Angel's Guardian: A Contemporary Vampire Romance

by Zeecé Lugo

  The vampire female was helpless when in the throes of passion. Her body grew weak, her ability to move diminished. To surface from the thrall of sexual pleasure, she must either climax, or the male must withdraw from her completely. In vampire sexual congress, the male dominated by nature.

  Toma laid the girl down on the floor and moved over her possessively, with wanton hunger in his eyes. He did not bother to undress her, just pulled her dress over her hips and ripped off her thong. He freed his engorged, pulsing penis as he watched her glazed, feverish eyes.

  Sinking into her flesh was like coming in from the polar cold and diving into warm, buoyant sea. He buried himself deep, and felt her shudder and spasm in extreme shards of pleasure as he bumped against her cervix. His hands reached up to caress her face, then he grabbed her hair in fistfuls and brought his mouth to hers in an almost violent, devouring kiss.

  He remained connected to her, his mouth possessing her mouth, his cock buried deep. He rocked into her gently, without immediacy, sometimes holding himself still for long minutes. The pleasure was intense, unending, without pause. There was no need for the frenzied thrusting of human sex. The bliss was in the joining.

  For hours they remained locked in their passion, until the imminent dawn told Toma that their time was done. He bent his head and buried his fangs into his sister's neck. His body felt the rush of the flow, the heat, and his scrotum tightened, his semen rose, his penis surged forward and held. As his seed flooded her womb, the girl climaxed in shrill, mind-shattering throes that ran through her body in waves, leaving her drained and almost comatose.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ivanna opened her eyes and sat up. Her brother was already dressed and stood holding out a goblet of cognac for her. He smiled in satisfaction as she downed the drink and then ran her tongue over her lips.

  “Dawn is almost here. Let's go back to my quarters. Down under, in the perpetual night, we can continue where we left off.” He held out his hand to her, his unspent lust beckoning. She took it.

  CHAPTER 7

  She burned with fever. Maxim circled the pallet like a hawk circling a chicken coop, his frustration getting the best of him. His guilt and the innocent, fearful look on the little girl's face drove him to put spoonfuls of water down the woman's throat and to bathe her with cloths dipped in cold water. He could not, in all conscience, allow her to die of thirst. If she died, it would have to be through no fault of his own.

  But she held on, to his shock and dismay. The little girl did not ask for much, except to use the bathroom. She ate the string cheese in the bag and drank the juices. The babe was a different story. When he soiled his diaper, the smell was unbearable. The vampire tried to ignore it at first, but he lost the battle.

  “Are you going to change him?” he asked the little girl. She looked up at him with sad owl eyes and shook her head.

  “Why not?” he asked in desperation.

  “It's number two. Mommy always does it. I don't know how.”

  No, no, no, nooo! Don't tell me that! The voice in his head roared. He took a deep breath and almost choked on the stench. A vampire's sense of smell was highly developed. What was he going to do? He paced around like a caged tiger. How was he to change a baby's diaper?

  He'd watched the woman do it that once, but then it was wet, not soiled. He'd not touched a baby in centuries and never to change a diaper.

  Wait. He could grab a woman outside and pay her to change the babe. Yes, that was an option. Excuse me, lady. I need you to come with me, a total stranger who looks homeless and murderous, to my secret lair, to change a baby's diaper. Of course, I will pay you.

  Oh, yes, the females would be jumping to get on that deal. More likely, he would have to kidnap a woman and force her to do it. Then he'd have to scrub her memory and dump her somewhere. As a last resort, that was a possibility, but it would be hours before the sun went down, and he could venture outside. Meanwhile, the horrible stench would drive him insane. He needed to escape.

  He ran upstairs and locked himself in his bedroom. He burrowed under his bed clothes. It was dark and cool, the soft, down comforter weighing pleasurably on him. He closed his eyes and the darkness behind his lids was restful and comforting. He would stay in bed until sundown. Then, he would grab a woman somewhere and make her change the babe. Later, he would take the whole kit and caboodle and dump them by a church. Once and for all, he’d be free. He felt so much better. He had a plan.

