Wruin (Brothers Of The Dark Places Book 1)

by Miranda Bailey

“No, I use a self-tanner to hide my paleness. Here give me your hand.” She gave it to him and he put her finger in his mouth. “Feel that? They’re my gums. They’re real. Now feel this.”

  He placed her hand over his chest, where his heart should be pumping blood. She felt nothing, only a coldness that she hadn’t noticed before. She clenched her hand in his shirt, stunned. She watched his chest but so no inhalations or exhalations. Only a stillness that was unnerving.

  She looked into his eyes as they slowly started to turn black. He blinked and it was all gone, as though it had only been an illusion. Nothing showed through. She pushed his lips back open and felt along his gums. She could feel there a protrusion where his teeth had retracted back.

  Stacy stared, speechless.

  “Oh my...” and then she slumped in her chair. John caught her before she fell; his preternatural strength aiding him as he lifted her and took her to a sofa, depositing her there.

  “Stacy,” he tapped her cheeks, seeing the flesh there ripple as he tapped her, “wake up, come on now. You’re panicking me. Wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered, a damsel in distress, but the one causing the distress was also the hero. What the hell, she thought, I am so messed up. I think I believe this stuff. Looking up at him she wondered... What else he could do?

  “I can fly, I’ve over 500 years old, I was originally born in a part of the world now called Germany, I’m rich, there’s a ton of things I can tell you, if you just give me a chance.”

  “You’re rich?” She asked, completely oblivious to him answer a question she’d never verbalized. “But you’re a copper.”

  “I do that because I like giving back to the world. I have more money than I can use, but I have no friends to spend it on or with. I like helping others anyway. I’ve done a lot of bad in my life, I’m trying to pay that back now.”

  “But you were eating food earlier.” Her tongue tripped over the words but she managed to get them out.

  “I can eat normal food, get drunk, but I get no nourishment from it. It’s a habit. I can even breathe if I want to, I just choose not to. It’s an affectation to please humans and most don’t notice that I don’t breathe anyway.”

  “Do you kill? To feed? Does it make more vampires when you do?”

  “I used to kill when I fed, I had no control. I barely do now, but I’ve learned. And no, it doesn’t produce another vampire when I feed, it’s not a virus or bacteria that can be transmitted. It takes a special ceremony, a special process, to produce a vampire. None of this stuff about a bite and that’s it. I was made by a female in the 1500s that wanted a protégé, I had no family, no prospects. I agreed. She’s gone her way since and I’ve gone mine. I left the lifestyle surrounding it and I’ve tried to hide what I am, but I want to give back now. That’s why I’m here. I can sense something in you, a need, a calling that won’t leave me in peace. I need to be here for you.”

  “I don’t need anyone. People only bring you pain.”

  “I’m not people, Stacy. I’m a vampire, not human. Certainly not people, my dear.”

  “That may be, but you want something. Whether you admit it or not, you want something from me. It’s what happens.”

  “Stacy, how about we become friends first then worry about anything else that may come later? You’re ready to change your life; I’m ready to change mine. Let’s change each other’s lives? How about that?”

  “What’s your addiction? Tell me that first.” She sat up on the sofa, not breathing well lying on her back.

  “Blood. I have harmed several of my donors, the people that my maker sends to me to feed me. She set it up long ago, they still come. I’ve not killed anyone in 50 years but sometimes, it’s very hard to stop. I also can’t stop. By now I shouldn’t need to feed as often as I do. Maybe once a year, but I need it at least once a week still, sometimes several times a week. I shouldn’t still be dependent like that. I’m addicted to it.”

  “Do you want to feed from me? Do you think I’d have more blood so you could feed for longer? Is that it?”

  “No, I don’t want to feed from you. I want to only be your friend. I’d like to have conversations with you, help you and see you. That’s all. I don’t ask for anything more than that.”

  “Alright, well, I guess we can give it a try. I have a late appointment with my doctor tomorrow but you can come back if you’d like. You can show me more healthy foods to eat. I’m going to discuss with the doctor how best to start losing weight. I think it’s time to come out of my shell.”

