by Melos,Alana
“Vampire!” the man cried, his voice loud and shaky. He tried to skid to a stop, but ended up almost smacking into Nazferatu, who stood there as a brick wall. Without hesitating, the man turned and ran the other direction. A flurry of motion erupted as Nazferatu moved ahead of his target, and the guy did run into the vampire this time. He fell back, unable to rabbit.
His fear wouldn’t let him sit still though. Of the three fear responses he could have, his flight response was the strongest by far. He scrambled to his feet and headed towards the side, knowing there had to be a door somewhere. If not a door, then an alley. I watched his thinking process carefully, drinking it in. His every thought was on getting away, but his subconscious was also working on how to fight it. He had no cross, nor anything to which a vampire was vulnerable. This was common knowledge here, and I reviewed the list quickly, finding them to be more or less in line with the movies: sunlight, fire, piercing the heart, and religious objects. He didn’t have a weapon, but he thought he could smash a pallet to get a weapon if he could find one, or maybe a broken bottle… anything to attack with. I cocked my head at that, wondering about it. He didn’t seem to think he needed wood… just something to pierce the heart. Interesting. The dark seemed to swallow everything in his eyes, leaving him to grope along blindly, hoping to find the way out of the maze.
When fingers ran through the man’s hair almost lovingly, he shrieked. Turning, he lashed out, punching the air and sending himself off balance. Our victim stumbled, and Nazferatu laughed that croaking laugh of his, letting it echo over the empty pavement. No one else was on the street, and the few souls inside the buildings who heard it closed their ears. Strange things happened at night. They knew better than to walk alone. It wasn’t any of their business.
He gathered himself as best he could, and shouted, “Fight me!” I had to give him credit. He’d worked out that running wasn’t going to help, and so he stood his ground. The fear raced through him, making his heart pump faster and faster, and the sweet stink of sweat told the vampire he was just about where he wanted him.
There are different kinds of fear, I told him and jumped off the roof, lowering myself to the ground quietly. A flash of a thought to the vampire, and he agreed. I’d seen how he hunted, now he wanted to see what I would do, how I satisfied my hungers. A private place, I sent to him.
Though he wasn’t concerned about being caught, he didn’t want to be interrupted. Nazferatu seized the young man around the neck, his grip like iron. He squeezed only enough to stop the bloodflow to the man’s brain. When he passed out, Nazferatu threw the body over his shoulder and leapt into the air. I followed hot on his heels, anticipation making me boil.
We flew to another rooftop to a building he knew was abandoned. There was no way anyone would be able to get up here in any time to see or stop us, even if they heard his screams next door or from the streets. I wasn’t fond of the idea of being on the graveled roof, but you made do with what you had. Nazferatu lowered our prey down and glanced at me, his cold red eyes raking me over once. Without speaking, he unbuttoned his jacket and laid it down in a gentlemanly fashion, and I blinked. My Nosferatu would never do a thing like that… or would he? It was… well, something a date would do, and Nos and I had always worked.
I gave him a twitch of my lips in acknowledgment, and rearranged his jacket how I liked. I glanced back at the vampire, and noted the white of his crisp shirt seemed more alive than the white of his skin. The shirt seemed to attract the moonlight, while his flesh almost repelled it making him look like the dead body he was. I settled for spreading it on one side of our prey, doubling it up, and then kneeling there, near his head. He wasn’t tied, but he didn’t need to be. I held him with my mind. I know, I know, some might grouse that I was taking the choice away and breaking my rules, but I tell you my telepathy was a tool, like rope or a zip tie. It was just easier to carry around.
I examined his face closely as I unzipped his jacket and swept it aside. He wasn’t handsome, but as he lay there sleeping, he seemed peaceful. Even his thoughts were black as if nothing stirred there, which meant he wasn’t in a REM sleep. I slapped him sharply, and his eyes flew open.
“Where am I?” he demanded, and I smiled at him.
