Author: R.C. Graham
Date: 2013-10-30 04:00:00+00:00
Description: Georges Belleveau has been a vampire since the end of the 18th Century. The last thing he expected when he took a position as a visiting History lecturer, was to fall in love with a mortal woman. Now he is caught and there doesn't seem to be any escape to his dilemma. On the Far Side of Darkness follows Georges and his lover, Diane Patterson, as they deal with love, deception, discovery, and redemption.
Publisher: Twisted Rose Publishing

On The Far Side of Darkness

R. C. Graham

Published by Twisted Rose Publishing

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2013 R. C. Graham

Kindle Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

For two hundred years Georges Belleveau has walked the night feeding from the living.

In that time he has seen much. The 19th and 20th Centuries with all their wonders and horrors have marched past him. Monsieur Belleveau has watched all of it, and continued past them.

As a result he’s discovered he does well writing and teaching history. It’s not something pulled from dull pages to be monotonously recounted to bored students.

This career has brought him to a small midwestern university to teach a few night classes about his favorite subject. When it’s done, he’ll move on, as he always does.

Georges couldn’t be more wrong.

While hunting for a meal one evening he meets Diane Patterson, a woman of rare beauty and intelligence. In spite of himself he is drawn to her, and she to him.

But Georges is a vampire and Diane is human, mortal. One thing that every night dweller learns is that humans can never discover the undead exist. It could mean the extinction of their kind.

This secrecy is a barrier that cannot be crossed, and if it is, will Georges and Diane’s love survive On The Far Side of Darkness?

Foreword

I grew up on Weird Tales.

Well, the magazine was a little before my time, but my high school library had a whole pile of horror/fantasy collections and the majority of the good stories in them were from Weird Tales.

I devoured the tales of H.P. Lovecraft. Robert E. Howard’s heroes lead me on swashbuckling adventures in lands lost in time against things from elsewhere. Seabury Quinn’s occult detective Professeur Jules de Grandin accompanied me through mysteries where the solutions turned on ghosts, nearly forgotten gods and monsters both human and supernatural.

It left a huge impression on me. You see, none of the stuff I read was novels. It was all short stories and what would now be classified as novellas.

I hadn’t realized this until I started writing the stories of Georges Belleveau and his lady love, Diane Patterson. Every time I dreamed up a story involving one or both of them it was short, or no more than novella length. It just seems to be the way my brain works. I’m far more comfortable with the shorter forms of fiction.

The result is this book, On The Far Side of Darkness. It’s not a novel. It’s a collection of short stories and novellas. However like Robert E. Howard’s stories, there is an arc to them. The first story, Abyss, I ended at a good point for that story but it hardly ended the story of Georges and Diane. So I wrote another because my mind just wouldn’t stop wondering What happens next?

That was followed by another, and another, and still another. Plus I have more percolating in my head.

So you’ll find, as I did with the stuff I read when younger, that you’ll just have to read more of Georges and Diane.

Enjoy.

Abyss

It’s a good thing that the sun goes down so early in winter time. Otherwise the night classes I teach would be held very late. That could lead to suspicion, which is something an undead blood drinker like myself likes to avoid.

I take a moment to make sure my face is in place, literally. My natural features show what I am, a thing of nightmares. But one of my kind’s talents is the ability to camouflage ourselves. So I appear quite human, if a little pale. It means we can approach our prey without panicking them, or teach them the history of the French Revolution in my case.

A few quick paces brings me to the stairs. I head up them and walk along the hall checking classroom numbers. At Room 223 I open the door and step into the class. I’m almost exactly on time. “Bonsoir,” I greet my new students.

The thirty odd seats here are about two third’s full, which is a pleasant surprise. Although my books are well known inside the history profession they can hardly be said to be best sellers. It seems the medium sized mid-western university I’m teaching guest classes for has a large number of history students. For I enjoy teaching history, I’ve seen so much of it.

I start into my introductory speech, identifying myself and outlining what I intend to impart to my students in this course. I’ve just finished it up when the door opens and a number of people enter my classroom.

The first thing that strikes me is familiarity. I’d seen such groups when I lurked in Versailles just before the French Revolution.

The person in the lead is female with sandy blonde hair cut short, almost mannishly. Her face isn’t exactly pretty but not plain either. There’s a set to her jaw and an arrogance in her eyes that marks her as the leader of this group. Her garb is severe; black sweater, jeans and motorcycle boots. The young woman strides to an empty desk and slumps heavily into its seat.

The person immediately behind her is also female but as opposite to her lady as possible. This girl’s hair is bright blonde and extends to the small of her back. Her features are far more than pretty and her clothes are exquisitely soft and feminine. Her robin’s egg blue eyes stay focused downwards in a unmistakeable submissive posture. She takes the seat next to the leader of this coterie.

The rest of the people range themselves behind these two, some sitting, some standing. Their position is centered on the feminine girl. None gets too close to the leader.

“And you are?” I inquire of the dominant that’s just entered.

“Mandy Richardson.” Her tone is as I expected, arrogant and uncaring of my opinion.

That is indeed the name of one of my students. I memorized my class roster days ago.

“You?” I ask, focusing my gaze on the lady in waiting.

“Chris…Christy Coburn.” Her voice carries fear and uncertainty. It seems to me that she’s too often been punished for things, things for which she was not responsible.

The rest of ‘The Court’, as I already tag them, I ignore. They are courtiers and so merely extensions of Ms. Richardson.

“I’d appreciate it if you arrived on time in the future,” I tell the sandy blonde in the leather jacket.

She looks at me with flat eyes, masking her emotions. “I’ll see what I can do.” A slight hardening of the mouth and the way she leans towards me ever so little makes it apparent she intends to ignore me.

I react as any predator that has been challenged would, with body language that makes it clear I’m not backing down. We hold that tableau for a moment, then both of us relax. The gauntlet has been thrown and the contest has started.

* * * *

The university pub is not quite dim, by human standards, but there is plenty of light for me. Vampires hunt at night after all. There is just enough illumination to give the place with its dark wood and red satin walls an intimate air. From the booth off to one side of the entrance I can scan the establishment. I need a meal and a venue such as this is perfect for a hunt.

There is a glass of red wine clutched loosely in my left hand. It’s a necessary camouflage. I can’t drink it. Indeed, I can’t consume any human food or drink. But someone not imbibing here would be suspicious and suspicion is something I wish to keep far away from me.

My gaze runs over the patrons here. That one? I think. No. She’s pretty enough but I can tell she won’t be that tasty. Bland and common.

The brunette? Perhaps, if I find nothing else.

That blonde? Ick! She’d taste as false as her breasts.

My mind made up I start to slide out of the booth.

The front door opens and another woman walks in. As I look at her something, something ineffable sweeps through me.

I can’t seem to move anything save my eyes. They follow her as she stalks past. Everything about the sweet lady is impressed on my consciousness.

She’s petite, slightly built, with rich auburn, shoulder length hair. Her cream skinned face is, sweet. There’s no other word to describe it. She has sea green eyes full of intelligence and zest for life. Her nose adds a touch of impudence to her beauty while her lips are coral and a little on the thin side. Her shoulders slump a touch, her face is grim, showing exhaustion and frustration.

I lean back in the booth and watch as she takes a seat at the bar. The bartender slides a drink over without being asked. The lovely redhead takes a sip of the amber liquor and her back heaves with a sigh.

That unknown feeling twitches in my chest, as if my heart still beat. I feel as if I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her in sympathy.

Not possible, is my thought then. Something like myself can’t offer comfort. The best I can do is as little harm as possible.

I smile then, a smile that reveals a little of what I am. She’ll be very tasty at least. I guess I’ve found my prey for tonight.

But it takes a minute to work up my nerve. To my surprise a part of me, that part that lives in the night, is unnerved. The woman makes that vicious hunter apprehensive. It reacts to her as if she was a deadly trap, something to be avoided.

I need not fear, I tell myself then. She’s only human.

At that reassurance I stand, pick up my wine and saunter over to her. I approach with an easy stride. This hides the fact that I’m hunting. If I showed too much intention, or the wrong kind, I’d remain in the minds of the people here. Anonymity means safety.

“Excuse me,” I say when I’m standing behind and a little to one side of my prey. I use the voice of what I’m pretending to be, the closest to what I would be if I were alive, a Frenchman with very good English. I’ve found many women think it fascinating, which helps in my hunting. It disarms their suspicion.

She straightens and turns toward me. As she does I reach out with my power. It strokes lightly over her nerves; soothing, calming, enticing.

But the beautiful woman’s expression is cross. “I’m really not…” she starts in a curt voice. Then her green eyes widen a bit and her mouth goes a little slack. A small “Oh!” escapes from her lips.

I know I didn’t cause that, I didn’t hit her nearly hard enough.

My reaction is the same as hers. This close the effect she had on me as she walked in is an order of magnitude higher. It warms me the way her blood would if I drank it.

For a moment neither of us do a thing. She blinks several times and a slightly befuddled cast shows on her features. I feel a similar twisting on my own features. I want to say something but it needs to be the right thing. I don’t wish to make a bad impression.

“I beg your pardon,” I finally manage to say. “I won’t intrude.” As I take a half step back I feel a little shock of surprise. I don’t want to intrude if it offends this lovely lady.

“Please, sit down,” she overlaps me. “Maybe company would be nice.” Her voice contains strong remnants of a Southern drawl. Mississippi, I think. As a vampire I have a facility for languages and accents. It offers concealment and lets us recognize our prey.

The strangest mixture of relief and nervousness wafts through me at her invitation. This isn’t a hunt, and it’s been so long since I’ve interacted with a woman I wasn’t hunting I’m at rather an impasse. But I slide onto a stool next to her.

“I noticed you were rather ragged around the edges as you came in,” I remark then. “I’d hoped I could help in some way.”

“Thanks,” the lovely redhead replies. “It’s just the usual start of the semester overload. Every professor, T.A. and visiting lecturer has requests in for their classes. This book and that paper and this magazine and more and…” She stops abruptly and a guilty grimace shapes her mouth. “Sorry. I get cranky after three fifteen hour days.”

“If I’m responsible for any of that, I apologize. I’m one of those visiting lecturers.”

That statement garners me a raised eyebrow.

“Georges Belleveau,” I tell her as I extend my hand.

“Oh, the history writer from Paris!” She takes the offered palm. “Diane Patterson. I heard through the grapevine that the university was surprised you accepted their offer. We’re hardly the Sorbonne or Harvard.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Patterson. It’s been a while since I was in this section of your country.” Over a century ago, is what I keep inside. “I wanted to see it again.”

“It certainly wasn’t the money.”

“I’m wealthy enough that I don’t care about the pay. I didn’t even take their offer of a place to live. I rented my own on the outskirts of town.”

Diane does a little scan. I’m a bit of a stereotype of a vampire, dressed entirely in black; t-shirt, jeans, hiking boots and leather jacket.

“If it wasn’t for that jacket,” she tells me, “I’d never guess you were rich.”

“I’ve never felt the need to show off.”

Ms. Patterson gives me a small smile of appreciation. It seems she likes a certain level of humility.

“I read one of your books,” she goes on. “It was a really good read. Your portraits of the people in Versailles were brilliant, so informative. Where’d you learn those things?”

“Thank you,” I reply. Then I spin her a tale of my family library, and family contacts, and how I spent years reading obscure letters and papers to fill in some of the almost unknown people of The Enlightenment.

In actuality, I spent years in the cities of Europe as a courtier, and later as one of the undead. But I can’t let any human know that.

My companion asks more questions when I’m done. I answer them for I so rarely get to just, talk, about myself. Then I inquire of her and listen raptly when she speaks. I find being with Diane Patterson both relaxing and exciting, emotions that often seemed mutually exclusive in the past.

Our talk leaves ourselves and travels to current events. We speak of our thoughts on a particular piece of news. My viewpoint is quite European; hers, American; but we listen rather than judge.

That leads to history again, followed by philosophy then we segue into culture.

We’re finally interrupted by the bartender. “Closing time, folks. It’s after one.”

Diane and I blink at each other. We’d completely lost track of time.

“Oh, great,” my companion sighs. “I’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

“Then we should go.” Without thought I pass a credit card to our server telling him, “Put both tabs on that.”

Diane smiles. “Normally, I’d insist on paying my own, but, thank you. Sometimes I like being treated.”

“De rien. It’s my pleasure.”

It’s just a couple of minutes before we’re standing outside. “May I escort you to your car?” I ask the beautiful lady with whom I’ve spent a wonderful evening.

“I walk here,” Diane tells me. “It’s about twenty minutes.” She pauses, then looks at me with her focus not quite on my face. She swallows and says, “I’d like it if you were willing to walk me home.”

In response I crook an elbow. That’s followed by a moment’s consternation. It’s something I haven’t done since, well, since the last woman I loved died. I find it surprising that I offered what I did without thought.

The sweet woman slides her hand into position, lightly laying her fingers on my forearm. She blinks as she does and a befuddled look drifts across her features. In a moment though, she looks up and smiles at me.

Then we head on our way.

The walk takes a bit longer than the promised twenty minutes but it is an enjoyable time. We switch between comfortable silence and comfortable conversation. For just a short while, I forget what I am.

We stop in front of her apartment building. Stepping away from each other we smile. Diane’s mouth twists and she frowns a little. It seems she can’t make up her mind about something.

So I do it for her. “Bon nuit, Ms. Patterson. I’ve had a lovely time. Go to bed and sleep well. I’ll try not to add to your work load tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Belleveau. You’re a very interesting man and thank you for a lovely night.”

Without thought I pull out a pen and small pad I carry. I scribble my phone number on it.

“How can you see that?” Diane asks as I do.

With a little concern I note how dark it is. As a creature of the night I can see quite well in light that would be impossible for a human to see anything in. “I’ve written this number so many times I don’t need to see it.” I turn a little to let the illumination of a nearby street lamp fall on my writing. I pull the pad closer to my face and squint a little as if trying to make out what is on it.

“I’ve got it right,” I tell her, rip off the sheet and hand it to her. “If you wish, we can do this again.”

She doesn’t reply at once, and a tiny shiver of fear wafts through me.

“I’ll think about it,” she replies then.

“Of course.” I take her hand and pull her fingers to my lips to lightly brush a kiss across her knuckles. There’s a moment’s resistance from Diane, but she’s smiling when I lift my gaze back to her face.

“Bon nuit, then. I do hope I’ll see you again.”

“Good night.”

I watch until she enters her building and then head down the street. I’ll confess to some anticipation.

She didn’t say, “No.”

* * * *

An hour later I’m on the other side of town, outside the university environs. The houses in this suburban area are small, old and well kept. Most everyone here works at the school in one capacity or another. It’s a good place to hunt now that all the restaurants and bars are closed.

I still have a warm smile on my face. Diane seems to be caught in my thoughts and her presence fills me. For a moment I grow concerned. I shouldn’t care about a human, but I do. I shrug it off. I’ve had human friends on occasion and when it was time to leave, I left and didn’t look back.

I make a quick scan of my surroundings. There is no one to observe me. I make doubly sure I can’t be seen by drawing the night in around me. A cloak of shadows surrounds me and to an outside observer I’m no more than a mist barely distinguishable from the darkness.

When I’ve finished hiding myself I drift down a driveway, making no sound as I go. My steps take me along the backs of the houses and I check each room for potential prey. My focus is sharp, all my senses tuned. I’m on the hunt and I will feed tonight.

There’s no need to worry about any watchdogs alerting the inhabitants. Any animal save a human can sense something like me and they run or cower. They know a monster is nearby, a monster they can’t stand against.

For several houses I find nothing save children. I don’t even consider those. A child will grow into adulthood soon enough and lose their innocence. I won’t be the one to expose them to the horrors of the world.

Finally I find a woman, somewhere between middle-aged and young. She’s asleep, alone, and her bedroom shows no sign of a man.

I take a moment to consider how to take her. Breaking in is a bad idea. It leaves too much evidence. I need a way to draw her out.

That’s when I notice the smell of cat. It’s recent and strong. As I move towards the back door of the house it grows stronger.

Perfect.

I step on the back stoop, stand to one side and bring my plan into action. My fingers scratch across the screen door. I do that for several seconds, pause and then continue.

After my third scratch I can hear, “Damn it, Jeffery. Mommy needs to sleep. Why can’t you pick a better time to want in?” Footsteps sound and the inner door opens.

The next instant I move. The woman starts a gasp that stops as I meet her eyes. She’s mine now, under my control, blank as a sheet of new paper. I step inside, push her back a couple of steps and then I gather in my arms. My fangs sink into her neck and I draw her delicious blood into me.

Mon Dieu! Feeding is orgasmic for a vampire. For us there is far more than blood in the taste. There are all the components that make up a human being. My prey’s emotions, her loves, her joys, her life passes into me to energize my dead body and black soul.

My prey groans. A sound that contains as much ecstasy as pain and fear. A vampire’s bite triggers those parts of the human body and psyche connected to physical pleasure. It guarantees they won’t run, and that they are bewildered when I’m done with them. Between that and my mesmeric ability I can bend her mind so that no memory of being victimized remains.

