen a man who looked as perfect as he did. His features were startlingly clear, from the hard mouth to his liquid silver eyes. His hair was dark and seemed to be drawn back into a ponytail, but she couldn’t say for certain. And his body… Melanie sighed soundlessly. Now she knew what people meant when they said “to die for”. His body was certainly that. Lean, yet radiating strength. Elegant, his movements almost feral. He wore a dinner suit, the bow tie undone, the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. And he wore it with careless ease and self-confidence. Somehow, despite his classy attire, there was something downright dangerous about him. Something reckless, ruthless even.



“You were waiting long?” he asked, his voice a sensual rasp that sent chills down Melanie’s spine which had nothing to do with the cold.



“A while.” She smiled. “You?”



“Come with me.” He held out his hand.



“Excuse me?”



“Come with me.” He nodded towards the entrance.



“You can’t just jump the queue!” Melanie pointed out, but followed him nevertheless. To her utter surprise people made way for him and greeted him reverently. He acknowledged their greetings, yet didn’t stop to chat. “You’re well known here, huh?”



He glanced back at her, a smile flickering on his lips, and nodded. “Yes, they know me.”



Melanie hesitated a little. They might know him, but she didn’t know him from Adam. He could be the worst kind of criminal, for all she knew.



“I’m not.” He stepped aside to let her enter.



“You are not what?” Melanie frowned, walking past him.



“A criminal.” Again this strange smile played on his features. “My name is Maco. I believe you have come to see me?”



Melanie stared at him. How could he have known? Had Murdoch actually set this up? He didn’t usually, so why this time? One thing was certain: Calling him good looking had been a severe understatement. She couldn’t judge Maco’s age, but she guessed that he was somewhere in his late twenties. Early thirties at the most. On the other hand, there was something about him that said he was much, much, older. His eyes didn’t seem so light anymore, either. They had darkened to gray. They were still startling, but not as much as they had been outside. Melanie couldn’t make head or tail of it. She suddenly realized that he was patiently waiting for an answer. And she had forgotten the question. How embarrassing! “Sorry, what did you say?”



“You have come to see me?”



Melanie nodded. “My editor asked me to do a piece on the vampire society that has made this place so popular.”



His face gave nothing away. Maco nodded and held out his hand for his coat. “Let me take the coat. We can go to my office, if you wish.”



Melanie handed over the coat, then waited to let him lead the way. He didn’t move. “Is there a problem?”



“No.” An amused smile twitched on his lips and he indicated to the tiny silver cross at her throat. “Protecting yourself?”



At first she wasn’t sure what he meant. Then her hand flew to her throat touching the pendant. “Oh, that. My mother gave it to me. I always wear it.”



He nodded. “It is good to have keepsakes. But some of the guests might take offense.”



“You want me to take it off?”



“If we go into the Club, I would like you to take it off. You don’t have to on my account.”



Melanie nodded and he stepped forward to lead her up a flight of stairs, then to a lift.



They entered a sophisticatedly furnished room that looked nothing like an office. There was a comfortable looking gray sofa and armchairs, grouped around a smooth mahogany coffee table, the floor was covered by a deep burgundy pile carpet. The cabinets were also mahogany, some with leaded glass doors that looked more like crystal than glass. Maco made a sweeping gesture to the sofa and stepped to one of the cabinets after tossing the coat over the back of an armchair.



“Would you like a drink?”



“Yes, please.” Melanie let herself sink onto the sofa. God, she’d murder for a whiskey. “Some office.”



Maco shrugged. “I do not need to project power by sitting behind a desk. No one doubts who is in charge here.”



“I guess not.” Melanie laughed, shifting uncomfortably. God no, she didn’t doubt it for a second. There was something about him that projected that power continuously.



She watched him pour some whiskey into glasses, then carry them across to the table.



“Chivas Regal on the Rocks.” He put the glass down in front of her. “Your favorite, I believe.”



It was. Although she had no idea who might have told him. “You were talking to my editor, weren’t you?”



“No.” He settled into an armchair and leaned back, all lazy grace, seemingly all relaxed.



Something told her he wasn’t relaxed at all. Melanie felt nervous and pulled her tape recorder out of her bag to cover up her apprehension. “Do you mind?”



“By all means set it up.” Maco shrugged. “But you might want to use pen and paper.”



“Why? I can type up what’s on the tape later.” Melanie fiddled with the tape.



“Then you will be very disappointed.”



She shot him an uncomprehending look. “Disappointed?”



“There won’t be anything on it but your voice. You can not record mine.”



Melanie laughed at that. “C’mon. You ever read “Interview with the Vampire”? He could be heard.”



Maco stared straight at her. “Yes. But then, he was fictitious. I am not.”



“Get real.” Melanie grinned. “You can drop your guise. I’m not buying it.”



A cruel smile distorted his lips. “I am real. You better believe it.”



“Ya. Right.” Melanie shook her head. “Okay, if you want to play it like that, fine. Just don’t get mad at me if people think you’re a weirdo.”



Maco laughed softly. “And what makes you think you get out of here? Alive?”



“You lay one finger on me and I’ll scream the house down.” She smiled sweetly, but with enough malice to scare even the most determined man. “Understood?”



“You’re too proud to scream for help.”



“Then maybe I should point out that you better not mess with a black belt in Karate.”



“I think I can deal with that.” Maco’s eyes never wavered from her face. He lifted his glass to his lips, took a quick sip of the amber liquid, then ran his tongue across his upper lip. He leaned forward a little. “And if you do scream, it won’t be because of fear for your life…”



Melanie swallowed hard. Damn. Did he have any idea what his gestures did to her? Desire curled in her belly, heating her body like a furnace. His last comment said he did, but then, he might be guessing. “Uh, when did you decide to, uh, become a vampire?”



His eyebrows lifted at her question. “Decide? I had no choice.”



Melanie sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. Obviously he had convinced himself that he was a vampire, and nothing she said or did would shake his belief. “All right. Then tell me how old you are.”



“Come. Let me show you something.” He rose and stepped to a window that was curtained off by heavy velvet drapes. Drawing the curtain aside, he revealed a pair of French doors. Again he held out his hand. “Come.”



Curious, Melanie got up and followed him outside, surprised when she found the balcony enclosed by glass. “Nice place.”



“Yes.” Maco indicated towards some bonsai trees that were displayed on a table in the corner. “You see this Chinese Elm? I planted it.”



She stared at the gnarled miniature tree, which, by the looks of it, had been growing for centuries. “That looks old. You couldn’t possibly have planted it.”



“Still, I did.” He shrugged, lovingly brushing the bright green leaves. “It is almost 250 years old.”



“Get real!”



“I am three-hundred and fourteen years old.” He smiled when he saw the stunned disbelief in her eyes. “And I am very real.”



“Or very crazy.”



His mouth curved into an enigmatic smile. “If you say so.”



“Let’s get back to this interview, shall we?” Melanie suggested and started back into the office.



Maco followed, pulling the door closed behind him. “I could show you the club, introduce you to some of the members, the staff.” He saw the interest that sparked in her eyes, and laughed softly. “But I’m selfish. I want you all to myself.”



Melanie’s eyes narrowed at that. “Excuse me?”



“Tell me why I should let you go, after you have learned what I am? It is dangerous knowledge and I can’t risk that my lair becomes an open secret.”



“Then don’t tell me.” she grumbled. “Besides, what makes you think anyone will actually take you seriously?”



“They will. Some of them know of me. They will come to exterminate what they think monsters.” Maco glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “What do you think? Am I a monster?”



“You’re weird, but that doesn’t make you a monster.” Melanie laughed. “If it were true… I don’t know. I confess that my dealings with vampires are somewhat… limited.”



“You want me to prove what I am?” His eyes fixed on hers, liquid silver again. “Give me your hand.”



Melanie pulled her hand out of his reach. “If you think I’m going to let you bite me, just so you can prove a point, you can think again.”



Amusement lit his eyes for a moment, then his look became just a little more intensive. Melanie suddenly felt hazy, as if this were a dream. She didn’t resist when he took her hand. Maco unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, pulling the fabric aside. Then he guided her hand to rest above his heart and stopped mesmerizing her.



Melanie gasped and wanted to draw her hand back, having no idea how it had got there, when he’d opened his shirt, or why she was touching him like this. He held on, keeping her hand where it was.



“No. Tell me what you feel.”



“Are you insane? Let me go!” Melanie tried to yank her hand free again, but it was as if it were stuck in a vise.



“Don’t try to resist me. It’s not possible.” Maco said condescendingly. “Just do as I say and tell me what you feel.”



That was exactly what she didn’t want to tell him. Touching him heated her blood, made her heart pound like crazy. He felt good, his skin smooth and firm, the muscles beneath her fingers pliable, yet not flabby. She felt strength there, lots of it. His physique was that of an athlete, but he didn’t need her to tell him that. His self-confidence clearly stated that he knew exactly how appealing he was. How sexy.



“I wasn’t talking about emotions. I can read those without having to ask.” Maco pressed her hand harder against his skin. “Think about it. Think about what you feel, what you should feel and what you don’t feel.”



Melanie stared up into his face, trying to figure out what he meant. Then it struck her, what was odd about this. There was no heartbeat! While her own heart was going berserk just from touching him, in his chest there was… nothing. She shifted her hand, in case she’d been wrong. Nothing.



Maco allowed her to remove her hand, satisfied that she had understood what he had meant. But he didn’t like the expression on her face. “What? Never seen a dead man before?”



Melanie drew away from him, fear glittering in her eyes. She shook her head in denial, too shocked to get a word out.



“I thought you were made from sterner stuff.” Maco grated, disgust in his voice. “But you are just like all the others.”



“Others?” Melanie slowly edged towards the door. “What others?”



He watched patiently as she made her way towards the door, waiting for the shock in her face when she realized it wasn’t there anymore. When she realized that she was at his mercy.



Melanie reached behind her, casting a longing glance at her purse on the sofa. Well, she’d just cancel all her cards and the rest could be replaced. Her life could not. She fumbled for the doorknob, frowning, when she only encountered plain wall. She could have sworn she’d reached the door. Slowly she took a step to the left, trailing her hand along the wall. Another step. Damn, where had the door gone? It was here, she was certain.



“Having trouble?” Maco asked, dispassionately watching her become more and more frantic. “If you’re looking for the door… It’s not there.”



Melanie stared at him, then decided to take a chance and turn her back at him to look for the door. Her searching eyes could only see walls covered with pale cream wallpaper. “What the hell..?”



“Unless I want you to get out, you won’t.” Maco pointed out. There was no emotion in his voice. “Sorry.”



Melanie became frantic. There had to be a way out. There had to be! She patted the wall, looking for something that would pass for a door, and found nothing. She glanced back at Maco. “Please, this isn’t funny. Or fair.”



“No, it isn’t.” He stepped towards her, noting how she shifted away. “But then, I never said I was fair.”



She watched his approach half fascinated and half frightened. “What the hell do you want from me?”



“Ah. Now, I would have thought that was obvious.” Maco smiled, taking great care not to let her see his teeth. “Maybe I was wrong. I thought you were different. That you had courage.”



“I have more guts than you might care for, so don’t push me.” Melanie stood her ground, but she was trembling with fear. “If you think I’d just let you rape me, you’ve got another thing coming!”



“I wouldn’t have to, nor do I want to.” Maco lifted his hand to her face, brushing his knuckles across her smooth, rosy cheek. “You would come to me if I called. Nothing you could do about it. But I don’t want to have to call…”



“Ya. Right.” Melanie ducked away, briskly walking towards the other side of the room. “You touch me one more time, and you’ll regret it, bigshot. You got that?”



“As you wish.” He shrugged and went back to the sofa, settling down as if nothing had happened. “Continue with your interview.”



“You are out of your tiny little mind, aren’t you?” Melanie gasped. “All this vampire stuff has done your brain in! Snap out of it, let me go and I won’t mention this to anyone.”



“You know what I am. Don’t insult me by denying it!”



“I don’t know how you managed this heartbeat trick, but I’m not buying it!”



“You better!” Maco shot from his seat and before Melanie could even blink, he stood in front of her. “See what I mean?”



“Jesus!” Melanie leapt back a few feet. “How do you do that?”



“I’m faster than any mortal. More agile than a cat. Deadlier than anything you ever heard of.” Maco moved in front of her again, as fast as before, and lifted her chin before she knew he was there. “I’m real. You may wish that I’m not, but it won’t change anything. I’m real, I’m here and so are you.”



She wanted to move away again, but he pinned her to the spot with one look. “Please, let me go.., please…”



He felt her tremble beneath his touch, but it didn’t stop him. He had wanted her the moment he had seen her. Who was she to deny him that? “Do you realize how many of the women downstairs would just love to be where you are now?”



“They’re welcome to you.” Melanie sneered. “Go get one of them. I can do without an arrogant idiot like you!”



