Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales of the Vampire

by Michael Thomas Ford

  The scent of lilacs and roses swam up his nostrils, and he looked over to his left, seeing heavy tapestries moving in the soft, warm breeze. Daylight streamed in through the open doors leading out to a balcony. He could hear the sound of people talking, the sound of shovels and scythes as the fields were being worked. He heard a horse whinny, a dog barking. He was lying naked on a bed, a bed covered in smooth silk and satin and velvet. A mirror on the far wall reflected back light from candles on the opposite wall; there were candles everywhere, lighting the darkened corners of the room, where the gentle sunlight didn’t seem to reach. The long white tapers flickered on the mantel, and just above the mantel hung a huge oil painting, framed in gilt wood. The painting was of a man with long, curling blond hair cascading down onto his shoulders. His clothes were from another time, another place: a miltary-looking uniform—he’d seen something like that before, once before, in a textbook in a history class, and the face belonged to—

  “Gunther,” he breathed.

  What the hell…?

  He struggled to sit up, but Gunther pushed him back down against the mattress. Gunther was smiling, his oh-so-blue eyes—he looked into them again and felt himself lost in their blueness, as though he were being sucked into them, surrounded by blue and by magic and desire.

  What the hell?

  “You need ME to find them?” Rachel laughed. “Yeah, right. You’re crazy.”

  “I trained him, you see.” Nigel looked at her, reaching out a hand to brush a lock of damp hair from her forehead. “I taught Gunther how to use his mind, to develop the dormant powers everyone has locked inside their brain.”

  “By making him not human.” She shook her head. What is wrong with me, she wondered, sitting out here in the cold with a crazy old man? Get up and go inside, girl, and forget this ever happened; forget the old man with his crazy stories about nightwatchers and vampires, about Philip being in danger. She should go inside to the warmth and back to her poetry; surely that would be a more productive way to spend the evening than sitting on her steps in the damp and the cold, listening to a crazy old man spinning ridiculous stories.

  “Human’ is a relative term,” Nigel went on. “I was a human like you once, many years ago. Now I am a different kind of human, an immortal, one with powers unimaginable to most. But one needn’t be an immortal to unlock the power within the mind; it merely helps because it affords the luxury of time. Time, as measured by those who die, means nothing to those like me. I trained Gunther for decades, trying to make him understand the meaning of power, the great responsibility that comes with it. But alas, for me and for many others, Gunther was unable to leave his humanity behind.”

  “His humanity.” Rachel shook her head. “Look, Nigel, you seem like a nice enough old guy, you know? But I’ve really wasted enough of my night sitting out here with you, you know?” She started to rise again, and this time he didn’t stop her.

  She took a step up, turning her back to him. As she reached for the doorknob—

  Music exploded in her head, intense, more intense than she had ever heard. It was as though a stereo had kicked on inside her mind, and the notes, the mix of the different instruments, each sound digitally remas-tered to perfection; and she recognized the lyrics; it was the poem she’d been working on, being sung by a woman who understood where the poem had come from; the poem turned into a song, as it would sound recorded and mixed with the best production values money could buy; and the sheer beauty of it took her breath away.

  And then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

  Her heart was thumping.

  What the fuck?

  She tried to catch her breath as her mind tried to recapture the ghost of the sounds, seeking them through the recesses and dark corners of her mind. It had sounded so beautiful, her poetry and the notes mixing together as though it had always been meant to be a song, meant to be sung and felt and experienced.

  “It’s a beautiful song,” Nigel said pleasantly, his voice echoing distantly.

  “How—how—” She stared at him. This didn’t make any sense—none—and her brain was rebelling against it; he couldn’t be telling her the truth; he couldn’t be.

  He tapped his right temple. “The brain, Rachel, the brain. Its potential is limitless.”

  Trembling, she sat back down, her hand on the railing for balance.

  “To be able to use the true power of your mind you have to cut off what makes you human.” He went on. “Rage, anger, jealousy, the darker emotions—those are what tether you to your primitive nature. It is those you have to divorce yourself from, train yourself not to feel, in order for your mind to be free. You don’t have to be an immortal to be able to use your power—although it helps…. Immortality gives you the freedom to understand how little these things matter. But it also exacts a price—one that Gunther was unwilling to pay.”

  “What…?” She struggled to form words. Her skin was tingling.

  “We don’t have much time.” Nigel took her hand. “Gunther has blocked me—I cannot see into his mind. But he won’t be guarded against you, Rachel.”

  “But—” She stared at him. “Why me?”

  “Because you are connected to Philip. You can find Philip.” Nigel sighed. “It is through you that I was able to find him. I know Gunther is here in New Orleans—that much I can sense. I sensed his exultation at finding Philip—the same exultation he felt when he first found him so long ago. I cast my mind out over the city, and it was through you that I found Philip…which is why I came to your little coffee shop.”

  “I can’t—” She shook her head. “I—”

  “But you can.” He took a deep breath. “There is a way.”

  Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to like this.

  “I have to drink from you.” He gave her a sad look. “And while I drink, you draw on my power with your mind.”

  “No!”

  “You have to trust me, Rachel. It’s the only way to save Philip.”

