He slurped the blood from his fingers and that was when the pain of the gleaming hit him full on. Shooting pains tore from his gums to the top of his skull. He opened wide and watched his canines grow larger and longer. Gleaming his fangs, he shuddered at the thought of drinking all her blood at the Eternal Hour. Once the pain subsided, a scream of pure joy shattered the deathly silence.
A becalmed Lucien stepped back into his bedroom. What a mess. He didn’t care anymore for such thoughts seemed impure. With a flourish, he opened the black velvet drapes and cringed at the hideous light searing his retinas. He turned away, frantically closing the curtains to hide from the wicked sun.
His face felt hot and sore. Rushing to the bathroom, he stared at his red face and bloodshot eyes. His reflection looked so ridiculous, he burst out laughing. Is this how he would spend the rest of his life? A wide yawn revealed ordinary teeth. Only then did it dawn on him that he hadn’t slept in almost eighteen hours. The need to rest overcame his body. Exhausted, he staggered into his coffin and immediately fell into the glorious oblivion of a deep sleep.
Chapter 11
Lucien awoke from his slumber a refreshed Suckling vampire. It was late in the afternoon of the third of June – the day of his perfect creation. He felt so virile and powerful. His raging erection needed immediate attention so he grabbed his trusty whip.
Lucien entered Claudette’s bedroom to satiate his animal lust upon her. He saw the smirk on Claudette’s face and chuckled at her finger begging him to her. Lucien ripped his shorts to shreds and leapt on the bed. He immediately tried to mount Claudette but she giggled, playfully pushing him away and indicated to the whip.
Claudette turned around and raised her behind, slipping two fingers between her legs and groaning. “Whip me, Lucien! Whip me!” Her excited tongue licked her essence from her fingers.
Lucien uncoiled the whip and lashed her milky-white buttocks. Streaks of red blemished her fine skin and he was impressed at her resilience. In fact, she groaned with pleasure. To his amazement she raised her wrists in supplication. He used the whip to bind her wrists, biting into her tender flesh. He felt her pain and her arousal then threw the grip over the crossbar of the four-poster and hauled Claudette to an erect position. Knotting the grip to the crossbar he ravaged Claudette’s body with his gleamed fangs, biting her earlobes which elicited delightful moans. He kissed his way to her nipples, drawing tiny droplets of blood and then down to her shaved labia where he nuzzled her swollen clitoris taking tentative nips with his sharp teeth. Her screams of pleasure were a joy to behold.
Claudette sagged in her orgasmic release. With a sharp tug he slackened the whip, captured her limp body and licked the bloody streaks slashed across her buttocks.
Revived, she used her fingers to spread her labia wide and gently settled on Lucien’s face.
Lucien marveled at the intricate fleshy petals, his eager tongue swirling around in a figure of eight pattern. He massaged her buttocks and slipped a finger into her anus. His erection was engulfed in Claudette’s gorgeous mouth. He hoped she wouldn’t gleam in her excitement. What the fuck, he thrust his hips into her face. In a moment he released his seed at the same time she quivered with multiple orgasms so powerful that he tingled all over.
Claudette was not done. She swiveled around and impaled herself on Lucien’s still erect cock. She rode him hard and fast, bucking her hips and twisting to face the other way.
Claudette shuddered and moaned with her finish. She lay on the bed next to him. “What was that thing you did with your tongue ... it was so divine, darling?”
“I call it The Venus Butterfly. I had a dream that showed me what to do.” He laughed. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
“Venus Butterfly? I guess I am Venus ... but butterfly?” She nudged him to tell her more.
Lucien was now bored and sprang to his feet. “Come on, I’m famished!”
Lucien, Jacques and Claudette sat at the oak dining table with total indifference, staring at three plates filled with bacon, eggs, fried bread and fried tomatoes. They sniffed their food warily.
Lucien dipped a finger into an egg yolk and smelled his finger. He grimaced with disgust. With a shrug, he licked his finger, spitting out what tasted like vomit. He sampled a cup of steaming coffee and sprayed the muck all over the table.
“What are we going to do, Lucien ... I could eat a horse?” Claudette asked in a petulant manner.