The woman shivers in my arms, groans again and I can smell that she is becoming aroused. Her taste changes, loses the complex texture it had contained. Instead the predominant feature becomes raw lust. The sudden intense change makes me suck harder at her vein. My emotions grow to become nearly as overwhelming as hers.

I could do this forever.

But I don’t. A small, rational piece of me keeps watch and makes me pull away long before my meal is in danger. Partly because bodies are likely to raise questions. No vampire wants humans to know we exist. The chief reason is because I don’t like hurting anyone. I may be a monster but that doesn’t make me selfish or cruel. A quick lick of the wounds on her throat heals them as if they never existed.

“You only had a dream,” I tell her as I gaze into her eyes once again. “A very pleasant one involving a person you’ve often fantasized about.” With that, I leave her house, closing the screen door quietly. I’m three steps away when I hear her gasp as my hold on her mind breaks. She mumbles in confusion and then giggles. The inner door closes as I vault over her back fence.

Once back on the street I turn in the direction of my small rented cottage. I’ve got a lesson plan to work on.

And a smile grows on my face as I think about Diane Patterson.

* * * *

“The gap between the Second and Third Estates during this point of the Revolution was wide and almost uncrossable. They might as well have been in separate countries. This inability to communicate other than by shouting exacerbated the crisis.”

I remember too well that horrible time both as human and vampire. Memories return and they still frighten. A revolution is a horrible thing.

I’ll never tell that to my students though. They think I’m merely imparting what I learned when I wrote my books.

“That isn’t true!” The interruption comes from an unexpected source; Mandy Richardson. She hasn’t been participating much. It’s almost as though she believes she’ll pass despite her lack of effort.

“Pardon, Mademoiselle Richardson?”

“There were members of the nobility who sided with the bourgeoisie. The Chevalier de Vaudemont worked with them. He helped the two sides communicate.”

“I’m afraid not. The Chevalier was a spy. He was reporting to his colleagues what the Third Estate was up to so the nobility could counter or neutralize them. He spread disinformation so that the bourgeoisie were ineffective. He disappeared not long after The Terror started. It was assumed the Jacobins killed him.”

Mandy’s face starts to turn red. “How do you know that?”

Because I was the Chevalier. The vampire that turned me knew I sympathized and forced me to be his spy.

“The records of the de Vaudemont family have his letters to his siblings. He bragged about his actions and they, having republican leanings, cut him off.”

That was me removing any ties I had to my humanity. They could never know.

“Furthermore,” I go on, “The Archives Nationales hold a number of records confirming this.” I tell her exactly where those records can be found.

Ms. Richardson’s reaction is a surprise. She slams her notebook closed, snatches up her book bag and storms out of the classroom. The Court follows in her wake. Christy, her sub, looks frightened. I feel sorry for her. She shouldn’t suffer on my behalf.

I can’t help but wonder at Ms. Richardson’s behavior. As the people here in America say, “What is her problem?”

* * * *

Even though all I see is movement in my peripheral vision I know at once it is Diane. Her scan of the restaurant meets my turning towards her in perfect synchronicity. She speaks to the maitre d’ and he leads her towards the table I’ve reserved for us.

I rise to greet her, then pull out her chair. Once she’s seated I return to my own chair.

“Thanks for the invitation, Georges,” my redheaded dinner companion tells me with a warm smile. “I’d been hoping I’d hear from you again. I really enjoyed that night.”

“Moi aussi. It was a most enjoyable evening. I wanted to repeat it.”

Diane looks around. “I didn’t expect this place. It looks like you’ve got money a visiting instructor usually doesn’t have.”

“My books do well. So I can indulge a beautiful woman once in a while.”

That garners me another warm smile, so warm that I feel it all the way through my body. It’s a strange sensation. Since I am dead usually I feel cold. This is a very pleasant change.

The sommelier approaches and hands each of us a wine list. “You pick something you like, Diane.” I pause, worried about what I’ll say next. I can’t eat any human food. It sits in my stomach until it rots. But I’d thought ahead and have an excuse ready. “I won’t be able to partake I’m afraid.”

She looks at me with a puzzled frown. “You were drinking last week.”

“Courtesy. I hadn’t actually drank any of it. But it wouldn’t be polite not to buy a drink in an establishment such as that.”

She ponders that for a moment. “May I ask why you can’t?”

“Of course. It’s not a big secret. I’ve a very rare genetic disorder. Among the various effects is a gastrointestinal problem, reflux. Anything I eat or drink will force acid into my throat. It’s most painful. There is very little I can eat and I have to cook it myself. I’ve found restaurants have difficulty preparing the food I can consume. Even a bit of contamination and I get to spend some uncomfortable days.”

Diane spends another moment pondering. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll remember that. If you’re ever over to my place for dinner I’ll ask for tips on how to cook for you.”

She blinks then, and blushes a little. “That didn’t mean what it sounded like.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know what it sounded like except good.”

The lovely lady across from me smiles at that and buries her head in the wine list. She orders a small carafe of the house wine finally and decides on filet mignon for dinner. “You’re buying after all.”

Our meal together is a reprise of our night at the pub. Our conversation wanders from subject to subject. We have differing views but neither takes that as a personal insult. At one point she makes an observation that causes me to chuckle, and my hand goes across the table to squeeze hers.

There’s an odd moment, when time freezes. Both of us look at our hands clasped together. Her eyes rise at the same instant mine do and we smile the same smile.

That sudden frisson ends and I pull my hand back. “Pardonez moi, cher. I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

“I liked it, Georges. I’m not offended.”

That smile shows on both our faces again.

Our meal goes on. It strikes me, how strange this is. This isn’t a hunt for I have not the slightest intention of feeding upon Diane. In fact, I don’t even feel like a vampire. For the first time in over century I simply feel like a man.

We linger over coffee and brandy, at my suggestion. Diane hasn’t ever had the pleasure of the two together after dinner. She finds it a wonderful complement to her meal. Our conversation continues its meandering course and it’s a surprise to us when the waiter asks us to pay our bill for the restaurant will close soon.

Once done that I rise and help Diane from her chair. Then I hold her jacket for her. I crook my elbow and she puts her hand in it. Together we leave the restaurant.

“May I escort you home, cheri?”

“You may.” She dimples at me. “I like that you are so formally courteous, Georges, and what does chérie mean?”

“It’s the way I was raised, cher. My family is very minor nobility in Alsace. We keep to the old ways a lot.” That’s true, if two centuries out of date. “Cheri means ‘sweet’ or ‘dear.’ Although correctly I should be saying ‘mon cheri’ which means ‘my sweet.’ I like the simpler sound though.”

“So do I,” she replies as she lightly squeezes my forearm.

So we start strolling in the direction of her apartment. The night is cool, on the edge of cold, and clear. At this hour the streets are nearly empty and the silence is a type of music. It’s the type of night I’ve always loved. The lovely woman on my arm adds to that feeling.

As we go I ask about her family. Diane is an only child, born and raised on a farm in Mississippi. “I loved the place,” she tells me, “but I also had to leave. Can’t say why. I just felt I was meant to be somewhere else.” She went to university in New York getting a B.A. in history and an M.A. in library science. She’d taken the job at the university here a decade ago and had stayed in it. “It’s not the place I’m looking for, but I feel it might be a step towards it. I can’t explain the reason for it though.”

“Perhaps,” I note, “you’re waiting for some one rather than some place.”

She glances up and her eyes are warm. “Could be.”

Diane looks forward and mumbles, “Oh, shit.” Her voice is both resigned and annoyed.

I follow her gaze to note another woman heading towards us. Taller than Diane but shorter than me she has a blocky build. Her hair is cut very close and she glowers at us. A smell of rum, cheap rum, precedes her.

“We’re done, Wendy,” Diane announces when the sturdy woman is several steps away. “So get lost.”

Wendy looks at me with a stare so venomous that if I weren’t already dead I’d leave the ranks of the living. “This is who you left me for? A man? And a skinny fuck at that?”

The lady on my arm sighs. “I didn’t leave you for anybody. I just left you. I’m not property and you treated me like I was.”

The mannish woman snarls. “You kept forcing me to put my foot down. If you’d done what you were told I wouldn’t have had to get forceful.”

That statement slams into my mind and that dark part of me rises. You do not treat some one as sweet as Diane this way!

“Pardonez moi,” I interject. “If Mademoiselle Patterson doesn’t wish to speak with you I would strongly suggest you cease talking with her.” My ire thickens the words so that they come close to a growl.

“Piss off, Frog!” Wendy snarls. She makes a phlegmy sound and purses her mouth to spit at me.

That glob of mucus never emerges. The short haired woman chokes on it. Her eyes go wide and she squeaks in terror. A broad stain appears on the front of her jeans. The next instant she is running as fast as she can away from me.

A similar gurgle of fear sounds from the lady at my elbow. I turn to look at her and she is white as horror pushes all the blood from her face. She starts to back away from me.

I realize I’ve let my mask slip. Diane sees exactly what I am. Of all the people in the world she is the last one I want to know the truth about me.

So I look into her eyes and grab her will. Unusually, she struggles against me for a moment. Diane has a strong mind. I must be careful.

“You only saw me very, very angry,” I tell her. “Angry enough to murder. But nothing else.” That should work. It’s mostly the truth.

I let her go and she gasps. That’s followed by a couple of quick blinks then her head turns away from me as a touch and worry creases her forehead.

“Milles pardon, Ms. Patterson. I’m so sorry I lost my temper. It doesn’t happen often but I’m afraid it’s very bad when it does.”

Her perturbed look disappears, for the most part.

“Come,” I tell her. “I promised to escort you home.” I try to smile but can’t quite do it. I turn  back to the direction we were traveling. I don’t extend my elbow to her. I’m afraid she might not take it.

Diane follows half a step behind me, not quite at my side.

Before we’ve gone thirty paces though, I feel her step up and take my arm.

The relief that washes through me is enormous. I turn my head to smile at Diane and she answers it.

“Sorry, Georges. You’ve been such a calm person the short time I’ve known you seeing you that angry really threw me.”

“I’m sorry I let that woman get to me. You’re quite capable of defending yourself and I should have kept my chivalry to myself.”

She squeezes my arm and laughs. “I found it rather flattering. As a Southern girl I like a man that looks after his woman.”

We both go blank at that, and look forward. It’s been a very long time since I had a woman.

We’re silent for a while then. The only noise is our light footfalls and the whisper of wind in the trees that line the street.

“Aren’t you going to ask about Wendy?” the redhead on my arm inquires.

“It’s none of my business,” I reply. “I’ll listen when you want to talk though.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

I look at her and say with all seriousness, “I only wished to spend an evening with a lovely woman regardless of her sexuality. In that, I was not disappointed.”

A touch of apprehension leaves Diane’s features and the smile she’s been showing me returns.

In five more minutes we’re in front of her building. She lets me go and we face one another.

“Bon nuit, cher. I had a wonderful time.” I take her hand, raise it and brush a kiss across her knuckles.

“I did too, Georges.” She steps towards me, goes on tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

For an instant she’s pressed against me, and a thrill shoots through my body. I stiffen at the experience of it. Diane goes just as rigid.

The beautiful lady steps back and blinks at me. Surprise shows in her eyes.

My eyes show the same befuddlement.

Diane takes another step back. “Well, good night, Georges.” A shy smile creeps onto her mouth. “We’ll have to do it again.”

“Yes, we will.” My smile is warm. I can tell for I’ve faked them so many times. This one however, is real.

My dinner companion enters her building and waves at me through the glass of the door.

I return it and head on my way.

The warm expression I last showed her doesn’t leave my face.

* * * *

Ten minutes into the class and the door to the room opens. Mandy and her court troop into the room then take seats or stand according to the unspoken hierarchy.

I have had enough of this.

After a second of staring at them I announce, “If you are not on the class list, please leave. You are distracting the students who are here to learn. Since the only people on that list are Ms. Richardson and Ms. Coburn the rest of you can go somewhere else.”

Every member of The Court blinks at me and then looks at Mandy. The focus of their attention glares at my action. “There’s no school rules about students attending a class they aren’t signed up for.”

“A school rule? No. My own rules? Yes.” I have to struggle a little to keep my control from slipping. That part of me that lives in darkness can’t stand having someone intrude on its territory. But I believe driving my irritation home by ripping one of Ms. Richardson’s arms off would attract attention. “These, hangers on, of yours are hindering the rest of the class. I make my lessons as difficult as possible and distractions mean my pupils won’t be at their best. So any one not in this class leaves now.” The last sentence carries my displeasure at my vexing student’s actions.

Ms. Coburn gasps and turns a little white. But the way she looks at me shows it’s not herself she frightened for. It’s me.

For several long moments Mandy and I stare at each other. Finally she sits back and grunts, “Fine!” She waves her hand imperiously and her courtiers file out of the room.

As they do Ms. Richardson shows me an expectant smile. The predatory gleam in her eyes makes me wonder what she is going to do next.

* * * *

“Bonsoir, cher,” I say into the receiver of the phone when Diane picks up.

“Bonsoir, chére,” she replies. “It’s nice to hear from you. Thanks again for such a lovely dinner. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“As have I.” I pause for a second, and draw a deep breath. It’s been a very long time indeed since I asked the question I’m about to pose to the lovely woman speaking to me. “Would you like to accompany me to a university function?”

There’s silence from the other end. It can’t be long but it seems like forever. Strange, since at over two centuries of age I have different perspective of ‘a long time.’ But I’m…anxious…for Diane’s answer.

“Yeah, I would,” she says just as I’m about to apologize for being forward. “What did you have in mind?”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, another strange thing for me as I don’t breathe. “I’ve been invited to a faculty party. These things are usually very dull and I know you would help alleviate that boredom.”

“So that’s the only reason I’m invited? To amuse you?” The words are light and followed with a tinkling laugh.

I chuckle back. “That’s one of the reasons, but not the most important one.”

“Oh,” she whispers. There’s another moment of silence that again seems long. “I’d love to, Georges.”

“Merci, Diane. I’ll pick you up about nine this Saturday.”

“How formal is this?” she asks.

“Not very. Wear what you like.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Until then.”

* * * *

I see Diane waiting outside of her building. An odd feeling twists in my stomach at the sight of her. She’s made some effort to look good, and she’s succeeded. Her slacks and blouse just nudge the edge between comfortable and formal. She looks very beautiful.

I guide the car I’ve rented towards her, and hear a ‘crump’ as I bounce the front wheel off the curb.

Diane enters the car, laughing. “I get the impression you don’t drive much, do you, Georges?”

“It’s a skill I learned late in life.” In the 1920’s when I was over one hundred and thirty years old. “I don’t drive often enough to keep it sharp.”

“Why did you rent it? We don’t have far to go and we could walk.”

“We’ll be standing for several hours at least. I believe we’ll be glad of the car when we return.”

She smiles. “That’s good thinking.” A stern frown appears on her face, but the light in her eyes tells me she’s being anything but serious. “But I’m driving. I’d like to get there and back.”

I chuckle as I undo my seatbelt. “Merci, cher. I have no objections.”

Once we’ve changed places it’s ten minutes drive to Draught Hall, or Drafty Hall as it’s known around campus, the pseudo-Georgian building meant for the gatherings like the one we’re attending. There are faculty offices on the second and third floors but mostly it is a public space. Although there is plenty of parking outside of it, Diane has to drive a bit before we find a spot. We must be just about the last ones here.

Once parked we join arms and head for the front door. Then it's a short walk down a hall and we enter the main room. We can hear the susurration of many people talking well before we enter.

We are indeed pretty much the last guests to arrive. The room is already crowded and hot. I look at the lovely woman accompanying me and we have the same look. This might not be a good idea.

"On the other hand," I say to her, "you never know what will happen."

"True," Diane replies. "So let's look around."

We pick up a couple of glasses of wine from a passing server and start to circulate. The department head who hired me flags us down and we converse for few minutes. Then we encounter Diane's senior. I'm pigeonholed by a couple of the History faculty who ask me how I find such obscure references to historical events. I use my standard excuse of my noble family's archives. The truth is that I saved those newspapers, magazines or university papers centuries ago. But they can't know that. We start discussing events of the 19th Century and to my absolute lack of surprise Diane has much to add to our conversation. I find I have a somewhat befuddled smile on my face as I listen to her. The most marvelous warmth fills my chest as I listen to her. More and more it seems I've found a piece of myself I hadn't known was missing from my existence.

“Georges! I’m so glad you could make it!”

I turn to the familiar voice. Dr. Helen Metaxas is the Dean here. She’d welcomed me personally when I first arrived, and took it with good grace when I’d refused to use a guest house provided by the university. It was too large for me and I chose instead a small cottage on the outskirts of town.

“Bonsoir, Helen. Things seem to be going well.” We lean forward to kiss each other’s cheeks.

“These things always do,” she responds. “People from different departments get to know each other, and sometimes great things happen.”

“Indeed,” I reply. “Cross pollination has done great things in the past.”

“You explored that in your second book.” The Dean cocks her head. “You must have written that very young. I thought you were around forty and you wrote that thirty years ago.”