  “I’ll be here for you, whatever you need, any time, day or night. Well, not so much day. I can come out but I have to cover up. It can be difficult in the summer but the rest of the time, I’m available. I don’t sleep ever, so feel free to call me as well.”

  “Alright. I’d like that then. Thank you.”

  They spent the rest of the evening watching quiz shows, her favourite kind of programs and laughing about how awfully the contestants performed on most of the shows. He thought she should go on one, but her look of “are you stupid” stopped that train of thought. He left her smiling and happy, even almost hopeful about the future. She didn’t feel so alone but she still held back, just a little, not quite prepared to give up her shell entirely yet.

  3

  Over the next few months Stacy began to lose weight. A dramatic amount as she poured her attentions into learning about nutrition and exercise. But she did not seek treatment for the abuse she’d endured as a child. She thought she could deal with that on her own, without input from anyone else. She didn’t even tell John about the nightmares that plagued her, the darkness she hid deep within her soul, though he saw it.

  She cleaned out all of the junk food, seeking healthy alternatives to the sweets and carbohydrates she’d filled her life with. As she lost weight, John took her to London and Manchester to buy new clothes. He didn’t care that she needed new clothes almost every month; he wanted to mark each milestone for her. He was going to take her to Paris when she lost 10 stone. That was their deal. She did the work, he rewarded her.

  She felt better, she could breathe and she wasn’t waddling anymore. Even her sleep improved as the sleep apnoea that had plagued her for years disappeared with the weight. She gained a new confidence as her face and limbs emerged from layers of weight and fluid. Lesions that had marred her skin healed and she learned that she enjoyed the endorphins exercise brought her much more than the sugar high of chocolate cake. Everything about her life was improving and she felt true happiness for the first time in her life.

  She changed her clothing style as she changed on the inside, replacing black tents for shape-fitting, colourful pastels; not wanting to blend into the background anymore. John encouraged her to go out into the world; enjoying her tales of joining a gym and how she fell the first time she got on a treadmill but then got right back on it. She told him about the book club she’d joined and how she had laughed about their vampire book obsession. If they’d only known, she told him with a conspiratorial wink.

  They spent their evenings, when he wasn’t at work, exploring the area around them; even in the dark the moors were a treat to explore. They found restaurants with healthy menus and Stacy learned to appreciate food for what it was, nourishment and fun, but not a replacement for love.

  They fell in love with each other, with the way they changed each other. John could see the darkness leaving Stacy, a lightness coming into her soul, shedding light on all of the recesses, the things she’d hidden. He felt delighted when she got out an easel and bought painting supplies, painting pictures of the moors at night that were almost lifelike. She painted one of him as well, draped across a couch with a throw across his midsection, nude everywhere else.

  She studied the lines of his body, noticing that he apparently covered himself entirely with the self-tanner because she saw no pale sections at all on his body. Her eyes studied him critically, seeing not an ounce of fat, only muscles and hard lines. He was beautiful
in every way and she wanted to please him the same way.

  “That’s not what I want from you Stacy. I want you happy. If that means you stop now, never lose another pound, that’s fine with me. You know that.”

  “You’re reading my mind again, John, I thought we’d talked about that.” She said, tapping the painting with her paint brush.

  “We did but sometimes it comes through anyway. I can’t always stop it, you know that. But I do think you’re beautiful now. I love the curves you have, the beauty of your cheeks, rounded and full, not blades that look like they could cut glass and not hidden away anymore. The flush on your cheeks now is a healthy glow, not from over-exertion. You are beautiful darling and I love you. All of you.”

  Stacy stopped cold, the brush skittering across the painting, a burgundy stripe now marring the throw he had over his hips. She stepped out from behind the easel, looking at him. She crooked an eyebrow questioningly and then stepped back to the painting, needing a moment.

  “You love me?” she asked him.

  “Yes, I do. I love you deeply, completely, wholly.”

