The Night Captive Part 2: A Vampire Story
The failing sun beat against the windows in a desperate attempt to penetrate the heavy curtains. It was futile. Victor's apartment - in a refurbished Gothic church - was like a cocoon and the darkness would not be breeched. They all reacted to the sunlight differently. Rarely did exposure result in death, but did cause a loss of power. A loss of abilities. All that made them who they were. In Victor's 400-something years, sunlight had only made him feel very ill.
He looked down upon the woman he had taken evening last. She rested supine in shadow while her slow and rhythmic breathing caused her bosom to rise and fall like the gentle heaving of the earth. So much had he taken from her. She would sleep for another 24 hours at least. He would drink from her again, but she needed to regain her strength. And then he would have to teach her. She was like him now and there was much she had to learn. Tomorrow. There would always be tomorrow.
He bent down to the small punctures, each encircled by a purplish bruise and kissed her there, inhaling her scent deeply. He could smell the blood coursing beneath her skin, a river's banquet of promises. She was already emitting the sweet aroma that came from the transformation. He would study her for a few hours until his time came to seek out the new. He reached and gently touched her hair, and put it against his pale cheek. It felt of silk and entangled limbs and ecstasy.
At last the hour came and he set out into the streets of the city. Conquests were not difficult for him and there were no boundaries, no fences that confined his choices. He could as easily seduce a woman of high social rank at a cocktail party as a woman walking the streets. Or a débutante or a doctor or a social worker. It mattered not – in the larger scheme of things. Just by locking eyes he held a hypnotic power over his pets, as he liked to call them. There was so little to stop him. A crucifix held before him was laughable and the smell of garlic made him hungry. It was easy. Too easy. Victor enjoyed the hunt. The thrill of the chase with his captive left sanguine in blood, her life force drained from her and into Victor. For he needed her blood too. There were no morals involved. No social mores. Victor simply was. And that was why he walked the streets. That was why he had a critical eye. And that was why on this night he walked again.
He passed many on the streets. Women alone, hurrying along or walking the dog. Couples too, the men instinctively moving between Victor and the female as if to protect them. Victor smiled ruefully to himself. If he wanted them he would take them. It was that simple. Invariably, the women stole a glance in his direction, sensing his power, his virility, his propensity for danger and ecstasy. And then he got the feeling. Deep inside his being a warmth ignited, a rumble like the distant heat thunder of the desert. It was the building. She was in there, he knew. He would find her and he would have her and he would go on his way.
He moved down the alley between the two apartment buildings and emerged at the rear. The black iron fire escape zigzagged up the brick wall in the slow and steady manner of a mountain climber, securing each handhold with a spike driven directly into the stone before proceeding upward. And then Victor saw the lit window. The warmth inside him increased and with a leap he found himself standing on the fire escape outside her window on the fourth floor. He peered inside between the slits in the blind. Somewhere a feral cat emitted a languished cry.
She had her naked back to the window. He stared at her raven hair spilling onto her, accentuating her narrow shoulders. Her back was long and elegant, her spine a gentle gully cutting gingerly between her shoulder blades. Her sides tapered down to the small of her back. He could not see lower. Victor's mouth was watering, and a single drop of saliva escaped his mouth and flickered on his lip. His lust and hunger grew until he could wait no longer. With sheer will power he appeared behind her. She turned abruptly, mouth agape, taking that deep breath one takes before screaming. But no scream came forth. Victor had locked eyes with her and she was mute.
“Don't be afraid, my pet,” Victor half-whispered in a deep baritone. “You are mine now. You have nothing to fear.” His eyes moved down and took in her whole body. She was glorious. Her breasts were ripe as fruit and he was Adam, ready to taste the forbidden. They were perfect, neither large nor small and they beckoned with the promise of nourishment. Her hips were girlishly feminine and framed her mound as if an exquisite painting. Her legs belonged to a different species, something animal, powerful and detailed rising up to her buttocks that were firm and round as planets.
Victor took a step towards her. She moved away a step while slowly moving her head from side to side while mouthing “no.”
“Yes, my love,” Victors melodious voice soothed her, “Do not fight it.” He raised one hand toward her and she took another step and backed into the wall.
In a moment Victor was against her,
pressing into her, pinning her there. “You are lucky, my pet.
You have been chosen.” His hand commanded her body. The girl
breathed deeply, her chest expanding with each massive inhale.
Victor's hands found her, explored her. He discovered every nuance of
her physical being. He kissed her hard. She did not resist. She
began to kiss him back, their tongues diving into each other's
mouths. His hands moved over her form and found her wetness,
lingered there, explored as she gasped, her breathing coming more
rapidly now. Their passion was a palpable, tangible thing, occupying space and time. An entity to be fed and nourished.
He reached up and grabbed her by her
raven hair and pulled her head to his right, exposing her neck. It
was tense and pulsing with the rhythm of her blood. His lip curled
and there they were, the two long teeth, wet and sharp. He entered
her, filled her, and she gasped. Then he bit down on her lovely
neck, slowly, deeper, until they were totally one, a writhing fierce beast. Her gasps turned
to moans as he drank and his hips hammered her to the wall. Her eyes
were wide. Dazed. Confused. She was not herself and she spoke
nonsensically. Her body began to tense and all at once her back
arched and she let out a quiet scream as Victor tensed as well,
sucking her life force from her with each wave. Again. Again. Over
and over until the woman fainted, held up against the wall by Victor as he withdrew
from her body.
The vampire lowered her to the floor where she lay unconscious. He stood over her and admired her beauty. Her dark hair a tangled forest of frantic lovemaking. Her once pink skin was now china white and the burgundy liquid dripped slightly from her love bite and onto the floor. She was still breathing, Victor noted. He thought she would live but it was no concern of his. If she did, she would learn in time what to do. Necessity would be her teacher, even as it had taught Victor some 400 years ago.
He left her there and was quickly on the street walking home, and then sitting on the bed looking at the one he had taken for his own.
She was lovely. Again he stroked her hair and admired her features. They would share so much. So many adventures. So many conquests. Victor moved to her on the bed and lay down next to her, his left arm draped across her belly. He buried his face in her neck, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She had the scent. It comforted him. He had been alone so long. So long. But no more.
He drifted off, protected by the heavy curtains.
The Night Captive: Part One
- The Night Captive
Victor stood outside her window, his silhouette barely visible in the muted starlight. He spied her sleeping on her bed, the duvet rising and falling with each gentle breath, a living, sensuous mound of...
For a funny parody of this story by ex-friend and known plagerist Shadesbreath, go here:
- Vlad the Inhaler
A satirical look at the vampire genre. Good fun for folks looking for a light read and perhaps a giggle. All the good stuff: bats, boobs, and dark, dangerous liaisons in shadowed alley ways.
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