Rating: NC: 17
Warning: This story contains scenes of graphic consensual sex between a man and
a woman. If you are under 18, this offends you, or is illegal where you live
please read something else.
Disclaimer: The character of Scotty is taken from the Kiwi Comedy Playhouse
episode of "Flatmates" and belongs to South Pacific Pictures. No
copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: Vlad Tepes Dracul also known as Vlad Dracula is a real historical figure. At one time, he was a 15th century Wallachian ruler of Romania. He was immortalized (or as some Romanians would say, ruined) as Count Dracula by Bram Stoker in his famous book, although there is no historical evidence that he was ever a vampire. <g> What is historically known about him is that he fought the Turks in very bloody and violent conflicts and that he was known to impale the heads of his victims on spikes, hence the name Tepes which means The Impaler.
In the 1970’s, the country of Romania celebrated the 500th anniversary of his "death." They also erected statues to him, renamed streets for him and in 1976 issued a commemorative postage stamp. The Communists found his brutal ways to be heroic rather than evil. For the purposes of this story, I have taken and "twisted" some of the historical and fictional information. No disrespect is intended to the real Vlad Dracul or if he still be alive Count Dracula <g>, nor is any disrespect meant to the Romanian people for their pride in the ruler he had been. After all, I happen to be 1/4 Romanian myself! <veg>
Cyn was in a hurry. Only two weeks until Christmas. No way was she ever going to get her shopping done in time. No way. As she wandered through Farmer’s department store crowded with harried women, frustrated men and squealing children she shuddered. Why in the world did she always do this to herself? Every year after the holidays were over she swore she'd start shopping in August. Every year, with the best of intentions, she always forgot. Got busy. Put it off. Then boom. The time drew near and then slipped away. Suddenly she was forced to troll the stores like an out-of-control banshee. Swooping down on items she'd ordinarily never buy, spending too much money on gifts that would probably be returned and in general, losing any joy she might have felt in the season to the aggravation of commercialism.
She sighed and strode toward the perfume counter. It was hard not to resent this particular shopping excursion most of all. Her bastard of a boss insisted that she take HIS list and shop for HIS wife. And on HER time too! Not even company time. She’d even had to cancel her Friday night date. She felt the little pinprick of irritation about to blossom into rage and she quickly tamped it down. Getting angry wouldn't help.
It was bad enough that she had to fight the prick off on a daily basis. She really should consider filing a sexual harassment suit, but . . . given her reputation and her looks, she was sure she'd lose. Laws or no laws, attractive women still seemed to be fair game. Now she had to assuage the asshole's guilt for his infidelities and attempted infidelities, by spending his money on his long-suffering wife. Oh well, she had his platinum card. This year, his wife was going to get the most expensive perfume she could find. Claudia deserved SOMETHING for having to put up with HIM.
She paused for a moment as her eyes caught sight of a vision. She had the strongest feeling of déjà vu. The man standing at the perfume counter looked so familiar she was sure she had seen him somewhere before. He was tall, handsome and big. His brown hair was a little too long and unruly; it curled wildly around his head and framed a face she could almost swear she knew. Could swear she'd seen maybe in her dreams.
Cyn was a firm believer in fate, past life regression, dreamscapes, and omens. Though nominally raised Catholic, as she moved into her twenties and then her thirties, she'd embraced new age mysticism with open arms. She picked through the psychics, their talismans and superstitions, their fashionable spiritualism like a connoisseur. She discarded those precepts she didn't like or agree with until she had formed a philosophy of life that was uniquely hers.
First and foremost in this philosophy was the pursuit of pleasure, sexual pleasure in particular. She embraced free lust as if she'd been born for it. Certainly, her body seemed, always, to know more about it than her brain did. She had learned, finally, to trust her physical instincts, as she trusted her mental ones.
As she sauntered closer to the apparition at the counter, she caught sight of herself in a mirror. She lingered briefly to study her reflection. She was not a small woman, but nearly six feet tall in her heels. Still, her bone structure was almost delicate for a body her size. She worked hard to maintain herself, knowing that how she looked was a reflection of how she felt about herself. The better she looked, the better she liked herself, and she liked herself quite a lot.
Her hair was red, not a brassy, orange red, but a deep dark coppery red, almost burgundy, like a fine aged wine. It was long and flowed around her head, a mass of curls, not unlike Little Orphan Annie's. Still, no one had ever looked less innocent than Cyn. 'Cyn isn't my name for nothing,' she smiled to herself. Her brown eyes smiled back at her. They were big beautiful eyes, shadowed by thick black lashes, which to her great pleasure owed nothing to the mascara brush and everything to heredity. She could never decide how she felt about her nose. She thought it a little too retrousse for beauty, but no one had ever actually complained about it. Her facial bone structure was good, her cheekbones high, just lightly touched with blusher. Her skin had a healthy golden glow from the sun. Then there was her mouth. It was a great mouth, she knew. Full sensual lips, a mouth made for kissing, or so the many men who had kissed it or at least tried to had told her. Today she wore blood red lipstick to match her nail polish and her suit.
The suit had been a gift from her current sexual playmate. It was too expensive for her to have accepted, but since she couldn't offer the man love, she gave him what she could. He was generous with his gifts and his affection and it seemed to please him when she showed delight in his presents. The suit was incredible; she'd have been a fool not to take it.
The outfit was black and red, made of raw silk, incredibly sensuous to the touch and against her skin. She had felt mildly aroused all day just from wearing it. The straight skirt was black and very short, nearly a micro-mini. The jacket was on the cutting edge of fashion. It was half black and half blood red, the colors spilling across the bodice in a diagonal. It buttoned up the front and then flared out at the waist coming to rest at the midpoint of her belly and hips. It flattered her figure to perfection. The jacket was cut in a low V, so you could see the hollow between her ample breasts. She knew she looked great, she'd been the recipient of leers and catcalls all over town as well as all day in the office.
She grinned at her reflection. She might be thirty-three, but she knew she didn't look it. In this particular outfit, she looked young, sexy and chic. In this confident mood, she turned away from the mirror and ambled toward the man at the perfume counter.
Her timing was perfect. Just as she turned, he turned, he took a step forward, and their bodies collided. She dropped her shopping bags as she felt his big hard body crash into hers. She tottered for a moment in her high heels and felt an arm slip around her waist to steady her.
"Sorry," the man apologized automatically as he strove to keep her upright.
"My fault," she assured him softly. She raised her face to meet his eyes and sucked in her breath. He was even more gorgeous up close. That wonderful hair framed a face that was at once both masculine and feminine. His eyes were incredible, deep brown pools with thick brown lashes, albeit mildly unfocused. He had a scruffy looking mustache and beard but that was okay, because it surrounded the most luscious mouth she had ever seen. His lips were full, sensual, and kissable. He was wearing a blue flannel shirt, open at the throat and she could see a smattering of dark hair there. She could also tell from the way it had felt when she smacked into him, that he had a lot of hard firm muscles under his clothes. She kept the eye contact and added, "I wasn't looking where I was going."
He grinned. "I do that all the time, too," he admitted. Then he got an odd look on his face. "I mean, I don't always . . . I'm . . . "
Cyn laughed. "I know what you mean. Don't try to explain it. Sentences like that never come out right."
His grin widened, his eyes crinkled, two dimples popped out on his cheeks, and Cyn felt her stomach turn over. Now she HAD to have him. She added, "but other things might." As his face went blank for a moment, she amplified, "might come all right, I mean."
His face stayed blank for a moment longer, then she could almost see the light bulb go off as he figured out the double entendre. A blush moved up his face. Cyn swallowed hard. He was not only gorgeous, but also adorable. A wave of lust washed over her. Her anger at her boss, her irritation at being forced to shop for him completely forgotten, pushed aside by desire. Now how to satisfy it? There was something about him that made her think her usual forthright tactics would scare him to death. He seemed kind of shy. Well, his arm was still around her waist and as she let her gaze wander over his body, she noticed that he didn't appear immune to her charms.
She leaned over to pick up her shopping bags, letting him get a good look down the front of her jacket. She knew he'd be able to see a lot of creamy breast and with a mouth like his, she'd bet anything he was a boob man. As she rose, she caught his eyes right where she'd wanted them to go and detected a look of lust move into them. Excellent. He was definitely interested. Now what to do?
"Let me help you with those," he offered as he took the shopping bags from her with his free hand. She knew they were light, lingerie hardly weighed anything. As usual, despite her need to purchase gifts, she'd shopped for herself. She couldn't resist the lure of silk and satin against her skin. Well, given the man who stood before her, maybe she'd get a chance to model the new purchases before too long.
"Thanks," she agreed. She eyed him speculatively once more and then suggested, "Shopping is sure thirsty work. I was about to take a break and have a drink. Don't suppose you'd care to join me?"
He looked a little taken aback at the invitation as if her forwardness had indeed surprised him. As if he hadn't expected her to be interested. 'Doesn’t he know what he looks like?’ she wondered.
He shuffled his feet and shifted back and forth for a moment as if weighing a momentous decision. Then he licked his lips and invited, "I know a great little pub around the corner from here."
She'd had something a little more private in mind, still . . . "I'm Cyn, by the by," she said in introduction. "Because not everyone can be a saint."
He looked mildly perplexed at her words. She could almost see his mind trying to make the connection. Then he tilted his head and answered, "Scotty." He kept his arm firmly about her waist as he began to lead her out of the department store. Now suddenly, he seemed poised to take charge.
