VAMPIRE'S CURVY VALENTINE
ANNABELLE WINTERS
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Copyright © 2020 by Annabelle Winters
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VAMPIRE'S CURVY VALENTINE
ANNABELLE WINTERS
1
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13th
DAISY
It’s Friday the Thirteenth
And what do I see?
Just an empty mailbox
Looking back at me.
“What, not even junk mail?” I say with a sigh, bending over and peering into the red metal mailbox that I think came with the house—or maybe existed even before the house was built. “Is Friday the Thirteenth a government holiday now? Wait, is Valentine’s Day even a holiday?”
I slam the mailbox shut and remind myself that it’s all right, there’s still a day left until V-Day. In fact the guy is supposed to time it so that his true love only gets her Valentine’s Day card and gift on February 14th itself, right?
“So we’ve got another day, Secret Admirer,” I say to the dark trees on the edge of the property. “Take your time. I’ve waited thirty-three years for The One. I can wait another day.”
A breeze moves through the trees, sending a chill through my curves as I hug myself and rub my upper arms and shoulders. But the air around me is quiet like night, still like death, silent like a graveyard, and I frown as I narrow my eyes at those trees.
The trees aren’t on my property. They’re on the neighbor’s land—in fact they’re the only thing on the neighbor’s land, far as I can tell. I bought this house a year ago, partly because it was so far outside the city it was cheap as hell, but also because I liked the fact that the plot next door was undeveloped and kinda overgrown with trees and weeds and shrubs and . . . bats.
Yes, bats.
Freakin’ bats!
“It’s because my nonexistent neighbor is Batman,” I say out loud, shaking my head and forcing a smile even though that shiver is snaking its way down my back like a long, cold finger. “Living in a cave, coming out at night to fight crime and injustice. Oh, and he’s a billionaire playboy with high cheekbones, a six-pack, and a cock the size of the Batmobile.”
I manage to crack myself up—which is good, because it takes my attention away from those dark trees that seem like they don’t need daylight, like they dislike daylight, like they were born in darkness, exist where the sun don’t shine.
“Well, I like sunshine,” I say out loud, not sure why I’m talking out loud. I step back from the red mailbox and spread my arms out wide, raising my face up towards the afternoon sun. Slowly I twirl around like a dervish, an eerie feeling like I’m being watched invading me like a drug, making me tighten my big bum, squeeze my thick thighs together, take a long breath and then sigh again.
But this sigh isn’t born of melancholy and overly-dramatic self-pity, I realize as my eyelids flick wide open at the sudden realization that my nipples are tight and stiff under my bra, my panties are damp from that feeling that’s somewhere between creepy and arousing, somewhere between darkness and decadence, somewhere between dawn and dusk, somewhere the sun don’t shine . . .
“I should really get some sun,” I whisper, shaking my head and forcing a smile as I run my fingers through my open hair. I know I’m alone, that there’s no one around for miles, that I’m in the freakin’ boonies. I just read about Vitamin D and how you need sunlight on your skin to activate it. We spend so much of our lives indoors, and even when we’re outside we’re covered from head to toe. Yeah, I really should let the sun shine on my bare skin.
I take a breath and glance towards those trees once more as a wild thought pops into my head. Wild for me, at least. I guess in France and Brazil they do this all the time.
“All right, sun,” I say as I turn my face up to its hot rays. “Here goes. Don’t burn my boobs.”
And with trembling fingers I unbutton my blouse and slip it off my shoulders, unclasp my bra and let it slide off my breasts. Immediately I cup my bare nipples as the color rushes to my cheeks. I’m totally comfortable with my body, but exposing myself outdoors is way outside my comfort zone.
But it’s a weird sort of discomfort, and I can’t help but glance towards those shadowy trees on the neighbor’s property. I’m still getting that eerie feeling of being watched, but I know it’s my imagination, just paranoia, maybe self-consciousness.
And so I close my eyes and swallow hard, exposing my breasts to the sun and slowly raising my bare arms up above my head. My nipples are still inexplicably stiff, and I swear my panties are wet in the strangest, most random way, my clit stiff and tingly like my body is waking up or something.
I keep my eyes shut tight, smiling as the sun shining through my eyelids makes everything seem red.
Dark red.
Red like blood.
Slowly I take a turn, my chest rising as I feel strangely empowered by being naked out in the open. I spread my arms out wide, stroke my neck, raise my heavy globes so the sun can hit the soft skin beneath. The feeling is sublime, and I almost moan out loud as I complete a full circle and face those dark trees once more.
I stop in that position, arms stretched out wide, smile on my round face.
And then everything goes dark . . .
And an unholy screech fills the air!
I open my eyes so fast it makes my head spin, and then I scream at the sight of the cloud of black that’s erupted from those dark trees!
“It’s the fucking bats!” I yell before turning and running for my freakin’ life, boobs bouncing, hair flowing wild. “Something musta spooked them. It’s just the bats, Daisy. No need to panic, girl!”