I sigh inside at that. I see I’m going to have to disappear soon and lie low for a while. “My people tend not to show their age. I’m far closer to fifty than I am to forty.” Which is true, just not the way she’ll take it.

A man emerges from the crowd around us, places his arms around Helen’s waist and kisses her neck. The contrast between them is remarkable. Dr. Metaxas is Amazonian in build and dressed like the powerful woman she is. Richard, her husband, looks like the tweedy intellectual he is, right down to the leather patches on the elbows of his jacket.

“Bonsoir, Richard.”

“Good evening, Georges.

“So, what do you think of our little school?” he goes on.

“I like it a great deal. It’s also brought me a rather pleasant surprise.” I place my hand over Diane’s, where it rests on my elbow, turn and smile at her.

“I see,” says Helen. There is a warm chuckle in her voice. “Would you mind introducing her?”

“Of course. Dean and Professor Metaxas, allow me to introduce Diane Patterson.”

“Oh yes. I thought I recognized you,” the Dean remarks. “The chief archivist has a lot of good things to say about your work.”

“Thank you, Dr. Metaxas,” my lovely lady replies. “He’s a good person to work for and very fair.”

Richard interrupts by kissing his wife’s cheek. “Excuse me, dear. I promised some time with a couple of my colleagues.”

Helen laughs. “You mean you want to start the poker game in that room on the third floor.”

“Something like that,” he grins back.

“Don’t lose too much money.” They share a quick, hot kiss and Richard heads off.

“He doesn’t care much for these sort of affairs,” the Dean tells me as watches him go. There is a fond smile on her face, very similar to the one I see on Diane’s features when she looks at me.

That gives me a moment’s mental pause for my own facial muscles start to echo her expression. I shouldn’t feel this way. Diane’s only human and she can’t get too close. I’m too dangerous to her.

“So, Georges,” Dr. Metaxas asks as she turns back to us, “do you have plans for any more…” Her sentence is cut off with a gasp. For a second her eyes light up and a shiver goes through her. Then some color leaves her face. Her mouth tightens into grim fear.

“Hey, Dean.” A familiar voice just behind me tells me what caused this reaction. I turn my head as Mandy and her chief follower step up next to me. Ms. Richardson’s sexuality couldn’t be more on display. Everything she wears from her leather jacket to her motorcycle boots is black. With her sandy blonde hair cut short it’s obvious who is the dominant in their relationship.

Christy as always is the opposite. Garbed in a clinging, high hemmed pink dress quite inappropriate for the weather she’s clearly the submissive. The way Mandy’s arm is draped over her shoulder makes it obvious the gold tressed woman is property.

“What are you do…” the Dean starts to blurt.

“I crashed,” Mandy cuts her off. “There’s so many people here that no one notices.”

“Bonsoir, Ms. Richardson, Coburn.” My voice is frosty. I’m finding Mandy is beginning to raise my ire.

“Hey, prof,” Mandy replies in a mocking tone. Her gaze slides past me. “Who’s this tasty piece?” she inquires. A lecherous smirk leers across her face.

“Not one you’ll ever taste,” snaps the beautiful woman on my arm.

“Feisty too.” The anger in Mandy’s eyes tells me she doesn’t like that character trait at all.

Without thought I place myself between Diane and my student.

Ms. Richardson looks startled for a second. Then her face hardens and she grits her teeth in anger. There is a long moment of aggressive tension.

Christy breaks that tableau by whispering in her owner’s ear.

“Oh, that’s right,” Mandy remarks. She looks at the Dean and cocks her head in my direction.

“Um, Georges?” I hardly recognize Dr. Metaxas’s voice. It’s so tremulous and soft. I’ve heard similar things in the past. She’s doing something she doesn’t want to do but has no choice in the matter.

After a moment of throat clearing Helen goes on. “The, the university has a policy about classes.” Her face is downcast and her eyes stare at the floor. “There’s no rule limit, limiting just students to classes. We encourage people to attend any class they want to.”

Her speech done her eyes come back up to Ms. Richardson. Her expression is both fearful and inquiring. It seems to me she’s checking if my student approves of her actions. Her relief when Mandy nods is palpable.

The sandy haired dyke looks at me and her face holds both triumph and contempt. She knew she would win our little conflict and loathes me for having the temerity to get in her way.

It doesn’t end here, Ms Richardson, and I would be extremely wary of pushing this too far. You don’t know what you are dealing with.

I nod at the Dean. “D’accord, Dr. Metaxas. It shall be as you say.” I find that my liking for the Dean has vanished and my tone is colored by that new lack.

Helen nods back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve other people I have to talk to.” The shine of tears in her eyes tells me that’s a lie. She turns and hurries away from us.

“I’ve got to go too,” Mandy smirks. “Nice dealing with you again, prof.” She drags her paramour away. Christy looks back for a moment with a silent apology, and fear. That fear is for what may happen to me if I continue to oppose her dominant.

I stare after them and rage boils inside me, pushing at the restraints I keep it under. My right fist is clenched and I can feel the tips of my claws dig into palm as my fingernails start to transform.

“Georges…” a voice cuts into my dark emotions “…you’re doing that scary thing again.”

Just like that, my mood evaporates. Relief replaces it as it strikes me how close I was to letting lose that which lurks within me. I turn my head and smile down at Diane. “Je suis désolé, cher. I’m afraid Mandy Richardson is starting to get under my skin.”

“De rien,” she replies with an answering smile. “I’m hoping that’s never directed at me.” Her smile weakens as a touch of unease wafts across her features.

“I’ll tear my own face off first,” I tell her without thought. For it’s true. I’ll hurt myself before I hurt my darling Diane.

In response her smile changes from amused to warm, and she reaches up to caress my cheek. I take her hand, holding it against me, marveling in the tenderness of her gesture.

“I think I’ve had enough of hobnobbing,” I tell her. “Let’s, as the saying goes, ‘Blow this pop stand.’”

Diane snorts. “Sometimes you speak so archaically, Georges.”

“It comes from learning English as a third language, and from books at that,” I tell her. The first part is true, although the second is not. Vampires can learn languages and dialects at ridiculous speeds. A week, two at most, of exposure to a new language and we can’t be distinguished from a native speaker. We are predators and predators need to be camouflaged.

“I see you’ve learned a little of my language,” I note as I lead us through the crowd.

“It seems fair,” Diane returns. “You use those charming French phrases so often, and they add such flavor to your speech, that I had to learn a little myself.”

“I’m flattered.”

“So am I, Georges. I’m just an obscure archivist. That some one like you would be interested in me is a little bewildering. You’re well known in your field and so well read.”

“S’il vous plaît, cher. Do not sell yourself short. You are more interesting and beautiful than any woman I have met in a very long time.” Since the middle of the 19th Century is what I don’t tell her.

We smile at each other. There’s so much emotion communicated in our expressions and no more to be said.

Then we bump into the back of a man talking with several other people, since we hadn’t been watching where we were going. We apologize profusely. Diane laughs and I chuckle the rest of the way to the car.

Ten minutes later Diane stops the car in front of her building. We look at each other and I can see her fingers tighten on the wheel while uncertainty wafts over her sweet face. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes, Georges?”

I don’t hesitate. “I’d love to, cher.”

So she finds a spot in the lot next to her building and we go inside. A quick climb to the second floor and we’re at her door. Diane unlocks the door and asks me, “Won’t you please come in?” I do while thinking I’m glad that piece of mythology about vampires is untrue. We can go where we please.

Diane’s apartment is much like I expected. Indeed much like places I’ve lived. It’s just a touch above Spartan yet comfortable. There’s no ostentation but also no lack of beauty. As all I’ve discovered about this wonderful lady, it warms me.

She looks at me, and I can see she worries a little about my opinion of her residence. She needn’t be concerned. “It’s lovely,” I tell her and she turns away, pretending to be only pleased. The slight lift in her shoulders tells me she’s relieved.

The  lovely redhead walks towards a small liquor cabinet. “Would you like…” she starts. Then she turns to me. “Sorry, Georges.” There’s a touch of chagrin on her features.

“De rien. I’m not offended.”

“Music?” is her inquiry then.

“Something classical.” I like some modern music, but I prefer that from when I was still alive.

To my surprise, Diane walks to the desk on which her computer sits. A click of the mouse wakes it up. A double click starts a program. She clicks once more, then again, and Bach wafts from the speakers set on the bookcase in the opposite wall.

“How fascinating,” I remark. “I hadn’t realized you could do such things with a computer.”

“I’ve got some streaming radio stations that I listen to. I never much cared for the speakers on my machine so I found out how to hook up good ones.” She frowns in puzzlement at me. “Surely you must use a computer, Georges, and the internet.”

“Not for anything like this, writing and e-mailing works to my publisher is the most I use them for.” Truth be told, I had to struggle a little with these things. The concepts behind them seemed nearly magical to me.

A particular piece starts playing, one I loved the final year I spent in Versailles. It has been decades, literally, since I heard it last. It takes me back and without thought I bow as I did in the ballrooms of Paris centuries ago, deeply and with a care not let my wig fall off.

Diane, without hesitation, dips a curtsey. Like my bow, it suggests clothes long out of fashion; a gown with wide panniers and a neckline so low her back must be kept straight to keep from shocking the other attendees of the ball. She extends a hand and I lead her through the mincing steps of a minuet.

There’s really not enough space in her living room to do it properly, but we make due. Diane enchants me with her smooth grace, her sweet smile and her twinkling eyes. As I always feel around her, it seems like I am human again. I can almost see the parquet floors and high ceilings of the tanzsaal, the ballrooms I frequented as a man.

The music comes to an end and we finish our dance with another bow and curtsey. The speakers sound out the announcer speaking in a low voice, telling her listeners what piece she had just played and what will be next.

The lovely redhead whose hand I still hold trills a laugh. “You really are an historian. I’m not surprised you’d know how to do a minuet.”

I bow my head to acknowledge her praise. “It’s my family’s fault. They insisted I receive what they regarded as a proper education.” Proper for two and a half centuries ago.

“And you, cher? Where did you learn the minuet?”

“In university. For fun I joined a Georgian recreation society. You can’t pretend to be a late 18th Century lady without knowing the dances.”

My heart lifts as Strauss’s Vienna Waltz starts to play. Diane and I move into each other without hesitation. At once we’re stepping through the music, tripping through our small space as if we were in a tanzsaal in the city our dance is named after. Our eyes never lose the other’s gaze and our smiles are happy beyond words.

The orchestra finishes with the usual Strauss flourish and we come to a halt. But we don’t step apart. Instead the arms where we held hands join the other around our waists. Diane and I pause then.

I can see it in her eyes and the irresolute twist of her mouth. My expression reflects hers. We’re uncertain. Uncertain of what will happen if we follow the impulse we share. I know she wants me as I want her. There’s a blush on her cheeks, too light for a human to notice, but obvious to something like me. There’s a change in her odor and her arms tremble ever so little. The way I’ve gone stock still shows my ambivalence.

That lasts for only a few seconds. Then I lean down, Diane rises to the balls of her feet and our mouths meet in the kiss we so desperately want.

I’ve kissed many women over the years, but always when I was hunting. It’s been a century and a half since I kissed a woman for any reason other that pursuing a meal. So it’s a shock at the warm emotion that fills me with the touch of Diane’s lips.

Fill me is the only description. All the darkness, the cold, the undeath of my existence is pushed out of my awareness by the sweet, sweet joy that suffuses through my body as the woman I love kisses me.

Diane moans, shivers in my embrace and clutches me tight to her. She wraps her legs around me, then uses them to lift herself so we’re face to face. Her mouth pulls at me with lustful greed, so desperate for the taste of me. Her breath starts to pant in and out of her nose. A smell I’m quite familiar with, that of a woman’s arousal, begins to fill the air around us.

My lovely lady pulls away from me and looks down to where we are joined at the pelvis. Then her head comes up with a look of puzzled concern on her face.

I know what is troubling her. “To use the cliche; it’s not you, it’s me, cher.”

There’s a moment where hurt crosses her features. But that clears with realization. “Your…condition.”

“Oui. Impotency is another of the effects.”

She sighs and disappointment sounds in it.

I give her a roguish smile. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make love to you. There are so many ways to express how I feel.”

I place my right hand on her buttocks to hold her up while the other goes to the back of her head and I pull her into another kiss. While my tongue toys with hers, I carry my lover across the room and into the hall.

Diane once again answers that kiss with sublime passion. She growls and wiggles her womanhood into me. For a second she pulls away to gasp, “Door on the left!” Then her fingernails dig into my back and she kisses me hard once again.

Once we’re in the bedroom I lay her gently on the bed. My hands go to her neck so that I can stroke her warm, becoming damp skin.

That makes Diane groan. A shiver runs through her body. For a moment she stop our kiss to let out a gasp, then she grabs my head and pulls me tight once more.

My right hand runs over her shoulder then flirts over her breast. I can feel her nipple through the fabric, hard with desire. I pinch it, just a touch. Then I wrap my fingers around her firm mound, she’s just large enough that I can do so, and squeeze ever so gently.

Diane pulls away to gasp again. She wraps her arms around my neck to bury her face in my shoulder. “Georges!” she moans, “don’t tease me!”

I chuckle. “But that’s half the fun. This is too sublime a moment to rush.”

In response she sighs. “It is wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve never felt, felt this way before. So close. So needy.”

“Nor I,” I tell her. I pull back to kiss her once more. My hand goes to the button at the top of her blouse and I undo it. One by one I work downwards.

I don’t need to undo them all. The beautiful redhead beneath me pulls her upper garment from her slacks and starts releasing the buttons from the bottom. Our hands meet in middle. Then  our lips smile into each other at the symmetry of our actions.

Diane shimmies out of her blouse, enfolds me in her arms to pull me to her again.

The feel of her, of so much of her skin so warm against me stokes the fire in me. I growl and  the fervor with which I kiss my love intensifies. My palm runs over her heated flesh to warm my soul, chase away the cold of undeath that is always at the center of my being.

Diane shivers, and it’s not entirely from passion. She pulls away from me. “You have cold hands, Georges,” she says with both a giggle and a touch of a chatter.

“That won’t last long,” I tell her with a grin. Then I pet her womanhood through her slacks. As I do I take a second to concentrate and a tiny amount of the blood in my stomach warms my body. Hiding the fact that I’m usually room temperature is something I’ve not needed to do for a long time.

Diane’s eyes flutter as I play with her most intimate part. “Georges,” she moans, “what is it about your touch that is so exciting?”

“It’s what we are, lovers,” I reply.

For an instant shock runs across our features. A moment after that we both smile warmly. What I said is the truth and it’s a fact that fills the two of us with joy.

My redheaded lady gives me a wicked grin and the next moment I’m on my back with Diane straddling my hips. “Who says you have to be on top all the time, buddy?” Her hands go behind her, then she throws her bra across the room.

I’m awestruck at the beauty revealed. My lover isn’t large across the chest but there’s no doubt she’s a woman. Her erect nipples, the same color as her lips, and small aureola make the perfect contrast to her fair skin. Diane would be a wonderful model for an artist of skill.

I reach up to cup her breasts. The feel of them in my hands heats my soul. I’d be hard as steel if I were capable of it.

The impulse to taste her can’t be ignored so I sit up and take one firm nub in my mouth. My tongues laves over her soft flesh, then I pull back a little and nip her with my incisors ever so carefully.

“Oh! Fuck!” my sensual lady gasps. The touch of my fangs, even when used for play, drive an intense eroticism into her. Diane wraps her arms around my head and yanks me close. The most wonderful shiver of lust passes through her body.

Her delicate digits go to the buttons of my shirt, shaking with impatience as she loosens the buttons. “Can’t wait anymore. No more teasing.”

In seconds we have my shirt off. It’s only moments more before we’re naked and back on the bed, skin to skin, pulling each other close and kissing one another with the fullest ardor.

I have just enough awareness left to marvel at my situation. I’ve often been in bed with a woman, and there is passion, but it’s that of the hunt. A pure, rather vicious passion. This time the emotion is different; an odd mixture of great gentleness and intense lust. It fills me as well. My love for Diane seems to press against my skin and what I am is pushed to a small point I can barely perceive.

But she can’t wait, nor can I. So I leave her mouth and start my lips playing over her skin, working slowly downwards. My hands add soft touches and adoring pets. The salty sweat forming on Diane’s skin makes a perfect condiment to the taste of her.

Long before I’m finished though, my lover pushes hard on my shoulders. “Please, Georges,” she groans. “Finish me off. I have to come.”

I don’t quite answer her request. My head moves to her saturated womanhood, but I first take a deep breath. The smell of her lust permeates me. I adore the rich scent of an aroused woman, and this woman adds even more to my pleasure.

My tongue reaches out to swipe across her labia. The taste of her excitement is wonderful. A treat for my tastebuds. I start to work hard at her, licking and sucking, poking inside her. I want her overwhelmed with joy.

Diane arches her back to push herself into my play. Her rich moan vibrates in the air. “Georges! Georges! So good!”

