My only decision was whether I wanted to get involved with another Vampyre Council. The last time I’d done that, it hadn’t gone so well.
Eighteen
After seeing my last patient and telling my staff good evening, I closed and locked the front door to my clinic. I turned off the lights and went into the back room where we kept our blood samples taken during the day until they could be sent to a lab for analysis.
Opening the refrigerator, I took out a rack of test tubes containing a variety of blood samples and set them on a table. From my coat pocket, I took out a list of patients’ names that I’d previously tested and found to be free of both the CJD prion that causes spongiform encephalopathy, or Mad Cow Disease, and of the virus causing AIDS.
I took the vials from the patients on the list and arrayed them before me and sat at the table. Looking at the blood-filled vials made my stomach growl and the Hunger within me begin to grow.
My hands trembled and I could feel my face and hands begin to change into my Vampyre form as I uncapped the first vial and raised it to my lips. It’d been almost a week since I’d fed and my mouth was watering already at the coppery scent of the blood.
As the blood poured onto my tongue, it had a bitter taste due to the chemicals in the vial, which prevented it from coagulating, unlike the sweet, spicy taste of blood fresh from a victim’s neck.
I shuddered at the taste and forced myself to swallow the life-giving fluid. Soon I’d emptied all of the vials known to be safe from disease and the Hunger subsided enough to let me think clearly.
I fought the urge to sweep the vials off the table and head out onto the streets and rend and tear the first person I met and take a blood feast sweetened by the heady aroma of adrenaline and fear.
My mind, when the Hunger was not in control, knew rationally that if I was to live in New Orleans and continue my research into finding a cure for Vampyrism, I would have to feed like this for the foreseeable future. It was not something I looked forward to.
I leaned back in my chair and let my mind remember kills of the past, when I’d fed on fresh blood whenever I felt the Hunger. My loins grew heavy with remembered lust and I could feel the Hunger stir within me once again.
I shook my head and sat up, forcing the images of my victims from my mind. I got up and went into my office and booted up my computer, loading my research program.
The Hunger subsided as I pored over my notes and some of the papers on plasmid research I’d downloaded off the Internet. I knew there must be an answer here, if I could only find it.
* * *
Michael Morpheus pulled his Lincoln Navigator to the corner and waited while Jean Horla, Sarah Kenyon, and Christina Alario climbed in. Jean got in the front seat and the women in the rear.
As he pulled back out into traffic, Jean looked at him. “Just why did you ask us to meet you, Michael? Does it concern Council business?”
“In a way,” Michael answered, an enigmatic smile creasing the corners of his lips.
“Are we going to meet the other members of the Council?” Sarah asked.
“No, this meeting is just between us and must remain a secret,” Michael said. “Now sit back and relax. All of your questions will be answered shortly.”
He turned the next corner and got up on the freeway headed out of New Orleans toward Baton Rouge. After driving for about twenty minutes, he took an exit toward a town named Liberty.
Just before he entered the city limits of the small community, he turned down a dirt road and drove for another five miles. Finally, he pulled to a stop in front of an old wooden house set back in a grove of oak trees.
As they got out of the car, Jean looked at the place skeptically. With hands on hips, he demanded, “Why in hell did you bring us all the way out here?”
Michael smiled and gestured toward the front door. “Come inside and I’ll show you.”
He unlocked the door and stood aside as they entered. Inside, the house was furnished comfortably but not extravagantly.
Michael led them through the living room and kitchen and out the back door onto a porch overlooking a dock that stretched out into a small bayou.
Christina laughed low in her throat. “Have you taken up fishing, Michael?” she asked, leaning on the porch rail and staring down into the water ten feet below.
“Not exactly,” Michael replied. “I want to show you something.”
He stepped into the house and returned a few moments later with several dead chickens in his hands.
“What the hell?” Jean said. “You’re not going to perform some weird voodoo ritual, are you?”
Michael shook his head and then pursed his lips, letting out a loud whistle. Suddenly, from the banks of the bayou, several dark forms materialized and moved slowly into the water, causing ripples and small waves to form.
Michael held the chickens up for a moment before pitching them out into the bayou.
The dark water seemed to come alive as three large alligators rose to the surface and began to tear the chickens apart, writhing and churning the water with their tails.
His guests gasped and stepped back from the porch rail at the sight of the ferocity with which the gators tore into the meat.
Sarah looked at Michael. “Does all this have a purpose?” she asked.
“Come inside and let’s talk,” Michael said.
He showed them into the living room and poured them all glasses of wine as they sat on his couch while he remained standing.
“First, a toast,” he said, holding his glass up. “To the Vampyres, long may we reign.”
The others glanced uneasily at one another before finally drinking the wine.
After the toast, Michael took a seat in an easy chair across the room from the others. “During the last several meetings of the Council, I’ve probed each of your minds enough to know that you all are unhappy about the restrictions on our feedings imposed by Carmilla de la Fontaine.”
Jean glanced at the women sitting next to him and frowned. “That may be, Michael, but we are also realistic enough to know that nonlethal feeding is the only way to keep the authorities from finding out about our existence.”