But the panic-train has left the station, and a moment later I’m up the front porch of my old house, taking two steps at a time. I almost yank the screen door off the hinges, and it’s only when I’m inside my home and slumped against the couch, huddled like a child, that I remember I’m topless.
“Ohmygod, what just happened?” I mutter as I shake my head and try to slow my heartrate so my chest doesn’t explode all over the carpet. I look down at my boobs, which are stinging from the sun, raw from its rays. Then I shake my head again and force a smile. “Um, no. Just . . . no. There’s no way, right? It’s just a coincidence that something woke up those bats just when I happened to be prancing about like a free-lovin’ hippie-chick from 1960’s San Francisco, right? I mean, it couldn’t have been me that woke those bats up, right? Right?”
Finally I get myself to laugh a little as common sense prevails and I convince myself it’s just a freaky coincidence.
“A spooky coincidence on Friday the Thirteenth? And I’m a half-naked girl alone in a big old house in the woods, surrounded by bat-infested trees? Don’t they make horror movies with this plot? Wasn’t I the smart one in school? What happened, Daisy? What happened?!”
But as I get myself off the carpet and cover up, there’s another question that echoes in my pounding head. I don’t know why I’m asking that question—it’s not a question that makes any sense, after all.
I get to the kitchen and brew myself some chamomile to calm down, but that question still l
ingers, still echoes, still whispers . . .
If I did awaken a thousand bats . . .
What else did I awaken?
2
DRACHUS
Awakened.
My head screams as I suck in the stale air of my sealed chambers built deep beneath the protective roots of those ancient trees that need neither sunlight nor oxygen. I need neither of those things either—not while I am dormant, resting as the centuries pass like wind through the branches of time.
“But I am no longer dormant,” I rasp into the dead air of my subterranean bedroom. “I have been awakened. Why? For what? By whom?!”
I jerk my head back as the vision comes crashing into my head, and then I roar out loud and effortlessly push away the nine-hundred pound slab of ancient stone that covers this crypt where I lay. I roar again, my voice echoing off the cold stone walls as I shake out my long, thick hair, claw at my winding beard, stretch my muscular, sinewy neck, spread my massive arms out wide.
“I see her,” I whisper as I focus on the vision. I may have been resting underground, under nine-hundred pounds of stone, but my powers never sleep, my vigilance never subsides, my minions and helpers are always awake, always on watch, always communicating. “I see her!”
The vision came to me through the sightless eyes of my bats—the guardians who live in those trees of darkness, who survey the surroundings, watch over my crypt as I await for my time to rise once more, walk the earth like I did in centuries past, fulfill my destiny as the last Vampyre.
The last Vampyre of ages past.
And the first Vampyre of ages future.
“It is her,” I say, my voice stronger even though I have not fed in three hundred years. I can see her clearly, and I blink in shocked delight when I feel my cold heart start to pump, filling my veins with what little blood my body preserved.
Blood that fills not just my veins, but also my . . .
I stare down at my naked body, grinning wide as I see myself filled out like a pillar, stiff and hard, my balls heavy and full like they’ve held on to my precious seed over the eons, preserved its power, distilled its purity, maintained its magic.
All in preparation for her.
One swift kick shatters the ten-inch thick walls of my stone coffin, and I spring out as my muscles come to life with perfect synchronicity. I crouch as I land, grinning as my dark green eyes shine through the darkness like twin moons. I stand and stretch, running my long, gnarled fingers through my hair—which is down past my waist but still dark as night, smooth as silk.
I groan as I revel in the vision again, and my cock throbs as I see her in vivid color, bare-breasted like a goddess, arms raised like a sacrifice, head turned to the sun in defiance, eyes closed in submission . . .
Submission to her destiny.
Submission to me!
And then I’m bounding through the empty chambers of my tomb, my long feet barely touching the uneven stone floor built by humans whose skeletons line the walls of this crypt. I tear through the maze of tunnels built specifically to confuse any Vampyre-hunter who managed to track me to my lair. My hair flows behind me like a battle-flag in the wind, my hard, lean body rippling with anticipation of what’s to come.
I barely have time to glance down at my bouncing cock before I am at a dead-end in the tunnel, but without breaking my stride I take two steps and leap up towards the tunnel roof.
My long claws dig through dirt and debris, and I’m snarling like a beast by the time I burst through the forest floor and up into the beautiful darkness of night. I stand beneath the stars, naked and perfect, my fangs dripping with need, my cock oozing with seed. I know instinctively that my destiny—the destiny of the Vampyre race—awaits me just beyond the forest. I yearn to take her right now, to make her mine without delay, to fulfill the prophecy for which I have been awakened.
“But there are rituals to follow,” I growl as I clench my fists and lick my fangs. “The coupling has to occur in the right way. At the right time.”