  He was too softhearted, but he'd learned a lesson. Never, ever, allow your emotions, and never pity or guilt, to drive your actions. Vampires could not afford to have emotions. He burrowed deeper into the covers and began to drift into sleep.

  Knocking. Knocking on the bedroom door. Soft, but insistent knocking. He pulled the covers off his head and listened. Yes, someone was knocking at his door. Who could that be? Had someone entered his home uninvited? How dare they?

  He bolted out of his bed and in one smooth leap, was at the door. He opened it furiously, and there, looking up at him with her innocent, sad eyes, was the little girl.

  “What?” he asked angrily.

  “The baby is crying.” She looked at him and two big, heart-wrenching tears rolled down her soft, baby cheeks.

  “Why, why is he crying? Why is he not sleeping?” After all, did babies not sleep always? They did not walk or sit or talk or do any of the things adults did. Surely, they ate and slept only. Was there something he missed?

  “He needs changing. Would you like to sit on your poop all day? You'd cry too if you needed changing.” She scrubbed at her tears with her little fist.

  The vampire's anger faltered under the child's innocent tears. He could not fault her logic. Now that the door was open, he could once again hear the baby crying and smell the poop. He sighed in resignation. He could no longer ignore the problem.

  As he unwillingly trudged down the stairs like a condemned prisoner going to his doom, the baby began screaming at the top of his lungs, almost as if he knew that the louder he screamed, the faster help would come.

  The vampire stood looking down at the baby, totally at a loss. He had no idea what to do. The woman moaned in her fever, but did not open her eyes. The baby kicked his little legs and waved his tight little fists, tiny red face scrunched up in his fury.

  “You'll need a diaper,” said the little girl, coming to stand next to him.

  “Yes. A diaper,” he repeated, searching around him in a daze. He spied the baby's bag and went to it. Once again, he turned it upside down and emptied it on the floor. “What else will we need?” he asked, tasting something akin to terror for the first time in centuries.

  “The wet wipes, lots of them. The cream too.”

  “Cream? What cream?”

  “The one Mommy puts on his bum after so he doesn't burn and get sores.”

  “All right. One diaper, one tub of wet wipes. I saw your mom use those. One tube of bum cream. What else?”

  “Something to put under him so the poop doesn't get on everything.”

  The image of baby poop on everything was one he could not bear. He wiped it from his mind immediately. “Right. Like an old rag?” The baby was now screaming at the top of his lungs, the shrill sound making the vampire’s jaw clench, his bones vibrate, muddling his thoughts, driving him to desperation.

  “It might be best if we do it in the bathtub,” he said. “It will be easier to clean up if it gets messy.” He thought to pick up the screaming babe, but his hands were full.

  He zipped to the bathroom behind the stairs and dropped the things inside the tub. In an instant he was back to the screaming, red-faced baby. He bent down to pick him up, but the baby squirmed, flopped, and folded like a boneless fish. The vampire panicked and quickly put him down again. The baby screamed with even more fury.

  “Did I hurt him? Did I break him?” He had never felt such terror, did not know he was capable of it.

  “No, he's fine. You have to hold the head steady. You put one hand under his body an
d one under his head. That's how Mommy taught me.”

  “You do it then.”

  Little Nina carefully picked up her screaming brother and carried him to the empty tub where she gently laid him down. The vampire followed her, watching with satisfaction, nodding his head in approval as if he’d just accomplished some incredible feat of bravery all on his own.

  “See, I already solved one problem. In the tub, we don't need anything under him.” He obviously thought he’d done his part.

  The little girl looked at him expectantly. He watched her. She watched him back. He did not move. No one moved. The baby screamed louder now.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “You pull on the side tapes and take the nappy off.”

  “Fine,” he nodded again, hoping that she would do it. She calmly stared at him again. He stared back at her. She remained calm and unmoving, her unwavering gaze fixed on his own. It dawned on him that she expected him to do it, and she was not budging an inch. He sighed, defeated by a child. Who would have thought it? He took a deep breath.