“You’re with me,” I said, still smiling. He relaxed, and thought the nightmare of before was just that: a nightmare. “Oh, no, it was real,” I corrected him. “It was very real. Nazfe… I’m sorry, Nosferatu was just playing with you.” I glanced over my shoulder, hoping he didn’t take offense to the nickname I’d given him in my head to keep the two vampires straight. He didn’t say a word, and merely arched a brow as if to say ‘get on with it’. He was impatient to see.
“What?” he asked, and he followed my gaze over my shoulder. Ah, that brilliant yellow surged back into life, and he tried to get up, stand up, push me away, or do anything at all. I bore down on his mind with my own, smothering him, disconnecting his motor functions from his conscious mind so that his thoughts merely ran around in a circle without connecting to anything at all.
“He’ll kill me!” he cried, and I laughed softly.
“He wants to watch, my vampire does,” I said. “You should be worried about me.” I showed him the knife and waited. As his eyes focused on the silvery blade glimmering in the moonlight, his mind took off racing. This what was I wanted to show Nazferatu. I let him ride along with me as I had ridden along with him earlier, and he felt the prey’s fear as I did. It was a reflected fear, one which didn’t touch the core of us, but it made the kill all the more sweeter.
It tastes better, he whispered in my head, echoing the thought.
For me, as always, it was sexual. I lowered the blade and cut his shirt slowly, down the middle of his chest as if undressing my boyfriend. My cheeks were flushed, and I could feel myself becoming more and more aroused. It wasn’t that I fucked them. I mean, sometimes I did before if I felt the need, but it was… a hunger deeper than desire or the need to eat or sleep. Those fulfilled my body; this nourished my soul. My mind wanted… it was a bottomless pit of want, this urge to consume, to wrap my mouth around something and eat it whole… I don’t know how else to put it into words. I had no way to express it, save to show it to my victims, and now… my lover. Perhaps we hadn’t fucked, but we were lovers nevertheless.
A resounding echo came from him, and I felt Erick in his mind still and become fascinated despite himself. He was a killer too, and he enjoyed cleansing the race of any impurities, but it wasn’t a need like this. He enjoyed it. He wanted it. But he didn’t need it, not like Nosferatu and I did. This would always be our bond, and I caught Nazferatu realizing this was why his counterpart had marked me as his. He would have done the same had he found another black heart so perfectly twisted, mirroring his own damned soul.
Upon finding out he couldn’t move, our prey redoubled his efforts. His muscles strained as he tried to thrash. The longer it went on, the more fear raced through his body. Nazferatu and I sighed in unison as the fear fed us. It was alien to our psyches, a delicacy which was to be savored. Sure, self-preservation was something we knew and understood, but this level of terror? Never.
When I cut him with the knife, drawing a long slow line of red down his pec and into his abdomen, he screamed which ended in a whimper. Blood welled, and Nazferatu’s hunger to feed physically ran through me for a moment, and I had to resist the urge to bend over and lick the blood up. I wasn’t a cannibal. It wasn’t my ‘thing’ to eat people or try to make them a part of me in that way. I shook my head to clear it.
I decided to draw another line of red on his abdomen. I’d had thoughts about going for his heart, but it always stopped beating by the time I got to it. He possessed other things to play with. I drew a line perpendicular, cutting the flesh easily with the razor sharp knife and feeling the echoing pain in my own stomach. Many sadists weren’t masochists, and vice versa. Getting off on both was actually a fairly rare thing. I’d been this way for as long as I could remember. P
ain was good. It made me feel alive, connected to the world and to people in a way my telepathy couldn’t connect me. It made me feel real.
The next was trickier, but very doable since he wasn’t moving. My mental might crushed his mind, and he begged me to let him go. Over and over. I ignored the words. They didn’t mean anything. The dark ribbons of pain and the yellow thread of fear in his thoughts were what I savored. The meat of the meal was the echoing, feeling as he did, and I savored every last throb of agony. I worked the knife slowly under the skin, working it back and forth as I cut the tissue connecting the skin to the muscle. It was harder without a proper skinning knife, but I managed without butchering it too badly. When I tore it down in a hard, shark jerk, he passed out. That was only temporary though. I roused him with sharp slaps, leaving bloody prints on both of his cheeks.