“I don’t want them.” He still stroked her face. “I want you.”



“Tough. You’re not having me.” Melanie finally managed to pull out of this mental shackle he had put on her. “Leave me alone! Since you’re so convinced that you’re not alive, you can act like it and drop dead!”



Maco laughed. “I shall see you later. Right now, I have things to do.”



Melanie’s mouth dropped when, in the blink of an eye, she was alone.



She woke, feeling drowsy. What a dream! Melanie stretched lazily - and bumped her head against the arm of the sofa. With a shriek she sat up, pushed the blanket away and looked around the room. It hadn’t been a dream. She was still here, and there still wasn’t a door. She remembered how she had searched the room for a clue, a revolving door, a hidden panel. She had found nothing. In the early hours of the morning she’d sat down and obviously had fallen asleep there.



So, where was Maco?



The blanket! It hadn’t been there when she had fallen asleep. Did that mean that he had come back while she’d been asleep? The room was darkened, so she supposed it could be possible. Well, he wasn’t a vampire, he just acted as if he were, so daylight wouldn’t actually harm him. Or would it? Well, whatever he was, if he was waiting for her to give in to him, he would be waiting a long time.



“I have all the time in the world, chérie…”



Melanie turned hastily, finding him leaning against the French doors. “How the hell do you get in and out of this room without me seeing you?”



He lifted his hands and smiled. “Magic.”



“Sure.” Melanie flopped back. “Does this mean I’m your prisoner? You have any idea what they do to people like you?”



“Yes. They try to stake me.” Maco joked, then shrugged. “Not that it works, mind you.”



“Care to let me try? After all, you’re a self-professed dead man, so why should you care?” Melanie smiled sweetly, but her voice was acidic.



“I never said that I am dead.” Maco corrected her. “I’m not alive, that is true. But I’m not dead, either. I’m somewhere in between. - Just like you.”



“Yeah. But at least I’m still breathing.”



“So am I.” Maco walked towards her. A flicker of anger flashed in his eyes when she fled from him, but it was gone too quick for her to latch on to it. “Keep running from me and I’ll start hunting you.”



“I won’t idly stand by so you can do things to me.”



“Things? What things did you have in mind?” he chuckled, then let his voice drop to a more seductive level. “Would you like me to tell you?”



“Get lost, creep.”



“You wound me.” Maco laughed, raising his hand to his heart. “Let me tell you what I saw in your mind. Then you can tell me that you don’t believe what I am…”



“You’d be guessing.” Melanie snapped, but she was more than a little intrigued.



“Are you sure?” Maco settled into an armchair opposite her. “Am I guessing when I say that you dream of being at a man’s mercy? That you want him to overrule you, to seduce you, beginning with your feet, working his way up your calves… To your thighs and on.” His voice dropped lower, caressing her senses. “You want him to kiss you.., seek out that hidden nub that gives you so much pleasure, roll his tongue around it until you scream…”



Melanie swallowed hard. How could he know? She had never shared her fantasies with anyone.



“And when you relax, he moves on, up over your satin-smooth belly, dipping his tongue into your navel, his hands reaching for your breasts. You want him to be both gentle and rough with you, teasing your hardened nipples with his thumbs first, then with his mouth. And when he kisses those beautiful lips of yours, you can feel him rub against you. He is teasing you, making you wait…”



“Stop!” Melanie gasped. “Stop it!”



Maco leaned forward, propped his elbows onto the table before him and rested his chin on his hands. “Why? Am I getting too close?”



Melanie felt hot under his gaze. “No. I never imagined anything like that.”



“No, of course you didn’t.” he replied evenly. “Just like you never imagined him slipping inside you, so deep, you become one with him. Nor did you ever want him to lift your legs to drape them across his shoulders and bury himself in you, locking your body to his…”



Melanie closed her eyes. How was this possible? This man was making love to her with words. She could feel every stroke, every thrust - yet he sat across from her without touching her at all. He remained silent for a while, letting her teeter on the edge, letting her frustration grow. Melanie stared at him, biting her lips to stop herself from asking him to continue.



Maco smiled wickedly and got to his feet. “I’ll have some food sent up for you.”



Her mouth dropped. How could he do this? How could he leave her like this?



Maco knew how she felt. He’d left her there deliberately. Tomorrow he would recall another dream of hers - and leave her hanging on the edge again. There were many fantasies in that pretty head. And he’d tell her each one, let her experience each one, until she screamed with frustration. Sooner or later she would jump his bones, just to have him finish what he’d started. And Maco was looking forward to it. After all, she wasn’t the only one who was bothered by the images he described.



Maco tended to the running of the club, his mind on other things. He would see that she was taken care of, that she lacked nothing. Except, perhaps, her freedom. It had been a long time since he’d felt drawn to a mortal and he meant to make the most of it. If that meant putting up with some discomfort and frustration, then so be it.



At dawn he settled down, drawing the lawn sheets across his body, and smiled when he thought about what she probably believed. The coffin, the crucifixes, turning into a bat. Well, he would have to disappoint her on two counts. No coffin, for a start, and crucifixes were just nice ornaments to him. The shape-shifting, on the other hand, was something he depended on when he had to make a quick getaway. Maco grinned to himself, thinking that he wouldn’t mind obliging her when it came to using a coffin. Provided she was in it with him…



Melanie restlessly roamed around the room, hating the landscapes on the walls, hating the plush sofa, the armchairs, the drinks cabinet… Everything. She just wanted to get out of here. Surely Murdoch missed her by now? Would he come looking, or just assume that she wasn’t doing the story? Since she’d been so opposed to it, probably the latter. On the other hand, even if he came looking, Maco would only have to tell him that she had never come here. Damn, there had to be a way out of this room! Even that balcony they’d been on had disappeared. The only door she had been able to find led to a bathroom. Other than that, nothing.



Her frustration grew, the longer she was alone. This just wasn’t fair. She rounded another corner of the room, not looking where she was going, so her shock was all the bigger when she smacked into Maco’s solid body. She jumped back with a shriek.



“God dammit! You scared the life out of me!”



Maco grinned. “I did?”



“Can I leave now? You’ve had your fun, now let me go.”



He laughed. “I don’t think so.”



She watched him walk to the drinks cabinet and fix himself a drink. “I hope you choke on it.”



“That should be difficult.” Maco replied nonchalantly. “You have eaten well?”



Melanie glanced to the remains of her dinner, which, in a fit of rage, she had thrown across the room.



Maco followed her gaze and shook his head. “The cook will be disappointed.”



“What do you want, Maco? Why hold me here?” Melanie sighed. “It’s not funny, you know? I’m bored stiff!”



Maco nodded thoughtfully. “You want to come with me?”



“With you? Where are you going?”



“Out.” He turned toward the curtain and nodded at the French doors. “Come, and I’ll show you the night like you have never seen it before.”



“What if I don’t want to?” Melanie snapped.



“You will like it.” Maco turned away from the window and was gone a moment later.



Melanie saw her chance and sprinted towards the balcony, but it was completely enclosed by glass. Above, there was a clear night sky, stars twinkling like tiny diamonds on midnight blue velvet.



“Let’s go.” Maco suddenly said behind her.



Melanie whirled around, then took a step back. He’d changed. He’d been dressed in a neat suit only a minute ago, now his attire consisted of faded jeans, ripped over one knee, no shirt and a long black stockman’s coat. A pair of worn running shoes made the transformation complete. “You obviously don’t intend to take me some place classy.”



Maco laughed at that. “You’ll be surprised.”



Melanie was intrigued, even if she didn’t let on. His hair was loose too, short on top, long at the back. God, his hair reached all the way down his back, making him look wild and… sexy. “All right, I’ll come along. But only if you’ll give me a coat.”



“You won’t need it.” Maco wrapped his arm around her middle and grinned. “Hold on tight. This will be the ride of a lifetime.”



She barely had time to register what he had said, when she felt herself whisked away, out of the room, into the night.



They were flying. Flying! She couldn’t believe it. This had to be an illusion! Melanie closed her eyes.



“You can open your eyes again.” Maco laughed, setting her down. “Don’t move unless I do. Don’t step off my feet. Promise?”



She nodded and opened her eyes - and had the entire city laid out before her, lit up like a Christmas tree. “Where are we?”



“On top of Washington Monument.” Maco held her tightly, fearing that she would fall.



“Washington Mon– Oh God…” Melanie wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Oh God…!”



“This is the best view you will ever get of the White House.” Maco said, turning her gently. “See?”



Melanie forgot her fear for a moment. Staring out at the White House, all lit up and beautiful, with a star studded night sky looming above it. “Wow…”



Maco pointed to their left. “Lincoln Memorial is over there.”



Melanie glanced at it, enchanted by what he showed her. “It’s beautiful.”



“Yes.” He nodded. “Hold on, I’ll take us to some place where you don’t have to balance on my feet…”



She had no more courage than before, and closed her eyes.



“Cold?”



Her eyes opened and she looked around. They were on top of another building, high up, overlooking the city. “A little. Where are we now?”



“On the roof of Bord de l’enfer. Home.” Maco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him. The coat would warm both of them. “Still afraid of me?”



Melanie nodded. “Why are you showing me this?”



“Because I wanted you to see the city like I do.” He pointed into the distance, at the Potomac River that was like a dark road in the night, lights lining the banks and bridges. “Look, there is a ship coming down-river. See it?”



She noticed the lone light in the middle of the river. “Yes.”



Maco gritted his teeth when she craned her neck to see more of the city. Temptation was staring him in the face and he had to ignore it. It was hard. Too hard. His mouth dipped to the slender column of her neck, kissing her gently. She sighed, moving back to get closer. He groaned when desire slammed through his body with the force of a nuclear explosion. His arms tightened around her and he sought access to her mouth. Melanie turned her face to his, accepting the kiss that followed, answering the need in it with reckless abandon.



She turned in his arms, slipped her hands beneath his coat and caressed the bare skin there. He felt good. Too good to listen to the warnings her subconscious mind yelled at her. Dammit, she had wanted to do this ever since she’d set eyes on him and quite obviously he felt the same.



Maco lifted his mouth off hers a fraction, silver eyes glittering in the sparse light. His voice filled with regret, he whispered: “I have to go.”



“Go where?” She rubbed her hands across the muscles on his back, smiling when he tensed. “I won’t let you.”



Maco chuckled and kissed her nose. “It’s none of your business, and you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”



Melanie’s eyebrows lifted, the reaction conveying her doubt. “I haven’t tried yet, have I?”



“Don’t. You wouldn’t like what I’d do to you.” Maco stepped away. “It’s not wise to tempt fate, chérie.”



“Would I? Tempt fate, I mean?”



Maco framed her face between his hands. “You tempt me and that is very unwise. Let it go. Don’t ask.”



Melanie was about to ask him what he meant, but in a breath, he was gone, leaving her alone on the roof. Now what?



She eventually had found her way back to the room and for some strange reason, she didn’t feel compelled to get away anymore. Instead she got comfortable on the sofa, waiting for Maco’s return. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something that made her want to stay, made her want to find out what this man was all about. By now she had no doubts that he could indeed do things other men couldn’t, but he had yet to prove to her that he was indeed a vampire. That thing with his heartbeat could have been some kind of trick. Maybe he’d just hypnotized her and she’d imagined the whole episode? Had she really left this room and been carried high above the city - or had it been a trick of her mind?



No matter how much she thought about it, none of it made any sense. Least of all the sudden rush of desire she felt, whenever he got close…



Maco looked down at the sleeping girl and tried to catch on to whatever she was dreaming. He smiled when he saw images that involved him. Rather interesting images. A satisfied smile curved his mouth.



“Ah, chérie, you do that so well…” he whispered when she dreamed about her thighs wrapping about his hips. He could almost feel her heat surrounding him and just the thought had him clench his teeth. Hell, it had him go rock hard, too. He reached out to touch her, but drew his hand back at the last second. He’d wake her and there’d be hell to pay when she realized that he’d been snooping through her dreams. Still, he wouldn’t shut himself off from the images in her mind. Maybe they could play a little…



She moaned when his hands pushed her back, when they slowly stripped her stockings off. One finger teased the delicate skin at her inner thigh, slowly, so slowly travelling upward. Then he swung one leg across hers, kneeling above her, still fully dressed. He leaned forward, stretching her arms out above her. She became aware of silken ties being fastened to her wrists, effectively manacling her to the bedposts. He moved down, his hands sliding along her thighs, to her knees, pushing them apart. Once she lay spread-eagled on the bed, he proceeded to fasten her ankles to the lower bedposts. She was helpless. He sat back, then drew a soft white feather out of his shirt pocket. She watched as he began to tease her with it, letting the feather tickle her legs, stroke onto her belly. She breathed raggedly, writhing to make him tease her nipples, wondering what it might feel like, wanting to find out so desperately, it almost was unbearable. But still the feather continued to stroke her skin harmlessly, no matter how much she moved in the restrictive ties. Her eyes lifted pleadingly to his and he smiled, shaking his head.