  “Well, here it goes,” he said and bent to pull the side tapes. As soon as he did, the babe began kicking his little legs, and the nappy came open.

  The smell became a full-cloud miasma. Little Nina pinched her nose and made a face. The vampire took one look at the dark green, soft, putrid baby poop, and with a feral hiss, took a flying leap back that placed him out the bathroom door and midway to the open living room, landing in a battle crouch.

  Vampires do throw up. They do it when they drink so much blood that their stomachs can't hold it. That’s something that usually happens only when young vampires overindulge.

  He had not overindulged in two hundred years, but he thought he would throw up now. The problem was his stomach was empty, so he just cowered there, panting, waiting to see what his body would do. The horrible smell was now all over his house. His misery was complete.

  Nina stuck her head out the bathroom door. “You better hurry. He's kicking his little legs and getting it all over the tub and himself.”

  No! No! Not that! I'll have to move! My beautiful home… I'll have to abandon it to the stench! The vampire was now desperate. He approached the pallet on the floor.

  “Lady, lady, wake up! You need to do something.” He placed his arm under the young mother’s torso to lift her, but she mumbled words he could not understand and flopped over like a wet noodle. He laid her down, giving her a look of disgust and frustration.

  Surely, he could deal with this. He was a monster, for God's sake! He battled armies. He dealt death and retribution as a way of life. Cutting off heads, stabbing hearts, blood baths, death, and dismemberment were his coin of choice. A baby's excrement would not defeat the great Maxim, vampire and monster without equal.

  Girding his loins, he braced himself to enter the battlefield. He did not “zip” into the bathroom. He slow walked as a man going to his execution. A lesser vampire would have bolted into the light of the burning sun at the sight before him.

  The baby was no longer crying. Instead, he had kicked off his diaper and now held it in his hands, totally dazzled by the feel and texture of the goo therein. There was green poop in his hair, his eyelashes, his tiny fingers, and his nose.

  “I rescued the new diaper and things before it got on them,” offered the little girl. The vampire remained in mute horror. “At least, he's not screaming anymore,” she added brightly, hoping the beast would see the better side of things. Nina might be only six years old, but she was very smart.

  “Yes, yes,” he panted. “Gives me time to think. You watch him for a minute. I'll be right back.” He flashed down to the basement and sat on the bottom step, his trembling hands holding his head as it threatened to explode. In two hundred years, he had never suffered from nausea or headaches. Now he had both at once. He needed to clear his nostrils, to calm his mind, to think, to regroup.

  He looked around himself like a man lost in time. He took several breaths to clear the stench from his system and to take control of his thoughts and emotions. Once in control of himself, Max scanned his surroundings, considering his resources. When he returned to the bathroom, on his hands were latex surgical gloves and a green garden hose.

  He connected the hose to the faucet at the lavatory sink. “Nina, pick up your brother. Try not to get the stuff on anything but your hands. You can wash those later.”

  Holding his breath, he rolled up the diaper, and keeping it at arm’s length, rushed to the basement to throw it in the furnace. He raced back to the children before the disaster could grow out of manageable proportions. In crisis management, it was always best to expect the worst.

  It took him a moment to get the temperature just right and to adjust the flow of water. His aim was not to pressure-clean the little bundle of misery. “Put your brother back in the tub.” When Max guided the gentle stream of water over him, the baby began to coo and kick his little legs in pleasure. The water ran off the babe and the green goo flowed down the tub.

  The vampire picked up the soap and began to gently wash the baby, making a great effort not to miss anything. Nina handed him whatever he needed. Soon, he found himself handling the baby with ease, and he gave him several soapings just to make sure he was truly clean and the smell gone. He wrapped the baby in a towel and passed it to his sister. “Take him to the mattress while I clean the tub.”

  After cleaning the bathtub and returning the things to the basement, he helped little Nina put a fresh nappy on the baby. When they were finished, he held the baby up for inspection.

