Sunday again, and not just any Sunday, but the Sunday before Halloween! In honor of the impending holiday, I'm giving you a quick kiss from my vampire story, Prey.
Don't forget to visit Victoria Bliss and read her Snog, too!
We will hunt tonight. I stand at the arching windows of our flat, watching dusk paint the Vltava in a thousand shades of gray. Across the river, the spires of the castle rise in graceful silhouette against mauve banks of cloud. In the background, Juliana plays Lizst. Her fiery restlessness is apparent in the music. She doesn't want to wait any longer.
Long ago, we learned to sate our physical hunger with the blood of dumb beasts. Yet this was not enough. Gradually we came to realize that we could not survive without tasting the fascination and the fear of human victims. We need their rosy, yielding flesh, their scents of musk and salt, their quickened breathing. We crave the worship we see in their eyes, the willingness, no, the eagerness to surrender their entire selves to our unearthly beauty and power.
We are addicted to the drug of humanity. I find this ironic and somehow satisfying, this understanding that regardless of our invulnerability and near-omnipotence, our destinies are inextricably entwined with those of mortals. I sometimes wonder if God is likewise dependent on man (or vampire). Do we provide the same validation for His existence? Do we assuage the same kind of lust?
Juliana tells me that I am too philosophical.
She is here now, her piano abandoned, gazing out with me at the darkening world. Her jet hair is swept away from her ivory brow. Her ripe lips look already bloodied. Her fitted costume of scarlet velvet transforms her voluptuousness into stylish elegance. She slips her cool hand into mine; her long fingernails graze my palm. She stands statue-still as the true night envelopes the city, but I can feel her impatience. Nevertheless, she waits for me to make the decision.
I am, as always, somehow reluctant. My cravings are as strong as hers, I'm sure, but I try to deny them as long as possible. I don't think that it is guilt or shame that holds me back. Rather, I want the desire to build to a state of fever, of delirium, to the point where, uncontrollable and irrevocable, it obliterates the feeble rustlings of thought.
I am close to that point now.
Juliana raises her bottomless eyes to mine and parts her lips invitingly. When I kiss her, I feel her shimmering pleasure in my own body, heat that warms even our deathly chill. My cock stirs, waking from a long sleep.
"My love," I murmur after an endless drink from her mouth. "Let us go."
We don our matching capes, and, hand in hand, stroll through the winding cobbled streets of Staré Mesto, the old town. It is October. A fine drizzle mists against our faces, as though we were walking through a cloud. Light from the shop windows makes golden smears on the damp pavement. The door to some restaurant or bar opens, and we reel like drunkards at the sudden onslaught of warmth, the voices and laughter, the overwhelming fragrance of blood.
You can read the rest of Prey on my website. Let me know what you think!