Then the feathery touch suddenly came and she arched beneath the strange sensation. Her nipples elongated, hardened to the point of pain and still the exquisite torture continued. Then, as sudden as he had touched her, the feather was gone. She let out a disappointed sigh, which turned into a harsh groan when the tip of the feather touched the throbbing bud of her womanhood. She let out a keening cry, tugged on the ties, lifted her hips towards the light strokes, wanting more, ever more… She was so close, so close…



Melanie woke with a start, breathing hard, her entire body on fire with need, tight with desire. She opened her eyes and found Maco sitting next to her, an enigmatic smile on his lips. One look at him was enough to tell her that somehow he knew all about her dream.



“Finish it, Maco.” she hissed at him. “I know you were involved in this, somehow or other.”



“I was?” He leaned forward, his gaze unfathomable. “Tell me, how was I involved?”



Melanie blushed. “You say you know my dreams…”



“And you didn’t believe me. That’s what you said.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “So, how could I possibly know that you had a wet dream about me and a feather?”



She gasped in shock. A second later her lips were sealed by Maco’s, who at the same time pulled her from the sofa into his lap. His tongue duelled with hers, dipping in and out of the moist warmth of her mouth, intimating what he wanted to do to her. What he would do to her, given the chance. Melanie was lost in his kiss, feeling his readiness plainly against her thigh.



“Yes,” she gasped against his mouth, “Oh, yes, please…”



“That bad, is it?” he mocked under his breath.



Melanie glared at him. “It’s your fault I feel like this, so don’t pretend you didn’t know.”



Maco laughed. “Well, how could I deny such a charming request?”



“Where have you been?” she changed the subject, trying to calm herself.



“Out.”



“Out where? I -”



Maco knew he wouldn’t resist her questions for long, so he took the only action guaranteed to distract her. His hand slid beneath the hem of her skirt, trailing along her thigh. She flinched when his index finger stroked lightly across her panties. He shifted beneath her, then got up and dragged her into his arms. Melanie felt herself being lifted and buried her face at his shoulder.



Maco gently put her down on his bed, then dragged his shirt off with one swift move. Melanie sucked her breath through her teeth at the sight of his sculpted chest. He was even more beautiful than she had thought. It seemed that he wasn’t going to give her much time to admire him. In the next breath he was on her, pinning her into the mattress, nudging her legs apart with his. Maco stared down at her, his predatory gaze sweeping across her upper body, then his eyes fastened on her pulse.



“Don’t forget that you wanted this.” he reminded her hoarsely.



Melanie was too caught up with the sensations that raced through her body, to pay much attention to his warning. What could happen, after all? Apart from both of them having a good time? God, she’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him right now.



She arched her hips toward him, then threw one arm around his neck to pull his head down. “Shut up and kiss me.”



His eyes became even more intense, then he pulled her up and kissed her. Melanie sucked his tongue into her mouth, teasing it, pinching it with her teeth, until he gave a harsh groan and held her so tightly, she thought her back would break from his fierce grip. He seemed intent on swallowing her whole.



Suddenly she was robbed of the support his arm provided and dropped to the mattress, gasping. He sat, straddling her hips, an aloof expression on his face. “Strip.”



“I’d rather -”



“Strip.” he demanded menacingly.



His tone sent a shiver down her spine and she reached up to drag her dress off. His hand stopped her and she shot a questioning look at him.



“Do it so I can enjoy it.”



“I’ve never -”



His icy gaze cut her off in mid sentence.



“Sure. Whatever you say.” Melanie slid off the bed, taking a deep breath as she got up. Slowly she drew the zipper of the dress down, tooth by tooth, turning so he could see it. Then she looked over her shoulder, pushing first one, then the other strap off. His heated gaze encouraged her and she wriggled out of the dress, letting it drop to the polished wood floor, and stepped out of it. Melanie felt slightly self-conscious, standing in front of him, wearing nothing but her panties, a black lace bra and her high heels. Her discomfort vanished when she saw his jaw tense as his gaze roamed her body. She unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms, drawing her right arm out of the strap and catching the lacy piece in her left. Then she dragged it along her body, teasing her erect nipples with the lace, then caught it in both hands and stepped across it. Melanie licked her lips, feeling heavenly saucy and frivolous as she dragged the bra up between her legs.



“Enough.” Maco commanded hoarsely. “Come here.”



Melanie let the bra drop to the floor and sashayed towards him. She stopped in front of him, then moved forward to straddle his legs, her breasts exactly mouth height to him. Maco grinned and flicked his tongue against one nipple. She moaned, pushing her upper body further towards him, expecting that he’d take her up on her silent invitation. Instead of mouthing her breasts, Maco yanked her forward, turning her as she fell. Melanie was stunned by the speed with which he moved. Before she could even get to grips with her disorientation, she was caught by a leather sling that stretched her hands high above her head.



Maco stared at her. Then reached out to trail his finger across her panties, moving down, inch by maddening inch. Melanie wanted to bring her legs together to allow him to draw them off, but he pushed them apart again, fastening each to a post. He reached to the back of his denims, pulled something out of the back pocket and showed it to her. It was a shiny metal object and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was, as half of it was hidden in his hand. Then he flicked his wrist and she heard a metallic click. Her eyes widened when she realized that she was tied to a bedpost, helpless, while the man with her held a flick knife in his hand!



Maco laughed when she began fighting against the ties and folded the knife back. He reached out and trailed the handle up her quivering thigh, along the edge of her panties, then down again. Melanie moaned when he let the handle slide across the juncture of her legs, increasing the pressure ever so slightly. Over and over he teased her like this, having her writhe beneath the strange sensations his ministrations provoked. Then the sharp click came again, having her gasp at the sight of the sharp blade. She tried to shift away from him.



“Don’t move. I won’t hurt you.” Maco rasped, letting the blade slide beneath the lace edge of her panties. One swift move of his wrist and the lace was sliced through. Deliberately slow, he trailed the blunt end across her quivering belly, then proceeded to cut though the remaining thong at her hip and pulled the wrecked fabric away.



Melanie let out a sigh of relief when the knife snapped shut. Her sigh turned into a shocked gasp, then a hoarse moan, when Maco pushed her legs further apart and let his tongue dance across the wet heat of her femininity. The intensity with which he explored the depth of her sent hot flames licking up every nerve ending. She whimpered beneath his intimate caresses, her body convulsively trying to get closer to his wicked mouth.



Once again he left her hovering on the brink of orgasm. Melanie let out a cry of frustration, yanking fiercely on the ties, yet unsuccessful in her attempts to make him finish what he’d started. Under her heated gaze he stripped his denims, revealing a magnificent body. There was no doubt that he was as aroused as she felt. Melanie stared at him, wanting to touch him, yet unable to do so. He came to her, settling between her legs, the tip of his manhood teasing her quivering flesh, yet not giving in to desire.



“Please, Maco. Don’t torture me…” Melanie begged, breathless with anticipation.



Maco watched her body squirm and writhe, every movement fluid and seductive. It woke the predator in him and he groaned with the exquisite pain caused by his extending fangs. His mouth opened in a devilish smile, letting her see what he had become. He relished the feeling of impending satiation of not just one, but two desires.



Melanie held her breath. He’d changed. Suddenly there seemed to be an even stronger attraction than before and not even those vicious fangs could detract from it. She was scared - but not scared enough. Not while he was poised above her like some kind of dark angel.



“Maco, please.” she sighed, bending her body towards him. “Please…”



He reached behind him, easily tearing through the ties on her ankles, then scooped his arms under her back and lifted her hips for better access.



“Don’t forget… you begged me” he rasped, barely in control of his senses.



Melanie cried out when he dove into her, impaling himself to the hilt. “Oh God…”



“He has…nothing to… do with… this…” Maco drew back, plunging into her again, then stilled. “You’re so damn tight, so hot…” He sucked his breath through his teeth when she squeezed every inch that was buried inside her. “Oh Jesus…”



Her hips were bent at an almost impossible angle, yet it didn’t seem to matter as he thrust into her, making love to her almost savagely. Over and over, deeper with each stroke of his hips, he carried her away on a roller-coaster ride to ecstasy. Melanie moaned and matched him thrust for thrust, feeling climax almost within reach -



He stilled.



“No!” Melanie arched against him, almost crying with frustration, throwing her entire body towards him.



Maco laughed softly, rocking forward slightly. “Is this what you want?”



“Yes…” Melanie hissed between gritted teeth, clawing the pillow with her bound hands. “Oh God, don’t be so cruel….”



Maco leaned forward, his eyes glittering down at her. “Then have it.”



She groaned harshly when his hips increased their pace, beside herself with sheer bliss. She was so close, she could almost taste it… The slight sting at her throat went unnoticed as she tumbled over the edge, color exploding behind her closed eyelids, her entire body convulsing and shuddering beneath his…



Maco groaned, the taste of her flowing into his mouth, filling his senses. He tore his mouth away from her neck and gave himself over to a climax that seemed endless. Shuddering into her, he held her so tightly, he feared he’d break her in half.



At last he came back to his senses and settled her gently into his arms, tearing the strap that held her wrists. She settled against him, sleepy from the loss of the blood he’d taken. Melanie didn’t have the strength to question his actions. Right now, she was content to just sleep…

He sat in the chair where the Elders normally sat. He leaned forward, on the edge of the seat, his fingers forming a steeple at his forehead. He stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace across the room. He could no longer feel its warmth. The flames licked at the logs, but they would soon be no more than dying embers.



The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire, and the wind that tore through the cracks in the wood and stone walls around. He studied the orange glow on the stone floor, and listened.



There were footfalls coming down the hall. They stopped in the doorway to the great hall. He could hear the breathing, light and even paced, betraying the racing of a heart. He smirked, without turning to face him.



“He didn’t come.” It was a statement not a question. There was hesitation in the answer.



“No, he did not.”



“It was as I had said. He’s afraid.” The man in the chair chuckled, and lowered his head. Strands of his white-blonde hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed them away. He studied the gleam of the fire upon the blade at his hip. He stared at the drying blood, and considered a moment.



There were more footfalls as the man at the doorway took a few steps inside. He remained in the darkness, watching and waiting. He hesitated again before speaking.



“He says that is not the case.”



“I believe I know my brother. He is afraid. He will not admit it.”



“No. No he will not.”



He stood slowly to his feet. The firelight cast his shadow on the wall behind him, distorting his shape and making the walls ugly. His armor gleamed and shone. The blood splatters along his chest and arms were plainly visible. He sensed fear.



“Do you always agree with me, Alaster?”



No matter which answer he chose, he would be doomed. Alaster knew this. He stayed in the darkness, his eyes shining toward him. He saw now, what he hadn’t seen before.



The heads were mounted along the far wall. The blood-scent, which had been so painfully obvious before, was now a horrifying cry in the darkness. Alaster balked. His breathing became more rapid. He stared at the dead vampire eyes watching him from the shadows.



“What have you done?” Alaster whispered. “The Elders…”



“All dead.” He said. He flicked his sword. Some of the blood that was still fresh made a line across the floor. “You weren’t as observant as I would’ve hoped you to be.”



“I smelled the blood. I thought…”



“You thought nothing!”



And he turned. His scarred face was illuminated by the fireplace, and his golden eyes burning as he stared at Alaster. He stepped back.



“Nikolai…”



“Where is Damien?” His voice was low. He took slow steps forward, and held out his blade, so that it trailed along the floor. The scraping sound echoed.



Alaster’s hand rested on his own blade. “Why should I tell you, usurper?”



“You foolish excuse for a vampire!” Nikolai bellowed. “Do you know how long I have lived, without truly living, entombed in the earth, awaiting the day when I could come back to seek my revenge? Do you know how long I have rotted in the grave, with Damien’s name upon these scarred lips?”



He lifted his blade from the floor, held it with one hand. “Do you know anything?”



Alaster drew his blade, and it sang in the dark.



“You’ve killed the Elders and the Council for your own greed! You have doomed our kind!”



“How could I doom that which is already damned? Protecting your friend will not spare your life. Where is Damien?”



“I will never tell you!”



In one swift, lightening move, Alaster lifted his sword, and brought it down. In the place where it would’ve clashed with Nikolai’s blade, it hit empty air. He spun around, but too late.



The blade struck him in the chest, just beneath the ribcage and up. His cold blood spilled from his chest, and he stared down at the wound, in shock. Nikolai twisted the blade. Bones cracked and popped beneath the pressure. Alaster dropped his sword. With a loud clang it hit the reddening stones beneath him.



Nikolai’s breath was cold upon Alaster’s face as he leaned closer. The scars on his face disfigured a once handsome visage. His lips curled over his white fangs in an ugly grimace. His eyes were gold, lined with crimson and pure evil.