  She stared at him, her mind racing, random thoughts coming and going.

  This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy; the words went through her mind over and over again as another cab drove by, but the sound of its engine didn’t break the spell or whatever it was she was feeling; none of this made sense, but somehow, in spite of herself, she found herself believing the old man; it all made a weird kind of sense somehow, something she couldn’t define; it was almost too much for her mind to process, and yet she could sense the truth in his words.

  If Philip is in danger…

  Vampires? Nightwatchers?

  No, none of this was real. It had to be a dream.

  She closed her eyes and made her decision.

  Trembling, she held out her wrist to him.

  Chapter Five

  Something wasn’t quite right.

  Philip struggled to get up to his elbows.

  What—what the hell is going on here? He shook his head. Everything looked wrong—blurry, out of focus, like he’d been drinking too much. His head was aching—a dull pounding that felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into his left temple. The pleasure was gone, as if it had never been there. I need to get out of here; I’m in danger; something’s wrong; something’s very wrong here…

  Gunther dropped down to his knees and grabbed Philip’s legs firmly, lifting them up and apart. Philip slipped off his elbows, lying flat on his back. His erection was fading away.

  “No,” Philip whispered, “no.”

  Gunther either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He was smiling as the head of his cock found the passage to Philip, probing, pushing, forcing.

  Philip forced himself to go rigid, to tighten, to close himself off to the intrusion.

  Gunther smiled at him as he stopped. “So you want to play it that way, mein Liebchen? You want it to be rape?”

  “No, I want this to stop.” Philip shook his head. “Something’s not right, something…” his voice trailed away as he looked up into Gunther�
�s eyes, and he was drowning in the blue pools of light. “I…”

  His voice broke off into a scream as Gunther forced his cock inside. Philip resisted, squeezing, trying to keep him out.

  Gunther smiled. “Rape it is then, mein Liebe.” He reached down and slapped Philip hard across the face.

  His ears rang, eyes filling with involuntary tears. “Please…”

  “You cannot stop me,” Gunther whispered, then forced himself deeper inside.

  Philip’s mouth opened and closed. It felt like he was being ripped apart, torn in two.

  The pain, oh, God, the pain…

  He felt himself losing consciousness; everything was swimming out of focus; all he was aware of was the pain—dear God, the pain, it hurt so fucking bad; it had never hurt like this before, not even the first time, with his high school English teacher, when all they’d had for lube was spit; this pain was unbearable; everything was out of focus and red, spinning out of control; everything was out of control…

  And through the red haze of pain, he could hear Gunther laughing.

  Nigel bit into her wrist.

  She gasped.

  The pain was excruciating at first, exploding into her consciousness like a firecracker. It was piercing, like the time she’d had her nose pierced, and her entire body shuddered at this invasion. For a brief moment she flashed back to when she was fourteen and she was with her then boyfriend—what was his name? You aren’t supposed to forget the name of the one who takes your virginity—what was his name? She was naked and flat on her back, her legs spread, and he was entering her, and it hurt—oh, God, Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, it hurts…

  And then the pain faded away and it began to feel better, her entire body relaxing, going with it, and ripples began going out, washing out over her body, ripples of tingling excitement; oh, my God, this is better than ecstasy…

  Her wrist burned as though on fire.

  She could feel the power surging through her.

  Focus, Rachel; you have to focus, Nigel’s voice echoed in her brain.

  She let go of the pleasure.

  Open your mind, Rachel; open your mind and reach out for Philip.

  She wasn’t at first sure what he meant, but then she began to relax, and she felt it—she felt her brain awakening, like it had never truly been awake before.

  She felt like she was falling.

  Falling.

  Images crowded her mind, flashing past her consciousness like a crazed kaleidoscope, one scene blurring into another so quickly that all she could see were vague shapes and forms. Once she saw a woman, naked from the waist up, snakes wrapped around her forearms, standing before an altar with her arms outstretched to the sky. On the altar was a sheep with its throat slit, and the woman was chanting, and she could smell incense burning, and then the image was gone. It was replaced by the sight of naked images in a field under a clear, starry sky, a clearing in the forest, with torches burning. The naked forms were dancing together, lewdly, women grabbing their breasts, men cupping their genitals with their hands; and then just as quickly this was gone, and she glimpsed a naked man chained to a wall, a whip flicking out and raising bloody welts on his back. And then a woman, chained to a stake, piles of wood at her feet; and then the wood was set ablaze by a torch, the flames spreading, and the woman opened her mouth and screamed, a scream so primal and deep, it echoed in Rachel’s soul…

  Focus, Rachel; reach out to Philip’s soul.

  And she forced the images from her head, conjuring up Philip’s face, his brown hair, his wide brown eyes, the smile with the even white teeth.

  And then she saw—

  A darkened room filled with shadows. Long white candles, burning in sconces on the walls, flickering. The scent of rose and lilac, mixed together into an almost sickening perfume. A bed covered in satin and velvet, surrounded by sheer white curtains that moved in the breeze. A man on his knees, golden curls tumbling down his naked back, his pelvis thrusting, two legs covered in curly, black hair wrapped around him, and she could see the young man on his back, sweat rolling down his face, his eyes closed in pleasure, raising up to greet the thrusts of the blond man as their bodies joined…

  Philip.