I’m just getting started. My right hand comes up. I straighten two fingers and then push them inside her. A slow pumping motion starts them running in and out.

My love’s hip start to match that motion. They jerk upwards to meet my digits. My Diane squeaks and trills sweet sounds with each movement. She can no longer speak, she’s so aroused.

My mouth covers her clit, I suck it in and lave the firm nub with rapid movements of my tongue.

That final action pushes Diane over the edge. A gurgling moan sluices from her mouth while her muscles grow taut. A vibration shudders through them telling me how strong her joy is. Her inner walls squeeze me hard and thrum with the pounding of her climax.

I have to taste that joy. With that thought I turn my head, extend my fangs and insert them in the artery in Diane’s right leg. Then I start to imbibe her blood.

The taste of her causes my eyes to roll back. It’s so intoxicating. I’m used to passion when I feed but this, this, is beyond passion. The emotions carried in her blood warm me like the sun I have not seen in centuries. She tastes bright, shining like fields of grass on a bright summer’s day. I suck harder wanting to pull every last bit of this intoxicating substance into me.

No!

My eyes go wide in shock. Diane, more than any person, is not one I wish to endanger. If I keep feeding I will lose her. The pang in my chest tells me that is a loss I couldn’t bear.

So I pull my fangs free of her thigh. A quick lick closes the holes, and gives me a last taste of Diane’s blood. I have to clamp down on my impulse to continue feeding.

My sweet redhead goes limp, gasps for air. She twitches a touch, draws a huge breath, twitches again, and gives a satisfied moan.

I pull myself up alongside her and draw her into my embrace. Diane rolls into me and places her arm across my chest. A pleased purr quivers against my neck.

We cuddle for a while, basking in the happy feeling our lovemaking has engendered. At moments we each sigh, a sound of contentment.

I’m smiling as I haven’t for ages. I’m good at faking them, and I often have reason to not fake them. This is different. This smile is…complete. Complete because of the woman in my arms and now in my existence.

I can feel Diane fading.The heights I carried her to, and the blood I took from her, are dragging her into the arms of Morpheus.

So I roll from the bed. I pull the sheet up over Diane then place a soft kiss on her cheek. “Bon nuit, cher.”

She mumbles, “Not staying, Georges?” Her voice is slurred with a happy fatigue.

“I have to go.” If I stayed the coma the sun places me in would be disconcerting, or worse, she could open the drapes and watch me burst into flames. “I’ve papers to mark and a class to plan. But I’ll see you tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Okay,” the lovely lady mumbles, “Love you, darlin’,” and she vanishes into sleep.

“J’tai…” I start to reply, but stop. The enormity of my position suddenly slams into my psyche.

I dress quickly and leave her apartment almost at a run. Fortunately her door is self-locking.

My mind whirls as I head for my cottage. It’s quite a bind I’ve placed myself in. I care deeply for Diane. I want her in my world, always. But she has no place there. She’s human, mortal. No matter what she will be gone from me someday. Most likely on the day that she discovers what I am. If she does, and such a revelation can’t be avoided, it will be a death sentence. We vampires keep our existence secret. Considering how few there are of us, if we were discovered we would be hunted from the world.

It’s possible I could change her, but I’d done that once before. It was an act I soon regretted and still carry guilt from a century and a half later.

I don’t know what to do.

So I walk, shoulders hunched and hands in the pocket of my jacket, until I’m almost at my haven. On the steps of my cottage I straighten.

I don’t need to decide now. I can enjoy Diane’s presence for a while yet.

I carefully keep the, But then I’ll need to leave, from my awareness.

* * * *

I’m five minutes into my class when the door opens. Ms. Richardson parades into the room followed by her entourage. A slightly different entourage but a set of courtiers all the same. The blonde butch sneers at me as she goes past. The expression contains her now common expression of triumph and contempt. Mandy finds my efforts to stand against her repugnant.

I turn away from her and take a moment to rein myself in. Since I am a vampire being sneered at brings up very dark emotions and drives. Ripping her head off and drinking her blood would not be a good idea.

A snort from behind me tells me that Ms. Richardson is misinterpreting my actions. She has no idea that it was for her safety that I didn’t continue to face her.

Back in control of myself I return my attention to my students, and others. “It’s at this time the guillotines started to do a heavy business. There wasn’t a minute of the day in France where someone wasn’t losing their life to those efficient devices. All it took was the barest hint to The Committee for Public Safety and your days on this Earth were very few indeed.”

“You disapprove of this, teach?” Ms. Richardson’s tone is scornful.

“Indeed I do.” It’s difficult, but I manage to keep my facade as a human being. “People should be judged on what they do, not what they are. Nor should accusations alone be enough. America’s Founding Fathers understood this and put into position a justice system that at least tried for this ideal. My nation didn’t succeed in doing that for almost another century after The Revolution.”

“They had the power,” Mandy continues. “Power is meant to be used.”

“Surely you can come up with a better endorsement that that ancient one, Ms. Richardson.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns at me, but there is enough uncertainty on her face to show that she doesn’t know where this dialog is going, and she dislikes that.

“The Melian Dialog.”

She blinks at me with incomprehension.

“Thucydides recorded it at the siege of Melos. This line is most important, when an Athenian emissary said to the Melians, ‘…the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must…’ Considering that the war Athens was starting with Sparta weakened both states beyond redemption it would have been wiser if the Athenians had not used their power, and considering where The Terror ended up leading, it would have been wiser if the revolutionaries had been restrained and careful with their power.” I shrugged. “History is replete with examples of the misuse of power leading to the end of a nation or empire. You would think humanity would have learned better by now.”

Although after watching over two centuries of power madness I’m not hopeful.

“Teach,” spits Mandy, “you are such a fucking wimp.” She slams her laptop computer closed, stands and starts to leave the room.

“Ms. Richardson, you are going to find that your actions are going to adversely affect your mark.”

She turns to me to give a confident, wicked smile. “Teach, you’re going to find that your opinion doesn’t matter at all.” With that warning Mandy continues out of the class.

Ms. Coburn glances at me as she passes. Her face is full of pity.

Any anger I feel vanishes at her expression, replaced by curious wariness. What is Ms. Richardson capable of?

* * * *

My finger pauses a few millimeters short of the intercom button. I’m just a bit frightened.

I’m wondering how Diane will react seeing me again. I’d left so abruptly two nights ago, and I hadn’t talked to her since. I wasn’t sure if I’d come back. I wasn’t sure if I should come back. Like all vampires I’ve lead a solitary existence until now. It might not be wise to introduce some one, and a human at that, into my situation.

Almost without my willing it I press the button. It seems an age, and I nearly run while I’m waiting, before the speaker crackles and Diane asks, “Is that you, Georges?”

The sound of her voice chases away all doubt and pulls my mouth into a smile. “Bonsoir, cher. May I come up?” The door clicks open in answer.

It takes only one knock on Diane’s door before it flies open and she, as Americans put it, ‘jumps my bones.’ She kisses me hard. I wrap my arms around her and carry her inside, kicking the door closed as we go.

An hour later we’re snuggled in her bed. Diane wriggles against me with a throaty purr. “That wasn’t quite as intense as the first time, Georges, but you can eat crackers here anytime.” She stills for a moment. “Sorry.”

“Pas de quoi, cher. I feel I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“I left. I didn’t even say bon nuit.”

“How did you say that? Pas de quoi, chére? I barely remember. I was kind of out of it. The overload you put me through was a little overwhelming, and don’t you dare apologize for that!”

“For that, never.” I pull her on top of me to kiss her.

When we’re done that we snuggle again. Again I feel surprised at how…good…it feels, having a woman I care for close to me. Skin to skin.

Once again, I carefully don’t look at the thought that follows: I can’t stay. It will only end in pain.

* * * *

I take a moment’s pause outside the building where I teach to put my mask on. Sometimes I leave it off until absolutely necessary. Hiding is, on occasion, a burden.

But I wouldn’t want to frighten my students.

That done, I step out of the cool night air and into the hall of the place where I hold my classes. Down the hall I go, up a flight of stairs, then back toward the front of the building. I arrive at Room 203 and enter it. As always, I’m right on time.

Most of the twenty odd people that make up this class are already here. Also attending are various members of The Court, with Ms. Coburn at the center.

But, as always, Ms. Richardson is not here. She is challenging me again. Since the Dean forced my hand Mandy has been pushing against my authority harder and harder every class.

And in my briefcase is her latest challenge.

I place that briefcase on my desk, lean against the old piece of furniture and clear my throat. The idle buzz that fills the air dies away.

“Good evening, class. I have your latest assignments marked.” I turn to open my case and pull out the papers in question.

I walk down the rows of desks, stopping where there is actually a student, hand them their essays and comment on it. Most are disappointed. I’m a taskmaster when it comes to learning. I save Ms. Coburn’s and Richardson’s papers until last. Their efforts need special attention.

As I place Christy’s paper in her hands, she goes a little white in shock. “C minus?”

“I’m afraid so, Mademoiselle Coburn,” I tell her. “Actually the essay was quite good, but there are extenuating circumstances that keep me from giving you a better mark.”

The door to the classroom opens and I know immediately who it is. The way Christy’s eyes light up are a give away. I turn towards the entrance and the extenuating circumstances are walking towards me.

Mandy Richardson strides towards me, certain that nothing will ever stand in her way. Her brown eyes stare into my blue with contempt and her lip is curled with distaste.

As she plops into the desk next to her servant I remark, “So glad you deigned to join us, Mademoiselle Richardson.”

She shrugs my sarcasm off. “Hey, I had places to go and people to do.” There’s a subtle scent about her, too faint for a human to detect, two separate odors of feminine arousal. Apparently Ms. Richardson has been doing more than going.

My gaze goes to Christy at Mandy’s remark. Dejection flashes through her eyes and chagrin reddens her cheeks. Then her mouth turns downward in a grimace of resignation. She knows what her mistress has been doing, can’t stop it and has unhappily accepted the fact. I wonder why she puts up with it.

My attention returns to my surly student and I say, “Your timing is perfect. Here’s your paper.” I hold it out to her.

She takes it from my hand, looks at the mark scribbled on it…and turns bright red with fury. “F!?” She raises her eyes to me and gives a glare that would intimidate any human being. But I’m not human so I don’t flinch at all.

“If you had written it, I would have given you a very good mark. But you didn’t write it.” I glance back at Christy. “Your, um, compatriot did.” I had almost let their secret out. What they do outside my class is none of my business. What happens inside it is.

Christy pales, her eyes grow wide and her mouth slits in an unmistakable admission of guilt.

I face Ms. Richardson once more and continue my criticism. “So an F is all you get.”

Mandy’s gaze flares at me and her face gets very hard. “Mr. Belleveau, you had better change that mark.”

I blink at that statement. What I really am stirs inside me. Instead I shove my instinct down to snicker instead. “Mademoiselle Richardson, you don’t give me orders. I might take requests, from the Dean or the board, but not orders from you.” Still chuckling, I start for the front of the room.

A snarled “Come on,” from Mandy follows me up the aisle. As I face the class, I see The Court trailing out in her wake. Christy is looking at me and her face is blank with fear.

But once again she’s not scared of me. She’s scared for me.

* * * *

The sun goes down and I rise from the earth. Literally. I can sink into the ground as if it were a thick soup. The small cottage where I currently have my haven has an old fashioned root cellar that is perfect for this ability. The coffins and such that others of my kind use are too exposing in my opinion. Resting surrounded by Mother Earth is much safer, and very comforting.

I go to my bathroom to shower. After that I brush and floss my teeth. I don’t need to worry about rot, but with my eating habits halitosis can be a problem.

As I clean, I ponder the previous night. I can’t say I’m worried, but there was something about Ms. Richardson and her actions that disturb me. Still, I don’t have much more than a feeling and stop wondering once my toilette is finished.

I dress and check my messages. Surprisingly there is one. I haven’t given out this number to many people so I rarely get calls. This single missive is from the Dean. “I need to see you,” is all she says.

The fact that she doesn’t mention a time makes me chuckle. The reputation I’ve been building as a bit of a prima donna is working. Everybody knows I work all day and only show at night. They think I’m writing my next book. I’ve worked hard to create some notoriety as a rather odd, somewhat snobby Eurotrash genius.

I have no class tonight so I can see Dr. Metaxas right now. Leaving my haven, I start walking. I like using my own feet. It’s relaxing and lets me think.

A half hour later, I arrive at the Dean’s residence. She answers the doorbell and invites me in. It’s then I receive my first intimation of trouble. Her normal mien towards me is friendly and charmed by my eccentricity. This time her face is disturbed. I sense that she is torn on the horns of a dilemma.

And unlike other times, she leads me to her home office rather than the living room. After closing the door when we enter, she seats herself behind the desk and motions me to the chair across from her. The formality of the gesture deepens my unease.

As I sit my slim frame down I look her over again. Another thing seems out of place. It’s her clothes I decide after a second’s thought. Helen is wearing a skirt, and a rather tight blouse. Her garments would make an observer focus on her beauty. This is quite at odds with her usual garb, meant to do much the opposite.

She breaks into my pondering with, “I need to talk to you about one of your students.”

Let me guess, flashes into my mind.

“Mandy Richardson,” confirms my supposition.

“There’s a problem?” I ask.

The Dean grows flustered. To my wonder she chews on her bottom lip, frowns with her eyes, flushes slightly with embarrassment. I’ve never seen her more uncertain. Abruptly, she takes a deep breath and shivers.

“Well,” she goes on after that short pause, “I think you’re being unfair to her. Ms. Richardson needs a better mark.”

Two odors now waft across the desk and tickle my nose. One I’m very familiar with, a sharp tang of fear.

The other, after a moment’s thought, is also known to me. I encountered it barely twenty four hours ago. It’s the smell of a particular woman’s arousal and it was accompanying Ms. Richardson. I nearly let my surprise show on my features.

“She’s not passing my class, Dean Metaxas,” I tell her. “She’s always late, isn’t getting her assignments done and her latest was a forgery. I don’t see how I can pass her.”

Helen’s face pales, her mouth pulls back in fear. “You don’t understand. There’s, pressure, being bought to bear. I, the school, want that pressure lifted. It could mean a lot of trouble. Please, please reconsider.” Her eyes shine as tears fill them.

An odd surge of sorrow and rage rises in me. I feel pity for her. It would appear that Ms. Richardson has bought ‘stress’ of a particular type to bear. I’m surprised Helen would fall for such a ploy, and I wonder what her husband would do if he found out.

Some of my anger is at the Dean. I don’t pressure very well. Most though, is directed at Mandy. What she has done is rather cruel, and despite what I am, I loathe cruelty.

I sit still for a few moments, considering my response. Finally I say, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Helen’s relief is palpable, and the smell of her excitement grows a bit thicker. “Thank you,” she gasps. “I didn’t want to do this, but it needed to be done.”

I nod as if I understand and come to my feet. She doesn’t stand. Perhaps her legs are too weak. I bid her goodnight and show myself out. Before I close the front door of the house the sound of her weeping comes faintly to me.

As I walk down the street I think to myself, I don’t have a class tonight. I’ll head for the library and see what I can find out about Ms. Richardson. She’s raised the stakes and I need information if I want to continue playing in the game she’s started.

* * * *

An hour later I’m sitting at a computer monitor. As a member of the faculty I have access to students’ records. I have pulled up Mandy’s file and read it. Then, using the Web, I get in touch with another of my kind. He was a computer nerd when alive. In exchange for a future favor, he puts together a précis of Ms. Richardson’s life and sent it to me.

I’ll confess I still feel awe at the technology humans have created. I’m still not entirely comfortable or skilled with it. As Diane noted.

I snap back from the fond memories that my sweet lady evokes and return to my investigation of Ms. Richardson. There seems to be nothing remarkable about her. In high school she did well, except for a stretch at the end of her junior and start of her final years. Her marks climbed back to better than normal after that.

Her first year in university was the same, weak start but strong finish. And the same this year. Except for my class, she seems to be doing fine now.

The précis I’ve received fills me in on her family. Nothing stands out. Quite middle class they are. Her father, as it turns out, is a professor here. I haven’t met him. Perhaps that is where the pressure the Dean is feeling originates? goes through my mind. On reflection that’s doubtful. Mandy’s father doesn’t seemed to be placed to exert the influence that can affect a woman like Helen.

So my first hypothesis still seems the most likely.

Paging back to Mandy’s records, I check her address. This raises my eyebrows slightly. It’s the house I had been offered when I first arrived. It’s a domicile for visiting dignitaries such as myself. That Mandy, and Ms. Coburn as another check reveals, are accommodated there seems another example of Ms. Richardson’s ‘influence’.

I erase the history I’ve created as well as the précis and then shut the computer down. It’s time for a personal reconnoissance, I decide.

* * * *

The place I want to check out isn’t far. So I walk there. I’m one street away when a feminine voice catches my attention. “Excuse me?”