Where is Damien?” He whispered.



Alaster’s heart was pierced. It struggled to beat around the steel that penetrated him. The wound tried to heal, but Nikolai shoved, and it reopened. He tried to speak, but his words gurgled.



“The town…”



“Yes…?”



“…by the river…” He coughed up blood. It stained his white chin, and his pale lips.



“You have been a most useful servant, Alaster, and I thank you.” Nikolai’s voice was cold, like the blood that continued to pour. He stepped back, and withdrew the blade. Choking and coughing on his own blood, Alaster fell to his knees. His hands clutched the holed in his torso, and he looked up at Nikolai.



And then the blade swiped his head from his shoulders, and his body fell forward. Nikolai held Alaster’s head by a fistful of black hair, and he carried it, dripping, to a place specially reserved for him on the wall with the Elders.





~~*~~



Winter settled in now with a chill that rivaled that of the vampire’s flesh. Damien gave no notice. Neither cold nor heat had much effect upon him now. He was numb. Silently, he stood in the alley way, watching the shadows as people moved past, oblivious that he was there.



Snow had begun to fall, and thick, fat flakes clung to the cobblestone streets. It would be deep before the end of the night. And with the wind, it would drift. He shifted slightly in the shadows, and continued to wait. As he did so, he allowed Alaster’s parting words to roll over in his mind.



It was he that so foolishly had gotten Marie involved. Whether she was an active participant or not, she was involved and he couldn’t deny it. If Alaster was right, and Nikolai had returned, then she was in just as much danger as he.



If Nikolai found out, that was.



As much as he tried to avoid Marie, he always found himself coming back to her. He was putting her in danger with each second he stayed here, and yet he couldn’t stay away. He would have to send her away, to some place where he could never find her. It was the only way she could be safe.



How could I have been so stupid? Damien cursed at himself. He wrapped his arms around himself, though he was not cold, and pulled his cloak closer to him. It fluttered at his ankles. He lifted his eyes, staring at the closed shutters of the upper rooms of the inn. She slept in one of the rooms there. Light shone through the cracks in several of the shutter panes. He waited.



He was foolish. He had only thought of his own selfish needs, forgetting for the moment that being even near her, would be dangerous. He could no longer risk it, but his obsession would not allow him to stay from her.



He must send her away, far away. He would do it tonight. He had the money with him. It was enough for traveling, for lodging, and for food for quite some time. She could survive on it. She would be safe from him.



And now, the hard part…



Giving it to her.



He lowered his head, hair falling across his forehead. He ignored the tickling as the wind brushed the wisps across his brow. Damien knew which room was hers. She was alone tonight. He could not wait any longer.



He crossed the street and made his way into the inn. He moved stealthily along the wall and up the stairs. No one gave him a second glance. Just another shadow on the wall, an image lost in the turning of a head.



He found the door to her room with little problem. It was locked. He had anticipated this, and he had pondered on it for quite a while. To leave the money outside her room would be foolish. Any thief could pocket it. No, he would give it to her, into her soft hands, and look into her eyes, once more.



His fist felt heavy as he brought it up and rapped his knuckles upon the door. The noise was hollow, and loud. He almost winced. He thought about backing out suddenly. He felt uncharacteristically nervous. He shouldn’t be here.

Perhaps he had awoken her. He shouldn’t be here.



“One moment.” He heard her voice through the doorway, and heard a shuffling of feet as she moved to the door. She sounded quizzical and cautious. She approached the door, and stopped near it.



“Who is it?” She asked, her voice soft.



Damien found it hard to speak suddenly. His mouth went dry. He shook it off. This was not like him!



Still, he hesitated.



“Someone you did not expect to ever see again.” His voice was low, too low. There was a pause. Had she heard him?



“Damien?” It was a soft question. She had heard. She remembered.



“Yes.”



There was another pause and more hesitation. He heard her breath pick up. She was standing close to the door.



“Why should I let you in?” Her voice trembled. It hurt. Damien closed his eyes.



“I must speak with you. It is of the utmost importance.” He heard Marie sigh, her hand move over the bolt holding the door closed.



“Please,” He urged.



“…I can’t.” She whispered so softly. He found himself pressed to the door to hear her.



“Marie…”



“I can’t.”



“Give me only a moment. Give me less. I have something I must tell you. Something I must give you.”



“Another gift?” Was that scorn in her voice? He couldn’t be sure. He vaguely thought of the pendant he gave her. Did she still have it? It meant nothing to him, but did it mean something to her? The thoughts left him. She was unlocking the bolt.



The door came open just a crack. The first thing he saw was the dim candlelight illuminating her hair. Her face was dark in the shadows, but he could see her eyes. She held the door open, but only by a couple of inches. He could smell her sweat.



“I don’t know who you are, or what you are…” She whispered. Her hand curled around the edge of the door, and he saw a glimmer of silver, and caught the scent of leather. “But I cannot get you out of my head…Please, take this back. Please, leave me.”



She offered the pendant back to him. He stared into her eyes. She was frightened.



“No.” He said softly. He hated that his voice was so harsh. He closed her fingers over the pendant, and she flinched. He hated how cold his skin was. “I gave it to you.”



“I have no use for it.”



“Perhaps not now, but later. Keep it.”



“Why have you come here? Why do you haunt me?” There were tears in her eyes. They threatened to fall to her pale cheeks.



He would make it quick. It hurt him to be near her. He could smell the scent of her blood, could feel the warmth of her hand in his own. Damien withdrew from her, without answering, and removed the pouch of money he had been carrying. Its weight was heavy in his hand. He offered it to her.



Her eyes went wide, staring at the bag in his hand. She shook her head. “No, I can’t accept this.”



“It is important that you do.” He glanced behind him. People were coming up the stairs. “Allow me to come in. I need to talk to you.”



She thought about it a moment, and saw his point. She stepped aside, opened the door to allow him in.



The room was drafty, the only light coming from a few candles sparsely placed around the room. Marie was clad in only in her underclothes. The thin sleeves of her shift fell across her shoulder, and she pushed them back onto her arm. If she was modest about her lack of clothing, she didn’t show it. Goose pimples dotted along her arms, and her nipples pressed against the simple cotton fabric. He averted his gaze.



“I am giving you this…” He thrust the bag into her hands, removing his own before she could protest. “And you are to go away from this place. Far away…”



“Where? Why?” She looked confused. The money must’ve been heavy in her hands. She felt its weight before setting it aside. Marie looked up at him. She really was just a child.



“I don’t care where. Just away from this town.”



“Why?”



“I cannot tell you.”



She was shaking her head. Loose curls of her hair fell down her back. “You ask me to do the impossible. I cannot leave…This is my home.”



“This is your home?” Damien asked. His dark eyes surveyed the room. It was sparse, hardly lived in. It was not her home. “This is merely a room. You have no home.” He knew his words sounded cold, but it was true.



“It’s the only place I have.” Her lip was trembling as she spoke. He regretted having been so harsh. He licked his lips and tried again.



“Take this money; find a new home, a better home. Start a new life.” He realized now just how close he was to her. He felt her warmth again. Still, she shook her head.



“I can’t. This is the only thing I know, this is the only life I can have.”



“No.” His hands touched her upper arms. Her skin was soft and warm. She shivered at his touch. “If circumstances would’ve allowed it, you could’ve had a life with me.”



She exhaled a shaky breath, and tried to turn her gaze away. Damien went on.



“You could’ve had a life with me. I was not lying when I said I loved you. I always have.”



“You frighten me…”



He closed his eyes, finally breaking the stare. “I know, Marie. I know.”



“Please…don’t say these things to me.”



“Why not? Because they are true? Because you feel something as well?” He could only hope. He reopened his eyes and stared at her. She was looking up at him, uncertainty evident upon her face.



“No…I…” She hesitated. She shook her head, and pulled away from him. Slowly she rubbed her arms, getting warmth back into them. Her eyes turned

away, toward the closed and shuttered window. “I don’t know.”



e felt his heart leap, but he forced it to settle. She could not possibly love him. Foolish thought. But she was lonely, and she seemed a pitifully lost child, standing in hardly anything at all. He longed to hold her, and quell her anguish and pain.



Damien’s hand brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder as he stepped up behind her.



“I’ve watched you for a long time, Marie. I’ve watched you, and I’ve protected you from those that wished you harm. It was the only way I could show how I feel. I never ask that you feel the same. Only do this for me, and leave.”



“But why? Why should I leave?” She lowered her head, and her hair fell across the front of her shoulders and chest. He caressed her back softly, daring to touch her. She did not protest.



“A terrible harm will fall upon you, if you don’t leave soon.”



He sensed her fear, and he caught her reflection in the glass. She was staring at the pendant in her hands.



“You would harm me then?” She asked. Her voice wasn’t even a whisper.



He couldn’t tell her the truth. He withdrew his fingers from her back, and she looked over her shoulder at him.



“That’s it, isn’t it?” She asked again.



“It’s what I am. You do not need to fear me. I would never harm you. I won’t allow myself to. There is something else. I cannot tell you.”



How can I trust you?” She spoke without much confidence.



“I have not harmed you yet.”



There was silence, and Damien studied her as she considered his words.



“You frighten me.” She said again, and he winced at the words. He tried not to let it show on his face. She turned fully to face him. “I don’t know what you are. You’re skin is cold, and you’re eyes…but I feel…” She looked away.



“The kiss haunts you…”



“Yes…”



He knew he could not do what his heart told him to. Damien knew he could not stay. He could not risk another moment. Already he had spent too much time here, with her. He had revealed too much. But it happened before he could stop himself.



His fingertips caught her hair, feeling again its softness. He touched her warm cheek, and turned her face to him. Her green eyes searched his face, scared and uncertain and when he leaned in this time, she did not flinch.



Their kiss met as before, soft and tentative. His lips were cold and unyielding, but hers were warm and wet. Unlike the stolen kiss of weeks ago, she welcomed him, and returned the affection. His chilled arms wrapped around her, and pulled her to his body.



And when Marie shivered this time, Damien was certain it wasn’t from the cold.

The sun had set outside, and the sky was turning purple and black. She watched from the window as the lamps were lit, and dim light began to fill the darkening street. Cold air drifted in through a crack in the window, and she shivered. Goose pimples covered her arms.



She turned away from it, and pulled the sleeve of her shift back onto her shoulder. The man was asleep upon the tangled mess of bed, the wine bottle still clutched in his fat fingers. He snored loudly, drool coating his thick beard. His now flaccid penis touched his thigh, his stomach lifting with labored breath.



She curled her lip at him, disgusted with him, and then turned her back to him. She redressed, taking care to make sure every button was in place properly. A horrible tear up her skirt had been mended with cheap thread and a broken needle. Blood stained the hem and splattered around the tear. It would not come out. The dress would not last her through the winter. She would have to get a new one soon.



But with what?



Marie turned her head, looking back at her latest customer. He snorted in his sleep, one hand thrown off the bed. His clothing lay in a pile. She hadn’t received her payment yet.



Kneeling, she dug through his filthy trousers and found a bag of coins. It wasn’t much, but enough for a meal tonight and a place to stay. It was still more than what he would’ve given her.



She tucked it into her bodice, and hid it between her breasts. Her hands brushed over something warm and metallic. She shivered and withdrew the leather string from her dress. The silver pendant swung wildly, and she steadied it with one hand. It glinted in the light, catching the etching in the center.



For weeks now she puzzled over the symbol. She didn’t know what it was, or what it meant. A carving of a dog, or a wolf, something canine, painted in black stared up at her with vacant eyes. The silver was heavy as she cradled it in her palm, closing fingers over it.



She couldn’t stand to get rid of it. It would be more than enough to secure her a place to stay for a while, and some warm food, but something kept her from selling it…



His eyes.



She saw him staring at her, fresh in her mind as if were still happening. She could smell the cold scent of his flesh, the spice of the leather he wore. She shivered, and put the pendant away.



She didn’t need the pendant to remember him. He was engraved in her mind, forever. She still could feel his cold lips upon hers…Though he frightened her, she could not forget him.



Marie shook herself from the reverie, and hurriedly finished dressing. The sleeping man let out a great snore, and she jumped, eyes flying to watch him. He stirred only slightly, his wine bottle slipping further in his hands. She let out a breath she was not aware she had been holding.



She grabbed her wrap, brought it around her shoulders and slipped out the door and into the hall. It was colder here, and the wind found its way up her skirt and she shivered. She moved quickly down the corridor, and down the stairs. She avoided eyes when she crossed the hall of the Inn, and exited into the cold winter air.



Snow had lightly begun to fall, and flakes of it got caught in her hair, and melted on contact. The wind was stronger, and it beat her skirt so that it wrapped around her legs. She lowered her head and continued.

