by Sky Winters
His jaw dropped. His expression mixed tenderness with shock and grief; now it was he who seemed to be hunting for words and getting nowhere. Finally, he stepped forward, nudging her back against the wall, and took her chin in his hand, pressing his lips against hers softly.
Lucinda froze. He can’t be kissing me. I’m dreaming again. Or he’s drunk, or.... But even as her heart skipped and started to pound, she gave in to that foolish, upwelling warmth inside her, and shyly responded. Tentative at first, almost delicate, wondering at how cool his lips were and how soft. Then as he pushed against her and intensified the kiss, responding with the same hunger, as the warmth inside her roared up into a sharp and demanding heat. Her restraint snapped, and took her doubts with it.
Oh yes. God, yes. Her arms twined around him, and she went up on her toes as he lifted her against him easily. His mouth threatened to smother her--how did he go so long without air? But she didn’t really give a damn about that or anything else besides being close to him. If he wanted her, then there was no point restraining herself. Wonder and delight and desire coursed through her and she knew she had fallen for him hopelessly. And she hadn’t felt anything this good in years.
But despite their reverie, which went on for a long, sweet minute, she started to notice something as he kissed and nuzzled her. His body was so strangely still against hers. Not his hands, sliding up her back and down her arms and through her hair; not his lips, still ravaging hers; not his voice, which had lowered to soft, wordless sounds of delight that matched her own. His body trembled against hers...but it did not pant. He didn’t seem to be drawing breath at all. Her heartbeat pounded against his chest, but his...she couldn’t feel. And his skin stayed cool, warming only where she touched him, where most men would have gone feverish with arousal. Not a drop of sweat on him; no pulse in his lips, or in his neck where her fingers brushed it.
No body heat. No breath. No heartbeat. A bite that gave pleasure but could kill. Three hundred years. Her mind was putting puzzle pieces together that she didn’t want it to; she only wanted to hold him, kiss and be kissed, and...do more….
Suddenly something sharp sliced into the inside of her lower lip; she backed off, startled, holding her mouth. “Ow. Yohan, what--”
He had let her go, and had his face part turned away from her. His shoulders shook; he seemed to brace himself, and then turned so she could see him. His blue eyes didn’t just shine; they glowed, casting a soft light down his pale cheeks and sparkling in his lashes. His beautiful lips were stained darkly with blood--her blood, she realized, as she felt the cut on her lip. And overhanging the lower one, the culprits in her small but telling injury: a pair of fangs, glittering like shards of crystal in the dim light.
Every clue came together at once with terrible clarity: she stared at him, eyes huge, barely able to take more than tiny sips of air. He couldn’t be, but he was: a creature from a legend, now standing a foot away with her blood on his mouth--and her lips still tingling from his kiss.
“Yohan...you’re….”
His face twisted with anguish and he dragged himself away from her, turning away and pressing his hand over his mouth as if he wished he could yank out his fangs and be rid of them. “Don’t look at me!”
Something in her screamed for her to run, but she stayed, transfixed by the terrible grief and fear on this strange being’s face. He seemed to expect her to flee; he closed his eyes, as if afraid to watch her leave. She saw a tear trickle out from under his lashes as his mouth closed, and the fangs slid out of sight, his lips twisting with dejection and self-disgust.
What happened on the contest night was real. He drank some of my blood. I loved it. And now this. He’s...he’s a vampire.
She held herself still, waiting for this impossible knowledge to sink in somehow. Bits of it did; the conversations with Claudia suddenly had context. His mention of being a widower for centuries. That comment about virgin’s blood. Everything. But mostly what she saw was the strange being in front of her, in pain, alone, facing a hell she knew intimately: rejection. He had made himself vulnerable in reaching out to her, and now….
No.
She touched his cheek, feeling how cool it was, how smooth. He went absolutely still. Her fingertips traced the single tear’s path down his face...and then she leaned forward and brushed it away with her lips.
He shuddered, his head falling back and his chest heaving once. His eyes opened, still shimmering with a blue radiance, like captured moonlight. They were full of astonishment. “You...did not run away….” he whispered breathlessly.
She shook her head, not certain what she could possibly say to even explain herself. All she knew was that the idea of leaving him, here, in these first sweet moments of their being together, was more terrifying and painful than facing what he was. Instead, she slipped her hand up his chest, and then laid her cheek against it. No heartbeat. But he was trembling even harder now, and when she found herself swept up in his arms like she weighed nothing, she wasn’t even that surprised.
Chapter 5
She could barely breathe. He was like an animal now, low growls in his throat and his eyes luminous as he carried her down the hall. She expected to feel his fangs again, but instead there was only the firm grip of his hands around her thighs, his clinging, near-smothering kiss, the moments when he lost restraint and pressed her against the wall to feel the whole length of her body against his. She tried to keep up, even as his lips grew bruising at times, but often she couldn’t caress him so much as hang on for dear life as he bore her away to one of the near rooms.