Cyn let her body brush against his as they walked together. His stride was long and if she'd been any smaller, she would have had trouble keeping up. The harried shoppers seemed to move magically out of their way, clearing a path for them to the exit.
Within seconds, they were on the gaily decorated streets of Auckland. The city was caught up in the holiday season with fairy lights strung from the trees and along the lampposts. Still, Cyn missed the feel of an English Christmas. Although she and her Mum had moved to New Zealand when she was young, she still remembered the thrill of waking up on Boxing Day to find the trees in her yard covered with snow. Still, the thousands of tiny lights lent the city a soft magical glow. It had it's own kind of beauty.
Scotty led her to the little pub he mentioned. As he pushed in the door, she saw it was crowded but not too crowded. As they entered, heads swiveled in their direction. Cyn was amused at the number of jaws, male and female, that dropped open in shock. She was used to the attention, hell if she was honest, she lived for it. She could tell however, that the man at her side was not at all comfortable being the center of attention. The stunned hush lasted only a moment and then the other patrons went back to what they were doing. The sound of happy laughter and chattering again filled the pub with holiday cheer.
Scotty ducked his head and almost pulled her to semi-dark corner of the room. He found a mostly secluded table, dropped her bags on a chair and then pulled one out for her.
"You're a gentlemen, you are," she observed as she sat in the chair he held for her.
Again, that charming flush crawled up his face. "I haven't offended you, have I?" he asked nervously.
She shook her head. "Not at all. Why'd you ask?"
He shrugged his shoulders as he sat down in his own chair. "I held a door open for a woman once and she acted as if I'd insulted her."
Cyn laughed. She reached across the small table to pat his large hand. "I think it's lovely." She watched as he grinned with delight. Again his eyes crinkled and those adorable dimples reappeared.
"So," he asked softly, "what do you fancy?"
Cyn swallowed hard and then decided to take the risk. "You," she murmured so softly that she wasn't sure he could hear her.
His eyes widened and his flushed deepened. He HAD heard her. Then his eyes darkened, his mouth pursed, and she knew the idea appealed to him. "To drink?" he asked.
She licked her lips and her eyes traveled over his body, past his chest and to what was now definitely a burgeoning erection. "Yes," she murmured, this time a bit louder. "You. To drink, to swallow, to . . ." She let the words trail off as she raised her gaze to again meet his. She knew her eyes had to be overflowing with lust.
His expression was quizzical, almost lost. "You want to drink me?" he echoed with astonishment. "Are you a . . ."
"Am I a what?" she interrupted in puzzlement.
He shook his head. Mr. D had told him there were other groups of vampires living in Auckland, but none quite like theirs. Could she be one of them? He looked at her face and cleavage. No, her skin was too tan. Even if she'd been tan when she'd been "made," by now her skin would have a pallor like his. She couldn't be a vampire. Suddenly he had an inspiration. "A cunning linguist," he quoted from the James Bond movie that he'd just seen.
Cyn's eyes opened wide in astonishment. What did he mean? Then she realized that while Scotty wasn't dumb exactly, he wasn't so smart either. He'd just gotten it wrong or confused. She smiled. "Uh, Scotty," she explained, "actually, that would more likely refer to a man's talents. Fellatioist would be the term for a woman."
Now his face turned the brightest shade of red she'd ever seen. His entire body seemed to fold into itself and he looked as if he was going to drown in embarrassment. He looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him.
Cyn thought he was more than adorable and hinted, "Scotty, why don't we go to my flat? It's more private and we could continue our exploration of oral sex. Physically," she added as she rose from her chair, "rather than verbally."
He swallowed hard, the blush still lighting his skin, and then he nodded his assent. He rose rather unsteadily from his chair, his erection even more pronounced.
Cyn suppressed a giggle and picked up her shopping bags. This time she took the lead. Scotty followed her from the pub and toward the street. She hailed a cab and when they were both inside gave the driver her address. They didn't talk, just stared at one another. As Cyn drowned in his eyes, she felt her sexual hunger growing by leaps and bounds. Finally, they arrived at the block of flats where she lived. She paid the driver and after they got out, she offered Scotty her hand.
He took it tentatively. She was surprised at how cold his flesh felt. She noticed that now that his flush was gone he was awfully pale. "Are you cold?" she asked as she released his hand, unlocked her door and stepped inside.
Scotty shook his head and stood poised on her doorstep as if waiting for something.
"Well, come on in," she invited with word and gesture. He did. He'd had to wait for the specific invitation. He'd learned that unlike crosses and mirrors, this was one piece of vampire mythology that WAS true. Without an invitation, he couldn't cross the threshold.
Cyn strolled into the living room and dropped her purse and packages on an old recliner. She sat down on the couch, kicked her heels off and crossed her legs. Then she motioned Scotty to join her.
He paused for a moment to study the room. He didn't often go home with the women he met, preferring to give them exotic experiences in exchange for their blood. Lately he'd fed in public loos, the city park, store dressing rooms, and the rugby stadium. It was part of the fun and part of the excitement. Still, with this one, he wanted some privacy. There was something about her that seemed familiar to him.
As he looked around, he decided that Cyn's apartment was a lot like her. Everything was casual, cozy, relaxed, and comfortable. It was the kind of place, where if he had been there when he was still human, he would have immediately kicked his shoes off and headed for the kitchen to get a beer. Unlike a lot of the women he'd met lately, Cyn seemed really comfortable with herself, really comfortable in her body. That sense of knowing her teased at his consciousness, but it wasn't possible, was it? He shook off the sensation and moved to the couch to join her.
Cyn studied Scotty. His face was so beautiful. Almost too beautiful to be human. She ran her tongue over her mouth and reached out a tentative hand to trace his lips. Then abruptly she stopped and conceded, "Where are my manners! Would you like something to drink?"
Scotty chuckled; his expression seemed to say he found the idea indescribably funny. Suddenly, his whole demeanor changed, he became confident, assured, he pulled her into his arms and murmured into her hair, "I thought you wanted to drink me?"
"How about we start with a kiss," she whispered back. She tilted her face toward his and closed her eyes.
Scotty was happy to comply. He'd wanted to kiss her since the moment he saw her. Her mouth seemed to be made for kissing. He bent his head and brushed his lips softly over hers, barely grazing them at first. Then he put a hand on the side of her head and bent again. This time he kissed her a little longer, a soft wet lingering kiss.
She sighed softly, put her arms around his neck, and pulled his mouth tight to hers. Now she kissed him. Her lips pressed hard against his and rubbed back and forth sensuously as her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.
He tightened his arms around her, sliding his hand from her face to stroke her back. He felt her breasts press against him as she melted into him. Her mouth opened and he felt her tongue snake out to part his lips. He opened them and felt her tongue slip inside. He wondered if he'd retracted his fangs enough, but he only had time for a brief wondering. He stopped thinking when one of her hands glided down his body and began to stroke his shaft through his jeans.
He moaned at the feel of her touch. What had started as an intriguing meeting with a definite planned outcome had suddenly turned into something very different. Cyn had ignited an incredible lust and hunger in him. This blazing inferno was something new. Something he’d never felt before. He pulled back from the kiss. Overcome with lust, he pushed her hand away from his erection. He began to kiss his way along the soft skin of her neck. He licked her jugular twice and then forced himself to move on. Not yet, if he fed now, he’d miss the chance to have sex with her. Right now, he wanted the sex more than the blood.
His mouth moved down to the hollow between her breasts. Her hands were again in his hair and she was moaning softly. He began fumbling with the buttons on her jacket, but they were very small and delicate and his large hands couldn't get them open. He paused in his attempt to disrobe her and raised his eyes.
She looked down at him, her eyes glazed with passion. "Rip it off me," she urged in a voice husky with passion.
He didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the middle of the jacket and pulled. The buttons flew off and the jacket opened to reveal her ample breasts barely restrained in a completely sheer black bra. He groaned. He could see her nipples were already hard. He bent his head and sucked one through the bra. She moaned and pulled his head closer, her fingers digging into his head almost painfully.
He pushed the jacket off her shoulders and then lifted his head in a question. She nodded and he grabbed the middle of her bra and pulled. The lingerie snapped and loosened. She lifted her arms and he pulled it off her. Now those gorgeous boobs were free and he buried his face between them. They were hard and soft at the same time. Lovely mounds of succulent flesh just begging for attention. She moaned his name and pressed her breasts together around his face. He rubbed his beard along the creamy flesh while his hands explored their curves. He licked his way around the areolas and finally took a luscious pink nipple into his mouth.
She moaned again and pushed her pelvis at him. One of his hands slicked down and ran up and down the outside of her silk stocking clad leg. She opened her legs for him.
As he continued to feast on the smorgasbord of her breasts, he ran a hand up the inside of her leg to her thigh. He felt the top of a stocking and clips that told him she wore a garter belt. His fingers moved further along her thigh, moving over the bare skin toward the juncture between her legs. He was prepared to once again rip silk from her body, he was sure it WOULD be silk, when his fingers touched soft hair instead.
He was so surprised he released her nipple and looked up. She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "I got tired of losing my underwear. Silk is pricey to replace. So I just quit wearing them for the most part. Besides," she added as she licked her lips, "it saves an awful lot of time, doesn't it?"
He groaned again and abandoned her breasts to kiss his way down the softness of her belly. His hands searched for the fastening of her skirt, but he couldn't find it. Finally, he just shoved the skirt up. Now he slid off the couch, shoving the coffee table out of the way and knelt on the floor in front of her.
