She angrily snatched a gold comb from a side table and raked her hair with vicious downward strokes. Clumps of hair became trapped in the comb.
He was momentarily caught off guard when she leapt to her feet and shoved him aside. His trembling hand gently stroked where the moon caressed her wonderfully contoured cheekbones, now more prominent with her enforced captivity these last few weeks.
Her beauty always made him breathless and for that he loved her and hated her with equal passion.
“If I don’t feed soon ....” she pleaded with almost breathless urgency, “.... I will die.” She turned to face him with a terrible desire. “Then you will never become Eternal.”
“Would you bet your life on it?” He marched past her and laughed, pushing her to the floor with his supremacy.
He unlocked the door and exited the attic room. With a childish giggle he locked the door from the outside and leaned against it. And how gratifying was the sound of her slamming against the door? He could feel the vibrations made by her nails scratching the wood.
“Yes ... I am supreme,” The Count screamed inside Lucien’s deranged mind. “Now it is time to play in our garden of death.”
Chapter 7
Lucien Dupont, dressed in his black coat, leather trousers and black silk shirt, embraced the evening. He glanced up at the three-quarter moon that lovingly watched over his large Gothic villa brooding in its little niche in the Montmartre district of Paris. For a brief moment he worshipped his opalescence above. He slammed the heavy oak front door before locking it.
He heard crying from above and with devilish delight gave a cursory glance at his Petite Fleur’s anguished face gazing out of the garret window. He waved to her and blew her a kiss, laughing down the garden path.
“Lucien ... please take me with you! I need to see Ellise. I promise I won’t try to escape this time,” she called out.
The Count sniggered. “Never again will you fool me!”
He walked with a brisk pace through dark alleyways and bustling streets until he came upon his favorite hunting ground – Place Du Tertre in Montmartre.
Lucien spotted a suitable vantage point and sat amongst the shadows of an enticing street café. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He flinched when her sweet music caressed his black soul.
The Count screamed, “Get out of my head, bitch.”
There was nothing Lucien could do to stop her probing his mind for it was now her only release from captivity. He clicked his fingers. A waiter soon hovered over him.
“A bottle of du Pape.” Lucien waved the waiter away. While casually gazing upon the café’s well-dressed clientele, searching for his next victim, Lucien noticed something rather strange. Two patrons stood out like wolves among the sheep. He admired the somewhat feminine beauty of a tall, muscular Negro with spiky hair in scruffy seafaring attire, sitting next to a stunning brunette with fashionably bobbed hair but in a rather tatty dress.
“Hmm, this could be interesting,” he said to himself.
Lucien’s keen eye noticed the deliberate way the woman bumped into a gentleman enjoying a glass of wine. While she profusely apologized, the Negro slipped a powder of some design into the man’s drink. They left their mark and sat nearby to watch him closely. Lucien glanced at his gold Cartier wristwatch and counted the seconds.
The Count insisted, “I must have that powder!”
While the waiter dropped off the order and opened the bottle, Lucien concentrated on his watch.
After two minutes the mark seemed no longer in control of his faculties. He sat quite rigid and unblinking but none-the-less appeared alive and well to other patrons of the café.
Lucien sipped his red wine, watching with utter delight the woman rushing up to the mark and quickly going through his pockets. Once finished, she sat back down with her companion to share their ill-gotten gains.
Lucien nodded with satisfaction and deliberately tipped the waiter with a hundred Franc note.
The waiter’s eyes bulged at the incredible tip. “Merci, Monsieur!” He bowed to Lucien and scampered away.
This had the desired effect of attracting the thieves’ attention. How positively delicious, Lucien thought. The pair of pickpockets sauntered his way and like clockwork, the woman bumped into him.
“Please excuse me, monsieur ... oh, how clumsy of me,” she said with a cheeky smile.
Lucien grinned at her, wiping his coat with an engraved silk handkerchief, allowing his glass of red wine to be spiked. He waited for them to sit nearby and pretended to drink his wine. By the mere touch of his lips, a fraction of a second, they were rendered numb.