He pushed the door open with a bang and swept through with her; she saw his music room, piano by a wall of windows and a rack of lesser instruments behind glass on the wall. Shelves and shelves of music, a mirror reflecting the window wall--and one broad, low divan in dark blue velvet, which he headed for even as he nipped and nuzzled her from her jawline to the tops of her breasts. She heard cloth tear, knew her uniform was ruined, and then whimpered as his fingers slipped up her bared back. He lowered her to the divan, angrily yanking away the intervening fabric until she panted up at him wearing just her bra and skirt. He stared down at her, then reached a shaking hand out, gripped the front of her bra--and snapped it, under-wires and all, freeing her breasts and leaving her trembling.
He buried his face in her breasts as he crouched over her, his tongue cool and silky over her skin but his gestures those of a starving man suddenly offered a hearty meal. Little groans mixed with his growls, and he caught one of her nipples in his mouth, his fangs just brushing it before he started sucking. She let out a low, astonished wail, half sitting up, the unfamiliar pleasure coursing through her like electricity. He paused, and then got a little of his self-possession back, chuckling against her skin. Both hands reached down to cup her breasts, and he kneaded and kissed them in earnest, switching his mouth from one to the other when she started getting sore.
More fabric ripped; her skirt was gone. She made a small noise of protest, her shyness welling up, but he simply raised his head and stared at her before very deliberately reaching down to caress her thighs. His fingers traced her skin, then started stroking and kneading her through the fabric of her panties. He kept at her breast as he worked, and she whimpered and moaned, hands in his hair, breathless. The doubled sensation mixed inside her body and left her straining and trembling under him, her skin hot, her head spinning, and her voice...ah, yes, that was her voice, begging him to go on, begging him not to stop.
He was no kinder to his own clothes, tearing his shirt with his impatience, buttons flying. His trousers he yanked open and down, destroying their zipper, not seeming to care. He was barely undressed enough for the act when he threw himself over her.
His smooth, cool body pressed her into the divan’s velvet cushions, and she felt him enter. She had expected pain; there was only a little ache, though, drowned out by sweetness--and his reaction as her soft, warm flesh accepted him. He let out a long, anguished moan,
eyes widening, body going rigid as he clung to her. He fought for control, his body shaking against hers...and then relaxed slightly, his head tilting down to look at her. His expression was half wild and half tender, like the adoration of a wolf; then his eyes rolled closed and he started to thrust.
Lucinda had never romanticized the idea of her first time. She was too pragmatic. But now, trembling under her first lover, she felt as if her body was afire. Pleasure and need for more pleasure, the growing, uncontrollable tension in her muscles; the way his rough movements felt better and better with every roll of his hips; all of these things were as strange to her as his fangs and the glow of his eyes. And beautiful, so beautiful. She closed her eyes, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pounded away at her. She felt her breath catch and shudder in her throat--and then her back arched as his ferocious movements drove her over the edge.
Her long cries echoed off the walls as he moved fiercely against her, the divan shaking, her body writhing under him as her climax tore through her. Her ecstasy touched off his own within moments. He shuddered violently, and pressed down on her hard enough to drive her into the cushions. His voice rose in a scream of mixed relief and joy...and then trailed off, his tremors stilling.
He sighed contentedly as he gently settled over her. She had just enough strength left to slide a limp arm around him before the world drifted away from her.
“Are you alright?” Yohan’s voice, soft and drowsy, whispered in her ear, and she realized that she had actually fainted. They lay entwined on the divan, he on his back and she curled up against his side with his arms around her. His cool, dry body felt good against her warm one, and she smiled before leaning up to kiss him under the chin. He let out a little sound of relief, and stroked her hair softly.
“I’m...better than fine….” she murmured.
He chuckled, then ventured, “I apologize for your uniform...it has been some centuries since my last time, you see. I fear it left me a little pent up.”
She giggled, and hid a blush in his shoulder. “You’ll have to come up with something for me to wear,” she pointed out lazily, although she had a feeling his shirts wouldn’t be big enough for her to wander around in.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll manage something.”
As she recovered, he held her, at first quietly. But then, softly and slowly, he began to speak. “I know what you have gone through because I went through it myself.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You did?”
“Oh yes. Performers and composers alike have suffered some variant on this problem since musical patronage first began.” He nuzzled her hair, idly twining one of her curls around his finger. “I was a less than successful composer in Vienna when I became as I am...three hundred and twelve years ago. My music was unpopular due to its less than traditional nature. I found an audience only in certain quarters, none of which involved wealthy patrons. I was doomed to obscurity, and had to settle for life as a simple copyist working at a conservatory. And I hated it. I spent my days devoted to preserving the work of others, while my own would never be preserved.
“I was...dying when Claudia found me. Plague. It was still common in those days. I would have ended up in a lime-pit if not for her. I had no particular desire for immortality. But I did have a family, and when Claudia offered a cure which would allow me to continue to support them despite my illness, I agreed to it.”