I turn to the woman who spoke and survey her quickly. She is in her mid-thirties I estimate, of medium height and almost heavy set. Hazel eyes look at me from under a mane of black hair. She is busty and the plum colored blouse she wears displays that fact. Her nipples are poking visibly at the material of her garment. A short, night hued skirt is wrapped around her wide hips. Dark stockings with a green vine pattern running up the inseam encase her shapely legs. Her shoes match the hosiery in shade and have five inch stiletto heels. The third finger of her left hand shows depressions where rings have been.

There’s a dichotomy to her. The woman strikes me as being dressed for an assignation, but there is an air of discomfort surrounding her. Somehow she reminds me of Helen. She seems torn by an internal struggle.

I reply with a heavy German accent, “Ja, can I help you?” It’s habit when speaking to a stranger. I often misdirect. It’s safer that way.

The woman takes a deep breath and then asks, “Do you know where 75 Elm Street is?”

A piece snaps into place. That is where Ms. Richardson currently resides. A woman visiting her is not likely to be going for tea. It seems Mandy has quite a string of lovers.

“Ja,” I tell her then. “It is the next street up. I am going that way. You will accompany me.” My tone is almost commanding. The woman falls into step beside me without hesitation. This give me yet more insight to Mandy’s victims.

“I am Heinz Guderian,” I tell my companion, “I teach physics here. And you?”

“Cyn…Cynthia Moran. I’m visiting a, a friend,” she answers back. I can catch what is becoming a common scent coming from her. Cynthia is getting aroused.

We come to Elm Street and I check the number on the street sign. “Four houses that way, on this side.” I point in the direction she needs to go.

“Thank you, Mr. Guderian,” she tells me and heads where I’ve directed.

“Bittë, Fraü Moran,” I echo to her. She doesn’t pick up on the fact that I know part of her secret.

I cross the road, continuing past Elm Street, then double back. Keeping to the opposite side of the avenue I stay about ten meters behind Mrs. Moran and follow her, using the trees that line this urban boulevard for cover. She soon heads up the walk to the rather large house Ms. Richardson and her chief bed warmer reside in. I stay in the lee of a trunk to watch.

Mandy answers the door. “Hey, teach,” I hear from her, “right on time. And you walked here, just as you were told. I bet my neighbors liked the show.”

Another morsel of knowledge floats to the surface. Mrs. Moran had been Mandy’s English teacher in her final year of high school. It would appear my opponent has been at this game for some time.

Cynthia enters the house and the front door closes behind her. I slip from my cover, cross 75 Elm Street’s lawn and place myself against the wall of the house, away from the streetlights. With a small power expenditure I wrap a veil of shadows around myself.

I can hear people moving inside, going up the stairs. As I slip from window to window of the ground floor, I check rooms, just glancing over each sill. All are dark and empty. The furniture in each is very good, both tasteful and comfortable. The university treats its guests well.

There is a back deck, with a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen. Just as I peek in the light comes on. I duck back, then ease my head so one eye can peer into the room. Not much illumination falls on me so my cloak should hold.

A trio of women enters the room, Mandy first, trailed by Cynthia and then Christy. Mandy is dressed in her usual T-shirt and jeans. The shirt is loose and covers her crotch. It almost hides that there is something in Ms. Richardson’s pants, something that makes a shape similar to a large erection. Christy is wearing only a short, clingy and transparent blue robe. As all her clothes are it’s very feminine and display her attributes to good effect. If I were still a man my reaction would be instant and extreme.

Once she sits down in a chair at the kitchen table Mandy asks, “So? What do you think of my new digs, teach?” Christy stands just behind her and to one side, eyes down in a submissive posture.

Mrs. Moran leans against the counter, arms holding her torso as if for warmth. Her face is a light red of embarrassment. “It’s very nice.”

Mandy snickers. “Yeah, it’s good to have friends.

“So how long’s it been, teach? A month?”

Cynthia licks her lips and shivers. “Twenty seven days.”

“Mommy’s little girl has been counting the days. How sweet. I guess you missed me.” Ms. Richardson’s mouth twists in a wicked smile. “Have you been using the toy I gave you?”

Her victim closes her eyes and a bigger shiver passes through her. “Every day, like you ordered.”

I can see Christy’s skin flush a little and she rocks on her feet. Her ass clenches. I guess this is a game played before. One that all the participants enjoy.

“But you only come once, on Sundays, the Lord’s Day, right?” Mandy asks with mild contempt in her voice.

Shame crosses the face of the femme leaning on the counter. Her eyes also slit in pleasure at a sweet memory. She nods her head in confirmation.

“You must be just gagging for it now, aren’t you?” presses Ms. Richardson.

Cynthia’s lips part in a silent gasp. Her nod is barely noticeable. She squeezes her eyes shut and I suspect that if I were closer, I would see tears would glisten at the edges of them.

Mandy picks her lovers with skill. So far all are rent between intense humiliation and just as extreme lust. That must make for an fascinating melange of emotions.

“Well,” announces Mandy, “mommy’s little girl has been good. So she gets a treat.

“Bitch,” she orders, turning her head in Christy’s direction, “get naked and loosen my little girl up. She needs to be relaxed before she gets her reward.”

Without a word, Christy sheds her garb and pads on bare feet to Mrs. Moran. In an instant they’re in each other’s arms and their mouths are working ravenously. I can see Cynthia squeezing the nude woman’s ass, all hesitation gone from her now.

“Enough!” orders Mandy. “Get my little girl out of her clothes, bitch.”

Christy’s hands move to the buttons of the plum blouse. She plucks them loose quickly and pulls the garment open. Cynthia’s large breasts appear, shoved up and displayed by a black underwire bra. The panting blonde undoes the front hook and the luscious orbs fall free, jiggling with the deep, rapid breaths of the chest they rise from. Mrs. Moran shrugs her shoulders back and her upper garments fall from her. Christy pulls the shirt free and both pieces of clothing hit the counter.

A babbling moan sounds from both women as the blonde takes one of her dark haired playmate’s nipples in her lips. Cynthia’s eyes roll back, her mouth opens and closes as bliss runs out from her sensitive peak.

“Hurry it up!” Mandy demands. “I’m not waiting all night.”

Christy’s shaking hands pull down the zipper of Mrs. Moran's black skirt. Kneeling, she draws the soft fabric over silk encased legs. Mrs. Moran’s mound is full, meaty and shaved bare. I can see it glisten and trails of her lubrication have run down her thighs, soaking the tops of her hold up stockings.

Mandy coos at the erotic sight. “I see mommy’s little girl has gotten tired of washing her panties.” She laughs softly.

Cynthia’s reaction is again mixed. Her face quirks with a mixture of debasement and passion. Then her eyes start and her mouth gapes as Christy places her lips on the older femme’s wet womanhood and starts to work. Random moans, grunts and sighs tremble from Mrs. Moran. They grow louder as the golden blonde plays with her. The standing woman’s hands wrap in the yellow mane between her legs and pull that tireless mouth close.

Mrs. Moran screams as she falls over the edge. The shout is shrill and piercing, letting everyone within earshot know how utterly overwhelming her orgasm is. Her legs buckle and she moves her arms to the counter to hold herself in position. Her head jerks back and forth, left and right as muscles trigger in haphazard patterns under the onslaught of her rapture.

That shout fades in a panting groan as Cynthia’s climax recedes. Her tits bobble as her chest works like a bellows. Mrs. Moran’s eyes are slit to shield them against the lurid afterglow filling her. Sweat drips along her pale skin.

Christy keeps at her work. Even over distance and through glass, the faint sound of her mouth at play reaches me. The soft slurping informs me of her greedy appetite for the morsel stuffed in her mouth.

I can see Mrs. Moran’s stomach start to quiver once more. She locks her legs and grasps the blonde head, her knuckles white. Her shoulders heave as she pants. In a very short time, another shriek bursts out. This one is ragged, less forceful. Her lungs are too weak from delight to push hard. Cynthia’s mouth falls open and her eyes glaze as ecstasy fills her.

“Enough,” orders Mandy. Christy immediately pulls her mouth away.

“It’s time for mommy’s little girl’s treat,” announces the domme as she stands. She undoes her jeans and they fall to the floor. Mandy is wearing a harness around her hips and a piece of latex, flesh colored and in the shape of a man’s member, springs out. It’s very large.

Cynthia shudders as she looks at it. I can tell she is no stranger to the dildo and looks forward to having it pushed inside her.

Mandy taunts the older woman. “How does mommy’s little girl want it?”

Emotions cross Mrs. Moran’s face in quick waves. First, shame crimsons her features. Her face hardens next as she tries to gather the strength to deny her dominant. Cynthia’s expression then relaxes in acceptance as she finds she wants what Mandy offers. Finally, lust shows as her eyes sparkle and her body tremors. She pushes away from the counter and on quivering legs crosses to the table. On reaching it, she climbs up and rolls on her back, hips at the edge. Grabbing a stockinged thigh in each hand Mrs. Moran spreads herself wide to her Mistress’s smirking eyes.

“Right here, right now?” mocks Mandy. “What a kinky slut mommy’s little girl is.” The butch places herself between the older woman’s legs and shoves her rubber penis in with a single, quick motion. She reaches up to take her victim’s breasts in her hands, uses them as handles to pull her gasping trull towards her. Mandy’s hips pump vigorously, driving in and out with a hard, steady rhythm.

Cynthia croons a hymn to the wild emotions filling her. Her voice trills, moans and gasps. “Oh God, God!” she sputters. “Fuck me harder! Fuck me good!”

The staccato song ends with another shriek. Mrs. Moran’s fingernails tear her stockings and her hips stutter under the force of her orgasm. Mandy’s motions never cease and neither does her slave’s climax.

“Bitch,” gasps the now sweaty dominant, “get over here and shut this horny slut up.”

Christy has remained kneeling on the floor throughout this tableau. At her Mistress’s orders she stands, mounts the table and straddles Cynthia’s face. The prone woman instantly grabs the yellow tressed girl’s soft buttocks and pulls the lightly thatched vulva to her mouth. She works as hard to please Christy as the blonde girl had pleased her.

It seems Ms. Coburn has been at the edge all along for her eyes roll in their sockets and her lungs sound a guttering growl. Her spending shines on Mrs. Moran’s cheeks.

That’s enough, I decide. I slip away from the minor orgy I’ve been watching and return to the street.

As I head back the way I came I drop my veil and ruminate. It seems my conjecture is correct. Ms. Richardson is a dominant with a fine instinctive skill at seduction. She apparently can spot lesbian submissives, plus bisexuals so minded, and take great advantage of that.

I find that Mandy could do such a thing to the Dean odd. Dr. Metaxas certainly didn’t strike me as that sort, but in spite of all my experience I could have overlooked something.

An unconscious shrug moves my shoulders. I told Helen I would see what I could do and have decided that is nothing. I don’t care a jot for how badly she wants to keep her young lover, I only want my students to learn.

With that decision out of the way I notice I have become a bit peckish. I haven’t fed for two nights. It’s wise for me to keep a nearly full belly. What I am breaks out of my control more easily the hungrier I am.

I turn in a particular direction and head for the part of town outside the university grounds. I’m sure Diane’s free tonight.

* * * *

It’s three in the morning and I am in Diane’s bed.

My hands stroke her auburn hair and my lips caress the fair satin skin of her forehead. She shivers in response.

I need to use little of my power with her these days. She’s become accustomed to and desirous for my touch. But for her pleasure, I push some fire into her, make the shimmering heat she feels rise.

I pause to make sure my mask is in place. Diane can never know what I am. The consequences would be too grievous for me to bear. For a moment my body stiffens at the vision my imagination creates of that moment, of Diane in terror of what I am.

“Georges?” my love asks, puzzled at my sudden hesitation.

“Nothing, cher. Once again I’m awed by how I feel.” Which is both true and very frightening.

My mouth moves down, covers hers, works at her hungrily. She answers with the same passion. Her hands rove, teasing my skin. As always, to my amazement, I react. Shimmering emotion fills me. This isn’t my usual hunt. I’ve come to care for her.

My arms go around her back and I hug her close. Breaking my face away from hers I look into her eyes. “Sweet Diane,” I exhale.

Her eyes glitter at me, lust providing the sharp sparkles and warmth a deep glow. “Georges,” she whispers back.

My face lowers to her neck. For a moment, my hunger screams at me to feed, drain her dry, leave a cold corpse lying here to spread fear in the world. I easily ignore it. Monster I may be but not all the time, and especially not now.

Instead my tongue teases with soft, quick licks. I use my power to push Diane’s passion a little higher. She sucks in a sharp breath and a tremor runs through her. Her fingernails dig softly into my arm and back.

I chuckle against her throat and move on. Playing, I lave her shoulders and chest, sweep up her breast and take a nipple in my mouth. It pops into stiffness and I feel her aureola crinkle under my tongue. With my canines I lightly nip the tender nub. A slight hint of the ecstasy feeding creates washes into her. Diane gurgles, grabs my dark hair and pulls me close. I suck hard at her. The sound of her legs running over the sheets as she spreads herself comes to me.

I play over to her other breast and gambol there for long moments. Her body begins a steady tremble as I do.

With mischievous kisses I move down to her tummy. My power propels her emotions, raising her joy higher still. As I come to her hips I run the edges of my teeth over the skin above her joints. Her muscles jerk, then jerk again. “Georges” she whimpers, “no more teasing, please.”

“D’accord,” I tell her. I drape her left leg over my shoulder so that her labia sit in front of me, quivering and lustrous. The sweet, rich aroma of her arousal stuffs my nose.

My tongue runs out and licks up her soaking outer lips. Diane hisses and her body lurches as I do. I run around and around her, sopping up her taste. The hiss becomes a moan and her movements rhythmic. More lusciously flavored fluids dribble from her to be swallowed by me.

With gentle care, I work a finger inside, pushing slowly. I run in and out with a steady beat. Her hips match my cadence and her inner muscles squeeze my digit. Her moan becomes syncopated with sharp gasps. Diane’s heated odor grows more intense.

I add a second finger and my pumps increase in speed. Diane’s moan rises in volume, nears a wail. “Ah!” she huffs, “God! Please!” Her skin heats, I can feel its glow on my own.

My fingers rotate in her, press hard against the spongy spot on the ceiling of her channel. Her body stiffens and she gurgles, moments away from ecstasy.

I cover her stiff clit with my mouth. A little suction and I pull the little bud in, lap at it softly and rapidly. Diane falls away from the world as I do.

A loud stutter rushes from her lungs. Her hips blur back and forth, driving my fingers in and out. She clamps on them, her joy demanding I stay inside her. Her skin colors and sweat runs over her.

Diane’s climax fades but doesn’t draw back far. My thumb replaces my tongue and tickles softly. She sounds an “Oh!”, pauses to gasp, another “Oh!” and she’s gone again. She keens her pleasure and shivers with an ague of ecstasy.

While she’s distracted, I place my mouth on her right thigh, drop my fangs and puncture her femoral artery.

This is my climax. The rich taste of her blood runs into my mouth and my awareness is almost lost under it. The rush of life fills me with an abandoned glee. Nothing tasted as delicious when I was alive.

Adding even more to it is the fact that I care deeply for this woman, and she cares for me. It adds an exponent of elation I’ve not tasted in far too long.

That joy radiates out from me and into Diane. It slams into her orgasm, pumps it up into a bright flame that blanks out her mind. She grows stiff as a board. Every few seconds she twitches and a tiny click sounds from her throat. I’ve taken her far from the physical world.

I pull my mouth from her with a quiet hiss. I’ve had enough. What I am wants it all but I’m full. I don’t feed until death. I’m forced to drink, not to kill. Pain shimmers through me as I recall the times I did kill. I don’t like being a monster

Diane relaxes, her bliss releasing her. Before she can notice, I lick my punctures and they vanish as if they never existed.

I move myself next to her then lean in to kiss her cheek, swipe at the salt liquid slicked there. Pulling back, I watch her, one hand gently petting her stomach, calling her back to reality. Her face is blank and her chest heaves.

Again I feel astonishment that I’m here with her close, in more ways than one. I don’t want to but I wallow in the sensation. Once more, I almost feel like a man again.

My attention reverts to the here and now. Slowly, so slowly, awareness returns to my lady and her breathing becomes normal. I lie on my back and Diane rolls to her side. She lays her left leg and arm across me then cuddles close. “God,” she sighs, “I never thought a man could make me feel this way.”

I’m not a man is the response I don’t voice. She can’t see it but my mouth forms a grim line. I know the moment when I must bid her goodbye is close.

Diane’s grip on me tightens. “Georges?” she asks. “Stay with me.” The tone of her voice is a touch strained. That is always a hard question to ask, when the answer is important.

“Tonight?” I question back. I try, without much success, to make the words light.

“Always,” is her reply.

How I wish we could have had longer. It’s my turn to tighten my hold as a memory that I’ve kept away from bobs to the surface.

This happened once before, a century and a half ago. A woman I knew grew close and asked to stay. She had to know the truth before I could make that decision, so I told her what I am, and I told her we could only stay together if we were the same. She accepted and I made her into one of my kind.

In a month, she waited for the sun to come up.