Jacques undid his fly. “Get those lips around this!”
“Pig!” Claudette pouted and looked away from Jacques’ massive penis. She picked up a twisted strip of bacon and nibbled it like a bird. “That’s fucking terrible.” She tossed her plate onto the floor. “Well?”
Lucien sighed with irritation. He walked to the food cooler and opened it. A moment of rummaging produced a large raw steak.
Claudette’s eyes bulged at the sight of cold blood dripping from the meat.
Lucien tossed the huge piece of beef onto the table. All three gleamed their fangs and pounced on the meat, ripping it to pieces. Lucien slapped the shredded steak to his mouth and sucked it dry. He was hungrier than ever now.
Claudette gave a sudden agonized squeal. She looked at her red arm slashed by the sun’s rays filtering in through the kitchen windows. She jumped away and scurried to a shadow, her arm protecting her eyes from the hideous glare. Her bloodshot eyes glared at Lucien.
Jacques laughed when the shaft of light left him unscathed. He casually pulled the blinds down on both windows, giving Claudette a superior look.
“What have you done to us, Lucien? I love the sun ... its warmth caressing my skin after a swim. Will I never feel that again?” Claudette looked at Lucien with tearful eyes.
“The moon is our mistress now. There’s nothing stopping you from a moonlight dip, is there?” Lucien was also troubled by this revelation, especially now that he sensed Claudette’s pain as well.
Claudette stormed out of the kitchen.
“Women ... what are we to do, eh?” Jacques laughed out loud.
Claudette returned wearing dark glasses, floppy summer hat and white gloves. She opened the rear door and stepped out into hell’s furnace. She skipped back into the kitchen, closing the door with a giggle.
“See ... it works!” She tossed a pot of white foundation to Lucien, showing her arms, face and neck covered in chalk-white cream.
Lucien smiled wickedly at Claudette. It irritated him to no end that this female had outsmarted him.
The Count was most displeased, venting his rage inside the pit of hell that was Lucien’s mind.
~~~~
Lucien left his home wearing his long coat, black gloves, black Fedora, dark glasses and white make-up on exposed flesh. On the way to his favorite Haute Couture to pick up his friends’ new coats, his blood rage overtook him. He strolled down the Pigalle looking for suitable victims. They were everywhere and all begged for him with their pleading minds.
His first victim stepped from a dark doorway and winked at him. Lucien immediately sensed her need to die. Her misery became his cross to bear. Flashing images filled his mind. She had led a terrible life of beatings from her father, only to suffer more of the same from her pimp.
Her addiction to cocaine was her individual stench of death, a scent so powerful Lucien actually felt pity for her. He led her to a grimy hotel. With his hat tipped over his face he paid the clerk handsomely and ascended the spiral stairs to a door with paint peeling down in long strips.
The moment they entered the room, Lucien gripped her by the throat and sank his fangs into the bulging vein in her slender neck. In his blood fury he had forgotten the atomizer of Forbidden Kiss. He held her close so she could not struggle. The blood tasted bitter as if this bottle had soured, so bitter in fact that Lucien could not drink her vintage. Her disease was unpalatable. He removed his sword and sliced her heart in two. He wiped the blood from his face with a pillow case, cleaned his sword and hurriedly left the room.
Perhaps it
was better to leave the cheap bottles alone and concentrate on a more subtle, mature vintage. He chose an elegantly dressed woman walking her dog. Following them at a discreet distance was of no use, for no matter how far back he remained, the dog kept watching him. The closer he moved the more agitated the dog became. The little mutt ruined his feast! But he had to drink!
He sauntered up to a seedy flea pit showing a Greta Garbo flick. Several young females entered, giggling and squealing. The smell of their fresh blood gave him an instant erection. Lucien followed them in.
He removed his glasses and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. The girls chuckled behind him. They were fondling and kissing in the back row. The Suckling vampire slid across the row of seats and passed the girls. He sat right next to them. They stopped fooling around.
“Hey, monsieur, get lost!”
Lucien leaned across them and sprayed them with an ample amount of Forbidden Kiss.