Her usual tavern was just down the street, and its doors were warm and inviting. Night was falling quickly, and the stars were muted by the thick clouds that swept in from the west. There had been murders every night for the past week. It was not wise to stay out well past dark.



She pulled open the heavy doors, and hurried inside.



~~*~~



He saw her enter, with her head bowed to keep out the cold. Droplets of melted snowflakes glistened in her hair. He took in a breath and watched her as she moved across the floor and to her usual seat. She kept her wrap tightly around her shoulders, and she settled next to the fire.



She held out her small hands near the fireplace, and rubbed them.



Damien knew he shouldn’t be here, that he shouldn’t be anywhere near Marie, but temptation had gotten the better of him. He had arrived here only a few moments before she slipped inside. He hadn’t even ordered his nightly drink.

Long nights had passed, where he had kept himself away from civilization. He found refuge in the woods north of here, and slept in the catacombs of various gravesites. He would never stay long.



The hunger always got the better of him, and hiding from his thirst only drove him into madness. Looking at her drove him into madness. Either way, he was doomed. So he returned to the riverside town, a former shell of himself only nights before, and had his feast.



He made doubly sure that none of them looked like her, that none reminded him of her. He avoided red hair, he avoided the green eyes, but the taste of a woman’s flesh, and the hot, salty blood…It did not stave his desire for her.



Carelessly, he left the bodies strewn about, not caring where they fell, and not caring who found them. It had caused a stir, and everyone was on edge. Shutters were tightly barred at night. Doors were locked, women stayed indoors, and men kept their weapons close.



It was not like him to do this. He was much too careful with his true nature. Because of what he was, he could not have his Marie. He could not hold her, could not taste her lips one more time. He know longer cared if he was discovered. Let them. He had nothing else.



But now, he was sated by the sight of her; there would be no more killings by his hand, and he was drawn into an obsession. When he looked at her, he no longer desired the blood of others. He did not want to feel them sway in his arms, grow limp and cold. He almost felt human.



But he was not.



He wanted to feel her given to him completely. He wanted to taste her skin, and bury his face in the soft flesh of her neck. He wanted her to say his name, in whispers of pleasure. He wanted to taste her blood, to find it as sweet as her voice. He wanted to have all of her.



His breath caught in his throat. He could not think such things! This was not why he had come here. Quickly, he drew his gaze elsewhere, anywhere but from her. She would be the end of him.



He had never longed for a woman as he longed for her now, and he could not understand. Love was unfamiliar to him. He had shared in the passion’s dance many times before, but never in love.



He wanted her. He wanted her to love him.



Impossible.



Tonight, would be the last night, Damien assured himself. He would stay away. He had to. He was a danger to her. He would kill her to have her love him. He would not come back. The memory of the stolen kiss burned in him.



He stared back to the fire. She had moved away from it enough to settle herself at her table. She had ordered a meal, and a drink, and thirstily she drank from her glass. He stared, rapt.



“You cannot have her, you know this.”



The voice startled him. He had not even sensed the presence. His hand went to his sword, but slackened only slightly as Damien adjusted his vision, and saw the speaker.



The man was tall, and dressed warmly and fashionably in clothing of dark red. His bright eyes shown coldly upon him, while locks of raven hair swept across his collar. His eyes were bright beneath the shadowed rim of his hat. He took a seat, uninvited beside him.



“She is beautiful.” He continued, casting his blue-green gaze toward Marie. A smirk started upon his lips. Damien hardened instantly, and his own stone gaze remained upon the intruder.



“I would never have expected you to come to this place, considering your tastes, Alaster.” His voice, like his demeanor, was cold. Alaster only laughed, but he kept his tone soft.



“Damien, always the mortal lover.”



“What do you want?” His hand remained on his blade. Alaster smiled, and stared across the room. Marie was working on her meal, hungrily devouring it.



“I can see why you are drawn to her.” He ignored the question. “Such a beautiful youth. Hair the color of the setting sun, the likes of which our kind are not afforded privilege to see, skin like cream, and her eyes…I could speak with you all night about the depth of her eyes…”



“Leave her out of this…” Damien warned.



“Have you wondered what her skin must feel like? Of course you have.” Alaster waved a hand impatiently. “You’ve thought of much more. You’ve thought of how she must feel between the sheets of a cheap bed, opening to you. You want to taste her in more ways than one.”



“Alaster…”



“She will never know, will she?” He said, with a plaintive shrug.



“Need I warn you?”



“No, no…I’ll behave.” Alaster’s fanged smile reminded Damien of his own dangerous grimace. “I promise. She can’t hear us. No one can. That you don’t have to fear. We won’t be discovered.”



“I do not fear that. Why are you here?” Damien demanded. He did not ease the grip from the hilt of his blade. From the corner of his eye he watched Marie. She was still in the midst of her meal. Alaster’s eyes finally turned to Damien.



His smiled faded.



“The Coven requests your presence.”



The Coven. Damien felt a surge of anger and hate rise within him. Alaster went on.



“’Requests’ is putting it lightly. Demanding your presence.”



“I put all dealings with the Coven behind me. I want nothing more to do with them.”



“They knew you would say that. That’s why the sent me. Seeing as how you are on better terms with me than other Coven members…” He let his words trail off. Damien fought back a scoff. “They sent me to persuade you.”

“I need no persuading. I am not returning. I left them for a reason, and I stand by it.”



“Yes, yes, we all know of the failure of your noble intentions…” Alaster sounded annoyed, but he went on. His eyes sucked in the light from around them. The shadows grew, while his eyes burned bright and intrigued. “But this is a matter than cannot be ignored.”



“It does not concern me.”



“It concerns all of us, from the youngest of our kind, to the very eldest. It concerns you especially. The Elders of the Coven are not pleased with your disappearance. They are not happy with the sudden springing of deaths around here. They are not pleased of you obsessing over a common whore…”



“She is no whore, and the Coven knows nothing of her.”



“I assure you, I will. By all means, I would not be surprised if you should be sentenced to death…”



“They wouldn’t dare do that to me.” Damien’s voice was a growl. “Is there a point to your rambling?” Alaster chuckled.



“Yes, of course. For some reason, no, they won’t kill you, as much as I hate to think on it. At least they won’t until after your return and you take your place on the Council once again.” Alaster was no longer in good humor. He became very serious.



“The Council betrayed my trust.” Damien turned away from Alaster. “Just as you had betrayed our friendship.” Marie had moved her seat, and now was closer to the fire. Its warm glow brightened her face. He studied her in silence.



“Let the past remain where it belongs.” Alaster said. “I do not like this task any more than you like hearing of it, but they sent me, and unlike you, I am still loyal to my kind.”



“What is so important that the Coven is calling me to join once again?” Damien finally asked. He looked away from his Marie, and studied Alaster’s clean-shaven face. He looked pious, as he folded his hands before him and spoke more softly than before.



“The thing we have feared all these years.” He said.



For reasons he couldn’t explain, Damien was not surprised. “He’s back.”



“Yes.”



“And he wants justice.”



“Yes. He wants you.”



“I know.”



“And you’re not worried in the least?” Alaster lifted an eyebrow. Damien was defiant, and he knew his disregard for his own safety shocked others. He ignored the surprise.



“No.” Damien closed his eyes, let out a breath. It was the last thing he had wanted to hear. On a night when he wanted nothing more than to remain among the shadows, watching Marie, a member of his former Coven had to inform him that he had returned. He disliked it.



“The Coven and the Council want you to reason with him.” Alaster was saying. “He threatens to destroy the Coven…”



“Reason with him? You mean fight with him, and kill him. Are none in the Coven strong enough to take care of him themselves?”



“That is not the case, Damien. He wants you. He will not stand for anyone else. And the Coven does not want to provoke him further. They say you are to end it. No one else.”



“To save themselves, is that how it is? I should’ve expected. The Coven’s concerns are not longer my own”



“It is the law.”



“It is damnation!” Damien cursed. His voice rose, but he quickly lowered it. He stared at Alaster. “You go back to the Coven, and you tell the Elders that if he wants me, he can find me himself. Just as they have turned their back upon me, I shall turn my back upon them. That should rid them of their problems.”



“Be reasonable, Damien.”



“Reason has nothing to do with it. Now get out of here, before I feel the urge to practice my blade upon you.”



Alaster’s face hardened and his eyes returned the light to the room. He stood from his seat, with a formal nod. “Very well. I did not come here to fight, but mark my words: You ask for him, and he will find you, and your lovely mistress.”



“You leave her out of this.”



“It is not I brought her into it, it was yourself. Good evening, Damien. I hope fortune serves you well. You’ll need it.” With a sweep of his luxurious cape, he turned, his boots stomping upon the floor as he exited the darkness and entered the light.



Marie noticed him as he walked past, and Damien watched him pause long enough to tip his wide-brimmed hat, and flash a debonair smile in her direction. She did not return it. For that, he was thankful.



He settled back into his seat, and turned Alaster’s words out of his mind. He watched Marie once again, wishing he could have just one moment’s peace with her.



He would think of his problem’s another night.

He had been coming to the small riverside town for months. He came, bought a drink or two, and left. He never stayed longer than a night. Men noticed him in the tavern, always sitting in the dark, drinking from a flagon. None ever approached him. None knew his name. None knew why he came here.



If they did, they would’ve probably laughed.



He was in love with a young woman who didn’t even know of his existence. Each night he came it was the same. He would order his drink, find his seat, and watch her from the shadows. She always came here at night.



Like him, she had her own seat, a place near to the fire, and well lit. The chair she sat in seemed too large for her small, child-like form. She was thin, and undernourished. Dark lines shone around her constantly wide eyes, and her skin was peaked and pale. She would jump at the slightest noise. She was flighty. She had the look of one who lived in fear.



She was a whore, a child of the streets. Her frayed blue dress did little to cover the length of her legs. She was growing much too fast. She was a child, forced to become a woman so soon. He felt all her pain, all her anguish. He saw it in her face, in her movements…



He wanted to hold her and take her from the pain, but he couldn’t.



She was the most beautiful when she smiled. It was rare when she did that. Sometimes he wanted that smile to be for him. He knew it never could be. She was too young, too beautiful to die. He had seen it before, over the centuries. There was too much life in her for it to end so soon. Her eyes, her bright green eyes were the windows to her soul, and he wanted her to look at him, so he could look into those eyes. Her hair was alive, like wildfire. The red locks curled around her delicate throat, and down her shoulders. He wanted to touch it, to see if it would really burn. He wanted to kiss the perfect throat, to sweep the hair aside…But he knew better. He could look, but not touch. If he touched her, surely he would kill her, and he wouldn’t kill her.



He kept her safe from him by remaining in the shadows, anonymous and unknown. As long as he stayed away from her, she would be safe.



He broke his eyes away from her just long enough to stare down at his flagon of drink. He had yet to touch it. Slowly, he lifted it to his mouth, and allowed his lips to touch the liquid. He could just taste it. He worked his throat, playing pretend, lest anyone were watching. He could not drink this, nor could he eat the bread, cheese and meat other patrons ordered.



It was not in the right of the dead to suffer the pleasures of the living. Hadn’t someone ages ago told him that? He had forgotten so much, even his own name. He called himself Damien, though it wasn’t the name his mother and father had bestowed upon him. He couldn’t remember that.



But the girl he watched. He knew her name. How many times had he whispered it in the waking dark, clinging to the memory of her?



Marie…



She haunted him, like a ghost. He found it ironic, considering he was the dead one.



Now his eyes lifted and he returned the flagon to the table. She had turned her head away from the fire. Shadows of darkness crept over her face. A man leaned over her chair, a lewd grin showing his dirty yellow teeth. Damien tensed in his seat, hand creating a fist around the handle of his cup, but he kept his eyes on them.



She was unsure, and it showed on her face. She frowned. She was disgusted with the man. But he had money. Damien saw the coins in his hand. He knew what would happen tonight. And he didn’t like it.



The coins were held before her, like a dangling prize, and she watched them with her hungry eyes. She reached a hand to take hold of it, but he withdrew. His laughter carried across the tavern.



“Not until after, girl.” He sneered.



Uncertainty and fear crept over her again. She turned, looking around the tavern for someone to save her…but no one was there.



I’m here…He said silently. I’m here for you, my Marie.



And she stood, taking the arm of the repulsive man beside her. Together they walked. She said nothing, keeping her eyes lowered as he led her out the door. Damien stood to his feet. He couldn’t get involved with her. He couldn’t save her. But he knew men like this one. Drunken slobs that beat their wives, who go out to find younger girls for their pleasure, and beat them too. He knew what would happen.



Marie’s profession required her to do things unbecoming of a young lady, and that, Damien could live with. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. But someone hurting her…he couldn’t have it. Even if it risked discovery.



He left his payment upon the table, drew his cloak around him and slipped through the shadows and out the door. His eyes searched the streets and he spotted her red hair instantly. He followed.