She hadn’t realized, nor had I, that she would lose too much. Lose the day, lose the warmth, lose the joy. Furthermore the gains didn’t balance the losses. She couldn’t live with the hunger, with the monster always waiting to break out, with being a monster. She destroyed herself rather than carry on the endless battle.

I nearly joined her I was so devastated. My grief, my guilt was such that I hid in the earth for a decade.

Diane raises her head to look at me. “I’d never hurt you, Georges. Not the way she did. Whoever she was.” She’s drawn the wrong conclusion from my actions.

“She didn’t hurt me,” is my correction. “I hurt her. Badly. She never recovered. I’m toxic, Diane. A dangerous drug. An occasional taste is enjoyable. Constant exposure will be fatal.”

Her face falls to my chest and I feel tears bead on it. “I don’t believe you,” she sobs, “and I’m willing to take that chance.”

The moment has come. I place my thumb on her forehead and guide her head back gently. When her eyes meat mine I exert my power. Once again I have to struggle for a moment before her face goes slack and she opens to my will.

“I can’t stay, Diane,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t be good for you. We have it hot, heavy and sweet. But it can’t last. I’ll go. You’ll remember our time with fondness and move on.”

I release her mind. The sweet woman’s eyes refocus, and glisten with moisture. She replaces her head on my shoulder and clasps me very hard. She believes she’s made a decision, is unhappy with it but is going to enjoy what time have left.

How I hate having to manipulate her like that, but all the other choices would have far, far worse consequences.

The two of us cuddle for a while, saying nothing, both of us hurting and happy. Soon though, it’s time for me to leave. I roll from the rumpled sheets and begin to dress. She sits at the edge of the bed and watches, still silent, still sad.

When done, I sit next to her and wrap my arms around her.

Diane clings and sniffles. “I wish that I could feel you inside me,” she states.

“I can’t. You know that,” I tell her.

Diane sighs and hugs me hard. “I know, that medical condition. But it doesn’t keep me from wanting.” She pulls away suddenly and smiles, a weak gesture underlined with pain. “I’ll see you again?”

“Yes. You warm me, beautiful woman.” Leaning over I kiss her cheek, rise and leave the apartment. The sound of her crying reaches me before I open the front door. It wrenches at my unbeating heart.

I walk back to my haven with my mind whirling. I’m caught in a dilemma I’d thought never to have happen again. I am so uncertain what my actions should be.

You know what to do, I inform myself. End it. Soon. My head nods in agreement. If I stay too much longer, I’ll destroy her one way or another. Next time is goodbye.

Dawn is tinting the horizon as I enter my haven. I shed my clothes, go to the cellar and sink into the ground. The nothingness of the dark is something I badly need now.

* * * *

I enter my sophomore class two nights later. There’s a surprise waiting for me. Ms. Richardson has arrived on time for once.

But her face holds an expression of triumph. She’s only here to revel in a victory. As I place my briefcase on my desk, she stands and stalks towards me with that imperious stride of hers. The failing paper I had given her is in her right hand. She thrusts it at me.

“I think you’ve got something to do, prof,” she gloats.

I turn to face her and put a bright smile on my face. “You’re quite right, Mademoiselle Richardson.” Opening my briefcase I pull my marking pen from it, turn and retrieve Mandy’s paper from her hand. With a deft stroke I mark a minus after the F and return the essay to her.

Mandy’s jaw drops and her eyes stare in astonishment. She was so certain she had won. Her face hardens then. An almost vampiric fury flames in her eyes. Like many people with power, she can’t stand when that power doesn’t work. She snarls, turns and storms from the classroom. The Court follows her with Christy giving me yet another look of horror and pity. She thinks she knows what’s coming and wishes I’d just knuckle under.

Not likely! is my thought. I’ve faced far worse people, and things, than Ms. Richardson.

* * * *

The next night I’m sitting on a stone bench in a quiet area of the university known as ‘Poet’s Walk’. It’s a very nicely landscaped piece of property, peaceful and silent. I need it.

But I’m not getting the tranquility I seek. The situation with Diane was clawing at me. I have made my decision however that has bought me no ease. I want her, know I can’t, know I shouldn’t. So strange to be torn by warm emotions for once.

As well my conflict with Mandy Richardson is troubling. Something about her keeps scratching at my psyche, irritating me. Looked at logically, our conflict should be over. An internal shiver of my spine says that isn’t the case.

So here I sit, trying to soak up the peaceful ambiance of the area.

A light set of footfalls turns my head to the left. Three people are walking towards me. Big men, of an age to be students here. Their gait is purposeful and they’re heading straight towards me. Automatic reactions tighten my muscles, fire up my body. Something about them makes me prepare for combat.

They stop and face me, one right in front and the other two a step behind him on each side.

Mistake, I think. One should be behind me and two in front. Amateurs.

The one in front looks me over. “This is gonna to be too easy,” he remarks as he turns his head a little to his companions. “We gotta message for you,” is his statement then and reaches with his right hand to grab me.

I intercept it with my left, twist his arm with a lock so he goes to his knees and blocks the man on that side.

The assailant on my right hand shows fair reflexes. He steps forward and thrusts a meaty fist at me. I bat the blow aside and smash my own knuckles into his sternum using a good bit of the strength my nature grants me. Bones crack and he falls to his knees, gasping in agony.

The man on the left moves around the barrier of his companion and closes in, hands grasping for my throat. The foot nearest him comes up and places itself in his crotch, hard. He flies back several feet to collapse to the ground. His hands cover his ruptured testicles and he whimpers piteously.

To finish I twist the arm of the person I’m holding until it breaks. He curls into a ball and begins vomiting.

I shake my head with disappointment, stand and walk away. Nothing will be said to the police by them or me. Me, because I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Them, because they don’t want anyone to know how easily they were beaten by what appeared to be a skinny, middle aged man.

I must admit to being a bit peeved at Mandy, and I know it’s her behind this amateurish attempt at intimidation. Roughing someone up over a paper? Perhaps I should rethink my opinion of her intelligence. Why can’t she just attend classes and do the work? Why does she have to use force?

I have no answers.

Still, she must be waiting on tenterhooks for news, so I’ll let her know what happened.

A twenty minute walk brings me to her house. I climb the few steps to the porch to knock on the front door. Mandy answers the summons and her face gapes at me in astonishment.

I try to wear an expression of concern but my amusement at her reaction ruins it. “Pardonez moi, Mademoiselle Richardson. I had heard there were some punks nearby and was concerned for your safety. I’m pleased you are all right. Bon nuit.” I step off the porch and head into the night. Her door doesn’t close until I’m well down the street.

I hope that’s enough to tell her to pull in her horns, goes through my head. My instincts tell me that will not be the case.

After a moment’s thought, I quicken my pace and look for a pay phone. Once found, not an easy thing these days, I drop a quarter in it and dial a number I haven’t had need to use in years.

“Prince Security,” comes a young woman’s voice, “how can I help you?”

“I need to talk to Mr. Prince, please.”

“He’s very busy. Can you leave a name and number?”

"Simon Cleary," I respond before looking to the number on the pay phone and rattling off the digits to her. After thanking me, she hangs up.

The return call comes in less than a minute. “Hello, Simon,” comes in a cultured English voice, “it’s been a while.”

“Hello, Major. I require your services.”

“Details?” Like all good professionals he wastes little time.

“I need 24/7 surveillance of someone.” I follow up with the place I currently live and all relevant information about Ms. Richardson. “I don’t need microphones in her house or anything like that but I need to know her movements.”

“How long is this job to run?” is his next question.

“A week. No longer.”

“I can have a team in place by ten tomorrow morning. The price is $25,000 US.”

“Done,” I agree. He won’t haggle.

“Can you set it up so I can talk straight to your operatives?” I ask. “I don’t want to lose time waiting for reports.”

“Yes, I can. That will be another $5,000.”

“Done.”

He gives me a number to call.

“Thank you, Major.” I say then. “Always a pleasure to work with you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Cleary. Good day.” There’s a click and I hang up the phone.

So, I’ll have knowledge of Mandy’s activities for the next week. Awareness of her movements, likely haunts and contacts will place me in a position to act against her, if need be.

A sigh passes through my nose. I had hoped never to be in a situation such as this ever again. Conflict is tiresome, often useless and sometimes fatal to the people involved. However, I don’t want the person destroyed to be me.

That means I prepare.

I take time to contact one of my Grand Cayman accounts and transfer the Major’s fee.

Once that is done, I ponder. The night’s still young. There must be something interesting to do. I wander off to look for that, whatever it is.

But not Diane. Not tonight. I’m not ready to tell her goodbye.

* * * *

There’s a message waiting for me from the Dean when I awake the next night. “Professor Belleveau? We, uh, we need to talk.”

I walk over to her house. Like the last time I was here she leads me to her home office.

Unlike our previous meeting I’m surprised by the way she’s dressed. Her white blouse is translucent and the dark bra she wears shows through it. Her green skirt is very short, barely hiding her buttocks. The stockings she wears are white and her jade colored shoes sport very high heels. It seems that Mandy has a uniform for her victims. Is she going to brand them next? I wonder.

After we’ve seated ourselves, Helen and I stare at each other across her desk. She chews at her lower lip for several seconds. After a deep breath, she gets to the point.

“I’m discussing your position here with our legal department. There are allegations that you’ve been sexually harassing your students. We have two signed depositions. The school…”

“Let me guess who the depositions are from,” I interrupt.

She sits there, mouth open. My breaking into her speech has discomfited her.

“Mademoiselles Coburn and Richardson, ne c’est pas?”

Her eyes glance to one side and her mouth grimaces, confirming my hypothesis.

“Is there any other evidence?” I ask next.

Dr. Metaxas shakes her head in a negative.

“No other witnesses?”

Another shake.

“Forensic evidence, sperm samples etc.?”

Her gaze fixed on the surface of her desk Helen tells me, “No.”

“And the people accusing me are a woman failing my class and her lover. That will carry their complaint a long way.”

She sets her shoulders and looks up again. “That’s enough. We only need an allegation to bring to the board. It isn’t a court of law.”

I can feel my face go stiff with anger. It takes a moment to keep the monster in its cage. “If you do that, Dr. Metaxas,” I inform her with a cold voice, “I’ll have to talk about what I know of you, and I have more than allegations.” The last sentence is a lie, but she’s unskilled at this sort of power game, and I’m sure I could get evidence within twenty four hours.

The blood drains from her face. She knows exactly what I’m talking about. Helen tries to brazen it out though. “I duh, don’t know what you mean.”

“To use an American idiom, Dr. Metaxas, Mandy has been banging you. I know this. She’s got her hooks into you and it’s her behind this silly attempt at manipulation.”

Maureen grows even paler and her eyes fill with tears.

I feel not the slightest pity and exasperation breaks into my voice. “My God, woman! What are you thinking?!”

“You don’t understand,” the Dean whimpers. “I can’t deny her. She tells me I want her and I do. She tells me I like it when she fucks me and I do.” The tears start to flow freely now. “She tells me I like her in my bum and I do. God, I’m so ashamed! But I can’t help myself.”

I snort in contempt. “That has nothing to do with me, Dr. Metaxas. You’ve made your bed, now you sleep in it. You can bring the allegations to the board. As I pointed out, your case is weak. Even if you do succeed, I don’t care. Let people think what they want of me.

“You on the other hand have a great deal to lose. Your career, your position at the university, your future and your husband.”

I can see her collapse inside as I speak to her. She shrinks in her chair. The emotional agony she feels reduces her to a quivering heap.

My anger bring me to my feet and I tell her, “End it, Helen. Your entanglement will come out and sooner than later. You can’t keep a secret like that. If you don’t end this affair, it will destroy you.”

“I can’t!” comes out in a wavering, quiet wail.

“Good night then, Dean,” I tell her.

She makes no notice. Her shoulders heave and her tears pool on her desk.

I shake my head in fury and pity as I leave her home.

I head to Poet’s Walk. I need peace now. I hate that the world can bring such pain to people and I hate even more the fact that I had anything to do with it.

If anyone disturbs me, they won’t have time to regret it.

* * * *

I have to clamp down on myself when I rise from the ground. The day’s rest has not calmed me much. My mind still roils and what I am is dreadfully close to breaking free.

My evening’s ritual helps. The simple rhythm of it soothes me.

My toilette finished, I check my messages. Again there is only one, but it’s from someone I didn’t expect, Diane. She’s discovered I never answer during the day. The time stamp shows she called barely after the sun came up. Five minutes earlier and she would have caught me.

“Georges?” Her voice is thin with terror. She’s gasping as her chest is squeezed with fear. “Some, something happened. A dream, dream, I think. Can’t remember.” She pauses to pull in a shuddering breath. “I’m scared, Georges. Don’t know why. I think I lost something. Don’t know what. Please, please, answer the phone. I need you.” There’s a long pause and then a click sounds as she hangs up.

I’m gone from my haven, not even bothering to lock the door. In spite of my resolve to end our relationship, I have to go to her. My lover needs me.

The speed and strength of my kind means I can take a direct route, through yards, over fences and roofs. I’m careful not to be observed but not fussy about courtesy or property. The trip is barely ten minutes.

I knock on Diane’s door and she answers.

“You!” she hisses with utter venom. Her eyes narrow with fury and lips curl with loathing.

I can’t keep the astonishment from my face. If she had appeared wrapped in bandages and trailing dust I would have been less surprised. Without thinking I extend my hand and step towards her. My love recoils as if my touch would infect her with a virulent disease.

“What’s, what’s happened?” I ask. The pain that crushes my chest makes my voice quaver.

“I found out about you, you monster!” she growls back.

Terror now wraps itself around my heart. If she knows what I am, she will die. Either I kill her myself or others of my kind will destroy her and me. We can’t have humans know of us.

“You rapist!” she spits then.

I can’t help but release a sigh of relief. My secret is safe. Hurt grows to replace my fear. There’s no reason why she would think such a thing.

“That student of yours came by,” Diane goes on. “Mandy told me all about you. How you make them fuck you for a decent mark, how you degrade them, how you make them suffer. I can’t believe I was fooled by you!”

Her words tear at me. Without thought I reach out and grip her arm. “You can’t be…” I start.

Her reaction drops my jaw in astonishment. She pulls free with a jerk, falls to her knees and throws up. The sharp smell of stomach acid fills the air.

“Don’t touch me!” Diane shrieks. She pauses for a second heave. “Don’t ever touch me again, you bastard!” Another wave of her stomach contents hits the floor. “Get out! Or I’ll call the police!” Her stomach expels yet more of her recent meals.

Cold ice seems to form around my heart. It deadens the misery I feel. “D’accord,” I tell her in a tone as neutral as I can manage. I step back into the hall and close the door on the end of an important piece of my existence.

An apartment opens down the hall and a small dog attached to a leash emerges. It gives a “Yipe!” at the sight of me and defecates. I’ve turned and headed for the stairs before the person at the other end of the leash can observe me.

Before I emerge onto the street, I pull my emotions into a tight ball and slide my human face into place. Death and horror walk with me and there is only one person I wish them to be unleashed upon.

I find a pay phone and dial the number Major Price had given me. “Yes?” a firm male voice answers.

“I need a report,” I tell him.

He draws in a quick breath at the sound of my voice. It seems I’m still not concealing myself well.

The man’s a professional though and quickly gathers himself. “The team got here early. We had the subject under surveillance by 9:30 AM.”

Yesterday Mandy went to classes, had dinner at a restaurant and returned home. Nothing unusual. The next part of his report catches my attention.

“Last night, the subject left her house at 10:57 and drove out of town. She was followed to an old farmhouse. More correctly, the road to an old farmhouse. My operative wouldn’t travel any farther.

“I gave him hell for that. But he told me he wouldn’t go near the place for all the money in the world. He said the place frightened him. That was a surprise. I’ve worked with him for three years and I didn’t think anything scared him.”

My contact’s voice grows less professional, softer. “I did some digging. It turns out there was a multiple murder there, almost a century ago. Now the locals won’t go near the place. And people from elsewhere who have lived in it won’t stay more than a month or they never leave at all.

“I went to check it myself. My operative was correct. There’s something not right about that place. I couldn’t get myself near it, even in the daytime.”

A wonder creeps into his tone. “I always believed such places were just fairy tales. I never thought I would ever see such a thing.”

I have and more than once, is the thought I keep to myself. “Continue your report,” I order him. My voice is normal now. I have myself under control.

“Yes sir!” he barks. I can almost see his heels click together as he stands at attention. “Today the subject visited an apartment building.” The address he gives me is Diane’s. A savage snarl almost passes my lips at that piece of data. “After that she attended one class, returned home for a short time then went to the university library. She’s been there for nearly six hours now and is still inside.”

“Thank you,” I say, “well done.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night.” His job is finished for now and he hangs up. Neither of us have time to waste.

After I replace the receiver I think for several minutes. My fury has receded somewhat. Darkness no longer fills me or directs my actions, much. I want this silly conflict to end. The reasons behind it are foolish and Ms. Richardson has not the slightest idea of what she is dealing with. Perhaps it is time she knew. If done properly, that is privately, the revelation of what I am might be enough to make her cease this stupid game. Without other witnesses Ms. Richardson won’t say a word about our confrontation.