He pushed the skirt higher, exposing all of her thighs and her lovely fur covered mound. He gripped her thighs and pulled her pelvis toward him. He heard her moan his name and a word he thought might have been please, but he was lost in the greedy contemplation of her sex. He bent his head and buried his face in her. His tongue slid inside her wetness and began to lap at her juices hungrily. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him, imprisoning his head in her warmth.
As he pumped her with his tongue, he wrapped his arms around her thighs. His fingers caressed the soft skin of her inner thigh as he rubbed his beard along her nether lips. She was moaning, little mewing sounds that were more erotic than anything he had ever heard before in his life. He darted his tongue inside and around, tasting her sweetness. Then he found her bud and began to lick it very slowly. He teased it lightly, just brushing it with the tip of his tongue, then circling it, teasing the area around it, then coming back to lick it again. She whispered his name and then pulled his face tight against her. He chuckled at her arousal and began to treat her sex as if it was a sumptuous repast. He licked that hardened bud as if it were the sweetest ice cream in the world and he couldn't get enough of it. He felt it harden even more and then he sucked it into his mouth.
She screamed as an orgasm overtook her. Her pelvis was humping up and down, her fingers were clawing at the back of his neck, and her body was shuddering and heaving. He raised his head. She looked, hell, he didn't know how she looked, only that he'd never seen anything like it and it was amazing. She was panting and shaking and her eyes were wide open and staring, but it wasn't like they were even really seeing him. She was lost in some erotic wonderland. He sat watching her for a long moment, and when the spasms of her body finally seemed to subside, he thought he heard her whisper, "You are a cunning linguist, you are."
Then she grabbed for his head to pull it to hers. She kissed him hard, brutally, tasting herself on his lips. Then, as she kissed him, she began to tug on the buttons of his shirt. When she couldn't get them undone, she began to tear it off him. It was as if he had ignited a blazing inferno within her. He was shocked; he'd never had another woman attack him like this. Usually they were so astonished by the orgasm he gave them that they just lay back and waited for him to move forward. Cyn was behaving as if she was hungry for him, hungrier than she had been before he’d made her come.
Cyn felt like she was burning up with lust. Her orgasm had only whetted her sexual appetite. Scotty had indeed ignited a firestorm of need in her. She got his shirt open and released his lips. She kissed along his throat leaving a trail of blood red lipstick marks along his skin. She licked her way down and began to lap at his nipples, then sucked them as he had done to her. Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling for his belt buckle and then his zipper.
Before he even knew it, she had her hand inside his pants and her fingers were caressing his organ. He moaned, suddenly not sure he could wait much longer. Now he was desperate to be inside her and his hunger for blood was at a fever pitch. Yet, something inside him still stayed in control. He was curious as to what she would do next.
She pulled him onto the couch, pushing him on to his back and straddled him. Her skirt was riding high on her waist, the silk stockings and garter belt still on her legs and hips. She stroked him up and slid down on him, moaning as he thrust himself inside her wetness. She began to ride him hard, her body moving up and down erratically, grinding into him, almost painfully.
He lost himself for a few moments in the carnal pleasure of it, but as incredible as it felt, he couldn't feed very easily from this position. He grabbed her hips and stilled her.
"What?" she panted.
"Climb off for a second, I have a better idea."
She paused, her breasts heaving, her body again on the edge of orgasm. Still, he'd been incredible so far. She nodded and rose off him.
"Down on the floor on your knees," he directed huskily.
She nodded again and did as he asked. He rose from the couch and slipped out of his jeans and briefs. Then he slid behind her, spread her legs and slipped inside her from behind. He leaned over her back and began to thrust into her, one of his hands reaching underneath to find her bud.
She moaned and came almost immediately. Now he began to pound into her, his pelvis slamming into her firm butt. He continued to stroke her bud, while he pummeled her. Soon, because of her moans, because of her wetness, because of the tightness of her, he found himself on the edge of orgasm. He leaned further over her back and pounded into her one more time. Then as he made his next thrust, he felt his balls tighten and he pulled her neck back and sank his fangs into her jugular.
She jerked back against him, her body immediately spasming around him again. She had thought her first orgasms were good, but this was something beyond good. She felt him throbbing inside her; felt his come filling her, felt his pleasure, his lust. His hunger? Then she couldn't think anymore, because the pleasure was so intense, so vivid, it was like a major Technicolor movie behind her eyelids. Her body was exploding with sensations, things she couldn't possibly have felt, and things she couldn't possibly have known.
As Scotty felt her hot blood fill his mouth, he felt his seed fill her inside. It was incredible. As her life giving force filled his hungry soul, his mind opened to her. He could feel what she felt, see what she saw. She was feeling everything he felt and then some. He drank deep of her, sending more pleasure to her and then before it was too late, he pulled his fangs out. He collapsed against her, his weight forcing her to the floor.
Cyn lay crushed beneath him unable to breathe. "Scotty, roll off," she panted.
He withdrew from her and did as she asked. She lay there on her stomach for a moment and then rolled over to lie on her back. He was lying on his side breathing hard, his face flushed, and his forehead slick with sweat. She could see his organ had shrunk. It lay against the dark curls, still red and throbbing.
"That was amazing," she declared in wonder. "Only, we forgot to use protection. Shit. You don't have anything do you?"
"Nothing catching," he muttered.
"Nothing catching?" she repeated thoughtfully. She noticed a drop of something red on his lip. "Did you bite your lip?" she asked. She studied his face. His lips didn't look bitten. They looked a little swollen, but otherwise yummy. She ran her tongue along her own lips, but they felt fine. She reached out with her finger and picked up the red drop. She brought it to her mouth and tasted it. Definitely blood. But where had it come from?
Then she felt something cold and wet drip down her neck. She looked and saw another drop of red liquid. Blood? Had he bitten her? She hadn't noticed, but then she'd been so turned on she supposed an earthquake would have passed unnoticed. She raised her fingers to her neck and came away with more blood. "Did you bite me?" she asked curiously.
He grinned sheepishly. "Guess I lost control. Sorry."
She grinned. "Don't apologize, whatever you did I liked it. I LOVED it. All of it. Um, how long does it usually take you to, um, recover?"
His eyes opened wide. He was already surprised she hadn't passed out from blood loss. He knew he'd drunk deeper than he probably should have. Yet, she was still conscious. Not only that, but she was looking at him consideringly, as if she wanted . . . "Why?"
"Cause that was incredible and I want to do it again." She paused and then added, "besides you haven't had a chance to discover my oral skills."
He sucked in his breath. He wondered what time it was. It hadn't been that late when he'd found her, surely it couldn't be more than midnight. He still had at least five hours before he had to get home. He pulled her into his arms and whispered, "Why don't we see if your oral skills can speed up the process."
Cyn rolled over in the bed and reached for Scotty. Only he wasn’t there. She stretched luxuriously and looked at the clock. Hmmm, nine o’clock on a, holy shit, what day was it? Then she remembered it was Saturday. She sighed happily and wished Scotty were still there. She loved starting the day off with a bang. She giggled and rolled again to touch the pillow where there was still the faintest indentation from where his head had lain.
Scotty! What a man! What a night! After they’d partly eased their sexual hunger in the living room, they’d retired to the bedroom to explore it some more. They’d managed to have sex twice more before exhaustion had overcome her. She’d invited him to sleep over, but he’d demurred. He’d mumbled something about having to be at work early the next day and that his uniform was at home. She’d asked about his job, but he’d put her off with a searing kiss and a request to see her again.
Of course, she’d agreed and they were going to meet that night at a pub up the street. There was some band playing that Scotty really liked. She stretched again, feeling her body exhibit that vaguely pleasant ache that really good, really strenuous sex leaves behind. She felt incredible, more alive than she had in months. There was something about Scotty, something so weirdly familiar, it teased and tantalized her. It was like a thought or a memory just at the edge of her consciousness. It flitted through her mind again and just when she thought she had it, it vanished. Damn!
She sat up in bed. She knew she should go shopping, there were still tons of gifts to buy, plus those for her boss, but she felt too sated, too blissful to deal with the crush of last-minute holiday shoppers. No, she wouldn’t put herself through that. Instead she’d . . . she’d what?
Well, there was that one task she’d been avoiding for months. That box of her Mum’s things that needed going through. She’d been putting it off still not sure if she could handle what she might find. Although her Mum had been gone for almost a year, she still missed her. She had no other family. It was weird how that worked out. She’d known her Granny, but her Da had died when she was five, and her Mum had never remarried although there had been lots of candidates for the job. Right after her Da died, they’d moved from England to New Zealand.
She got out of bed, her gay mood slightly dampened by the thought of her Mum. Still, after she took a long hot shower, massaged herself with lotion, powdered and perfumed herself, she felt better.
She threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and then pulled the big brown carton out of the hall closet. She dragged it into the middle of the living room, which still carried the mild scent of sex in the air. She grinned as she stooped to pick up her ruined jacket and bra and then shoved the coffee table back into proper position. It had felt so good to lose control. To give in to any and every urge she had. At times, she was like a wild animal, clawing, biting, scratching, but Scotty had matched her passion for passion, action for action. It had been nothing short of amazing. She remembered the astonished look on his face when she had bitten his lip, drawn blood, and then licked it off. His eyes had gone wide, wider than she thought possible and then he’d . . . She shivered and sighed. As delicious as it was to relive her memories of last night, she knew she was only doing it to delay the inevitable.