Lucien gleamed his fangs and opened one bottle at a time. Oh what a difference it made not poisoning one’s own blood. The girls’ fruity offering was similar to a young, vibrant Cabernet, not too full-bodied but bursting with life and the fizz of fun. Lucien decided not to leave the girls stone cold. He wiped away their blood, using their disheveled clothing and quietly left making sure his hat concealed his face. A sudden jolt of agony reminded him to put his glasses back on.
Lucien hummed a pleasant Satie number while strolling down fashionable boulevards sniffing blood of every vintage passing him by. He had such fun likening each person to the great classic wines and he could care less about the strange glances others gave him. The urge to urinate overwhelmed his senses.
He entered the toilets of a nearby bar. The stench of stale urine assaulted him. He coughed with the need to puke then relieved himself of his excesses. Lucien was casually looking away at nothing in particular when he picked up on the man’s disgust and revulsion standing next to him.
Lucien glanced down to see a stream of blackish red urine staining the metal urinal. He turned and shrugged to the man, shook himself dry, removed his sword and sent the inquisitive bastard to his maker.
Lucien continued on to his destination satisfied with the day’s body count. He entered his favorite boutique offering the best Haute Couture his millions of Francs could buy. An effeminate attendant placed both coats on mannequins for Lucien to admire.
Chapter 12
4th June
Eternal’s bloody fangs released their grip on his neck. She had found her true love and caressed his dreams with her muse.
“Eternal!” the young man screamed. Twenty-one-year-old Edouard Clavet awoke with a start. He was drenched in sweat. Sitting up, he stared around his sardine-tin of a dorm within the bowels of the Centre Hospitalier Universitaire de Psychologique in Paris. His bedclothes had become tangled around him. The word “Eternal” ricocheted around the walls of his mind like a bullet discharged from some unknown source. What did it mean? This latest dream seemed almost too real.
He leapt from his cot still wearing his hospital gown. He had no idea what time it was. He shook his head to clear the fading image of a woman with skin so pale and soft and eyes that had captured his heart. Who was she and how could she enter his dreams? He had never seen her before.
Then it hit him. With a crushed heart he recalled the dreadful argument he had with the Directeur over the treatment of a patient suffering from obvious symptoms of shock. Edouard had stormed off with the threat of dismissal hanging over him for using Janet.
Edouard trembled with rage at the Directeur’s pigheadedness. He snatched his reading glasses from a bedside cabinet and removed his fob watch from the crumpled hospital gown. A gasp of shock escaped his lungs. It was almost six in the evening and he would need to hurry before the shops closed.
“How could I forget? Please forgive me.” He muttered miserably, quickly disrobing. These unusual dreams interfered with his personal life, and it would seem his professional life too.
He had never forgotten to put a single red rose on his parents’ graves, so cruelly taken by the 1919 influenza epidemic.
Edouard freshened up at the sink and used eau de cologne under his arms and into his hair. He hurriedly dressed in his best suit of grey flannel and left the institute.
Edouard crossed the bustling square, ignoring his fellow psychology students. He made haste to the Boulevard Saint Michel with its fashionable cafés, shops and bars all jostling for trade from eager tourists and Parisians. He stopped at his favorite florist displaying a profusion of colorful blooms laid out in the shape of a heart. A red rose captured his imagination. He was reminded of his recent dream – the rose being the dominant image.
A bell chimed his entry. Edouard ignored the profusion of flowers and fixated on the roses. He covertly glanced at the young woman at the register and as usual she gave him a come-on smile.
He smiled back to her then came upon a rose like no other. Such depth of color, he mused. It was the darkest red he had ever seen, as though borne of blood-soaked earth. He could not resist touching its fragile petals. The scent was imperceptible but a powerful memory stirred within his subconscious mind – a flashback from that distant past of his dreams coalesced before him with an image of an ethereal, beautiful woman beckoning to him with open arms on a bed of rose petals.
Edouard picked one rose and was about to choose another when the chime rang the arrival of another customer.
He turned to look upon a picture of such exquisite perfection that time stood still for him. The woman from his dreams removed fashionable sunglasses and slipped them into her jacket pocket. She was breathing heavily and seemed desperate, glancing all around. He could do nothing but stare at her standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the diminishing sun’s rays.