Michael held up his hand. “What if there was some way to feed as we used to and still remain safe?”
Christina shook her head. “That’s impossible, Michael. With the advances in forensics and the way the police departments are all linked together by computers, it would be impossible to hide our killings from the authorities for long.”
“Let me suggest a way,” Michael said, noting the effect his words had on his guests. “I rented this place from a Realtor in Baton Rouge, making all the arrangements over the phone under an assumed name and paying the rent for a year in advance. For the past month, I’ve trained the alligators in the bayou to come to my call, ready to eat.”
“So what?” Jean asked. “What do they have to do with our method of feeding?”
“Let me finish. There are two main problems with feeding as we were intended to. First, there is the problem of the bodies. As Christina says, there is no way to hide the fact that we leave behind bodies drained of their blood. Even if we fake an accident to account for their deaths, the lack of blood in the bodies would leave a trail the police would soon follow. Secondly, the procuring of victims is problematic. Most people will be missed by someone, sooner or later, leaving yet another trail for the police to follow.”
Sarah nodded impatiently. “Yeah, that’s the reason Carmilla has decreed we engage in only nonlethal feedings.”
“What if I tell you I’ve solved both problems?” Michael asked.
Jean leaned forward in his seat, becoming more interested. “Go on.”
“There is an entire class of people who live off the radar screen of the authorities,” Michael said. “Poor people who live in rural areas, criminals and deviants who rarely if ever go to the police for help, and transients who have no family or friends to be concerned if they turn up missing.”
/> Jean smiled. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”
Michael inclined his head at a hallway leading off the living room. “I have four bedrooms in the rear of the house. In each of them, I’ve placed such a person. People whose absence will never be reported to the police, or if reported, are of such insignificance the police will expend little energy searching for them.”
“What kind of people?” Sarah asked, turning her face toward the hallway and sniffing as if she could smell their blood through the walls.
“Two of the women are prostitutes, the man is a Vietnam veteran who lived on the streets, and the third is a young girl just off a bus from a small town in Alabama, a runaway.”
He raised his glass in another toast. “I shall let you take your pick of the delicacies I’ve procured.”
Sarah, whose sexual predilections were well known, stood up, her eyes glittering. “I’ll take the runaway female,” she said, scarlet drool already dripping from her lips.
Christina stood up and fluffed her hair. “I’d like to try the man.” She smiled grimly. “I’ve always loved soldiers.”
Michael grinned at Jean. “That leaves the other two women for us, Jean.”
Jean smiled without speaking, a bulge evident in his pants from the Hunger/lust that was building. “I can hardly wait,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s been so long since I’ve fed properly.”
Michael stood up and took some keys from his pocket. Each had a tag with a number attached. “The rooms are numbered,” he said, handing each of them a key. “And don’t worry if your . . . guests become noisy. There are no other houses nearby for anyone to hear their screams.”
Nineteen
Sarah took the key with a numeral 1 on it and walked down the hall to the first door. A piece of paper was taped to the door with a 1 printed on it. She put the key in the lock and opened the door and stepped inside.
A girl about sixteen years old was lying on the bed. She looked up and it was evident she’d been crying. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were bloodshot.
When she saw it was a woman who entered, the look of fear and dejection on her face was replaced with an expression of hope. She jumped off the bed and ran toward Sarah. “Oh, please, miss. You’ve got to help me,” she cried, grabbing Sarah’s shoulders. “A man kidnapped me and has been holding me prisoner here for days.”
Sarah smiled sweetly and pulled the girl to her, holding her in her arms and murmuring soothingly. “Don’t worry, dear,” Sarah said in a low voice. “Everything is going to be all right soon.”
The girl leaned back and wiped tears from her eyes. “My name’s Jill,” she said. “Can you keep that awful man from hurting me?”
Sarah smiled. “Of course, Jill. Take my word for it, you have absolutely nothing to fear from the man who brought you here.”
“Oh, thank God,” Jill said as she turned to pick up her purse from the bed.
Sarah stepped in close behind her and reached around her, cupping Jill’s breasts with her hands as she nuzzled her neck with her lips.
“What—what are you doing?” Jill asked, stiffening and trying to pull away.
“I’m going to love you, Jill, dear,” Sarah murmured against the young girl’s skin.
“But I’ve never done that before. . . .”
Sarah put her hands on Jill’s shoulders and turned her around. “Trust me, Jill. You’re going to love what I’m going to do to you.”
Jill’s eyes widened and she shrank back as Sarah moved in close and pulled the girl to her once more, fastening her lips on Jill’s in a deep kiss.
After a moment, Jill relaxed and moaned when Sarah’s hands gently undid her blouse and slipped under her bra to squeeze her nipples while they kissed.
Slowly, never taking her lips from Jill’s, Sarah moved her back toward the bed as she continued to caress Jill’s breasts.
When she felt the edge of the mattress press against the back of her knees, Jill lay back on the bed, pulling Sarah with her.
Sarah pushed her tongue between Jill’s lips and moved her right hand down between Jill’s thighs. Jill moaned again and spread her legs, pushing her sex against Sarah’s hand as it slipped inside her shorts.