  Not bad, he thought, for a first time. It was definitely sort of lopsided, but the baby could kick those little legs faster than a Ninja Turtle. Even with his vampire speed, it took Max six tries to get the diaper taped. For the moment, the little one slept peacefully. He would wake up soon enough wanting a feeding.

  Max sat on the stairs, feeling emotionally drained but strangely content. He remembered feeling the same way after winning major field battles. He faced a fearsome task, and he prevailed. Not bad. Now, he must face the rest.

  Across the floor, Nina sat by her mother’s pallet, eating a candy bar. He wondered if that was the last of them. The little girl was subsisting on cheese sticks and candy bars. She had not had a bath or a proper meal in days. He couldn't just sit around doing nothing.

  He went over to the mother. She was still breathing. Possibly, she was not as weak as he first thought. Maybe the answer was to help her get better and send her on her way. He placed his hand to her forehead. She seemed a little cooler, and he could see beads of perspiration forming along the hairline.

  “Nina,” he came around and sat on the floor next to her. “What do you normally eat?”

  “Cheese sticks and Snickers.”

  “No, I mean at home, before you came here.”

  Nina perked up at the thought. “Macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, chicken and carrots. Mommy sometimes made pasguetti.”

  “You mean spaghetti,” he corrected.

  “That’s what I said,” she answered, rolling her eyes at him. “Sometimes we went to McDonald’s if Daddy took us.”

  Why didn't he think of that? There were dozens of places that offered ready-made meals for humans. The answer was that he didn’t frequent those places. He knew about food because he had a close human friend and often socialized with him. He knew about liquor because he enjoyed a stiff drink now and then. If you asked him where to find a good whiskey at midnight, he could think of a dozen places. Where to find a nice, juicy vein? No problem.

  CHAPTER 8

  The moon, white and voluptuous like a proud, fat bride on her wedding night, had just cleared the horizon. From the third-story window of his topside mansion, Vadim Denisov stood close behind his wife of many centuries. His arms held her close to him as they gazed at the moon like two young lovers. He breathed in the scent of her hair, so pleasingly familiar to him, and basked in the comforting warmth of her body.

 
He considered himself a very lucky man. A long time ago, he found the perfect mate. He fell in love with her at first sight, and in the usual vampire way, never stopped loving her. It was a blessing that she'd loved him back. Marriage, for vampires, could be heaven or hell. If you married for love, and both partners loved, it would last fresh and powerful until death.

  Sometimes, the marriage was one of convenience. In some cases, one partner married for love, and the other for ambition or whatever other reason. Nothing was as painful as knowing your beloved did not feel the same way, and seldom was a vampire partner able to fake what was not there. Such a union would be hell.

  He hoped that someday his own children would choose wisely and build lasting and loving relationships, but he was not expecting that would happen now. His son and daughter were made from a different mold than their parents. Toma, from an early age, was prone to wanting what he should not want, be it power, position, or women. Lately, his son was going in directions his father could not allow.

  His daughter, Ivanna, was beautiful but selfish and willful. As a young girl, she always ran after her cousin Maxim and he, in turn, seemed devoted to her. At one time, Vadim thought they would be destined for each other, but Maxim had proven otherwise. Maybe he'd been too aware of Ivanna's scheming nature.

  “My love, you’re preoccupied tonight,” murmured his beloved Irina. “Is it the moon so beautiful keeping you awed and silent?”

  Vadim sighed deeply. “No, my dear. I wish I could say that having you in my arms under a wishing moon has my thoughts turning to romance, but I refuse to lie to you. You would know the truth.”

  “It's our son, isn't it? It has always been our son,” she sighed in resignation. “If only your brother Anton had not lost his two younger sons to the purge of our homeland's revolution, then it would not have mattered if Maxim refused to rule. One of his brothers would have stepped up, but the stewardship fell to you, his uncle. Toma, so close to power, was seduced by its lure and became obsessed with ambition.”