“Potent stuff!” The Count said.
He placed the glass on his table and mentally counted off two minutes before going rigid.
The female sauntered over and slipped her fingers into Lucien’s coat. Snap! Lucien gripped the woman’s wrist.
“You pig ... you’re hurting me.” She cried out in pain.
The Negro rushed to the rescue but the waiter interrupted the proceedings.
Many heads turned in their direction. A flurry of hushed voices amplified the situation.
Lucien gave the waiter a look to go away, still gripping the woman’s wrist. He twisted hard, giving her no choice but to sit or he would break her arm. He nodded for the Negro to sit with them.
The Negro looked anxious, sitting beside his female companion.
Lucien released the woman and smirked while she rubbed her sore wrist. He took hold of her arm with the gentlest of touches and kissed the redness.
She pulled her arm away from Lucien’s lips with a look of disgust.
He laughed at their curious glances. His eyes located a waiter and with a click of his fingers, indicated three fresh glasses.
Lucien pushed the spiked glass towards the Negro with a curious smile. “What did you put in this?”
The Negro looked concerned at his companion, who shrugged indifferently to her fate.
Lucien chuckled. “Don’t fret ... your secret is safe with me. But first, please introduce yourselves. Tell me how you met ... and leave nothing out ... I have a sense for these things ... and besides I love a good story.”
The Negro winked at his companion and began their sordid story with a shrug. “I met this little cock-teaser, Claudette, at a seedy hotel in Port-au-Prince. She was drowning her sorrows with Pernod like there was no tomorrow, man.”
Claudette punched him playfully. “Who the fuck are you calling a cock-teaser, Jacques?”
“Why you, my sweet Claudette.” Jacques grabbed Claudette’s arm and pulled her up close, kissing her full on the lips. He allowed his long, pink tongue to be sucked like a cock. “Man ... she was so drunk she spewed her misery all over me. She wouldn’t shut up.” He grinned lasciviously at her.
Claudette poked her tongue at Jacques.
Lucien noticed the effect his new friends were having on several prudish patrons.
“Kill them, kill them all!” The Count screamed to Lucien.
Lucien gave one stuffy couple a dangerous glare and blew them a kiss. He laughed when they left.
“Don’t go on my account.” Lucien returned his attention to Claudette and transfixed her with his cold blue eyes. He was impressed by her unwavering come-on look and hoped she swallowed. By the looks of her, she could take it anyway he gave it to her.
“I thought there was a hint of Caribbean ... do go on.” Lucien patted the seat next to him. He was gratified when Claudette scooted closer and continued her tale.
“I lost my parents to head hunters ... they were missionaries sent to convert the heathens to Catholicism. No offence, Jacques.” She giggled.
“None taken.” Jacques laughed, nudging closer to Claudette. “Damned fools should have known better than to mess with the hill people. Nasty fuckers! Do you know they take their victims’ heads and shrink them to this size?” Jacques used his hands to approximate the size of an orange.
“Really! I though
t that was all make believe to scare the tourists?” Lucien was intrigued, hooked on the dark secrets of voodoo.
“It’s true ....” Claudette waited for Lucien to do the gentlemanly thing.
“Where are my manners, Count Lucien Dupont, at your service?” Taking Claudette’s hand, he kissed it, tracing his tongue up the inside of her arm to the tender crook of her elbow. Her eyes glazed with sexual desire. He sat back and indicated for the story to continue.
Claudette was curious. “I’ve never met a real Count before.”
Lucien chuckled. “Neither have I.” He was amused at her perplexed expression.
“I waited two weeks before involving the Haitian Militia.” She smiled at Jacques’ obvious unease. “As you may gather, Jacques isn’t particularly enamored with the Militia.”
“Oh ... do tell.” Lucien eyed Jacques, noticing him fidget. “Come on Jacques, you can tell me anything.”
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” Jacques looked away from Lucien’s intense scrutiny.
“That bad, hmm?” Lucien attracted a waiter. “A bottle of Armagnac and ....?”
“Pernod and water!” Claudette said.