She popped a Bonnie Raitt CD into the stereo, cranked it, and then tentatively opened the folds of the carton.
The box was full, as she knew it would be. Her Mum’s former landlady had packed it for her when she had been too grief-stricken to do it herself. Slowly she began to remove the contents.
Lots of memorabilia. Baby shoes, first communion dress, baptismal gown, sporting awards, framed photos of her Mum and Da and her. Funny, now she thought about it, she didn’t really look like either of her parents, though she did, at least in coloring, match her Mum. There were a few knickknacks she remembered seeing in her Mum’s flat and the rest of the box contained what looked to be photo albums and journals.
She pulled out the photo albums first and flipped through them. There were two albums full of pictures of mostly her, two of her Mum and Granny, one of her Gran and her great Granny and lastly one of her great Granny and great-great Granny. As she flipped through the pages she thought it odd that there were so many pictures of the women in her family, but very few of the men. She came from good stock, she decided. All of her relatives, her Mum, Granny, great Granny and great-great Granny were lookers. So where were all the men? It was a perplexing thought. She tried to remember anything her Mum might have said about her GranDa, but she couldn’t think of a thing.
She set the albums aside and began to look at the journals. The one on top was her Mum’s. She herself didn’t keep a journal, not being one to think deep thoughts. Her Mum, now there was a woman who should have been a writer. Her journal was full of the complexities of life as viewed by her, the insightful perceptions of a woman who clearly thought too much about things. And the stories! As Cyn read her Mum’s stories, a series of new and disturbing thoughts darted through her mind.
Either her Mum had lived a very rich and satisfying fantasy life, full of delusion, or else there was a lot Cyn didn’t know about her family history. If her Mum was to be believed, Cyn was descended from either a king or a god. The story, according to her Mum, went something like this . . .
Approximately six hundred years ago her family had lived in Romania. Her great something Tamara was a gypsy. Tamara had somehow become entangled with Vlad Tepes Dracul, a ruler of Romania and Ares, the Greek God of War, who according to the journal had actually existed. Tamara had become pregnant, but didn’t know who the father was. Except she was sure it wasn’t her husband. Her husband was obviously sure too, because according to her mother’s journal he cursed Tamara and every female member of her line that would follow. Each woman in her line would only bear one child and that child would always be female. The father of that child would die as soon as the child reached the age of five. Apparently, the curse had continued through the centuries. Cyn’s Mum had drawn a family tree, and Cyn could see how for generation after generation there had only been one daughter and the fathers had all died when they were five, as had her own.
Cyn slammed the journal shut with a bang. This was crazy. It was a coincidence that all those men had died when they did. No way any of it could be true. She picked up the next few journals in the pile and flipped through them. Her Granny and great Gran and great-great Gran had written more of the same. At the bottom of the pile was a very old book. She wasn’t sure whom it belonged to because it was written in a foreign language, she assumed Romanian.
The writer of that ancient yellowed journal had also been an artist. There were many drawings in the book and even the script was full of flowing letters and curlicues. Cyn remembered as a child how she had poured over this book, not caring that she couldn’t read it, but looking at the drawings. Suddenly she turned a page and her heart nearly stopped. No wonder Scotty looked familiar. She remembered now! Even as a child, this same drawing had captured her attention. It wasn’t really Scotty, but there was a definite similarity.
The drawing was of a man, but what a man! The face was at once angelic and demonic, surrounded by shoulder length hair. The jaw was strong, the mouth though sensual looked angry, and the eyes were dark. Since the drawing was in black and white, it was hard to tell what color those eyes were, but she’d have bet everything they were black. The man wore a goatee. He also had a sword earring dangling from his left ear and a matching pendant on his throat. The face on the paper seemed to come to life as she stared at it; she could sense the anger and rage within this man and the passion too. She wondered who he was. He looked as if he could be devil or angel all at once.
She flipped to the next page and a face with a different kind of unearthly beauty stared back at her. A high sweep of forehead, dark piercing eyes, aristocratic nose, and full lips were framed by long straight hair, black maybe. The eyes in the face looked haunted, but the mouth had a cruel twist to it, as if the owner knew evil and reveled in it. She shivered at this face, which also seemed to be jumping off the page, also seemed to be alive to her. She wondered who he was as well.
Cyn sighed and closed the journal. Suddenly she felt tired and spent as if she’d run a marathon. As if somehow her whole world had been turned upside down, which if her Mum could be believed, it had.
She glanced at the clock, only an hour before she was to meet Scotty. She’d better get rid of all this stuff and get dressed. If there was anything she wanted to do tonight it was be with Scotty!
Scotty waited in the pub, toying with a glass of beer. He’d barely been able to sleep when he’d returned to his flat, though he had no control over what his body did. He’d stripped off his clothes quickly and climbed into bed, shutting the curtains around him although he was alone. For the first time since he’d become a vampire, he’d actually had enough sex.
He lay down enclosed in the warmth and the darkness of his bed and thought about Cyn. What an incredible night. She was beyond anything. Wild, passionate, gorgeous. He’d never met anyone like her. And when she’d bitten him and then licked his blood away . . . he’d almost told her then what he was, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he had held his tongue. Well, at least, held it when it came to speaking anyway.
He couldn’t believe his luck when she’d bumped into him and then invited him for a drink. He sighed and wondered how many times they could be together before it would have to end. It was only two weeks since he’d found Stathira, he didn’t think Mr. D would let him fill the last vacancy with Cyn. At least not right away.
He also knew if Mr. D found out he hadn’t hypnotized her, he’d get into trouble. But he hadn’t seen any need to. Not only hadn’t she cared that he’d bitten her, she’d suffered no effects from it at all. In fact, by the time he’d left her at four thirty, the mark on her neck had been nearly healed. It was extreme!
He couldn’t wait to see her again. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go back to the same mortal to feed, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wished he knew why he kept having the feeling that he’d seen her before. He KNEW he’d never seen her when he was human, he’d have remembered.
Just then, a shadow loomed over him. "Evening, Scotty," Cyn said.
Scotty looked up and swallowed hard. He felt his body immediately react to her presence with a powerful surge. She was wearing a black jacket studded with silver and had it unzipped so that you could see almost all of her breasts. It was clear she wore nothing under it. Her hair was a wild riot of curls around her face and she’d done something to her eyes that made them look even bigger. Her pants were skin tight; you could see her hipbones, the outline of her mound almost, as well as the muscles in her thighs and calves. She had what must have been twenty bracelets on each wrist, all jingling. She looked incredible.
He jumped up from his chair nearly knocking it and the table over. The noise attracted the nosy stares of the other patrons.
Cyn grinned at him. She looked him up and down, licked her lips, and flirted, "Is that a pickle in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
Scotty’s face went totally blank. He didn’t like pickles let alone carry them. What did she mean? Then he glanced down to where she was looking and his face flushed with embarrassment. "I . . . I . . . " he stuttered in a strangled voice.
Now Cyn laughed. She reached out and pressed his shoulders, pushing him back down into his chair. "Sit down, big boy," she directed. "Before you hurt yourself."
He swallowed convulsively and did as she requested. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. "Nice to know I’ve still got it," she muttered in an undertone.
"Still got what?" he asked in confusion. His eyes were glued to the glass of beer now. He knew if he looked up, the desire would be naked in his eyes along with his embarrassment.
Cyn laughed again. Okay, so he was gorgeous, but dumb. Well, she wasn’t exactly looking for scintillating conversation anyway. She raised her eyes and studied his face. How could she have ever mistaken him for the man in the journal? There was a sweetness about Scotty, an innocence almost; a sort of adorable little boy quality that completely belied the animal passion that she knew lurked beneath his skin. She sighed and wondered how long she’d have to sit there before they could go. At the moment, all she really wanted to do was get naked with him.
She swiveled her head to look for their waitress. She might as well order something. Then suddenly she felt something wet drip into her lap. She swiveled her head back to see Scotty had spilled his beer across the table. The yellow liquid was moving over the wood finish toward her.
"Sorry," he mumbled. He was trying to wipe the beer up with his hands, which only ended up with him pushing more of it toward her. His face was still red with embarrassment. "I’m such a klutz."
She tilted her head consideringly. Despite the embarrassment she felt emanating from him, there was something else too. Was that a sort of devious calculation in his eyes?
She grinned. "No worries. But I’m afraid I can’t sit here wet all night." She paused and added, "Wet being the operative word. I’ll need to go home and change. Want to help me?" She watched him carefully as she waited for his answer.
He grinned, a definitely lecherous grin. So her words hadn’t gone over his head. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. Perhaps he had hoped for this outcome.
Scotty rose from the chair, offering her his arm. She took it and they left for her flat.
They walked quickly, now both of them in a hurry to satisfy their hunger. As soon as Cyn unlocked the door, he was on her. He backed her up against the wood door and began to kiss her wildly. His large hands ran up and down her body, seemingly frantic with need.
They stood and kissed making little sounds as their lips connected, pressed, rubbed and sucked. Their hands slid over each other's skin, touching here, there, and everywhere. The kiss was erotic, lusty, gentle and then suddenly beyond desire.
Scotty crushed her to his chest; his hands gripped her ass and began to rub it as he ground against her.
His cool skin seemed to grow hot beneath her hands. She ran her fingers over his chest and then pulled his shirt out. She slipped her fingers inside, touching the firm muscles of his abdomen, playing with the coarse hair.