I whip my head upwards like a bird of prey, staring at the moon as my sharp mind calculates the moon-phase and notes the alignment of Orion, Sirius, and the dark star that has no name and can only be seen by a Vampyre Elder.
“Tomorrow when the sun sets,” I mutter as my eyes glaze over. “When the sun dips below the horizon, she and I will become one.”
The date for our dark wedding set, I turn my attention to the immediate needs of my body.
“No, not thy needs,” I say sternly to my throbbing cock. Then I exhale and frown as I examine my body. My heart is stronger than ever, but my muscles are starved. Vampyres might be immortal, but that is not the same as being invincible—the younger Vampyres discovered that the hard way, with thousands of us cut down in our prime by a small group of European Vampyre-hunters who learned of our vulnerabilities.
Rage makes my ancient heart pound like a drum, and I let out a thick snarl as I scan my memory-record and wince at the images of my brothers and sisters being slaughtered like livestock.
“Humans are the livestock,” I whisper as I fight back emotions that rock my dark soul. “What happened? And why could I not stop it?”
I lean my head back and sniff the air, searching for the scent of blood. Immediately I pick up the scent of her blood, and I groan out loud as I remind myself I have to wait until the morrow for that.
The Great Slaughter was the last time my bats awakened me. But they awakened me too late, and even with my power I could not stop it. Vampyres had been exposed, and we were on the run, being hunted down and put down. I was beside myself with grief and anger, but I understand the universe well enough to know that there are ebbs and flows, rises and falls, times of triumph and glory and other times when even the most powerful must retreat and wait for their turn, wait for their moment, wait for their destiny.
“But there is no reason I cannot have just a taste of revenge,” I whisper as I take in the scents that come to me on the night air, scan the visions transmitted to me by my network of bats that span the globe. I can track down a field-mouse on the other end of the earth with my powers, but Vampyres do not eat mice.
We do not drain cattle.
We do not chase deer.
We feed on our natural prey.
That is the way of life.
And that is the way of death.
“Denying our nature is what weakened us, primed us for the Great Slaughter,” I whisper out loud as my subconscious mind spins through the vast amount of information available to my ancient brain. “The moment the Vampyres tried to see humans as equals instead of food, we became prey for those we had hunted. Feeding on cattle and carrion made us weak, made us careless, made us crazy. Going against our nature made the younger Vampyres lose control. When the blood-lust rose to a fever, they could no longer satisfy it with cows and pigs. When the need for human blood took over, they became too desperate and undisciplined to follow the ancient rule that existed when I was awake and in charge.
The simple rule that allowed us to exist in the shadows of human society:
Only kill the worst of the humans.
Do it quietly, from the shadows, under the veil of darkness. A missing murderer or a ripped-up rapist will draw cheers from the towns and villages—or at the very least no serious attention. But the moment the Vampyres started to take innocent people in their own homes, early in the evenings, sometimes feeding on the streets out of desperation, it was the beginning of the end for us. Perhaps the Great Slaughter was a cleansing that needed to happen. Burn it all down and start fresh from the ashes.
And we will start fresh from the ashes of the dead, I think as I glance up at the dark star once more and then zero in on a blood-trail that will serve my purposes for tonight.
For tonight I need to feed.
And I also need a wedding gift for my bride-to-be.
3
> VALENTINE’S DAY
HIGH NOON
DAISY
“Is it a gift?” I say, my eyes going wide as I peer out the window and notice that my mailbox gate is hanging ajar like the mailman was just here. Not that I heard the mailman—or the sound of his truck. Also, today’s Saturday, and they don’t deliver the mail on Saturdays this far out in the boonies. I’m lucky to get my junk-mail three days a week, in fact.
But after yesterday’s freaky coincidence with the bats (and my boobs . . .), I need a pick-me-up, something to make me smile, some kinda sign from the universe that things are OK, an acknowledgment that I exist, that I’m real, that I’m someone.
And maybe also someone’s?
“It can’t really be a Valentine’s Day gift, can it?” I say, placing my hand on the glass and scrunching my nose up against it like a puppy in a pet-store window. “I mean, all that talk yesterday was just because it’s kinda fun to wallow in melancholy and self-pity once in a while. After all, who the hell would actually send me a Valentine’s Day gift all the way out here? Who from my past even knows I moved all the way out here?!”
I am not your past.
I am your future.
And you are my future.
Mine.
All mine.
I yelp and jump back from the window even though I swear the voice came from inside my own head!
But it wasn’t a voice. Not really. I mean, there was no sound. It’s like the words just appeared, like they were put there telepathically or something!
“OK, that did not just happen,” I say out loud, raising both hands and holding my palms facing out in the universal hand-gesture loosely translated as OMG-Stop.
I cock my head and listen, not sure if I want to hear that fucked-up whisper from inside my mind or not. If I do hear it again, does that confirm I’m crazy? But if I don’t hear it again, does it prove I was crazy a second ago but am totally normal now?!
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