  Follow the trail, Rachel. You should be able to find them.

  She looked at one of the candles, which seemed brighter than the others, burning stronger yet without giving off any smoke.

  She focused on the flame, staring at it until it was the only thing she was aware of; there was no time or space or anything for her but the flicker of the yellow flame as it burned, melting wax flowing down the side, slight black smoke rising from it.

  The room faded away from her consciousness, the colors blurring and running, the sunlight in the background melting, darkening, becoming night, eternal night, and then other shapes began to struggle to take form. It was a different room, she could tell; the breezes she was feeling against her skin were no longer warm and soft but rather cold and damp. The scent of lilac and rose was gone; she could only smell grease in the air, grease and fresh horseshit. The room began to take shape. Again there were burning white candles casting their sparse light. There was a gold-framed mirror on the wall. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, again with the satin and silk and velvet, and there were human forms on the bed. She turned her attention away from the candles and looked at them in the gloom, in the dim candlelight, and she heard a horse clip-clopping past outside.

  She saw a man from behind, his buttocks clenching and unclenching as he moved his pelvis forward and back. His skin was like white marble, almost aglow in the light of the candles. She turned her attention to the other figure.

  It was Philip, lying on his back, his legs spread, his eyes wide open as though in terror. His face was white, and he looked like he was gasping and trying to scream.

  The man was between his legs, laughing, cooing to him like a baby in a guttural language she didn’t recognize, and then he pulled Philip’s legs up higher into the air and plunged deeper inside him.

  Philip screamed.

  Rachel winced as the sound exploded in her head, piercing her soul.

  Go inside him, Rachel, she could hear Nigel urging her. Go inside him; find out where they are, before it’s too late.

  Inside him? What the hell do you mean by that?

  Through his eyes, Rachel.

  She willed herself to move in closer to them. Hesitantly she took a step, not sure if she was really there or not, afraid she might make a floorboard creak or make some other kind of noise. There was nothing, no sound, except for the fading of Philip’s scream.

  She took another step closer, but she still couldn’t see Philip’s eyes.

  Another step.

  The blond man stopped moving, cocking his head first to one side, then the other.

  He senses me; oh, dear God in Heaven, he knows I’m here.

  And she felt terror, beginning deep inside her mind, spreading to every part of her body, and she wanted to scream—

  But even as she opened her mouth, Philip’s head turned, and their eyes locked.

  And then she was looking up out of Philip’s eyes, up at the strong chest, the round, erect pink nipples, the trail of blond hairs leading from the navel to the thicker patch below, the blue eyes, the blond hair of the stranger, and she felt his enormousness inside her, ripping and tearing at her tissues, invading her, raping her; but it somehow felt so good, and she was beginning to lose herself into the rhythm, the rhythm of his entering and exiting, deepening with each thrust, each thrust going farther inside her; and she turned her head and looked out the window…

  And she knew exactly where she was….

  Then it was all gone.

  She was back, sitting on the steps in front of her building.

  Her wrist itched.

  She looked down at it, watching the two tiny holes slowly close until they were just pinpricks, and then even that was gone. Her skin was smooth, undamaged, like nothing had ever happened. />
  She looked at Nigel. She felt like throwing up.

  “Excellent work, my dear.” Nigel wiped at his mouth, keeping it hidden from her. He turned his head away from her and slowly stood up, holding on to the railing for help. “There’s still time to save your young friend.”

  She grabbed him by the arm. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No.” He wouldn’t look at her, keeping his face in the shadows. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You need me, old man.” She didn’t even question it. Only a few minutes earlier she’d thought him crazy—now she believed. She didn’t know what was different, what he had done to her, but the abilities she’d used, abilities she’d never known she’d been capable of—she wasn’t about to let go now. “I know exactly where they are.”

  “It’s dangerous.” He moved out of the shadows, and she saw his teeth. The canines were longer, sharper than she remembered.

  “All the more reason,” she said, “for me to come with you. I can help you; I know I can.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then sighed. “I can see you’re determined.”

  “Either I come with you or I follow you.”

  He held out his hand to her. “Then, come.”

  It hurt, oh, God, how it hurt.

  “You are mine for all eternity,” Gunther whispered as he continued to pound away at him. “All eternity.”

  Eternity.

  The word echoed in his mind.

  Lilacs. Roses.

  He felt himself slipping away again.

  You are mine for all eternity, Gunther was saying. They were lying, bathed in sweat, on top of the covers. Philip was resting his head on Gunther’s strong chest, listening to his heartbeat through the skin and layers of muscle. The village priest had told him his feelings for the lord were sinful, but how could a sin feel so good? Surely God would not have made such pleasure possible only for it to be a sin. And the lord loved him; he knew it. Was he not wet from his kisses? Was he not covered in sweat from their love? It couldn’t be wrong; it couldn’t be sin; such happiness was surely his destiny. He was sated, with his lord’s seed inside him, and relaxed, wanting to feel Gunther inside him again.