He pulled back with a moan and murmured, "Bed?"
She pulled back; her fingers traced his lips, "Here?" Cyn replied.
His eyes darkened with lust. Cyn stood there, her breathing already labored from the long kiss. He ran his hands down her body, then he ripped her jacket off.
Now she did the same to him, ripping at his shirt, forgoing the buttons in her haste to touch his chest. He pushed against her; their bare chests meeting and she could feel the heat rising between them.
His hands were fumbling for the zipper on her pants as she kissed her way around his neck. She rubbed her breasts against his chest as he got her pants down. The heat of him, the smell of him, the delicious feel of his skin and hair against her body was like nothing in the world.
His hands slid over her waist, fingers splayed across the span of skin and she felt his mouth on the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, letting the passion blind her to everything but the feel, touch, and smell of him. For a moment, she was deaf and blind to everything but the most erotic of sensations.
There was the soft tickle of beard, the rub of lips as they moved across sensitive skin, the male smell of sweat and hormones, the sound of moaning and finally as his fingers moved from her waist to her sex, an enveloping heat and wetness.
His fingers slipped inside, she was already wet and ready. She opened her eyes and smiled. His eyes were open, unfocused with desire, his mouth inches from her breasts. She reached between them and down and stroked his hard shaft through his jeans.
He moaned her name and pressed against her hand. She reached for the fastenings on his jeans and quickly helped him spring free. "Cut the foreplay," Cyn ordered urgently, too far gone with lust to care anymore. "I want you inside me."
He grinned, grabbed for her waist and helped her position herself to the right height. She reached for his shaft, stroked it straight out, and then guided him inside her as his body now pinned her to the door. She moaned as he filled her. It wasn't just his size and thickness, it was everything about him. He slid all the way in and buried himself completely inside her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his back and whispered, "You feel so good. Give it to me hard."
His head jerked back, his eyes sparked and he looked for a moment as if he had just been given a gift. He said hoarsely, "You want it rough?"
She nodded, unable to speak, almost embarrassed by the need she felt.
His face changed again, his eyes almost glittered, his tongue licked his lips, and then an expression of unadulterated lust crossed his face. She moaned loudly, her arousal now at a fever pitch. She reached up with one hand and pulled his head to hers. She kissed his soft lips as hard as she could and pushed her groin into his, their bodies so joined now it was almost painful.
He groaned from the pressure. He kept one hand on her waist, the other pinned her shoulders to the door and he began to pound into her.
She could feel the hard wood on her back, but the feel of his shaft, slamming in and out of her, like a piston, was the only thing that truly mattered. He bent his head to her breasts and licked a nipple, then bit it. She moaned and came; not even realizing she was that close.
As her muscles contracted around him and the hot liquid hit him, he completely lost control. He pounded her into the door, his movements hard, fast, powerful, his organ like a lance, spearing her, splitting her in half, reforming and then splitting her again. She was moaning with pleasure, her hands on his back, clawing the skin.
He grunted and she knew he had to be close. She pushed her pelvis at him, wanting to feel that hard friction, that itch inside her still needing to be scratched. She brought her hand down to her belly and as he watched, she began to stroke her bud. His eyes widened as she began to rub herself into orgasm.
She came and removed her hand and then he slammed into her hard enough to set her jaw aching.
He gripped her waist, pulled her tight against him, and buried his face in her neck. Then he slammed home one more time and she felt the most incredible rush of pleasure overwhelm her. It was another Technicolor movie, this one completely X-rated and explosive. She could feel him filling her with his come, almost see each sperm as it swam inside her. Then again, she felt that odd set of emotions, pleasure, lust and hunger. Then as he began shuddering against her, she felt a sense of complete and utter satisfaction as if some great hunger had been slaked.
She quickly put her arms around his waist to keep them from falling. His body was trembling, shuddering; shaking, his chest heaved and she could hear his erratic breathing.
She dropped her legs, unsure if he could keep them both from falling. He slipped out, his organ red and throbbing, a thin white string of come flowing off the tip.
He collapsed against her, barely able to hold himself upright. She pulled him tight and stroked his hair.
"Jesus," he panted.
She smiled to herself. She held him and stroked his damp hair for what seemed like several hours. His body kept shuddering and his normally cool skin felt like liquid flame.
Finally he lifted his head from her neck and looked at her. His eyes were barely focused, she thought he was still lost in some erotic fantasy. She smiled at him.
He grinned. His hands ran up and down her body and then slowly went for her sex. "Think you got shortchanged. Need to fix that."
She couldn't reply, his fingers had found her bud still in a state of arousal. He rubbed it lightly, fueling the itch he had created, then a little harder. She moaned and felt herself on the precipice. He began to rotate his fingers around that nub of flesh, rubbing it in slow circles, then faster and faster and she began to shudder and shake as yet another orgasm overtook her. He grasped her around the waist, pulled her close, and continued to play with her bud. She was moaning again, her body tuned in only to the touch of his fingers. All of her was now centered on that little nub of flesh inside and the pleasure cascading through her body.
He kept rubbing her, his mouth now moving over her neck and throat and then to her breasts. "Great boobs," he muttered right before he began to suck.
She cried out his name as yet another pinnacle of pleasure threatened to drown her. She sagged against him and panted, "Stop."
He lifted his head, clearly puzzled. "Why?"
"Cause I'll never stop coming. I can barely stand. I don't want to pass out."
He laughed. He slipped his fingers out of her, then picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Again, for hours the two ravenously explored each other, their passion rapacious and hungry. Their bodies meshed together in perfect harmony, animalistic or gentle, frenzied or slow, neither could offer anything the other couldn’t match or exceed. Again Cyn invited him to stay and again he demurred. Still, they made plans to meet the next night.
Cyn sat at her desk and tried to concentrate. She had spent the last seven nights lost in the erotic wonderland that was Scotty. She felt incredible. Her body was in an almost constant state of erotic satisfaction and arousal. Everywhere she went men were coming on to her. She’d had that happen before, but never to this extent. She was blissfully happy, except she noticed that her temper was beginning to get the best of her. She’d always had a short fuse, but lately it took very little to set her off. In the past, when she’d gotten like that, she’d blamed it on PMS or LACK of sex, but this time she couldn’t. She no longer got PMS, because she took birth control shots. And with Scotty, she had all the sex she could handle. She sighed and went back to work. In few more hours, she’d see Scotty again.
Scotty was nervous. He was sure Mr. D was going to kill him. Well, he probably wouldn’t kill him, but he was sure to be angry and probably punish him at the very least. Still, he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t give Cyn up, but he couldn’t go on like this either. After seven incredible times together, she still showed no ill effects at all. And he knew that wasn’t possible. Unless . . . except he didn’t know what that unless was.
One night, before he’d gone to meet her, he’d even slunk into the library. He’d hoped to find maybe a book or manual that could explain this. The library was filled with floor to ceiling bookcases and the thought of going through thousands of books defeated him. Finally, he’d gone to Lucy and with much embarrassment had explained.
Lucy had been surprised, shocked, and then finally concerned. She insisted that Scotty go to Mr. D. So now, he stood in the boss’ office in front of Mr. D’s desk, literally shaking in his Doc Martens waiting for Mr. D to look up at him.
Mr. D also known in his lifetime as Vlad the Impaler, Vlad Tepes Dracul, and even Count Dracula, could tell something was wrong with the boy. He’d known even before Scotty had appeared in his office that something was going on. Even if Lucy hadn’t come to him earlier that evening, guilt all over her face as she betrayed Scotty’s confidence, he would have known.
Over his centuries of life, Vlad had developed many talents, chief among them, the ability to read minds, particularly those of his charges. For that was how he thought of the vampires in his coven. His vampires were like children in his care, needing to be protected and nurtured, watched over and coddled. Despite who and what he had once been, despite the part of him that would ALWAYS remain Vlad the Impaler, there was another side to him now as well.
He knew Scotty had met a human woman and was very taken with her. But until Lucy had come to him, overtly because Scotty was "in trouble" but in truth because she was jealous, he hadn’t realized how serious this was. Still, if what Lucy had told him was true, this was a very intriguing development.
Mr. D sighed and finally looked up at the boy. Scotty stood there, rocking on the balls of his feet, running his hands through his hair in agitation.
"Yes, Scotty," the master vampire asserted with asperity. "What is it?"
Scotty’s eyes opened very wide and then focused on his boss. "I’ve done something . . . I mean . . . I’m . . ."
Mr. D suppressed a smile. If he didn’t help him, Scotty would give himself a heart attack. Well, of course, he couldn’t really do that, but the boy looked as if he’d split a gut with discomfort. "Sit down," he commanded. Scotty sank gratefully into a soft armchair. "Now take a deep breath and start explaining. Slowly."
Scotty nodded and did as he was told. Once he finally began, he found it wasn’t that difficult to detail his meeting with Cyn and the resulting sex. As he further described their relationship, he saw shock, confusion and then calculation slide into Mr. D’s dark eyes. As he explained how Cyn’s body seemed to heal itself, Mr. D raised a hand to stop his flow of words.
"Are you telling me that this girl’s body regenerates within hours? She heals her bite wounds?" Scotty nodded. "She doesn’t pass out from blood loss? Doesn’t even seem to notice it?" Again, Scotty nodded.