“Beer!” Jacques said.
The waiter rushed away.
While the story continued, Jacques grabbed Claudette by the hair and kissed the nape of her neck. His tongue slithered down her cleavage and wriggled around an erect nipple.
Claudette massaged Jacques’ massive erection. Her free hand found Lucien’s bulging groin and tried to undo the buttons keeping it at bay. She had her hands full but managed them both expertly.
The Count triggered Lucien’s imagination to run amok with vivid images of the tropical heat, eager prostitutes, even more eager marks and the Militia seeking victims to torture. Oh how much he needed to know of Jacques’ pain.
Claudette laughed. “It wasn’t all like that. Show him, Jacques.”
Jacques removed a switchblade and made a small cut in his palm.
Lucien’s heart skipped several beats then raced out of control when Jacques dripped his blood into his tall glass of beer, turning it a reddish-brown. Lucien snatched the glass and drank. He was pleasantly surprised. The beer tasted so divine. It had an indescribable heaviness to it and a salty aftertaste that begged him to drink more but he instinctively handed the glass to Claudette.
Claudette drank the rest of the beer in one go. She took the knife and sliced the base of her thumb, a place easy to heal. Her blood dripped into her Pernod.
Jacques took the glass and drank some of it before handing the rest to Lucien.
Lucien gulped it all down.
“We are as blood kin, linked by a custom stretching back hundreds of years.” Jacques chuckled.
Lucien was trembling with his good fortune.
The Count wanted to drink them dry while fucking them both before devouring their souls.
Lucien’s erection was fit to burst. He was gratified when Claudette went down on him. He didn’t care who watched the display but fortunately they inhabited a dark corner of the café. He pushed his hips off the chair.
Jacques did the gentlemanly thing and three-fingered her moist opening. While all three enjoyed the moment, Jacques described in detail just how insatiable Claudette was for blood.
The Count activated Lucien’s vivid imagination and the scene played out as if from a one reel film with Jacques as the narrator.
Over the next few weeks Claudette had become insatiable for blood and sex, the two usually going together like strawberries and cream. Jacques couldn’t risk any more exsanguinations at the rampant hands of Claudette or he’d end up in the morgue. He showed her how to entice the wandering adventurers who clambered for action at the city’s roughest areas and spike their drinks with the voodoo white stolen from a Bokor – a voodoo witchdoctor – who had the misfortune to cross Jacques’ path. When they had enough, both booked passage to Marseilles. The only luggage was the voodoo white – Forbidden Kiss.
Lucien was overjoyed to have captured two perfect companions for his grand designs on the unsuspecting populace of Paris. He had someone very special for them to meet and he wondered with considerable excitement if these two had the stomach for his plans. With Machiavellian glee, he couldn’t wait to find out. Like an impatient little boy in a sweet shop, he flagged down the waiter and paid for the wine. He was amused at the waiter’s disapproving grimace and was tempted to do something about it. Maybe next time?
“Where are you staying so I might collect your belongings?” Lucien asked, glaring at the waiter’s back.
“What you see is what you get, man.” Jacques laughed, still a little nervous.
“We’ve been living on our wits ever since we arrived in France,” Claudette added. “The only thing we value is in that bag.” Claudette pointed to Jacques’ duffle bag.
Lucien liked that – they were truly free spirits. He left the café with his new friends and Jacques’ duffle bag full of the white powder.
Chapter 8
Lucien showed Claudette and Jacques around their new home. He was gratified to see the looks of awe at the extravagantly furnished sitting room with crystal chandeliers beneath ornately carved ceilings depicting acts of perversion. Above the massive fireplace was a nude painting of a stunning red head. The kitchen was cavernous, pots and pans dangling like bodies from meat hooks. Pride of place was taken by an eight ring cooker. Pewter mugs hung from black hooks shaped like demonic erections.
Lucien opened a door from the kitchen and entered the garage. He stood aside for Jacques’ eagerness.
Jacques’ eyes bulged at the sight of the massive black Mercedes Edwardian Tourer with gleaming brass fittings, complete with running boards and soft top.