“Oh, that feels so good,” Jill cried out, putting her arms around Sarah and pulling her down tighter against her.
Sarah reached up and ripped Jill’s blouse and bra off, then pulled her shorts and underwear off and threw them on the floor.
Jill, writhing in pleasure at the feeling Sarah’s fingers were causing, shut her eyes and arched her back when Sarah circled her nipple with her lips and began sucking on it.
She cried out in surprise and pain when Sarah’s teeth bit down on the nipple, causing blood to spurt onto Sarah’s tongue.
Sarah, excited beyond all control by the taste of Jill’s blood in her mouth, rolled on top of her and buried her face in her neck.
Jill hunched up against Sarah’s pelvis, grinding and moaning as Sarah put her lips to her neck.
A sharp pain in her neck made Jill cry out again and she turned to look at Sarah. Her eyes widened and she began to scream in earnest when she saw Sarah’s face melt and change, with her teeth elongating, dripping with red drool.
Sarah growled once, then fastened her teeth into Jill’s flesh while she pumped her groin against the girl’s. Jill stopped screaming and began to whimper as her mind retreated into insanity at the sight of the monster feeding on her. She lay there limp and unresponsive, her eyes blank and sightless.
Within minutes, Sarah climaxed with a scream and tore out her victim’s neck with one mighty bite, exulting in the taste of Jill’s blood as it pumped all over her face.
Christina entered room 2 and locked the door behind her. She saw a man with several days’ growth of beard sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He had bushy, unkempt hair and a sallow complexion indicating years of alcohol and drug abuse.
He turned reddened, bloodshot eyes on Christina and grinned, revealing yellow teeth. “Hey, lady,” he said in a hoarse, gravelly voice. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here?”
Christina’s nose wrinkled at the sour, fetid smell of the man. “I’m here to set you free,” she said, walking toward him.
His eyes brightened and he struggled to his feet. “ ’Bout time,” he said sullenly.
Christina moved toward him, licking her lips at the sight of his carotid artery pulsing in his neck. She stepped up to him and put her hands on either side of his head. Slowly, never taking her eyes off his, she opened her lips and planted a kiss on his.
For a moment, surprise showed in his eyes, but then he responded as all men do. He put his arms around her and pulled her breasts against his chest and thrust his hardening penis against her.
“Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” Christina teased.
The man leaned back and looked at her. “Lady, next to a drink, you’re ’bout the best thing that’s happened to me in—I can’t remember when,” he said.
Christina stepped back, undid her dress, and let it fall to the floor. She was naked underneath.
“Jesus,” the man said, his voice husky with desire.
Christina turned her back to him, sauntered over to the bed, and lay down on her back, her legs spread for him.
It took him less than a minute to shed his clothes and join her on the bed. He fastened his lips on her right nipple and got between her legs, pushing his penis against her.
Christina grinned. “Wow, that’s some foreplay, mister,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” she said, shifting slightly so his penis entered her as she pulled his head down and placed her lips against his neck.
“God almighty,” he cried as he began to pump as fast as he could against her.
Suddenly he felt her bite his neck; he jerked his head back. “Hey, no biting,” he complained.
Christina shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.�
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“Understand what?” he asked, starting to grind against her again.
“Biting is what this is all about,” Christina said, and she jerked his head down and fastened her lips to his neck, piercing the skin and entering his carotid artery in one convulsive bite.
He had time to scream once before Christina jerked her head from side to side, ripping out his artery as her claws dug into his hips and buried him deeper inside her.
His erection outlasted his life long enough for Christina to groan in sexual release as she gulped and swallowed his blood.
Jean Horla put his key in the lock of room 3, opened it, and entered, closing it behind him.
A black woman, dressed in the traditional garb of the street prostitute—a miniskirt that barely covered her hips and a halter top, which exposed more breast than it covered—was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, filing her nails.
She glanced up at Jean. “Mister, I don’t know who the hell you think you is, but my man gonna cut you up into little pieces for what you done to me,” she said in a nasty voice, her eyes narrow with hate.
Jean held up his hands, “Whoa, little lady. No need to get upset,” he said in a reasonable voice. “I’m just in from out of town and I asked my friend to line me up with some entertainment for the night. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you double your usual rate for the time you’ve been here.”
She frowned in suspicion. “Double?” she asked. “In advance?”
“Sure,” Jean said, reaching into his pocket. “How much will that be?”
She hesitated, trying to decide how much she could get. “I usually get two hundred a night, an’ I been here for three days.”
Jean chuckled to himself. He knew she was lucky if she got fifty a night, but what the hell. She’d never live to spend it.
He unfolded a wad of hundred-dollar bills and slowly counted out ten of them. “I’ll give you a thousand if you show me a really good time.”
Her eyes widened at the sight of the stack of hundreds he laid on the dresser against the wall. It was more money than she’d make in a month giving blow jobs to johns in their cars. She was already figuring how much she could hold out on her pimp as she got to her feet and peeled out of her top and miniskirt.
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