Mr. D cocked his head consideringly. This was a new wrinkle, but not completely without precedent. The most likely explanation was that she had some vampire blood in her. While it was usual for a vampire to sire children, it was not unheard of. He himself . . . Still, the girl sounded interesting and the boy was clearly more than taken with her.
"You want her to join us?" Mr. D asked formally although he knew the answer.
"She’d be extreme, Mr. D," Scotty muttered excitedly. "She’s really amazing. She’s . . . " words seemed to fail him.
Mr. D nodded thoughtfully. "Scotty, before I make a decision I would like to take a look at this girl. She sounds quite unusual."
"A look?" Scotty echoed dumbly. "Oh, you mean you want to see her."
"Yes," Mr. D. agreed. "Are you meeting her tonight?" Scotty nodded. "Very well. Take me with you."
Cyn paced impatiently in front of Farmer’s department store. Scotty was late and she still had shopping to do. Only one more week until Christmas. She already knew what she wanted. Scotty. It wasn’t that she was in love with him, she decided. It was that she needed him. Needed the pleasure he brought her, the feeling of being completely alive. She sighed and checked her watch. She’d give him ten more minutes and then she’d just have to start without him.
Scotty and Mr. D were almost to the entrance of the store when it happened.
Scotty recognized Cyn’s back and began to point her out when she turned and saw him. She grinned, waved and then her eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open in an O and she began to totter on her heels as if she would fall. Forgetting Mr. D, he raced to her side to catch her. She fainted in his arms.
When he turned to look helplessly at Mr. D, he saw the master vampire had gone completely ashen. Though how he could actually get any paler was beyond Scotty’s comprehension. The look on Mr. D’s face was one of complete and utter shock. Then as Mr. D focused his eyes on the inert form in Scotty’s arms, he took two strides to join them.
He looked down at Cyn’s face, then up at Scotty and commanded, "Bring her."
Cyn woke up slowly. She was lying in the softest most comfortable bed she’d ever been in. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Scotty, sitting next to her. His eyes were dark with concern, his mouth was pursed in concentration, and his hair stood up all over his head as if he’d run his fingers through it too many times.
"Scotty," she asked tentatively, "What happened?"
"Cyn," he exclaimed. His eyes lit up with pleasure and he gave her a weak smile. "You’re okay."
"Yes," she agreed. "What happened?" Then looking around and taking in the large old-fashioned bed, the thick oriental carpets, the lush and antique furnishings added, "Where am I?"
"My flat," he informed her. "Can you sit up?"
She nodded and started to pull herself up, only to find that before she had finished he had pulled her tightly into his arms, his lips pressed to her neck.
"Scotty, I’m okay. But how did I get here? What happened?"
He pulled back to look at her. He touched her face and murmured, "You fainted. You really don’t remember?"
She closed her eyes and thought back. She’d been waiting at Farmer’s for him. Getting more and more angry as the clock ticked away. Then she’d turned and seen him and . . . Oh god, the drawing come to life! "Who was . . . Scotty, I thought I saw . . . Was there someone with you?"
He nodded. He stroked her hair and held her closer. "Yeah. My boss. Mr. D."
"Mr. D?" she echoed faintly. "Your boss?" Scotty was kissing her neck again and the potent sensation was making her lose her concentration. "Scotty, stop that for a minute," she ordered finally. "Who is Mr. D?"
Scotty reluctantly obeyed her. "He’s my boss. He owns this building."
"Owns this . . ." she repeated feeling stupid. "How did I get here? WHY am I here?"
"Cyn," Scotty muttered, "there’s a lot I need to tell you. But I can’t. Not yet. I brought you here cause Mr. D wanted me to. Only . . ."
"Only what?" she reiterated sternly. She pulled away from him and asked, "What’s going on?"
Scotty shrugged. "I don’t know exactly. Mr. D . . . Cyn, just rest here, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes." He completely released her and jumped off the bed. He paused, studied her face, then eased back down, and kissed her lightly.
She smiled at his departing back and lay down against the soft pillows, her impatience and worry stilled by the look she had seen in his eyes.
Vlad sat in a deep armchair lost in memory as he stared at the miniature portrait. It wasn’t possible. He knew that. She couldn’t be Tamara. But she looked so like her. Take away the modern clothes and cosmetics and this girl was the spitting image of Tamara. It had happened so long ago . . .
They were in the woods near the Romany-Turkish border. There would be a major battle in the next few hours. A battle that could turn the tide of the war. His men were nervous, fidgety, bored, never quite understanding why they always had to wait for night to fight. A large campfire burned, the wood crackled and flamed. The sound of a haunting gypsy melody filled the air, a balalaika and a violin playing with practiced precision.
Tamara danced for the men. Her full black skirt swirled around her body; her long red hair flowed around her head, the tiny cymbals in between her fingers keeping time to the music of the balalaika. She twirled and spun, displaying a glimpse of trim ankle, muscled calve, and tantalizing thigh. Her black blouse was low-cut and displayed the tops of her creamy breasts and the deep hollow between them.
He could feel the lust emanating from his men, feel the energy and passion she was inciting in them. Feel too, her only mild interest in the dance; her passions were focused on the gold it would earn her. She spun in a circle now, her hair flying everywhere, the skirt spinning up and up and up and then her hands came down to stop it before too much of her could be seen. She stopped spinning, stopped dancing, out of breath, her breasts heaving from exertion.
The men applauded and threw coins at her feet. His lieutenant, Baldrun, got up, and moved toward her. Baldrun's arms were outstretched as if he would grab her. "Stop," Vlad commanded. His voice was quiet, but full of menace. Baldrun stopped immediately as if frozen.
Tamara glanced at Vlad and inclined her head royally in thanks. She bent to the ground and began to slowly pick up the coins. She behaved as if the tribute was rightfully hers, proud to be gathering the money, not embarrassed, as if she had earned it, which in Vlad’s estimation, she had.
"She’s quite beautiful," a deep voice hissed in Vlad’s ear.
Vlad didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Didn’t even have to see him. He’d been expecting a visit. Blood called to blood, after all. "Hello, Ares," he uttered in greeting.
The sound of air being displaced heralded the physical arrival of the Greek God of War. He materialized and quizzed, "What’s she doing here?"
Vlad shrugged. "Her caravan was camping nearby. She asked if she could dance for the men. Promised it would bring us luck for the battle. The men were bored, so I allowed it."
Ares chuckled. "She’ll be raped if you don’t watch it. I can feel what your men do. They all want her."
‘So do I,’ Vlad thought with surprise. He turned to eye the god speculatively. "So do you," he muttered to the god.
Again, Ares chuckled. "Yes, well, that may be true, but it’s not why I’m here."
"I know," Vlad admitted.
The God of War studied Vlad and then acknowledged, "After tomorrow . . ."
Vlad nodded. He knew the debt he owed Ares. Knew that this time he would have to pay it. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
The woman had finished picking up the coins. Vlad could see from the corner of his eye that a few of the men were moving toward her. Ares was right, if he didn’t do something . . .
Then it happened, more quickly than he would have thought possible. Baldrun was on her; he was trying to push her to the ground. She growled something in Romanian and then there was a knife in her hand. She grabbed Baldrun's head and then slit his throat from ear to ear in one fluid, graceful, practiced motion. Vlad heard Ares sharp intake of breath and felt the god’s power surge.
Tamara wiped the blood off on Baldrun's shirt and dropped the dying man to the ground. Then she lifted her skirt and re-sheathed the knife on her thigh. The men parted in her wake as she strolled to where Vlad stood. Her body moved sinuously, as if she had no bones, as if she was made from liquid.
She stopped a foot away from Vlad and apologized, "I’m sorry. He left me no choice."
Vlad nodded. He was sorry to lose Baldrun, but the woman was right. She had no choice. And it had been worth it.
"What’s your name?" Ares inquired softly.
Vlad was stunned. Ares never cared about names, just the body count. And when it came to women . . .
"I am Tamara," she replied regally. "And who are you?"
The god chuckled and retorted, "Who do you want me to be?"
She looked him up and down, her eyes clearly taking in all the details and then she turned back to Vlad. "Thank you. I’ll rejoin my caravan now. You will be successful." Then she turned and vanished into the woods.
Vlad turned to go after her, his hunger at a fever pitch when he felt a restraining hand on his arm. "Don’t. She’s a witch. And she has a very sharp knife."
Vlad laughed. "She’s not a witch. And it takes more than a sharp knife to hurt me." Vlad studied his sometime enemy, sometime ally, and occasional confidant. "You want her for yourself," he remarked.
Ares grinned evilly. "What red-blooded man wouldn’t? What surprises me is that you do."
Vlad knew his face gave nothing away, and he’d learned long ago, to hide his thoughts from the god. Still, it was an accurate guess. "You are mistaken. It’s her blood I want. I can smell it from here."
Ares laughed again. "Good. Then you won’t mind if I take my pleasure with her first?"
Vlad knew better than to respond. He wasn’t about to let a woman cause a rift at this juncture. Nor did he particularly want to get into a competition with the god. "Plenty of others for me to feed on tonight. Go have your fun."
"As if I needed your permission," the god retorted dismissively. Then Ares vanished.
Vlad sighed and set about getting things organized for the battle. He’d feed on someone else; no need to fight with Ares over a woman.
Vlad’s army won the battle that night easily routing the Turks. Tamara had been right. Drawn by something he couldn’t name, he found her caravan to thank her.