I head to the library. It will be open for another hour yet and that will give me time to confront her. It’s also public which will limit our actions. Nothing extreme will happen when there are likely to be others to observe what we say and do..

Through that short journey, I work through what has happened. Most mysterious are the complete and extreme changes that Mandy can cause in her victims. I sort through all the methods by which such things can be done. Only one, that I know of, can affect a person as quickly and thoroughly as the shift I observed in Diane.

A shudder of pain passes through me at the thought of her. It takes a major effort of will to keep myself reined in.

I return to my thoughts, recheck my premise and conclude it is the most likely explanation. I realize I’m going to have to be very careful if I wish to survive.

On reaching the library, I go to the front desk. There’s only one librarian on duty. After giving a description, I inquire where Ms. Richardson is.

“I can’t tell you that, sir. We aren’t required to te…”

I haven’t time for this. I look into her eyes and she goes blank.

“Where is she?” I ask once more.

“The reading room on the third floor,” comes in a flat reply.

“Is she alone?”

“Yes.”

“What has she been doing?”

“Going through our rare history section. She’s been working backwards through the last two centuries.”

“You won’t remember I was here. Ignore me for the rest of the night.”

“Yes,” she tells me.

I release her and she turns away, goes back to her work.

Once I climb to the third floor, I go to where my adversary is working. This late in the evening the level is empty. The door of the reading room is locked. As I shake my head in distaste, I place my hand on the wood and push with all of my strength. The jamb shatters and I swing the portal open. Mandy looks up with shock in her eyes, astounded at my sudden presence.

My gaze meets those startled irises. I doubt this will work but things will be much easier if it does. I exert my power, try to grab my opponent’s mind and bend her will to me.

My effort to mesmerize her slides past her awareness like water over metal. Some other power, as dark a mine, saturates her, makes Mandy immune to my ability to influence her mind or memories. I can tell she isn’t even aware I tried such a thing.

It’s as I feared. So we’ll have to do this the hard way.

Since my first gambit has failed I saunter over and place myself in a chair, just beyond her reach.

I glance at the book she has spread on the table. It’s an old one and is turned to a reproduction of a painting. I know the work well. It was done in the early 1790’s, just before I left France for the first time. The subject of the portrait is me. The artist captured my sardonic mien, my world weary and cynical smile, perfectly.

When I look at Ms. Richardson again, I place that expression on my face. She rapidly moves her gaze back and forth between me and my avatar. Confusion grows each time her eyes shift.

“Oh yes, that is me.” I tell her. Her disquiet fades. Her mouth drops as my revelation hits home.

“Mademoiselle Richardson,” I say to her then, mild contempt making my voice frosty, “you better than anybody should know there are more things on earth than are dreamt of in most people’s philosophies.”

“What are you talking about?” She puts a poor poker face on, trying to hide her concern.

“Let me recreate my thinking. I’ve encountered two of your victims so far. The Dean…”

“You know about that?” she interjects.

“Don’t interrupt,” I snap at her. “The Dean was the first one. After observing your little tryst with your former English teacher several evenings ago…”

Mandy’s face blanches as she discovers how vulnerable she actually is.

“…I initially thought you had some skill at uncovering weak spots in people’s sexual make up and exploiting them. I had to rethink that hypothesis after I visited my friend tonight.”

Mandy can’t help but put a self satisfied smirk on her face at the mention of Diane. She comes very close to dying at that point, however I manage to rein myself in. A mangled corpse would draw far too much attention.

“That was most amazing. Such a complete change of perspective so quickly. No natural means of persuasion can cause such effects in so short a time. So that leaves unnatural ones.

“You’re a mage, Mademoiselle Richardson. You use spells to capture people’s minds and then use them for your purposes.”

Mandy slumps into her usual insouciant posture. “Good one, prof,” she states. “You’ve found me out.” A chuckle emerges from her throat. “I’ve really underestimated you, haven’t I?”

“You have indeed,” I reply with a dip of my head.

“Yeah, I use spells. But not on their minds.”

My eyebrows quirk up in curiosity.

“My little girl was the first. But I asked for control of her body,” Mandy tells me.

I nod my understanding to her.

“So her body does what I tell it to do. Her mind’s free. She was a frumpy, cold fundamentalist when I took her. A real Puritan. She turned out to be gay and after I started giving her regular orgasms, she ended up hooked. Now I don’t need to use the power of the spell at all. She’s so addicted to coming she does anything I ask. My little girl’s a complete orgasm junkie now.”

My distaste for Ms. Richardson goes higher. It’s not only what she does, but the contempt she holds her victims in that I find abhorrent. There’s not the slightest concern for them.

“My bitch was next. Used a different spell on her, I took her will. She didn’t lose it, it works for me now. I tell her something and her will gets busy to make it true. Damn, she was an uppity cunt. But look at her now, all soft, weak and horny. She loves being humiliated. Sometimes I even have her bang some guy. I made her believe she both hates and loves it now.

“It’s also handy for me to get men to do things.”

“Ah, the thugs," I note. “You told Ms. Coburn to promise to, what’s the term, put out if they injured me severely enough to require a hospital.”

She nods her head with a feral grin on her face. “I’ve used a few other people. I had a whole list I wanted to get back at and I did. By the time I got to school here, I found I liked fucking people around. I needed to look like I was doing schoolwork, so that’s when I took the Dean’s will. She’s really sweet. I don’t push her as hard as my little girl or my bitch, but she’s addicted to me as well. Plus she’s really handy for making sure I pass. All I have to do is say I’ll cut her off and she gets right to work.

“Everything was fine until you came along. I couldn’t manipulate you. I didn’t want to use a spell. I sure as hell don’t need a male sex slave, and I didn’t think I needed to.

“But you wouldn’t back down. You stood up to the Dean, and those football players didn’t even make you break a sweat. I’d love to know haw you did that. So I needed some other way to hurt you.

“It took some thought and then I had my bitch convince some hacker in the computer science lab to do some digging. A single blow job goes a long way over there. He pulled up cab and phone records that brought your friend to my attention. I remembered her from that faculty party. I realized she was a lot more than a date.”

My hands tighten into fists as I realize my lovely woman’s fate is my fault. If I had fed and gone, she would be whole. But I had to pretend to be human. I’m such a fool.

“So I took her will as well. Cast the spell last night, went there this morning and fucked her mind over. I bet that was a pleasant surprise.” She doesn’t try to hide her gloating pride.

I go blank inside. Rage and darkness bubble deep within me. I allow them no access to my actions. They hammer at my will though. I spend a very long minute holding them back. If I rip Mandy to shreds I will not accomplish my purpose here.

“So,” I say to her once I’m able. “That explains the ‘How’. Now the important question is ‘Why?’”

“Because I can!” my opponent snarls back at me.

In spite of everything, I can’t help but chuckle at that. “That’s what men use as an excuse to urinate out of car windows. You can do better than that.”

Mandy shrinks in her chair, pulling her arms in close and slouching forward. Her eyes scowl in anger and remembered pain. “You want to know why? When I discovered what sort of person I am, that I liked women, I was confused and scared. I had to talk to someone. Someone I trusted, someone I thought had a good heart, who could help me understand.

“That was my little girl, and she betrayed me! Practically spit on me! Called me a monster, an abomination. She told everybody about me and pretty much gave them permission to abuse me. My bitch was the worst. She never did anything directly but she manipulated everyone else. Got someone to burn my car, got a couple of guys to try and rape me. That sort of thing went on for almost a year.”

In spite of everything I can’t help but feel pity for Mandy Richardson. I am well aware of how cruel humans can be to one another. It never fails to sicken me.

“My dad is a professor of Medieval History. He had a book that he believed was an ancient forgery. But I found out otherwise, so I stole it. I used the spells in it, used them to break the people who tried to break me. You’ve seen what I did to my betrayer and Miss Congeniality. The guy who burned my car died in a fire himself. One of my would be rapists was found balls deep in the asshole of the other. Nobody, not even their families, would speak to them after that.” There’s a satisfied, wicked smile on her face now.

“Hmm,” I remark. “Revenge. I can understand that. But why the Dean, myself and my friend?”

“Because no one is ever, ever going to stand in my way again! I use Dr. Metaxas because she controls the university. So the university won’t be a barrier to me. I’ll pass no matter what I do.” Mandy giggles with a sweetness darkly poisoned. “Plus she was a real horny slut once I broke her in.

“You stood against me as well. So I used your friend to hurt you after nothing else worked.” The self satisfied smirk is back.

“Now you know why,” she finishes.

“Actually, that’s only partly true,” I tell her. “You’ve merely changed the focus of the question. Why are you still acting as if you’re inferior and helpless? You defeated your tormentors. There’s no need to do more, but you do.”

Ms. Richardson slams back in her chair as if I slapped her. She had never really, really, considered her motivations until now. For a second, her face blanks as she weighs my words. During that very short interval, I feel hope. Perhaps she’ll see what she has become.

Her expression hardens and I know my belief is forlorn.

“I’m not inferior and helpless!” she spits. “I prove it every time I use my power!”

The last word gives me the hook for my next gambit. “Yes, your power. Have you ever considered where that comes from, Ms Richardson?”

“What do you mean?” she asks with a worried cast to her face.

“I have an idea. You have to summon things, don’t you? From somewhere else?”

Mandy’s face goes a little pale and a shiver runs through her body. She has been dealing with beings from elsewhere.

I press on. “That place is the abyss. It’s a territory dark, vast and fearful. So are the things summoned from it. Do you recall what Nietzsche had to say about the abyss, Ms. Richardson?”

“No.”

“He said, ‘As you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’ You’ve been staring at each other for a long time now. What he didn’t mention is that the abyss takes you for its own, eventually. People who deal too much with it are eaten by it. Is this the fate you want, Mandy? To be eaten by the abyss?”

I’ve made a mistake by using her first name.

“Don’t get friendly with me, asshole!” is her snarling rebuke. “I’m the one in control. The abyss does what I tell it, not the other way around. Nothing and no one tells me what to do!”

I look at her then, my eyes cold and my face reflective. She stares back defiantly. Our gazes lock for a long interval of time.

“Very well,” I finally announce. “I’ve tried psychology and philosophy. I guess I’m going to have to use something simple that you can understand. Threats.” I drop my human mask. My skin grows bloodless and I flash my fangs at her.

Mandy gapes and recoils. Her feet jump, pushing her away from me and her chair hits the wall with a loud thump. She hadn’t known exactly what I was, until now.

“So you think you understand about power and manipulation? Stupid human, I have centuries more experience at them than you. I can hurt you when ever I wish, Ms. Richardson.

“Do you have any feelings for Christy? I hope so. It will increase the effect when you wake up one morning and she is cold in your arms, her face filled with exquisite terror.”

Ms. Richardson’s eyes grow wide and the color leaves her face.

“One night, Mrs. Moran will go to the washroom and not come back. You’ll find her sitting on the toilet with her head nearly twisted off.”

Mandy’s mouth goes slack with shock.

“You have a pet? You’ll find it hanging from the hall ceiling, cut open and with its intestines trailing out.

“Replace that with a tank of fish? One morning you’ll discover them dissolving slowly as their water was replaced with battery acid overnight.”

She whimpers and tears start to flow.

“That nice house you’re in will burn one day. Any vehicle you own will be destroyed beyond repair.

“Your parents…”

“Leave my parents out of this!” she squeals.

“Why should I?” I ask her with ice riming my words. “You’re the one who decided to involve innocents.

“Your parents,” I go on, “will be found crucified naked in their living room, burns and shallow cuts caked with salt on every inch of their bodies.”

She pants with terror now.

“Anything and everything of the slightest value will be taken from you in a horrible manner. You’ll have to live with the pain of that and the guilt of knowing it was your fault.

“That will continue until the end of your days.”

Mandy’s huddling for warmth, her chest heaving and eyes flowing. She thought she knew about pain and terror. The fact that she understood so little is more than she can take.

I lean back in my chair, resume my mortal appearance. “So here are my demands.”

She looks up, not comprehending.

“Restore Diane, undo your work on her. Free the rest of your victims, they’ve suffered enough. Live your life as a normal human woman. Never cast another spell again.

“Do that and I’ll keep my threat in abeyance. If you don’t meet my demands, I’ll carry out the campaign against you that I’ve just outlined. You have until tomorrow night, Mademoiselle Richardson. Au revoir.”

I stand and without looking back, leave her and the library.

* * * *

Hours later, huddled against the chill both inside and out, I am on my bench at Poet’s Walk, desperately trying to subdue my emotions. The battle between man and monster is more intense than it has been for a long time.

My human feelings; sorrow, longing and anger surge through me. Diane and what has happened to her make my mind boil. The fate of Mandy’s other victims adds a little heat.

They slop over to the monster, make its presence intense. It takes all my strength to keep from searching out my student to make her pay in terror and agony.

You don’t have to be a monster, even now, I tell myself. Ms. Richardson can meet my demands. If she does, our war is over. Like most wars, nothing will be gained, save the freedom of the people damaged by her. To me, that is more important than victory.

I tense as a fluttering sound comes from my right. It sounds as if a large bird is moving nearby, almost. But not quite.

The noise comes again, in front of me and I look to see if I can spot whatever is there. Nothing.

Again the rustling reaches me, left side this time. I recognize the pattern now. Whatever is out there is running a circle around me to check my awareness and for defenses. Which means…

I roll off the bench and something flashes by. It would have landed on my back if I had stayed still. A rank, fetid smell fills the air.

I come to my feet, facing the thing as it lands. For thing it is. It’s shaped vaguely like a whippet, spare and lean. But it’s three times the size of animal it is patterned after. Large wings resembling a bat’s are furled against its back. The body appears to be made out of rotting meat, the surface is scabrous, decomposing in places with maggots dripping from its interior. The eyes are milky but also glow with a dark intent. The jaws contain large, undamaged and very sharp teeth.

I can’t help myself and use a line from a movie I quite enjoyed. “You are one ugly motherfucker.”

A feeling scratches at the edge of my mind. I sense that the hell hound finds me amusing. I’m the first victim in a while who has shown defiance. It likes that, bravado will make my destruction more savory.

During that very short interval of distraction I prepare myself. My fingernails lengthen, thicken and become razor sharp. I pull a fair amount of blood from my stomach and convert it to energy. The sounds around me change in timbre as my speed climbs to far past human limits.

Without a noise it leaps for me. A mortal would die before this aberration’s assault. I take what seems to me a second to consider my response, step straight in and shove the spear point of my hand between its eyes. That’s followed by pivoting to my left like a matador and I hurl the demon into some bushes beyond the bench where I sat. Something black and slimy is wrapped in my fingers, the hell hound’s brain I’m hoping.

It would appear so. The creature in the shrubbery twitches, scrabbles at the air and bursts into blue flame.

So does what I grip in my hand and coats my lower arm.

The pain is enormous, beyond description. My head rolls back and I howl with my suffering. The ululation is utterly bestial. What I try to be is swept away and the monster screams free.

The light and my torture end. As my awareness returns I find I’m on my knees. It takes effort but I manage to focus on my hand. Little remains but a large chunk of charcoal, desiccated digits sticking from it. Without thought, I use my power. I can almost feel the liquid in my stomach gurgle as it’s changed into flesh and bone. My hand goes through a transformation like a movie playing backwards.

Soon I’m whole again, and hungry, ravenous. I’ve had to use nearly all my blood to heal myself.

There is a light touch on my shoulder, a young woman says, “Mister…”

Then my teeth are sunk in her neck. I shiver with pleasure as the delicious liquid fills my mouth and runs down my throat. Her fists pound on my back and her legs kick. I like it. Her fear gives the blood a sweeter savor.

I feed, and feed, and feed. Suddenly the monster lets go, sated and satisfied. I pull my head away from her throat. Our eyes meet, she gives me a puzzled look and she’s gone. Her final breath sighs forth and she slumps in my grip.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, and close her blank eyes. A wave of anguish passes through me. I’ve lost control again, and again an innocent has died. A choke of self-hatred grabs my throat for a second.

But there’s little time for sorrow. I lift her body under one arm. With care and speed I carry it from Poet’s Walk. As I pass the bush the demon landed in, I notice the foliage not the slightest bit singed. Sometimes, being supernatural has disadvantages.

My destination is a small copse of trees in a nearby park. I bend my strength, and my claws, to digging a shallow grave. “I’m sorry,” I tell my blameless victim once more as I lower her into it. Then I cover her up, and scrape the dirt so that the spot is indistinguishable from the rest of the grove. With even the slightest good luck it will be weeks before she is found. By that time there will be not the slightest trace of what killed her. My ass, as North Americans put it, and my kind are still safe.

So, I have received Ms. Richardson’s reply to my demands. It was the wrong one.

There’s little time before dawn. I head for a place of repose. I know my haven is compromised, but I have a bolt hole for such an eventuality. I haven’t survived this long by being careless.

Tomorrow, it ends, I think as I slip into the night.