Down a dark alley the man brought her, hidden away from the prying eyes of the public. Damien slipped down as well, and hid along the shadowed wall. He watched.



“Now get to it, girl.” He began to undo his trousers. Again, Marie looked uncertain and lost.



“But you said…”



“Never bloody mind what I said, now get to it!”



“It’s dark…”



Damien’s heart ached. Marie was trembling. The darkness of the alley was obscuring her vision, and she was scared. A rat ran down the alley and brushed across her skirts. She let out a scream of fright and surprise.

In an instant, the man’s filthy hand clasped over her mouth. Her green eyes bulged as she stared at him. Once more, Damien tensed, but he waited.



“Of course it’s dark. You think I want you by the light of day? Filthy, common whore.” His free hand fumbled, yanking up her skirts, tearing them. She panicked when his hand touched her leg, and squeezed her inner thigh and she fought against him. Her screams were muffled by his hand.



“Hold still, whore!” He hissed. His body weight pressed her back against the stone wall behind her. She cried out. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and were wet in her eyes. Damien’s hand slipped around the hilt of his sword.



“I said hold still!” His hand moved too fast for anyone to see, and he brought it across her face. The slap echoed in the alley. Marie was stunned into silence, a five-fingered red imprint glowing on her tear streaked face. He continued his assault, hand probing beneath her skirt, holding her fast against the wall.



Damien unsheathed his sword in silence, and stalked toward the man, still hidden among the darkness. He revealed himself when he stepped from the night, and stood behind the man. He grabbed a handful of filthy hair, and jerked him away from the girl. The edge of his blade flew across his throat, spilling torrents of blood, and almost severing the head.



Blood splattered upon Marie, now free of the grip. She whimpered, back still pressed to the cold wall. Her skirt once more covered her nakedness, a jagged rip straight down the front. Her green eyes stared…



…right into Damien’s.



He released the man, and he fell to the dirty alley floor. He choked and clung, trying to hang onto life, but it was futile. Seconds later, he was dead. Blood continued to pour.



She was staring into his eyes. Empty and black, he knew they must scare her, but he could not turn away. Here was the opportunity he had long desired. She was his, she was watching him. She was looking at him!



Her pink lips were parted, and her cheek burned red. She trembled, visibly shaking. Her jade eyes remained locked upon him.



What must he look like to her? A fearsome monster, a beast of some sort? He looked human enough, with ash blonde hair, and strong, youthful features. It was the empty eyes that would give him away.



The sword in his hand dripped blood onto the ground, onto the body of the dead man below him. The smell of it was strong, fresh, and it renewed the beast within him. He could not stay for long now. He had not feed, and temptation was calling him with her eyes.



“Know this…” He said. His voice was harsh, ill-used. He had little cause to speak these days. Would it scare her as well? Her eyes never left him. “I have loved you. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. I’ve been watching you; I’ve been following you…”



Her mouth moved, but there was no sound. Was that fear in her eyes? Confusion? Wonder?



He reached out a hand. He dared to do it. He was the closest he had ever been to her. He smelled the sweet perfume of her blood and sweat. It was tempting…



“I won’t hurt you. I’ve never thought of hurting you.”



She flinched slightly from his hand, but he did not withdraw. He felt the softness of her hair. It was like fire. It burned him.



“Please…” She whimpered. Tears fell fresh down her face. “Please let me go…”



“Marie…” He said softly, and his cold hand touched her hot cheek. He covered the redness with his palm. She gasped.



“You’re cold…”



“I know…”



“Please let me go…”



It hurt him to hear the words. His hand was trembling when he touched her. She was still alive. He had not killed her. Her pulse throbbed against his hand. He slipped it away, his fingertips trailing down her neck, following the pulsing of her racing heart.



“Don’t fear me…” Damien took one lock of her hair and gently brushed it away from her delicate throat.



“Please…” She was breathless. Her eyes could not look away from him.



“Don’t fear me…” He whispered, closing the distance between them. He looked down at her, forehead inches from hers. He could see the tears clinging to her lashes. “Don’t cry…”



“Don’t hurt me…”



“Never…”



Then Damien’s lips touched hers. She tensed against the coldness of them. Hers were soft, warm and wet. They tasted salty. His tongue probed at them, only tasting. She would not part her lips.



When he withdrew, her lower lip was trembling.



“What are you…?” She breathed.



His hand rested on the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her heart continued to race. He wanted to taste something more, but he would not. He could not. He closed his eyes. He could not look at her now.



“I am something not of this world…” he whispered. “They have many names for me…you will know me only as Damien.”



“Damien…” She repeated the name. Her breath was hot upon his face, and her words were soft. He sent a chill through him.



“You’ve never seen me before, and you will not see me again…”



Her blood-scent was strong. He was only inches away. He stroked her neck softly. She did not speak.



“I must go from you. I cannot stay…”



Reluctantly and slowly, he withdrew his hand. Her warmth lingered.



“Know that I would’ve given you the world in the form of death…”



“I don’t understand…” It hurt him when she spoke now. He heard the confusion in her voice.



“I know. It’s for the best. I don’t ask that you remember me. You never knew me.” He stepped away from her. The night was suddenly very cold. He did not look at her, but at the ground, and at his bloody sword. He cleaned the blade, replaced it. He heard her shuddering breath. “But take this.”



Now it was he that fumbled at the sheath of his sword. He removed the leather string, the silver pendant glimmering a moment in faint light. “Take it.”



She would not recognize the symbol, but he held it out to her. The pendant was of no value to him, but to her, it would mean one more meal, one more night to live. She would not take it at first, but a moment later, he felt her warm fingers enclose around it, and the leather slipped from his hands.



“What is it…?”



“It’s a gift…The only one I can give you. I want you to have it.”



He said no more, and turned. He returned to the shadows and disappeared among them. He risked looking at her again. She stared down at the pendant and smiled, faintly. She smiled, just for him. He thought his black heart would break.



Then Marie looked up, and found him gone. Her eyes once again turned fearful, and her hair whipped around her neck as she turned her head this way and that. She could no longer see him. She clutched the pendant to her chest. Her footfalls echoed as she pushed herself from the wall and ran from the alley.



He watched her until she faded into the crowds, and then closed his eyes, and cried the tears of the forsaken.

She was a creature of the night. Her waist long raven black hair, pale and haunting face and firm and beautiful body made her into the entity that a man would give up his soul to possess - and that is exactly what he would have to do - but hopefully for her he would discover this too late to save himself.



It was approaching the witching hour on the day of witches and she was searching. Although her power was great her task was difficult even for her. She had to find a man who was pure of heart and take him to the very brink of depravity and then travel with him over the edge if she was to win his soul.



As she walked into the dimly lit bar she examined the auras of the men she saw there. None of them were what she was seeking. This was the 6th bar she had been in - and if she could not find her chosen one soon the time would have passed and she would be have fated herself to another year of desperate hunger. It seemed that pure men were getting more difficult to find as the years went by. When she had been reborn 300 years before she could have had her choice of many - but now her task was far more difficult - especially as the rules decreed that she would have to be his first woman. She was an impatient teacher and therefore needed to find a naturally talented lover - and they were few and far between.



She was about to leave the bar when her eye was caught by a man sitting by himself in the corner of the bar. She couldn’t understand why she had not noticed him when she had walked in - as his aura was the brightest in the room. If she had read the signs correctly, at last she had found the man she was seeking. His physical appearance was as impressive as his aura. He seemed to be in his mid twenties, dark haired, and his face had a sensual quality which was did not really match his aura - but her time for looking was almost gone - so she decided to ignore the anomoly and trust her supernatural powers above her eyes.



She approached his table, thinking to herself how it was possible that such a man could still be a virgin - but it was an added bonus that he was so attractive. For her needs the victim did not have to be good-looking - it was enough that his character was pure - but it would make it more enjoyable for her if he was she thought.



“Hello” she said, noticing that as probably the only man in the bar he was holding a soft drink, “Are you waiting for someone?” She was used to the effect she had on men - so did not forsee any problems in getting to know him - but to her surprise the look he gave her was cool and uninterested. “No ” he said “I was just having a quiet drink on my own” and his gaze returned to his drink.



She was surprised to say the least - and a little annoyed. Perhaps she should try to find someone else - but she knew she did not have the time - and besides she had never been adverse to a challenge. “Would you mind if I sat here?” she asked - and not waiting for his answer she did just that. She noticed that his eyebrows went up quizzically but he said nothing. This was not how things usually went and she was puzzled. She had never had to make the running before - all the men whom she honoured with her attention were usually all too pleased about it - until they were screaming for their lives - and by then it was too late.



To her irritation she realized that the man was ignoring her - but she didn’t have the time to be subtle - so said “Excuse me asking - but is something wrong? You don’t look very happy.”



“I really don’t think it is any of your business” was the cool reply. “But if you really want to know I was just thinking what would be the best way of killing myself”



Now of all the answers she had expected this was certainly not one of them. Why on earth would a man who seemed to have everything going for him want to end his life? Well - the only way she was going to find out was to ask him - so she did.



“Well - as long as you’re not going to waste your breath trying to talk me out of it - I suppose I might as well tell you. You’re probably be the last person I ever talk to - and I guess you’ll do as well as any to take the role of confessional priest” and he laughed wryly. How ironical she thought. She had heard the dying words of many men in her long life - but always in the role of executioner never in the role of priest.



“Actually, you might like to answer a question that has been puzzling me all my life - what do women want in a man?” But as she opened her mouth, wondering what on earth she was going to answer, it seemed that it was just a rhetorical question as he went on “You see I had this strange belief that women wanted a man who would care about them and be there for them whenever they needed them. Someone who listened and was a friend. You know - a nice guy” and he laughed again without a touch of amusement in his voice. ” Well - I’ve been a ‘nice guy’ all my life - and what has it got me? A lot of female friends who run to me with their problems - and then go and sleep with the biggest bastard available - and then come running back to complain how he’s hurt them! You know - I’ve never hurt a girl in my life - and I’ve never slept with one either! So know you know the embarrassing truth - I’m a 26 year old virgin! How about that for a good laugh! Are you shocked?”



She didn’t think it was the time to tell him that she already knew - in fact that that was the very reason that she was sitting here with him - but suddenly she thought to herself that he had just made it very easy for her - and after all - he was planning on killing himself anyway - so for once she’d be carrying out a good deed in doing what she did.



“Well - I think the girls you know must be mad - I for one would love to sleep with you”



“What? Please - I don’t need your pity! I think I’ll be leaving now.” - and he stood up.



She stood up too and caught hold of him by his arm. “No - I’m serious - Why do you think I came and sat with you. I really do want to go to bed with you!” and in so saying she moved her arms around his neck and pushing her tongue deep into his mouth she pressed her body close to his and rubbed herself against him. She could feel him hardening straight away - and after an initial hesitation he began kissing her back - passionately - almost desperately.



As they finally broke their embrace - both of them breathless from the sudden emotions - she said “I live near here - come back with me and I’ll give you everything you’ve always wanted” And I shall take everything you have ever had including your immortal soul she thought to herself - but of course did not say it out loud.



He followed her out of the bar - and soon they were in her room. She wasted no time and lighting some candles she put Bram Stoker’s Dracula on the CD player, turned out the lights and moving onto the bed reached out her arms to him. He hesitated only for a second and then was beside her on the bed holding her tightly in his arms . She could feel his heart throbbing against her body and as his hands began to explore her body she could feel the desperation in his touch. His breath was already coming in huge shudders and as he grasped her breast in his hand she heard him sigh - a heartfelt release of sexual frustration and tension which excited her immensely. For a while she lay there passively allowing him to stimulate her. She knew from experience that her virgin victims did not have to be touched by her as their arousal at being able to touch a girl in this way for the first time in their lives was enough for them - and to be quite honest she was enjoying what he was doing to her. In fact it almost made her think that this could be enough - almost - but not quite - as her needs were different than other women. She might be feeling sexually aroused - but she needed more - she was the black widow of the human world - only it was not her partner’s flesh that she needed to devour after the sexual act - but his very soul.



But for the moment at least she let herself enjoy the feelings he was awakening in her. She felt her nipples harden under the frantic pressure of his fingers and she felt his mouth on hers - driving his tongue into its welcoming depths. She tasted his untainted breath and it was a tantalising foresight of how his soul would taste. She realized that he had started to remove her clothes - and she was glad of the muted light in the room - he may have been an innocent but a clearer sight of her body would have shown him things that he would have recognized as being alien to a normal woman. He too removed his clothes to reveal his well muscled body, Soon they were lying naked together and to stop too close an examination of her body she entwined his hair between her fingers and pulled his head towards her breast. Taking the hint he took her nipple in his mouth and rolled his tongue around it.