She was the only one there when he arrived and something in the way she looked at him, in the way she spoke to him, emboldened him. He pulled her into his arms and took her there and then. She had matched him passion for passion. And when the time came for release, he had fed on her. Instead of screaming in terror, she had reveled in it.
He’d been surprised and pleased and so had foregone killing her or turning her. He still wasn’t sure why. He also tried to stay away from her, but two weeks later he had to find her again.
Four months after that she was with child. When he asked if it was his she laughed and said she didn’t know. Before he could ask why, Ares appeared. It seemed the two of them were in competition after all. Then her husband had appeared and cursed her.
Tamara had laughed at the curse, laughed at him and the god. Swore she had no need of any of them. Then she had run into the woods and somehow vanished, seemingly as if by magic.
It had been many years before he saw her again. She was older, though still beautiful and her child, maybe his child, was a woman grown. The daughter was every bit as beautiful as her mother was. Tamara had appeared at Poenari, his fortress, where he had retired to ponder. He had, at last, grown tired of the killing, tired of the bloodlust.
Tamara was dying and she wanted to make sure her daughter would survive. He had taken them in and though he had offered Tamara immortality, she had refused. Instead, she preferred to end her life in the comfort of his arms. Before she died, he’d had a miniature portrait painted.
It was this portrait which he now held in his hands. This portrait that Scotty had seen once by accident.
Vlad was still sitting there, lost in his memories of Tamara when Scotty blundered in. Scotty stopped short as he saw the small portrait Mr. D held in his hand. It was Cyn! He remembered now. That’s why she’d looked so familiar. One evening he’d come upon Mr. D in the library and he’d been holding the portrait and a book, a faraway look in his eyes. When Scotty had asked about it, he’d quickly hidden it away, almost as if embarrassed. But the face in the portrait was so real and beautiful that she had stayed in Scotty’s unconscious mind, teasing him when he’d seen Cyn.
"Where did you get that picture of Cyn?" Scotty asked.
"It’s not your Cyn," Mr. D contradicted him softly.
"Not my?" Scotty echoed. "It sure LOOKS like her."
"Yes, it does, doesn’t it?" Mr. D agreed. He slid the small painting into his jacket pocket and rose from the chair. "Is she awake?" Scotty nodded. "Very good. Go back to her. I’ll be there in a few moments. I wish to speak to her, but there is something I need to do first."
Scotty looked surprised but did as ordered. He thought for sure Mr. D would have been angry, but he wasn’t. He seemed very calm now, much calmer than when Cyn had fainted and Scotty had had to carry her to the building. Scotty backed out of the room and hurried back to Cyn.
Vlad moved to the fireplace. He closed his eyes and concentrated. It had been many years since he had tried to do this. He wasn’t sure he still could. Wasn’t sure he really wanted it to. Still . . .
"What in Tartarus do you want?" Ares, Greek God of War sputtered as he materialized.
Vlad looked at his old comrade. Ares never changed, never aged, never seemed to look any different, or for that matter, behave any different, no matter what else changed over the centuries. He was and always had been a bastard. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed this century?" Vlad asked.
Ares eyes darkened and then suddenly, he laughed. "You did get me out of bed," he explained slowly. He studied the master vampire carefully. It had been almost fifty years since he’d last seen him. Nearly two hundred since Vlad had last summoned him. "What’s so important?"
Now that Vlad had him here, he wasn’t quite sure why he wanted him. Still, "Ares, do you remember Tamara?"
Ares’ eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed in thought. Her name conjured up many memories for him, none of which he would allow the vampire to see. He kept his face carefully neutral and his voice mocking, as he asked, "Afraid not. Why don’t you refresh my memory."
Vlad’s eyes went faraway. He turned again to face the fireplace. "Tamara was a gypsy and she had a child. Her husband cursed her and the child. Surely you remember that."
Oh yes, Ares remembered. Remembered how she’d run from him, hidden herself and her child away, not letting him near either of them. He’d nearly killed Vlad when he’d discovered that Tamara had died in his arms. But he couldn’t do that without giving himself away. He’d followed Tamara’s daughter forward in the generations, but had last track of the family almost 200 years ago. Why was this suddenly important? "Oh yes, the gypsy woman. I remember now," he murmured, his tone negligent. His hands waved in mid-air as if to dismiss the whole thing. "What’s your point?"
"I believe I have a very special relative of hers upstairs. A throwback."
"A relative?" Ares mused thoughtfully. "And this should interest me because?"
Vlad turned back to face him. "She heals bite wounds within hours. She’s completely unaffected by blood loss. But most of all, she looks . . . she looks . . . exactly like Tamara."
"Interesting," Ares muttered thoughtfully. "But I still don’t understand why you thought I’d care."
Vlad’s dark eyes became piercing, as if he was trying to see beneath the skin of the god. "From what Scotty says, she not only does all that, but she is quite like Tamara in other ways as well. Besides, Ares, if she is who I think she is, she’s either my blood or yours."
"Yes, yes," Ares grumbled impatiently. "So what if she is my great-great-great however many great granddaughters? So many generations have passed, surely any kinship is minimal."
"I’m not so sure," Vlad argued shaking his head. "This regenerative power she has is quite unusual. And there is one more thing."
"What?" the god asked with asperity.
"Scotty wishes to make her a vampire."
"He what?" Ares exclaimed. "Who
the devil is Scotty?"
Vlad inclined his head as he reminded the god, "You know I always have at least one male vampire in the coven. He’s it."
"I see," Ares reflected thoughtfully. "Well, now you’ve told me. Was there anything else?"
"You don’t wish to see her?"
"What would be the point?" Ares shook his head and added, "You always did have too much romantic in you. It will be your undoing, you know. One day, someone will come along and take advantage of your weakness. Maybe even me," he finished with an evil laugh as he vanished.
Vlad shook his head. Well, he had tried. Fair enough, he would handle this himself.
Ares had dematerialized, but he wasn’t gone. He was curious about this woman, but he’d never let Vlad know it. Tamara had touched him and if this mortal looked like her . . . Well, he’d have to see for himself. As Vlad left the library and went to Scotty’s room, Ares cloaked in his powers of invisibility followed.
Vlad entered Scotty’s bedroom to find the girl nestled in Scotty’s arms. He could see the outline of her breasts in the sheer blouse she wore, could feel the amount of passion she instilled in his vampire. She had her eyes closed and she rested her beautiful head of curly hair on Scotty’s shoulder. Scotty was holding her, his mouth pressed to the top of her head. Funny, he didn’t think the boy even knew it, but he was completely bemused by the girl. The situation was an eerie reminder and he didn’t need it.
Vlad stepped close to the bed and gave a small cough. The girl’s eyes popped open and her jaw dropped. She looked at him and her skin went pale. She reached out a hand as if to ward off an image or a demon and exclaimed, "You! You can’t be . . . " She swallowed hard and for a moment Vlad thought she would faint again. Scotty gripped her tighter and seemed almost to be pumping oxygen into her. She swallowed again and croaked, "Who are you?"
"Who do you think I am?" he asked. He moved closer to the bed.
"I don’t know," she mumbled. "I can’t read Romanian. But if . . . that is . . . you’re either a king who should be long dead or a god."
Vlad’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. "How do you know that?"
"There were family journals. Going back centuries," she replied. She was getting caught in his eyes. She found them hypnotic. How could he possibly be alive? Then suddenly the name, Vlad Tepes Dracul. Dracula? The vampire? Could he be? If he was did that make? She turned away quickly, felt the spell the man had cast dissipate and studied Scotty. "Scotty, are you a vampire?"
Scotty looked surprised and then looked to Mr. D.
Vlad was now at the edge of the bed. He looked at Scotty, looked at Cyn and directed, "Scotty, leave us. I will answer her questions."
"But Mr. D . . ." Scotty tried to object.
"I said GO," Vlad commanded in a soft but emphatic voice. "That was NOT a request."
Scotty swallowed and kissed the top of Cyn’s head. Then he released her and murmured, "I’ll be near by. Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you."
Cyn smiled reassuringly at him. "I know he won’t. I don’t know how I know that, but I know it’s true. It’ll be all right, Scotty. I’m sure of it."
Scotty nodded and backed out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Vlad sat down at the edge of the bed and took Cyn’s hand in his.
His hand was like ice, while hers was like a furnace. "You’re very cold," she declared softly.
"So Tamara always said," Vlad mused reflectively.
"So Tamara always said," she repeated. "You knew my, I’m not quite sure what she was actually. Is that why I’m here? Because I’m your . . ."
Vlad stared into her brown eyes. "I don’t actually know that, Cyn. It is possible you are related to me, but also possibly not. You could be related to Ares."
"Ares?" she echoed the name. "I never believed that the Greek gods existed. Or vampires either. You are a vampire, aren’t you?" Vlad nodded. "Scotty too?" Again, he nodded. "How is it that I’m not dead? Unless of course this is all just some really weird dream."
"It’s not a dream. And you aren’t dead, at least not yet," he added dryly. He paused, then removing his hand from hers added, "But, Scotty did wish you to join us. I was there with him to see you for myself. How do you feel about the idea?"
"He wants me to be a vampire?" she reiterated. Vlad nodded. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why?" Vlad questioned. "Scotty, as I think you know, is quite fond of you. He wants to be with you in every sense of the word."
"Yes, but, we’ve been together seven nights in a row." She paused, pursed her lips in concentration and then said, "He's been feeding off me, hasn't he?" Vlad nodded. "Well, If he’s been drinking my blood, why aren’t I ill? I feel fine. Shouldn’t I be dying or dead or something?"