When he came to, his begging resumed. Knowing he couldn’t escape, he could only endure. “Please don’t hurt me too bad,” he said. “Please, I want to go home. My mother is worried.” Over and over again. It all became a sort of music if you tuned out the words and just listened to the cadence of his voice. When I cut another piece of his skin off, he screamed, and then started weeping. It made me want to weep too, but I never cried. Even as a child, I never had. This was the closest I ever got, feeling the wetness of the tears on someone else’s cheek.
Once his stomach was the beautiful rawness of red, I ran my fingers over it, letting them slip on the blood. The prey continued to weep, but the music of his voice had dimmed. He knew he wasn’t going to go home now, and kept praying for anyone to save him. The desperation… that I knew. I’d felt that too, the times when I thought my life was ending. A pang of what might be considered sympathy ran through me, drove me to kiss his lips.
“I’m not sorry,” I said, looking into his red-rimmed eyes, “but I understand what you’re feeling. It will be over soon.”
My words didn’t comfort him. Oh well. Plunging the knife into his stomach, I cut through the muscle as he groaned and screamed again. Pain of the same sort you can get used to after a while; that’s why you had to change it up, to keep things interesting and fresh. Cutting carefully, I used the knife and my fingers both to peel back the layers of fat and muscle to reveal his innards. Once I was able to grab hold of his small intestine, I pulled it out. Rope after rope of it, the slickness running through my hands like water. Delighted, I moved and straddled the dying man to more fully empty his abdominal cavity. Blood ran freely, and it didn’t take long for my bare legs to be covered, slick with the warm red liquid.
His pain ran through me, warming me, and then something from behind grabbed me and pulled me against it. Hard and cold… the vampire straddled the body from behind me, his hands clawing at my clothing. I turned my head to the side and raised my blood soaked fingers for him. He lurched forward and sucked them into his mouth, holding them in place with his teeth as his tongue cleaned them of the blood. His hardness pressed against me, and his hands groped my breasts, tearing the cloth asunder to free them.
“Drink with me,” he whispered in my ear, and I shook my head.
“I’m not a cannibal,” I said, but he pressed me forward, pushing me on top of the man with his wide, white eyes.
Nazferatu didn’t make me feed, but he did go in for the kill himself. Over my shoulder he reached for the man’s neck, bringing it up to his mouth so he could bite. I heard him tear the flesh of the whimpering man, on the edge of passing out again. From the open wound he drank as I kissed the other side of the victim’s neck, grateful for the experience. I could feel Nazferatu’s teeth upon his neck as if it were my own, as well as the rushing blood down my throat in a bizarre act of telepathic self-cannibalism. I kept the two of them connected, acting as a conduit as the vampire fed, his hand gripped upon my breast and his cock pressing against my ass.
As the man’s last thought died in our minds, Nazferatu let him go, allowing the corpse to drop to the gravelled roof with a heavy thud. His lips moved to my neck, feeling my quickening pulse in my neck, finding the spot where Nosferatu had bitten me. He lingered, letting his tongue run over the scars as his talon flicked my hard nipple, making me moan. I’d wanted Nosferatu for a long time, but knew letting him have me was a bad idea. In this moment, it didn’t seem so bad. Matter of fact, it felt like a great idea to just let go, to indulge in my darkest desires, my deepest whims.
Shifting back against him, I rubbed my ass over his hard length. He didn’t have to have a telepathic connection to understand what that meant, and he leaned back, bending unnaturally to allow me to sit on his thighs and pelvis. I could hear his bones cracking and muscles twisting, but the pain only spurred him on. Somewhere faintly in his head I could hear Erick yelling to stop, to report me, that I was an invader, but Nazferatu ignored the insignificant voice, concentrating on the warmth of my skin. He lowered both hands to my thighs, curling them around the inside of them as he pulled my thighs apart even wider, leaving claw marks behind on my pale flesh as he did.
I dropped the knife to the side, and put my hands on his thighs, steadying myself. The vampire slid one of his hands down to my pussy. He yanked on my underwear and ripped it, exposing me to the world. When he touched my clit, I almost fainted with pleasure. His fingers were cold, so very cold, and the chills he gave me sent heat rushing to the area. I was already hot and wet from our hunt; now I was on fire with lust, that need for consumption not quite fulfilled. But then again, it never was.