His lungs were filled with her perfume – Chanel. She had the looks that would stop a crowded room. Again, a distant memory choked his mind with the image of blood dripping from fangs. A single word rattled around in his feverish mind – Eternal. Edouard blinked to regain his composure.
The woman approached him with deliberate intent. Her luxuriant dark red hair and skin so smooth and pale were beyond enticing. He had to resist an impulse to stroke her finely contoured cheeks or die right there for not trying.
She held him transfixed with large lustrous eyes of burnt umber. The color radiated an allure, enticing, and at the same time dark and foreboding. He gasped when the feeble light cascading from the window caught her eyes, changing them pitch-black, like a cat poised to pounce.
Edouard shuddered at her words spoken without moving her lips – “We are eternal, my true love.” He trembled with excitement.
“I am for you.” He had barely enough breath to speak.
She was extravagantly dressed from head to toe, in fashionable, chic black Chanel over a white chiffon gown but Edouard’s eyes were drawn to her angelic face with a power beyond reason. He marveled at her finely contoured nose set perfectly between her high cheekbones, as white as mountain peaks. Her full lips were painted deep, Burgundy red. She could have stood naked and still Edouard wouldn’t have been able to pull his gaze from her iridescent, coal-black eyes circled by black mascara. Her pearlessence dazzled him.
The woman glided across the floor like a swan on a crystal lake. She smiled faintly, revealing the edge of radiantly white teeth.
Edouard stood rigid with the dark red rose still in his hand, longing to entwine his tongue with hers. He had to kiss her.
The sublime beauty took the rose from his hand with fingers encased in black velvet gloves. She sniffed the heavenly scent.
The delicious woman spoke with a voice softer than angels’ wings, “I am for you, Edouard my true love. We are eternal.”
She plucked the rose from the long stem and pushed the flower into her jacket lapel buttonhole. She opened her gorgeous mouth and pounced upon the transfixed Edouard with a rampant kiss.
He returned the kiss with equal passion. A s
urge of electricity coursed through his body. He shuddered when their tongues wrapped in a lovers’ embrace, tasting the heat of passion and a saltiness from his dreams. A strange sensation of dread enveloped him as ancient music, dark, yet comforting, cloaked his soul. It was the music from his dreams which showed him an erotic image of her nuzzling the neck of an obviously wealthy young woman. Blood seeped from her lips.
She spoke, and yet her lips never left his mouth, “We shall be together always. We shall be eternal.”
The door chimed the arrival of another customer.
Edouard turned to ice, matching her sudden terror.
Deep in her embrace, her voice screamed into his soul. “The Moreau Suite at the Ritz.”
Her kiss was abruptly halted. The woman was torn from his grasp. He opened his eyes to see an ashen-faced, tall, lithe young man, with shoulder-length raven-black hair, dressed in a smart black coat, black fedora and dark glasses. An irrational fear turned Edouard’s heart to stone.
The young man’s pale face sneered back at Edouard with open hatred. He warned, “You dance with the Devil ... you sleep with the Devil!”
The woman trembled with fear in the grip of this wicked man and Edouard had no doubts how dangerous this man was.
In a blur of motion, the young man left the shop, dragging the mysterious woman of his dreams like a rag doll.
Edouard stared at the door slowly closing behind the fleeing couple. The strange music immediately evaporated from his mind and yet her words remained. What did she mean by eternal? What was her name? He knew she was the one. No other woman could possibly compare with the vision of loveliness that had so easily captured his heart and soul. Could someone capture your soul in a momentary meeting? He came to his senses and rushed from the shop to see the woman being bundled into a massive black Mercedes.
Edouard ran after the car but it took off with a screech of tires. He stood staring down the boulevard to watch the car vanish in the distance. He rushed back into the florist.
Chapter 13
Edouard burst forth from the florist like a cork from a champagne bottle. He quickly hailed a taxi and gave the driver orders for the Cimetiere de Montmartre. By the time the taxi dropped Edouard off at the cemetery on 37, Avenue Samson, it was getting late. He paid the driver and entered the cemetery with two roses.
Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Page 22