  “No, you can’t. We’ve done all of these things to change me and yet you still go home every evening, to drink from someone else, to fill a need you can’t control.”

  “We can work on me later; I have an eternity to sort my own issues. Come here, please, let me touch you. I love your skin; it just glows with health now.”

  Moving to sit beside John, because she could do things like that now she was slimmer, she reached over him, taking his hand to place it against her cheek. She loved him, as well, but she still held back, still too afraid. Her father had told her no man would ever love her; that she was too useless. The words stung now, even though they were only a memory. She’d believed the words then and though she knew she was what she made herself to be, she believed them as they replayed in her mind now.

  Turning away from him she heard the song playing, a song of loss and love and wondered how long before the words proved true for her as well. A tear slid past her eyelids, now highlighted with makeup that brought out their beauty, a tear she tried to hold back. She quickly brushed it away, wanting to hide the tears from John.

  He touched her face, turning the visage he adored above all other to face him. She opened her eyes, trying to blink the tears away. She didn’t want him to see the weakness she still tried to hide. She had allowed the little girl out of the darkness, but sometimes she still revelled in the shadows.

  John pulled her face down to his, slowly, wanting to let her pull away if she chose to. He had not attempted to kiss her before. He’d only wanted her friendship; he’d promised and so had waited, hoping she would come to him. He was tired of waiting, though; he wanted to taste the sweet plump lips that beckoned to him with every word she spoke. He’d had fantasies about her lips, fantasies he could not get out of his head.

  As she closed the distance he felt a thrill radiate from his centre, casting warmth throughout his body. He hadn’t felt warm in centuries. She’d brought him that feeling. A fire burned through him as her lips touched his, feeling her confidence grow as his tongue played over hers. His hand cupped her face, caressing her cheek with smooth strong fingers. The thought came clear to him, his fingers elsewhere, everywhere on her as she writhed in pleasure. He smiled as he realized they were her thoughts, not his own.

  She looked at him, seeing the passion in his eyes, the need he felt for her. She moved, straddling him with her much slimmer legs, letting herself sink down onto his hips, feeling the hardness of his cock through the blanket covering him. She groaned as the length of him pressed against her pussy through the blanket. She was wearing a wrap skirt and she’d hiked it around her hips when she’d moved over him. She hadn’t worn any knickers today, enjoying the rebellion of not wearing them. All that separated them was the silky fleece of the expensive blanket he’d brought her to watch movies under one night, when she’d been suffering a cold. Moving on him she wondered if she should find a condom.

  “There’s no need for them, I can’t produce children and I’m immune to all diseases, so you’re safe.”

  “Oh, I’m sure any man would say that if he thought he could get away with it.” She swatted his chest as she spoke.

  “No,” he laughed, seriously, “I can’t get ill or produce children. It’s a product of being a vampire.”

  “Right, well then. No need to worry about it then.” She went back to moving, following the rhythm of a sultry, sexy song now playing on the radio. His hands moved over her, touching her breasts, her aching breasts that needed to be free. She pulled her shirt over her head, removed her bra and let him see this part of her. The stretch marks that marred her skin were embarrassing but she was proud that she had them; they meant she’d worked hard to look like that. At some point she’d have it all fixed surgically, if she could afford it, but for now they were badges of pride, every single line marring her flesh.

  John helped her to feel that way, his gaze sweeping over her, loving every bit of her, whether she considered it an imperfection or not. This woman with a child caged inside her aching and hurting, had opened herself finally. She wasn’t looking down on John with shame; she was free and happy in her nudity. She undid the skirt, flinging it away with a laugh. She could move now, she could sit here, on top of him without worrying about crushing him, she could breathe, she could live for the first time in her life. This wasn’t going to be a drunken coupling, performed in the dark with shame and a desire to only get it over with.