He rubbed me roughly, his claws scratching the tender flesh on the inside of my thighs as he pleasured me. As he nipped at my neck, I moved one of my hands over to my sex and began fingering myself, pushing his fingers away and letting him feel me through my hand, how wet and hot I was even to my own touch.
“Yes,” he murmured, biting the scar gently. He went back to my breasts with both hands then, kneading them, scratching them with his claws to leave beads of blood behind as he flicked my hard nipples. The pain only heightened my pleasure. It was the right warm up and the right kind of pain. I plunged my fingers into my wetness, fucking myself madly so he could feel how hot I was on the inside. A low moan erupted from his throat, sounding more like a growl.
Without a warning, he shoved me off of him, and I fell forward. I barely caught myself using my teke, and I started to turn around to snarl at him, but the purpose why he pushed made me shut up. He unbuttoned his trousers, taking much greater care with his clothing than he had with mine, so he could free his cock. I glanced up to his face and saw him bite his tongue. It peeked between the jagged teeth almost cutely as he shoved my skirt up and grabbed me to him again, like a possessive child over a favorite toy. His cock bent backwards as he rocked me back into place on it, so he pulled me back a little more until it sprang free between my legs. It was hard and cold, like straddling an iron rod, but wonderful all the same. I moved my hips back and forth, pleasuring myself on his shaft. He wrapped his arms around me, holding my torso tight as I rocked on his lap and moaned, my eyes fluttering. I reached back to grip his hair, knocking off his hat by accident as I snatched the back of his head and pulled him more into me all the while sliding myself along his length, wanting him in me, to feel that cold inside of me, craving it as he craved my warmth.
He nipped my neck on the scars again as he cupped a breast and squeezed. His lust began to overwhelm him, and he bit down harder as he raised me up. The head of his cock poked at my flesh, seeking the center of my heat. It took a couple tries, but finally he slid into me, and I gasped. The cold wasn’t just cold… it was icy. At the same time he growled, and bit down hard, breaking the skin over Nosferatu’s old bite, re-marking me as his. He thrust into me, sinking all the way into my body, as far as he could go. He didn’t tear my neck, but held me there as an animal might do to its mate, holding me in place, trapped between his cock and his teeth. I savored my own heat along with him, reveling in the scorching ecstasy it gave the dead man. I stroked the threads of his lust with my telepathy, making them grow hotter
and hotter, increasing the pleasure of us both.
He withdrew and slammed into me again, and I groaned. My other hand went down to my clit and I stroked myself, wanting to come around this slice of cold inside of me. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. My heat sank into him, warming him as my blood warmed his throat. He drank sparingly. Even mad with desire, he kept his head, having had centuries to perfect his self-control. He just chose not to use it often, preferring to indulge. I squeezed his cock with my pussy as hard as I could, and had the pleasure of hearing him whimper into the wound on my neck, refusing to let me go. The pain throbbed in time with my lust, and I began to ride him.
As I did, he thrust in time with me. Intertwined as I kept our minds, he could sense my intent and moved in perfect synchronicity. The smell of blood and sex mingled, filling my senses, making me drunk… until I realized it wasn’t me. It was him. He was drunk on sex and blood, craving more and more, which made me crave more and more. I flicked my clit faster and faster, sliding my fingers along my wetness in practiced motions as I bounced on Nazferatu’s lap. My body rushed with heat, and he knew before I did that I was going to come.
When I did, through him I felt the heat flush my system. My heart beat faster, and I smelled… delicious. He bit down harder as my pussy contracted around him. Nazferatu pumped me furiously, sliding his cock in and out of that hot tightness until he could no longer hold back. Spurred on by my orgasm, he came, thrusting savagely up into me one last time and then biting down even harder, moaning into my neck as we both climaxed. His claws dug into my breast, and I could feel my blood dripping down my chest and side where he punctured me. His cock twitched inside of me, and he withdrew so he could slam it in again while it was still hard, not satiated yet.