His hands continued their exploratory journey across her body - until they had reached their ultimate destination and she felt his fingers enter her. As someone who by his own confession had had no such experience of a woman’s body he must have been operating on pure instinct and she helped him in his quest by placing her hand over his and guiding his fingers along the sides of her clit and as she felt her body responding she pulled him even closer against her and tried to bite his neck. However at the last second he twisted his head away and she felt him move down her body so he could take her in his mouth. As she felt his tongue on her clit she knew she could not hang on much longer. She hoped he would not realize that she did not taste like other woman - but as his tongue continued its massage of her she thought that he had never experienced anyone to compare her with - so she was safe for the time being. However - she could not take the chance of his suspecting that she was anything other than a woman who was initiating him into the joys of sex - as although she was strong his physical powers were obviously greater than hers and she could not risk losing him before her task was completed. So reaching out her arm she opened the drawer beside the bed and took out some black leather handcuffs.



Sensing her movement he looked up and she smiled at him. It was important now that he would not get suspicious so she used all her powers of charm and said “Please humour me - I promise you that this will be something you will never forget - and this is something I need to do if I am going to reach my ultimate pleasure.” She knew from his own words that he always wanted to give women what they wanted - and her intuition told her that he would obey her. She thought she saw confusion in his eyes but if he was like her other victims he was now too far to risk losing the pleasure which he wa discovering . As she had expected he did not object when she told him to lie on his back whilst she fastened the cuffs around his wrists and ankles and attached them to the bed. He was now lying spreadeagled on the bed in front of her - completely helpless.



Now it was her turn to be in control - and bending over him she began to run her tongue up and down his body until at last, slipping down between his legs, she took him between her lips. He gasped as he felt himself engulfed in her mouth. Without any trouble she took him completely until he felt himself touching the back of her throat. He moaned and felt his balls tighten as she moved up and down on him whilst one hand squeezed his nipple and the other stroked his scrotum but just as he knew he was going to come she stopped.



“No - not yet” she said “I’ve got a lot more things planned for you before I’ll let you come - starting with this…..” and undoing his restraints she ordered him to lie on his stomach before fastening them again. She then placed her fingers in his mouth and ordered him to suck on them. His frustration grew - but he did as she said - and when her fingers were wet with his saliva she moved her fingers to her own sex and lubricated them even more and before he had really realized what she was planning she suddenly plunged them into him. He gasped at the sudden pain but as her fingers began to push themselves deeper into him another feeling took over and he realized that he was actually enjoying it. As she began to move her fingers in and out of him he could feel himself approaching his climax again - but again he was almost there - and then the fingers were gone and he heard her laughing softly. “Before I am finished you will be begging me for a climax” she said.



Picking up a bottle that was standing on the table she slowly poured the contents onto his naked back - her hands spread the oily substance into his skin, massaging the curves of his body until he was moaning with pleasure. Letting the empty bottle fall to the ground she gently began to blow onto his back . A deep warmth seeped through his body - but as she continued to let her breath play upon him he felt the heat becoming almost unbearable. She knew that by now his body was on fire - and taking a candle in her hand she began to drip the molten wax on top of the oil. He gasped at the assault on his body - but she had only just begun. She took something else out of the drawer and straining to see what she was holding he drew in his breath as he saw that it was a dildo - and using the slippery mixture covering his body as a lubricent he felt her beginning to penetrate him with the object. He tried to struggle at the invasion of his body - but he was completely helpless to resist the violation. Despite of the pain he was feeling his erection was now throbbing and he desperately needed to cum. But as he was at the very brink he felt the object being removed and turning his head he saw her smile and shake her head.



Moving so he could see her better she began to caress her own breasts, squeezing her nipples so they stood erect she leant over him and he raised his head to take her nipple in his mouth - but she stayed tantilisingly just out of his reach and began to stroke herself between her legs. Her breathing was heavy and he knew that she was near the edge - and so was he - and then she leant over and removed his restraints. She felt by now that he would accept anything from her - as long as she would let him climax.



At last she joined him on the bed and holding him in her hand she lowered herself onto his swollen shaft. By now all he wanted was to shoot his sperm and as he felt her engorging him he grasped her by the shoulders and forced himself as deeply into her body as he could. He felt his balls pressing against her shaved mound with every thrust of their bodies and he knew he was going to cum - and as he spurted his sperm into her body a blood curdling laugh escaped from deep within his throat - and grasping her by the hair he plunged his teeth into her alabaster neck. A horror stricken look appeared on her face - as she felt the myriad souls that were imprisoned in her body flowing out of her.



The last words she heard before her body disintegrated into dust were “You see my dear - even devils have their own demons”

I caught the scent in the air as I stood there, eyes closed, inhaling deeply, savoring. I did not know where it came from. It tantalized me; so sensuous; it made me giddy as it filled up my lungs, made me want it. It was enticing, appetizing to me; to others just exposed viscera.

I opened the heavy wooden door to the storage area under my loft; I stopped then stepped back in shock as I saw a dead girl laying there, a single surgical red gash up the middle of her naked torso breaking the achingly alabaster-pale of her skin. I gazed at her almost with a feeling of love and with a morbid fascination and with sheer horror as she returned my gaze, beseeching me, Why? she asked me silently, Why? I shook my head as if to tell her I didn’t know, as if she would see my response. Her almost black irises reflected my image like dark glass.

I crouched beside her body and touched her naked skin; still warmth there. The sight of her pained me then, such youth and beauty, mercilessly slain; the thought of the crime repulsed me. I thought then of her lover, of how they would never again bury their face in her thick mass of raven curls, never again feel the soft, perfect white globes of her breasts in the palm of their hand, never again would their tongues entwine and taste the musk of each others skin there. Grief welled up in my eyes, not really for her then, but for the ones who would mourn her, for the bereaved, the grieving. I knew she had been loved, one so exquisite must have been loved.

Then: a delicious knot of tension reached up from my loins and pulled at the pit of my stomach when I saw all the blood.

The dark red pool spread out all around her like a glistening, wet halo; it gleamed and shone with a black hue in the moonlight that filtered through the open door behind me.

I felt something stir, deep inside me, something inherited, I have always been sure, something ancient, something dark. I kneeled beside her and ran my fingertips over the surface of her spill; still warm. My bloodlust chewed at me like a great hungry beast, relentless, unwilling to set me free from its clutches. I was in its thrall and I knew that I could not resist it. I knew that I would not resist it.

Before I could protest, before I could even consciously decide what to do, my fingers were in my mouth and my eyes closed, as I tasted her blood. I lowered my face to the floor and lay on my belly; I inhaled the scent deeply; sharp copper - brim full of the chemicals she’d pumped furiously around her body in the final struggle for her life.

I lapped at the red ambrosia feeling the rough surface of the floor beneath, on my tongue. My breath quickened as heat and desire spread into each nerve and muscle, every fiber in my body. I was captivated by the scent, the taste and the texture of the thick elixir as it oozed, warmly, down my throat. My desire gnawed at me - drink…drink…drink deep…deeper…it seemed to whisper, seductively in my ear through the darkness.

I felt the heat of her blood seeping into my veins. A pulsing began in my groin and I felt myself hard against the ragged, cold stone floor; I raised myself up onto my elbows and moved rhythmically back and forth, back and forth over the surface. My desire rose, climbed higher and higher, went deeper and deeper. I had my hands in her blood now, smearing it over my face and my neck, licking and sucking it, letting it drip of my fingertips onto my tongue and down my throat. I was gasping now, moaning in ecstasy as if in bliss with a skillful, eager, adventurous lover.

I rolled over onto my back and lay panting and as I climaxed I felt as if I had been ravaged and abused and discarded. But I realized that this feeling was just the guilt setting in, taking root, digging in the jagged claws that our worst memories have - lest we forget. The inside of my head and behind my eyes burned. I couldn’t bear to think of what I had just done even as the last vestige of my climax still lingered, even as my sated smile still danced across my sanguine mouth.

But a delicious thought formed in my mind and I whispered it to the eerie moonbeams that shone down on me, “But to drink from a living vein.”

My words echoed in my head, reverberated of the inside of my skull, back and forth, louder and louder each time and then I knew that I would not be able to live without this feeling, I would not want to live without this feeling. And to have somebody, anybody, man or woman it doesn’t matter, to share these moments with.

The thought would not leave me as I pondered still, on sharing this exquisiteness with another vibrant, pulsing being. I closed my eyes and fell asleep with hot tears burning their way down my face; shame and guilt and despair and the thought of my own isolation too much for me to endure in my fragile state.

I woke up some time later. In that few moments before full consciousness invades the brain and banishes all remnants of sleep and innocence, anyone can be forgetful of even the most hideous of memories. Of course, then it hit me like a bucket of cold water, drenching me all the way through to my blackened soul, shocking me awake to that familiar sensation - morning after revelation.

I was afraid to turn around in case the summer was warm enough for her to have started rotting overnight. But something was wrong. I realized I was in my bed. I bolted up, naked, and threw myself down the stairs, barely able to keep my balance and burst through he door and into the storage area under the loft. Nothing. Not a trace. Not a sign. Empty.

Confusion filled my senses and my temples throbbed noisily. What the fuck was going on? Surely I couldn’t have been so affected and confused by a dream. My stomach twisted and turned inside me as if it were trying to wrench itself free from my body; I gagged and heaved and flew back up the stairs, burst into the bathroom and spilled my guts into the toilet. The vomit was thin, watery and bloody; the sight of it shocked me, I thought I was dying, hemorrhaging or something. But no, the last night had been real and there had been a dead girl and I had drank her blood and came harder than I ever had before, as her corpse lay cooling next to me, as her blood lay congealing under me, on my skin, inside me. And there was somebody else there. Somebody who cleaned me and the warehouse, got rid of the body and put me to bed. Somebody else there.

My face burned with shame, shame that somebody had seen me doing what I did, somebody had seen me lapping up the blood of the dead girl that lay beside me. Then I flinched at myself for thinking of my own embarrassment at maybe being watched before feeling shame at my defiling of the dead.

I was beside myself when the horror came that maybe whoever did the clean-up was, of course, the killer. Then paranoiac thoughts flooded my conscience; thoughts of being filmed or photographed, thoughts that I would be blackmailed. A chill ran up and down my spine, icy fingers poked holes into the riot of hot, grey matter inside my head, my legs buckled under me and I landed in a heap on the cold white ceramic tiles on the bathroom floor. I wept uncontrollably, pouring out my cowardice, my self-possession, trying to rid myself of the wretchedness I felt.

But then I remembered the pleasure. How I’d felt lapping up her warm, sweet-copper flow, I remembered how it felt sliding down my throat, soothing the madness that the sight of it had brought forth from somewhere deep inside me. I remembered it caressing my insides, banishing the chill of the loneliness that had gnawed at me for what seemed like forever, reviving me, loving me, making me feel warmth again, making me feel whole again.

I sat on the edge of my bed for what felt like hours but was probably minutes. I was tormented,

filled with loathing and disgust but that damned memory of the pleasure would not subside. I tried so hard to banish it, to pluck it out of me, exorcise myself of that so sweet remembrance, but I could not, it would not let me let go of it. Again I tasted wet salt on my lips as yielded to my shame.

A loud knock on my door wrenched me back to reality. I composed myself as best I could, threw on a robe and opened the door.

And there he was; I knew it was him before he opened his mouth, I saw it in his eyes; something dark lived there, something bad, something exciting, something cruel and primal, but also the fiercest love and the most terrifying passion. And that excitement inside me rose to a crescendo again like the swell of a weeping violin; my blood crushed through my heart and hammered in my ears, throbbed in my aching veins as the knowing silence between us thickened and the tension in the air mounted. He looked deep into my eyes with his strange irises - black and screaming violet all at once. Did he see the same things lurking in my eyes as I did in his?

He stepped over the thresh-hold and walked slowly past me, making sure that his hand brushed lightly against mine as he passed by and sat down in a big chair in my living room. “That was quite a performance last night, my friend.’ He gave me the slowest smile, those irresistible eyes sparkling, filled with the fading moonlight filtering through the window.

“I’ve been waiting for so long. I heard your cries. I heard you call out to me so many times. So often I wanted to rush to you, steal you away, take you in my arms and free you of your loneliness, all of your pain, soothe away the hurt and the fear and the despair I know that you suffer. But you must understand that I had to be sure. Even though I ached for you, even though each night grew longer and longer as your cries became louder and louder, I had to make absolutely certain that you were a suitable companion. The last time I chose a paramour to share eternity with I made such a dreadful mistake.”

I stood gaping at him, slack-jawed, looking as if I were depriving a village somewhere of its idiot. I was enchanted! I felt giddy and happy and light-headed. I knew this was absolute insanity. But I believed, even though any rational mind would have shied away from his madness, this absolute folly, I believed, I believed totally; I did not question him for a second. Something other than rational thought was telling me to trust my first instinct, to trust in him wholly and I would at last be set free.