  Stacy moved, wanting to taste his flesh. She let her full lips glide along his throat, breathing hotly against his neck. She slid her tongue out, letting it play over a nipple until he gasped sharply. John may not need to breathe, but his reactions were instinctual. He needed air now! Moving to the other one, she felt his fingers tense as the nipple tightened under her attention, sucking it between her lips before sliding a hand under the blanket.

  He stilled her hand, wanting her to be sure. He looked at her face, into her eyes and saw only desire. He let her hand go and watched as her mouth followed, her red lips moving down his hipline, tickling him with her hair as she moved. He gasped when her mouth moved over his hard cock, closing over it. He felt the warm, wet heat of her mouth, the gentle scrape of her teeth and let his head fall back, still watching but helpless to hold his head up.

  She sucked him, hard, letting her mouth glide wetly over his shaft, sucking on the head as it left her mouth with a pop. Taking him in hand she moved back down, letting him enter her throat and stretch it before swallowing, letting her neck muscles massage him. John’s hips pushed up then, wanting to go deeper still. He buried his hands in her hair, holding her still as he fucked her throat, amazed at how much of him she took. He wasn’t a small man and what she was doing took some skill.

  “Fuck, Stacy, don’t make me cum in your throat, I’m not ready for this to be over yet.” His movements belied his words; he kept thrusting, getting closer and closer as she continued to swallow him. He tried to hold back, gritting his teeth against the pleasure but he could not stop his hips, could not stop the pleasure. His head was full of her, the feel of her mouth, her scent, her touch and feel. When the explosion came she swallowed every bit of his cum, humming against his cock in contentment. She wanted his seed; she wanted to swallow every inch of him. She kept sucking, hoping to extend the pulsing that passed through him as he emptied himself in her mouth. His thrusts slowed, his hands relaxed in her hair and he exhaled slowly.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry Stacy, but that was great!”

  Stacy smiled, pleased that she’d taken his control for a moment and drove him over the edge in a way. She wanted to know she could take his control; it made her feel powerful, if only sexually and momentarily.

  “It’s alright, John, as long as that doesn’t mean you’re going to fall asleep on me now.” She laughed, knowing what his reply was going to be.

  “I never sleep, baby, so prepare for an onslaught. I doubt you w
ill be falling asleep anytime tonight. I am going to turn you inside out.”

  He pulled her up, carrying to her bedroom then dropping her with a laugh on the bed.

  “Let me look at you.” He said with a smile.

  He gazed down at her, allowing his fingers to flow from her now visible collar bone, down her breasts tipped with dark red nipples, almost obscene in their colour but oh so sexy, he told her. Down her rounded tummy and hips covered in the proof of her struggle. Not all of the marks were stretch marks, some were healed scars from being kicked, pinched, burned and tortured by her father. She let him look his fill, knowing that he did not judge her. He knew what she’d come from to look as she did now. Her struggle had been long and hard, still continued, but she was proud of what she’d become.

  He let his fingers dip into her pussy, spreading the opening he found there to look at her deeply, leaning over to smell and taste her. Heat filled his body again, something only she could produce and as his tongue found her clit, the heat exploded, flowing throughout every inch of his body. Warmth, blessed vital warmth that he hadn’t felt in 500 years, spread all over him. The heat did not become unbearable, only more pleasurable as her happiness grew.

  John teased her and she could feel his mouth, hot and wet, moving over her, devouring her. She looked at the ceiling but did not see it, she only felt him there, on her, doing things to her, producing a deep pleasure she’d never felt before.

  “You are delicious darling; I never want to move away from your pussy. I want to sit here the rest of my life, sucking your pussy until you scream.”

  “Oh, please, don’t stop!” For once she didn’t stumble over her words; she knew exactly what she wanted.

  “Make me cum, John; I want to cum all over your face. Please, use your fingers too. Whatever you want, wherever you want. I just need to cum.” Her need was driving, burning through her, making her move restlessly on the bed. Her hips writhed, leaving the bed, with each swipe of his fingers or tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands until he winced, but she did not stop. She wanted more, needed more. Stacy was keening, her need driving tears to her eyes from frustration.