He smiled thinly. “At the time, it was like a miracle. Yes, I required regular infusions of blood to maintain my health, but my strength returned, and with it my ability to work. Of course, only at night. And at evening and before dawn, I could see my wife, and our two little ones. I think the children suspected something. But they were always happy to see me. And Constanze...I could not have withstood being apart from her.”
He turned his head to stare out the window at the rain. “But time passed, and our children grew and left to make their own ways, and she began to age, while I did not. And never could she see me during the day. A side effect of my surviving that particular illness, Claudia and I explained, but...Constanze was not stupid.
“All that I could do to keep her was to beg my sire for the chance to make my wife like myself. Claudia agreed...but explained to me that I must first let Constanze know what it was that was being offered to her. It is not in our practice to take the unwilling, you see.”
He looked at her, his eyes bright again, and sadness written in every line of his face. “And so one night, I showed her. And I told her the whole truth...and she ran from me.” He blinked rapidly and looked away again. “I followed, for she was so frightened, and I feared her running in the dark. Our garden was as black as a tomb, after all. But the harder I tried to catch up, the more desperately she fled from me.
“I don’t know if she tripped, or struck her head on a branch in a certain way, or what other misadventure befell her before I caught up. But I found her...with her neck broken. Already gone.”
He was shaking. She ran her hand up over his shoulder, and caressed her way up and down his arm until he calmed and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I can see now why you would expect me to run.”
He licked his lips, nodding slowly. “I have been alone ever since. I mourned her a long time. And my shrew of a progeny Imelda made certain to drive away anyone she thought I might fall for. I’m sure she’ll take a swipe at you as well.” He offered a tight smile. “I wish I could have kept this from you just a little longer. I would have enjoyed...just a little, innocent time with you, without the facts of my existence always imposing themselves.”
She rolled over so that she lay over him, fingers sliding over his chest. “I don’t really understand all these things. But...I would rather know. You don’t have to hide things from me, Yohan. I...I’m not perfect, and I don’t know much about love to begin with. But I know that if you’re with someone, you have to love them as they are. Not as you or they would want them to be. This is going to take some getting used to. But I’m new at everything to do with relationships, so...I...will just do my best.”
He sighed happily, and then gasped softly as she kissed his chest. “You are a wonder,” he murmured. “I...never imagined that you would stay. No matter what Claudia said.”
She propped herself up on her arms and blinked down at him. “She...set us up?”
He smiled wryly. “Oh yes, curse her and bless her at once, my meddling sire. She’s been setting up these contests to find someone for me. Said she was tired of my moping!”
“Oh my God.” She blushed and giggled, hiding her face under his chin. “So that’s what this was about.”
“Yes.”
“...Wow.” She lay down cheek to cheek with him, looking out at the rain alongside him. “I guess I owe her one.”
He slid a hand up and down her back as they lay there. “So do I, Schätzele,” he whispered as she started to drift off. “So do I.”
THE END
Return to TOC
VAMPERELLA AND THE BILLIONAIRE
Cindy woke up earlier than normal. She hadn’t been sleeping the way she used to. Tossing and turning around in her small bed had become her nightly norm. But, when she woke up this morning, she could feel something special in the air. Outside her bedroom window the sweet sound of the New York rain created a soothing melody that filled her heart with a magical hope. She jumped off her bed to glance outside her window, which was a bit jammed, but she managed to open it by pushing her muscles up and against the glass pane.
The rain was briskly hitting the New York streets, creating a romantic atmosphere with an element of gothic sublimity. She stuck her face out of the window to feel the rain kiss her pale porcelain skin. She was a young woman with shapely curves that had made other women cringe with jealousy. Her eyes were large and blue. And her untouched lips were soft and pinkish, finely shaped.
People were walking under umbrellas on streets, hiding their heads from the rain. Most of them were buzzing their wa
y on the road, in their cars. Everybody seemed busy in some way. There was an old man, about eighty years old that gazed up at Cindy in the window. She thought that the old man had lived a long life, and she admired the lines on his face—evidence of experience she did not yet have. She was just nineteen years old, and there was a long life ahead of her. She wasn’t even sure about the decision she took, of going to New York to pursue theatre. Her foster family had laughed in disbelief. Time would tell, whether her decision was a good one or not.
“EEEEEK!” the alarm clock exploded like a grenade, and she was completely startled. She took a deep breath, and reached for the alarm clock with her hand. She turned the alarm off. It was seven-thirty. “Here we go again!” she muttered, and quickly changed her dress. It was an ordinary blue dress, which she had worn about a million times. She didn’t have much of a choice. Even in her tattered drabs, Cindy always looked remarkable.
She darted out of her apartment, and locked the door on her way out. She was a house-cleaner in the morning, caterer in the afternoon, and waitress by night. Three grueling jobs with lousy pay. But that had to be done if she wanted to survive in a city like New York, and she certainly couldn’t rely on her foster parents. All her life she depended on herself, and she wasn’t willing to abandon that attitude. Her foster parents had worked her hard, but she supposed that was payment for food and a roof over her head.