“You are an exceptional beauty. You remind me of the delicious young fops that bejeweled the affairs at the chateaux in Paris. Ah, but that was so, so long ago. More than two centuries ago. But I must say how the Marquis would have adored you, dearest.” He smiled at me, a true smile, a beautiful smile, a smile that I believed.

I was afraid to ask whom he meant by ‘the Marquis,’ but whom else could he have meant? I knew too well of whom he spoke. Volumes of his works of fiction and his correspondences lay on my bookshelves, my most frequent bed time reading. Could he really be speaking of the Marquis? Those thrilling tendrils of excitement were creeping up my insides again. I remembered how I had felt the first time I read The 120 Days of Sodom. I remembered how I had gasped aloud at the shocking words and more than once thrown the book across the room in outrage, in disgust. But I always picked it up again.

“The Marquis?” I asked, as innocently as I could. He smiled at me, a knowing smile and glanced at my bookshelves, “Why, Donatien Alphonse Francois Comte et Marquis de Sade.

“Whom else, dearest?”

I stood in the middle of my room, slack-jawed; this was insanity. He was talking about a man who was born in 1740 as if he knew him! But still I believed and still I did not question him and instead I let my tongue run away with me.

“You knew him; the Marquis de Sade? What do you mean he would have liked me?

He threw me that disarming smile again, “Indeed, that is true but the Grand Seigneur loved to look upon all things of beauty, regardless of their gender.” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I paced the room back and forth, my mind spinning, willing myself not to believe what he was telling me. “And he was not averse to a little…experimentation.”

I was sure that I had lost my mind and was locked in the deepest, darkest recesses of it, quite incurably mad. In the last few hours I had drank the blood of a dead woman who had been slain for me by an immortal vampire who had been great friends with the Marquis de Sade! And what was worse still, was that I believed him.

I could see that questioning him would be futile, he would not be questioned; he would not be drawn into justifying himself. He did not care whether or not I or anybody else believed what he said because he knew that time would tell the greater story.

I frantically searched for something to say just so that he wouldn’t look at me that way in silence. I did not think I could resist him if I didn’t fill my mind with something to focus on so I said “The sun is coming up.” He giggled playfully.

“What is it? Do you wish me to turn to dust? Or maybe explode into a thousand pieces? No, no, my darling, I shan’t do either of those things. I am sorry to disappoint you.” He looked a little weary and I wondered how many times over the centuries he’d had explained that one.

He explained to me that I should forget all that I had learned from books and films about vampirism. He told me that they did sleep by day and hunt by night because the acuteness of their sight made it difficult to see in the daytime and could be painful but the sun was in no way dangerous. Also the very nature of the vampire was suited to a nocturnal existence; like the owl and the bat, they came alive at night to hunt, to feed.

So, I had it all wrong; there was no fear of crosses or garlic or holy water or churches or hawthorn stakes - one clean blow through the heart. Nothing could kill a vampire except burning or beheading. All the folklore I had devoured over the years was no more than the superstitious, lunatic ramblings of the uneducated and the unsophisticated. For some reason I felt a little cheated. But none of this was important now. What was important was how this man, no, this vampire, came to know of my bloodlust.

I sat down on my bed to ask the question and took a deep breath. He gave me the broadest smile, his lips parted, fangs making painful indents on his moist, ruddy lower lip. “I was drawn to you. Your mind reached out to me. I am not the only one who heard you, you know? Many of my kind did. But I got here first. Finders keepers, as it were.” He could see my confusion and explained without me having to ask.

He went on to tell me that they were sensitive, psychic, and empathic. They felt the pain and the pleasure, the joy and the sorrow of people around them. And especially the isolation and the yearning of somebody like me. He likened it to tuning in a radio - and the quality of the sound depended on the strength or the weakness of the signal; the more acute the desolation, the clearer the psychic signal.

He had felt that I yearned to live as he did, that I needed somebody who would understand how I felt and would explain my nature to me, listen to me when I needed to pour out my feelings, just be with somebody who was my kin.

I began to feel like I had no choice in this situation, no control over my own destiny. But surely this was my destiny. This was meant to be. The inevitability of it all made me angry and a flash of red-hot rage burned my face.

But then I realized that I wanted it, what he came to give me I wanted fiercely, I needed it, craved it. I wanted to feel his passion for me, the prick of his teeth in my flesh. And I wanted him. I knew he could feel my want.

He crossed the room to me so slowly and fluidly that I couldn’t detect any movement in his limbs. He took my hands and pulled me gently to my feet. “Shiloh,” he whispered in my ear,

“Tell me how much you want it.” The touch of his warm breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. My throat was tight, my mouth dry; I forced the words from my mouth, “More than words can say.” I told him.

I felt the chill from his lips, even though they were not yet touching the skin on my neck. What was going to happen to me? Was he just some madman bent on ripping out my throat? Or was he my savior, about to deliver me with his eternal kiss? At this point I could not know. But I had to take that chance. Either way, dead or undead, I would be free.

The first waves of pain as his teeth pierced my skin were unbearable. I was frozen in agony, rigid with suffering, unable even to cry out. But as he began to suck, the most exquisite pleasure overwhelmed me. I wished that those moments would go on, would last until beyond the end of time. He held me so close to him, so close, held me like he loved me, held me so tight that he seemed to be inside me, caressing each and every fiber of my being, filling me with his dark wonder.

The act itself was beyond anything I had ever imagined in my wildest and most erotic vampire dreams. I had spent the first twenty-one years of my life alone and unwanted, isolated from the rest of the world, afraid that someone would, one day, expose me and my peculiarity. But now, now I was loved and cherished and I would be adored through all time, loved until the end of the world.

He drew away; I felt every nerve ending cry out for more as he slid his fangs from my throat, the mixture of the pleasure and the pain exited me, aroused me. But it was not the same arousal as sex, it was something above and beyond all realms of the flesh; it was as if he had drank of my soul, supped on my very spirit, my essence, and I desperately wanted to feel it from the other side.

I slumped onto my bed, weakened beyond all fatigue I had ever felt. I was very close to death but those delicious sensations lingered on and made me gasp even in my semiconscious state, bridging the gap between and end of all days and an eternity of night.

I felt something wet on my lips and instinctively flicked my tongue over it; I tasted that familiar strange brew. I opened my eyes; he had bitten into his own wrist and let the blood run down the inside of his palm; drip off his fingertips and into my mouth. I looked into his eyes and pulled his wrist to my lips and drank from his vein. His blood revived me, empowered me. He moaned as I drank and lay beside me, all the time looking deep into my eyes. It was a moment of pure, pristine sensuality.

And I knew, right then I knew. I could see in the depth of his eyes all the ages he had seen and all the miles that he had traveled. I saw the truth. I saw the whole truth. All that he had told me was confirmed by the way the he looked at me and in the depth of his stare.

I fell asleep in his arms; he cradled me like a treasured child, stroking my hair, holding on, savoring the closeness, the intimacy and the blood fueled heat of our bodies pressed close together.

I woke a short time later. It wasn’t quite light yet but the darkness had faded to a watery grey. I stood up and stretched then fell to my knees as hideous pain sliced through my gut. My cries awoke my companion who scooped me up effortlessly and took me to the bathroom, sat me down in front of the toilet.

“Don’t worry, my darling, it’s just the blood. It’s a purgative to most humans. You will be quite ill, I’m afraid, but only for a short time.” I kneeled on the hard white floor, every inch of my body was alive with agonies equal to the previous pleasures I had experienced. I heaved and wretched, my innards cramping and spasming, twisting and turning. All the time he stood by my side telling me it would be all right, that it was just my system rebelling against the vampire virus invading it, trying to change it, make me knew.

After only a few minutes I stood up and wiped my bloody mouth, splashed cold water on my sweat-slickened face. He smiled at me, knowing that my changing was complete. I was new. He told me that the struggle in my body was now at an end; my human nature had died and my vampire nature had been born.

We talked late into the morning. He told me all about his life before he was changed. He was the son of a Scottish mother, Catherine Mary Stewart, a relative on the Scots side of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s family. His father was Jean - Louis, Marquis de Beauviosin. They lived in a grand Chateau in Paris. He was born in the year 1621; he was his father’s only surviving son.

The couple had seven daughters of which three had survived and lost four sons. Naturally, he was the apple of the Marquis de Beauvoisin’s eye. Both his parents were dead of dropsy by the time he was seventeen and so he became the new Marquis de Beauvoisin. He took it upon himself, as the head of the family now, to make sure that all his sisters were married off to suitable husbands and would be cared for.

Once his family duties were done he sank into a terrible depression. There were no pills or potions for that particular malady then and so sought solaces in the dens of iniquity that Paris was famous for. He consorted with whores and gamblers, drank himself into stupors, caused fights, fought duels and killed time after time over the pettiest of quarrels.

But there came a time when even the company of whores and killers could not lift the heaviness in his heart. He cried out for something more, his loneliness so profound that he sought out the company of devils and demons and dabbled in ancient rites of black magic, attempted many conjurations, but all in vain. He cried out to the forces of darkness to come for him and take him to hell where he felt he belonged. The demons of hell did not hear him. But a vampire did, a vampire heard him loud and clear, just as he had heard me.

But the one who made him was not the loving and benevolent mentor that I know. He was evil, the old style of evil, wretched and unredeemable and made Jean-Louis out of spite and out of hatred, and to teach the foolish human he should beware of what he wished for.

He imparted no knowledge to him about his new condition and of course, fell pray to all the old superstitions and nonsense from religious zealots he used to hear preaching in churches and in the pages of old battered books that lay moldering on the shelves of his library.

It took him one hundred and fifty years to realize that he would not turn to dust in the sunlight, that he would not burn and frazzle at the touch of a crucifix or a dousing of holy water or a bulb of garlic. It took him almost two human lifetimes to realize that he would not melt into a bloody slush if somebody drove a stake through his heart. He laughed heartily without a trace of the bitterness he must surely have felt at one time. It always made him wonder where on earth these ridiculous superstitions came from.

We slept until dark and both woke up at the same moment. “Good evening!” he said to me, full of joy and kissed me on the forehead like a mother would kiss her beloved son. “You will remember this night for all eternity - the first time you feed.” A sudden panic gripped me as I realized that I would have to kill a human being. He heard my thought and told me that I did not have to kill, that if I could bare it I could drink from animals or I could drink the menstrual flow of women. I wasn’t sure which one alarmed me more!

But I realized that I did not really fear killing, it was just a ghost of human feeling that was left in me and would eventually leave, but may return now and again just like a remembered dream from long ago.

Jean-Louis liked to use fetish clubs; they were safe and the food was willing. If you only drank a little from several people each individual would suffer no lasting effects, a little fatigue for a few days, perhaps. They would not be brought over to the darkness.

And there was no need for discretion here either; the more elaborate your story, the more willing victims you could procure. They thought that we were role-players like so many others there. There were thousands of them in clubs all around the country and wherever we chose to go we would be safe.

But, now and then, that ancient hunger would demand a kill. It had happened to Jean-Louis the night that he killed the girl for me. It was irresistible; a force that even the will of the vampire could not conquer. It must be appeased, its thirst slaked, like a sacrifice to an archaic God.

As we arrived at The Blood Bank, a club just off Sunset, I felt the thrill of anticipation coursing through me like an arc of electricity, up through the soles of my feet and right up to the top of my head, down my arms, into my fingers, with such a force I looked down and expected to see sparks dripping off my fingertips and collect in vibrant pools on the floor.

The place was wall to wall with Goths; all of them were beautiful to me with their white faces and black clothes and black hair. But they were all looking at us. It was as if they sensed the presence of the real thing. A few of the more brave among them approached us and without saying a word lead us into a back room where they allowed us to feed on them.

I don’t think that my words are adequate enough to describe such a feeling as feeding on a live human. I was surprised that I didn’t have to suck hard; the blood rushes from the vein into your mouth. You can even feel it pulsing if you drink from a large vein or artery; your own heart synchronizes with the heart of your donor. You can feel the life force ebb as you drink deeper and harder, feel the heart slow as you empty it. The nightly feeding is divine but the kill is the sweetest agony; the pleasure is almost unbearable, almost too much, almost. I still feel pangs of guilt before and after my occasional kills, even now after more than a decade as a vampire.

Jean-Louis always tells me that I am still an infant in vampire years. Of course, he is right, even though in mortal years I would be approaching middle age, I am still a very young vampire. He is constantly at my side and I know that he will never leave me and I will never leave him. He loves me and I shall always love him, cherish him for cherishing me and be forever grateful to him for bestowing on me the gift of darkness.

I will be young and beautiful until the end of time, I shall be desired until the world ceases to turn and I shall live, live forever and never die. Thank you, Jean-Louis, my dearest, for my eternity.

But this was just the very beginning of my story, this was only the moments of my birth and I have so much more to tell you, reader, so much more to tell you.