Vlad was impressed with the quickness with which her mind worked. "Yes, that is something of a mystery. However, it is my belief you are protected either because you have my or Ares blood within you. If you were normal, you would be dead."
"Well," she mused, "then why do I have to become a vampire to be with Scotty? I mean, it seems like we’re doing just fine as is. I’m not saying I don’t want to be a vampire, but . . ."
The girl had a point; he had to grudgingly admit. She should be dead, but she clearly wasn’t. And she obviously wasn’t suffering any physical effects from Scotty’s feeding. "Cyn," he asked slowly, "how much do you know about me?"
"Not much. I mean, the journal said you were the king of Romania. Vlad Tepes Dracul. I sort of made the vampire/Dracula connection myself," she murmured. "Scotty called you Mr. D."
Vlad laughed. "I have had many names over the centuries. My true name IS Vlad Tepes Dracul, but I have been known as Vlad the Impaler, King Vlad III, Vlad Dracula, and Count Dracula. Mr. D is simply my present nom de plume."
"What did Tamara call you?" she asked.
"Vlad," he whispered. "She called me Vlad."
"Then I’ll call you Vlad too," she confirmed. "Did you love her?"
He contemplated the girl. Her eyes were studying him with unrestrained curiosity. "I don’t know, Cyn. In those days, well, lets just say that if any of my present charges had known me then, they wouldn’t recognize me. I was fond of her, however." He patted Cyn’s hand.
She looked at Vlad appraisingly. He still looked very much like his drawing. The unearthly beauty was still apparent in the high sweep of forehead, the aristocratic nose, and the piercing eyes. Although those eyes no longer looked so haunted. His mouth no longer had that cruel twist either. All in all, as she took in his expensive tailored suit, his long black hair, and his trim physique, she could see the attraction. "So you and Tamara were intimate. And she was also involved with Ares. Is he still . . ."
"Oh, yes, Ares is still very much alive," Vlad explained dryly.
"Hmm," Cyn mumbled. This was certainly an interesting turn of events. "So let me get this straight. Hundreds of years ago you and Ares and Tamara all knew each other. And Tamara got preggers. One of you two was the Da, but I guess there wasn't DNA back then, eh?" Vlad nodded. "So she had the baby and then on and on until me." Again, Vlad nodded. "It's been hundreds of years though. I don't understand why I'm . . . "
"You look almost exactly like her," Vlad remarked softly.
"I look . . . Are you sure?"
Wordlessly Vlad pulled the miniature out of his pocket and handed it to Cyn.
She sucked in her breath as she studied the portrait. "Bloody hell. It COULD be me."
"Yes," Vlad concurred. "I think you're what they call a genetic throwback. Somewhere in your DNA there was a recessive gene. For some reason, in you, the gene was activated."
"Genetic throwback, eh?" she echoed. "Well, I don't know much about things like that. Vlad," she questioned softly as she handed him back the miniature, "is there really a curse?"
He took the portrait and again slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Yes, I’m afraid so. I followed the family for a few hundred years, until they moved from Romania. Apparently the curse has never been broken."
Cyn sucked in her breath. "So if I was to have a child, then I would just continue the cycle?" He nodded. "Can vampires have children?"
He looked at her thoughtfully. "It is rare for male vampires to sire children, but it is possible. Always with a human woman though. As for female vampires, well, I suppose it is theoretically possible, but I have never heard of a case."
"Hmm," Cyn muttered. "So, where do we go from here?"
"You know," the master vampire reflected consideringly, "I don't really know. Under normal circumstances if a human discovered our secret, well . . . " he let the words trail off.
"I don't think normal fits this though, do you?" Cyn grinned. "It's very nice to meet you. I wish I knew whether . . . "
"Yes, well," he reiterated. "I'm not sure there's any way we can ever know for certain. Tell me Cyn, what do you want to do?"
She shook her head. "I don't really know. I am fond of Scotty. I was thinking earlier today that all I really wanted for Christmas was him. But I don't know if I want to die."
Vlad nodded. "It is a big decision. Why don't you think about it, perhaps discuss it with Scotty." He rose from the bed and turned to go.
"Wait. If I say no, does that mean I'll never see you again?"
Vlad turned back to her. "I hadn’t thought about it."
She looked at the vampire and explained tentatively, "I'd like to know more about Tamara."
He smiled sadly and promised, "Very well. I promise Cyn, no matter what you decide, we will meet at least one more time."
Cyn nodded as Vlad left. She sat up higher in bed, turning to fluff the pillows. She heard a funny sound, kind of like wind and then the most amazing creature appeared.
Her jaw dropped as she studied him. The face was the same as the drawing, angelic, demonic, and utterly beautiful. The eyes were dark, though not as black as she had guessed. But it was the rest of him that astonished her. She supposed she should have expected it, a god would well, look like a god. The phrase "body of a Greek god" hadn’t become a cliché by accident. Still, as he stood there clothed in tight fitting black leather pants and open black vest, she was awed by the perfection of his form. She’d thought Scotty the epitome of a man, but this . . . Her eyes stalled at the muscles in his chest for a long moment and she wished his vest was shorter, she was very curious about what he had in his pants. She looked him up and down and then finally said in a voice huskier than normal, "You must be Ares."
"Yes," he agreed. He sat down on the bed next to her. He touched her cheek, then ran his thumb along her jaw line.
She felt the intense heat of his touch, the passion and anger she'd sensed in the drawing. This close to him it was almost overpowering. Almost. She knew, instinctively that it wasn't her he was lusting for. "Do I really look so like her?" she asked trying to break the spell.
He nodded as his fingers began to trace her lips.
Despite the knowledge that it wasn't her he wanted, she still felt herself melting at his touch. "You could be my . . ." she mumbled almost inaudibly.
"Your what?" he chuckled. "Your grandfather from seven or eight generations ago? Really Cyn, the blood kinship is minimal."
"You know my name," she announced in astonishment.
"I know more than that," he murmured. He captured her face in his hands. His eyes bored into hers as he added, "I know everything about you. All your wishes and desires, all your secrets and your pains. I can read your mind and your heart."
His voice was seductive, his eyes brimming with some emotion as they continued to lock with hers. She felt herself being sucked into his eyes, felt as if he was suddenly the answer to every prayer she had ever had. His fingers were caressing the soft skin of her cheek and his touch was like liquid flame, "How can you know?"
"I am a god," he began, but the sound of the door being flung open stopped him. In a flash, he was gone. However, she could have sworn she heard him say, "I'll be back."
Scotty scrambled into the room in a rush. "Cyn," he called as if expecting her to be gone.
"I'm right here, Scotty." Her skin still burned where the god had touched her.
Scotty came to her and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Mr. D says you don't want to join us."
She reached for him. "I never said that. I just said I wasn't sure. Scotty, I need to . . . I don't know . . . think about this when I know it's happening."
"I don't get it."
"Oh yes you do," she retorted flirtatiously. "Let's get it right now and then tell me before you feed, so I can watch."
Scotty grinned and pulled her into his arms. Cyn lost herself in his embrace. His kiss was urgent, demanding, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth. She found herself tearing at his clothes, feeling the passion he ignited in her. Soon she had his shirt off and she began to lap at his nipples, knowing how much he liked that.
His hands were roaming all over her, again ripping off her clothes. He had her stripped naked in moments. Then his fingers found her nipples and began to caress them, while his tongue licked her neck. He pushed her over on to her back, quickly reaching for the zipper on his pants. He unzipped himself and then pushed his pants down. Cyn was already reaching for him.
She grasped his organ and quickly guided him to her opening. He slid inside in one smooth stroke and then his mouth hovered above hers. He lay there for a moment, just staring at her. The amount of desire in his eyes touched her deeply. Then his mouth descended and he began to move. Slowly at first, gliding all the way out, barely keeping them joined and then slipping deeply back inside. His kiss now was gentle; his hands caressed her breasts almost tenderly. He reigned his passion in as he told her with his body how he felt about her.
His thrusts increased in speed, his kiss became more urgent. Cyn arched up to meet him, feeling her body nearly at the edge. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel every inch of him inside her. She could feel his movements get more erratic then heard him pant, "I'm going to do it now, Cyn."
This time Cyn forced herself to focus on his face. She watched as his fangs appeared and then as he sank them into her jugular. She felt a tiny tingling on her neck and then an orgasm sweep over her. The orgasm was intense, only this time she understood the cause. She felt Scotty's feelings, his thoughts, and his body as if it were hers. It was amazing and wonderful. She felt him pull his fangs out. There were a few drops of blood on his lips. She licked them off and felt him shudder from the pleasure.
She grinned at him. He lay his head on her breasts and looked up at her. "Cyn, you can't know what it's like. It's . . . "
"I can know," she explained softly. "You showed me. Scotty, when you went into my mind, you opened yours. I know how I make you feel, how feeding on me makes you feel. It's quite . . . exhilarating."
"Cyn, I really want you to stay with us," he implored her earnestly. "I know Mr. D won't do anything if you say no, but I'd rather be with you. I don't know what it is, but . . . "
She didn't know what it was either, but she felt the same. The sex had crystallized it for her. Whatever was between them, it was enough to last a thousand lifetimes. It was enough to give up living and become dead for. Scotty would be enough. Always. "Scotty," she whispered, "what exactly happens when you become a vampire?"
The End?