“What a beauty.” Jacques turned to Lucien. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” Lucien offered with an outstretched hand.
Jacques opened the driver’s door and sat in the red leather seat. He sighed, squirming with almost orgasmic pleasure. “These babies tend to overheat ... it’s the oil you know. Not enough gets to the pistons.”
“I’m well aware of her little foibles ... but how do you know so much?” Lucien was intrigued.
“I used to drive for the French Consul.”
“Really?” Despite himself, Lucien was impressed. “She’s all yours then.”
Until I decide otherwise, The Count thought with a smirk.
Jacques was all smiles, caressing the wooden steering wheel like a stiff cock.
Lucien grinned at Claudette’s dead-giveaway look.
Claudette stood at the doorway to the garage and sucked in her breath at such an ostentatious display of wealth. She twirled around like a little girl and screamed with delight. “We’ve got it made, Jacques.”
Jacques laughed along with Lucien.
The proud host escorted his new comrades upstairs to their room. He opened the door to an expansive bedroom with a huge four-poster bed adorned with black mesh partially concealing black satin sheets and pillows.
“I hope this will be adequate for you both?”
Claudette giggled. “We’re not married, Lucien ... just good friends.”
“Oh ... I see.” Lucien shrugged. “Well who would like the room?”
“It’s mine!” Claudette ran into the room and dived through the mesh onto the bed, rolling sexually on the cool sheets. She saw a door off the bedroom and frowned to Lucien. Running to the door, she opened it. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the black enamel bath, toilet, bidet, sink, black-tiled walls and golden fittings. She turned the taps and flushed the toilet.
Claudette ran up to Lucien and kissed him full on the lips. Tears of joy flowed down her face. She grabbed Lucien and danced him around her bedroom.
Lucien kissed Claudette and left her to her own pleasures while he showed Jacques another room of equal proportions, also in black.
Jacques kicked off his shoes and proceeded to make himself at home in his luxurious quarters. As Lucien
turned to leave, Jacques enquired, “When do we get to meet the mistress of the house?”
Lucien frowned at Jacques for some time, thinking this man had all the makings of a fine addition to his devious plans. It seemed he didn’t miss a thing – the high-heeled shoes tossed on the leather sofa, the nude painting, the black frilly umbrella in the stand next to the front door, the woman’s black coat hanging on the peg in the hall and the odor of Chanel. He realized how lucky he was to find such a gifted pair to enhance his deadly fortunes.
“When the time is right ... she is rather special ... have you read Dracula?”
“Dracula? I don’t have time for such nonsense.”
“Kill him now!” The Count screamed.
“It’s not nonsense!” Lucien said with barely controlled anger. He calmed down. “A pity ... but you have heard of the book?”
“Who hasn’t?” Jacques frowned in thought. “Just how special is this mistress of yours, man?”
“So special she can make you immortal with a kiss.” Lucien was amused by the frown on Jacques’ face.
“Pull the other one, man.”
“We shall see ... if you’re up to it?” Lucien waited for a response.
“Jacques Bonaparte fears nothing.”
“That remains to be seen, my friend.” Before Lucien left he asked, “Oh, by the way, what is your size?”
Jacques gripped his groin and smirked. “More than you can handle.” He laughed.
“Your chest size!”
“One hundred and fifteen centimeters.”
“Oh my, we are a big boy, aren’t we?” Lucien chuckled at Jacques’ perplexed face and left.
Chapter 9
1st–2nd June
All through the night and into the early hours of the morning, Lucien discovered just how useful Claudette was. She and Jacques took no time at all to adapt the small laboratory in the basement that came with the house. The previous owners, who mysteriously vanished, had dabbled in perfumery. Claudette mixed various scented oils with eau-de-toilette and the desired amount of the powder – three desert spoons. The liquid was poured into a spray bottle – declared a suitable means of dispensing Forbidden Kiss.
Lucien couldn’t wait to try it. He pocketed the spray bottle and left his newfound friends to make themselves comfortable. “My house is your house.”
Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Page 20