* * * *

A low growl rumbles through me as I start awake. I smash free of the trunk I’ve secreted myself and the door of the closet it was in with a single movement. My eyes scan the bedroom of the seedy apartment I’ve rented looking for something to kill. Disappointment twists my face when I find that there isn’t.

With no destruction to wreak the monster withdraws slightly, allowing my intellect to the fore. I manage to slip my human face into place and restrain my rage a bit more. My evening’s routine allows me even more equanimity.

Once finished that, I phone Major Price’s contact. “Report, please.”

Mandy had made another trip the previous night to the place my surveillance team won’t go near. She was there for several hours and returned home shortly there after. Ms. Richardson has stayed indoors since. She has appeared at least once in every window on the first and second floors of her house. Christy left their residence two hours ago and has not yet returned. Another woman arrived an hour later. Her description matches Helen’s. A second person has just entered; a petite, fair skinned woman with rich auburn hair. It takes all my strength not to scream in rage at that information.

“I need one more thing,” I ask the man on the other end of the phone, “directions to the farmhouse that the subject has been using.” His voice shakes as he gives me the information required. It seems that my fury is leaking out.

“Very well,” I tell him then. “The job is done. Pull your team out and thank…” The phone goes dead without another word from my contact. I can’t help but smile in pleasure, knowing I can frighten brave men.

As I prepare I can feel the grim set of my face. A black sweater goes over my torso and similarly colored jeans on my legs. I pull new combat boots on my feet and my final touch is the black leather jacket with Kevlar implants. The garment would be heavy for a human but the extra weight means nothing to me.

I leave my hiding place, using a side entrance and drawing the shadows around me. I head for my enemy’s abode, taking roofs, back streets and alleys. I’m a lot less likely to be spotted that way.

Soon I vault the back fence of Mandy’s yard. With great care, examining the ground closely, I approach the house where our conflict will end. There’s nothing that appears a danger and I can see no one in the windows. The only light shines from the second floor, one room is in use.

On reaching the deck, I check under it. All clear.

I step on the deck and approach the back door. Now I spot a problem. There are squiggles of some obscure pigment drawn on the floor just behind the glass. I can’t recognize if they are a written language, but I can guess their purpose. So instead of trying the door, I examine the kitchen window. The unfathomable runes form a barrier here as well.

With extreme caution, I investigate each side of the house. Every window is similarly warded. I don’t go to the front. It would be too obvious what I was up to if observed and my veil won’t shield me from intense scrutiny.

It’s then I recall what my surveillance had told me earlier. Mandy had warded the floors used for living. She never went near the attic, so far as I know. So I withdraw to a corner, far from the light. It’s only two stories to the roof. So I crouch and jump.

As I land I freeze, waiting for a response from within. None comes. After a five minute wait, I silently slip across the roof to one of the dormers. My surveillance missed something. This spot is warded as well. But I can see that only the windows are so guarded.

I climb to the apex of the roof and move to the center of it, keeping low. Then I lift shingles from it with care. Once the wood underneath is revealed, I dig with my claws. Soon I have an opening big enough to squirm through

The attic is dusty and long unused. Fiberglass insulation lies between the wooden beams that support the ceiling beneath me. I can see the only entrance to the main house from here, a small trap door. The grime on it shows that it has sat undisturbed for quite a while. There is a tiny mound of dust on the pink wool next to the opening, showing where Mandy moved it when she entered earlier. With great care I step from rafter to rafter. Fortunately, they are all solid and no creak sounds to betray my presence.

The small door comes free with only a tiny scraping noise. I freeze again once finished. Sounds come faintly to me now. They are familiar. Mandy’s at play with her victims. I grin at that. Her activities should keep her distracted. Then I choke back a snarl as I remember who she’s playing with.

There is a closet under the trap door. A shelf blocks easy access, so I bend, slither past it and twist the knob to open the door to the hallway. I don’t push it far and wait for a reaction from within as I do.

Nothing comes. The sounds of Mandy’s entertainment grow louder. Gasps, moans and inarticulate voices full of passion become clearer. My fury spikes for a moment but I push it down. Mandy’s death has to look somewhat natural and small pieces of her spread around wouldn’t appear that way.

I push the door open all the way, fall to the ground and roll to my feet. Instantly I return to the closet, closing the door behind me and wait for trouble. There’s no interruption in the erotic cries coming to me.

After several minutes I open the closet again and check the hall. One door is open and light floods from it. When I check the other direction, I see the stairs to the main floor. All’s clear. With soft steps I walk down the hall towards the illuminated opening and peek in.

There’s another menage et trois on the large bed in the room.

Mandy is on her knees, wearing her harness and with a very large implement in black, larger even than her last one, is protruding from it. She’s driving it with great force into the woman kneeling in front of her. That woman is Diane, my Diane.

My lovely woman works her hips back, obviously overjoyed at the ecstasy created by being so filled. Whimpers and moans sound from her mouth, vibrating the swollen flesh of the vulva it’s attached to.

Helen is the person that Diane is licking. Her thighs are locked on my woman’s head. Her fulsome breasts heave with the motions of her body. Eyes roll in a sweat bedewed face and she pants with heated breath.

“Oh yeah!” Mandy exclaims. “Work that lovely ass. Show me how much you like it. I can fuck you a lot better than that monster, can’t I?”

Diane lifts her head and hisses with pleasure. “Yes!” jerks from her lungs. “So, much, better. Harder. Please, harder!”

I barely suppress a sound both whimper and growl as I pull away to head for the stairs. If it weren’t Diane in there, all the women would be dead. But that very small part of me that cares for her keeps me back.

Once I reach the main floor, the torturous sounds fade to the point I can ignore them. I take great care to be silent I check the rooms there. Of greatest interest is the kitchen, I note the gas stove. A quick check of the drawers finds sticks of incense and matches. Good. I can arrange an accident when I leave.

The basement is the last place I check. It’s quite plain and unfurnished. There are no partitions, I can see the entire area from where I stand. I find that the furnace is gas fueled as well. Better still.

Then I turn to check something very odd. There is a separate room built in the centre of the cellar. Of heavy cinder block it’s about six steps square and reaches to the ceiling. A heavy steel door, two inches thick lies open to the interior. I walk around it, checking for security. There is nothing but a large key on a hook next to the door. Satisfied it’s safe, I enter the room.

There is a small desk inside, as well as an empty book stand next to it. One wall is lined with shelves. Many bottles and containers sit there, all clearly labeled. A quick perusing of the labels tells these are the alchemical and sorcerous components Mandy uses for her spells. The only potential sources of illumination are candles on the table and set in several scones on the walls. It seems Ms. Richardson is somewhat of a traditionalist.

I decide this is the perfect spot. This is the center of Mandy’s world and it’s fitting she should die here. I sit myself in the chair at the desk knowing I won’t have to wait long. After two hundred and fifty years, a night doesn’t count for much.

It’s perhaps an hour later when I hear voices on the floor above me. I can’t make out the words but Mandy speaks to her thralls and they give short answers back. The front door opens and closes. Ms. Richardson moves to the stairs to the basement and without turning on the lights, descends them to enter the room where I wait for her.

As she lights a candle, I greet her. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Richardson, comment allez-vous?”

She drops her match and whirls to face me. Her features are blank with shock.

“It would appear that we are alone now.” My words shiver with a dark glee. “Madamoiselle Coburn?” I inquire.

Mandy does love to gloat. Her satisfaction overcomes her fear. “I sent her to entertain my little girl in a motel room, with orders to stay there until morning.

“And I just told the Dean and that tasty cunt you’ve been fucking to phone my little girl’s husband when they get home and let him know what the two of them are up to and where. Everyone will enjoy that entertaining domestic scene.” She lets out a wicked laugh.

“I don’t blame you for screwing Diane,” Mandy goes on. “Damn, she’s tasty, and she comes like an express train. I want to thank you for pointing her out to me.” Mandy’s eyes light with sadistic glee.

I make my face answer hers with the same expression, and I come to my feet. “I want to thank you for hurting me like that.”

Her face frowns with surprise and puzzlement.

With a wicked chuckle I drop my human face to tell her, “It will make your destruction so much tastier.” That’s a true statement and my voice transmits my anticipation to her. She pales once more.

Her right hand comes up with a crucifix in it. “I don’t think so,” Ms. Richardson declares.

I hiss at her and flinch. With a smile, Mandy steps forward and I fall to my knees, continuing the hiss and gnashing my fangs in anguish. She takes two more steps.

She’s close enough. I snatch the icon from her grip and stand again. After I place the cross on the palm of my left hand, I close my fist. The crucifix is pewter and crushes like tissue paper in my grip. I casually toss the crumpled mass at her and it bounces lightly from her chest. My dentition shows as I smile and inform her, “That won’t work for you.”

Her left hand appears from behind her back. I have a glimpse of a small spray bottle and something wet splashes across my face.

Then I’m blind and in agony. I howl as I feel my skin bubble and eyes dissolve. A sulfurous stench thickens the air. Tiny splashes spatter as the slush that used to be my face falls to the floor.

Once again I let my power free. I can feel the melted flesh reform, my destroyed orbs regrow.

And they dissolve once more. Whatever covers my face is very potent.

I fall to my knees, teeth and fists clenched to wage war against my destruction, and I begin to win.

The liquid burning my tissues begins to lose its effect. Blurry images become visible. I can see one of them move as through a dim fog. My head snaps towards it. The vague outline moves faster. Snarling, I rise to my feet. The mist clouding my vision clears, and I see Mandy closing the door to the room.

I leap to stop her but too late. A jarring impact shakes me as I hit the steel sheet, but it doesn’t give in the slightest. A concentrated assault is required to make this door fall. I howl at my prey, “That won’t save you. Nothing on this Earth can save you.” There’s a tiny click as the lock of the door is thrown.

So I set my feet, draw my arm back. A little concentration sends some blood coursing through my body to augment my strength. I thrust a fist forward, focusing my blow on the lock. It never reaches the door.

An instant short of its target my hand hits a barrier. Bright arcs of power lance out, dance over me. I can’t even scream, the pain is so intense. Knocked to my knees once more, I curl into a ball, whimpering.

“Thanks, teach,” comes from the other side of the door. “I wasn’t sure this would work. I had this room built just in case. As far as I knew, nothing supernatural could get in. I figured I might need a hidey hole someday.

“But it makes a good prison as well, doesn’t it? There you’ll stay, vampire. I have the key that can free you. Only it can take the wards down.

“But don’t worry. You’ll have company by morning. I’ll leave the key where my pet can find it. Then you’ll be out of my hair.”

“So long, prof. It’s been a slice.”

My fury peaks and I hurl myself at the door once more. There is nothing motivating me save  the blind urge to destroy.

I slam up against the barrier again and my darkness is filled with the light of anguish. The power throws me to the centre of the room, smoking in spots where the arcs have burned. I flush blood through my body, wash the pain away and heal the wounds flayed by the wards.

With a roar, I pick up the desk and hurl it at the door with all my might. It splinters without seeming effect. I launch myself on the same trajectory, hoping the desk broke the protections. Again I land on the floor, my nerves burning.

Despair washes over me, curling me up into a ball. I was overconfident, and soft. There should have been no hesitation on my part. The monster was correct. Mandy should have died first chance I had and be damned to the consequences. A whipped animal whine shivers in the close confines of my cell.

For some time I lie there, feeling nothing. Listening for my executioner, knowing my destruction will not be swift. I won’t even be able to fight back. I’m almost drained.

There’s a noise then, from upstairs. I strain my ears to make out soft footsteps on the floor above. A voice sounds although I can make out no words. It appears to be a human voice. My despondency lifts a little. There’s a chance I can be free, and that I can feed.

The footsteps and voice fade. I wait, trying to hold back disappointment. The person returns. Then I smile as I can hear them coming down the basement stairs.

“Au secours!” I shout, making sure only the man shows in my voice.

“Mistress?” comes from the other side of the door. It’s Helen. The tiny part of me still human screams in terror, wants to warn her of the danger.

What I am smiles wider “Help,” I gasp, “the key, find the key. Get me out. Help.” I flavor my words with despair and pain. Which isn’t difficult to do.

“All right,” I hear. With gleeful anticipation I wait, knowing I’ll soon be free to act. In any manner I chose. My eyes slit with expectancy.

At the sound of the key sliding into the lock, I cover my face with my arms, start a quiet sobbing. I want to draw her close. I’m too weak to move very quickly and I can’t risk her closing the door again.

The portal grinds open and there’s a gasp of shock she sees me. “Who? Georges? What are you doing here? I came to end it, like you told me.” Her voice becomes frantic as she notices my seeming distress. “What has she done to you? Oh God. Is there anything she won’t do?”

My meal is close enough and I spring from the ground. There is a glimpse of her face, terror stamped on her features as the discovery of what I am fills her.

Then all I know is ecstasy. I’m utterly lost in the deep, rich taste of her blood. Nothing else matters.

With a snarl of disgust, I drop her body. There’s no more life to take and I want more, much more. My victim’s face still contains the blank dread that was her last thought. Her ripped open throat glistens in the candlelight. I smile with pride, pleased that I bring fear and death to the world.

I lift the Dean’s body and carry it upstairs. Once I seat her at the kitchen table I return to the basement. I open the furnace and disable the pilot light. A quick twist, the main valve is broken open and gas starts to flood into the room.

Back in the kitchen, I wet a mop and wash away the wards to the back door. Luckily the ink is water-soluble. I light some incense and place it in a holder on the table. Extinguishing the pilot lights on the stove, I turn all valves wide open. When I exit through the sliding door to the deck, I wrap the shadows around me, hurdle the back fence and head to the place where I’ll face Ms. Richardson for the last time.

I’m two blocks away when the thunder of an explosion rumbles behind me. There won’t be any sign of me, or what I am, left behind.

A ferocious grin pastes itself on my face. I’m still in existence, free to kill. Bending all my power to running, there is only one thought in my mind.

I had better hurry. I wouldn’t want to keep Death waiting.

* * * *

I pull up, ceasing the pumping of my legs. By cutting across country I have taken only a little more than a half hour to get here. I can’t be far behind my next victim.

A thunderstorm has come up while I approached. It seemed to coalesce out of the air. Now rain falls heavily and frequent bolts jump through the sky.

The farmhouse crouches in the wet dark, maybe the length of a football field away. I stand at the edge of its influence. The border between the domain of the twisted, corrupt building and the rest of the world is clear if you know how to look. The grass on its side is unreal somehow, as if life had been drawn from it and something profane has flowed in to take its place.

There is a tree to my left, inside the line. The branches are gnarled and coiled, nude of leaves. The bark is a tainted black and very unwholesome looking. There is a hint of movement in the dark limbs unrelated to the wind.

I understand why Mandy comes here. The abyss is close. Calling it forth will be easy at this spot.

There’s no time to waste. With quick, careful steps I head to the farmhouse.

When I enter the sound of the storm fades somewhat as I close the door. I can hear someone chanting above me. Only the occasional word is clear but I can identify the language as Latin. “Open”,  “come”, “obey”,  tell me what is happening. I must act now or my fate will be sealed.

I bound up the first flight of stairs, hastily find this floor empty, and climb up to the attic.

It’s too late.

Ms. Richardson sits nude in the middle of a circle of complex symbols, eight candles burning just inside its circumference. An odd motion fills the air in front of her, a bending of space. For an instant I can glimpse beyond this world.

Then something stands before her. Its shape is of an old, fat man. Naked, his skin is rent with deep wounds and a black, sticky ichor runs from them.

I know now how my victims feel. A freezing terror fills me. If I were capable of it, my bladder and bowels would let go. A hideous evil flows from this thing, permeates the very air. But being a similar being flight is not an option. I prepare to fight instead. Panic is something I cause, never am I a victim of it. My body poises to spring and I wait for the moment to strike.

The demon pays no attention to me, all its focus is on its summoner. “Again you disturb me.” The voice is what you would expect; abominable, hideous. “I grow weary of answering your call. I’m not chattel to be ordered about whenever you wish.” The timbre of its speech communicates a fury only the abyss can contain.

With a snarl and sudden movement, it lunges at Ms. Richardson. That familiar shield of sparks erupts and drives it back. But unlike when it affected me, the demon merely falls away unharmed.

“While the candles burn, I command you,” Mandy intones.

The fiend snarls again. Then it wilts slightly. “What do you wish of me, little mistress?” The fearsome voice now contains resignation and frustration. It has to follow the rules and doesn’t like it at all.

She looks at me and gives a triumphant, wicked smile. “Kill that thing. Slowly.”

I move with all the power and speed I can muster. Both fists slam into the demon and it flies across the room, smashing into the wall. I follow, claws out, intending to rip the fiend from crotch to chin.

Halfway to my adversary I feel the air harden around me, stopping me dead. I’m encased with some power, unseen but harder than steel. My muscles bulge as I strain against it with all my strength but to no avail. Then I use some blood to augment the force I can exert, which accomplishes nothing. I can’t move at all.

Mandy’s servant looks at me, its eyes are fathomless, dark pools. “Nice try, little brother,” it remarks, and pulls itself free of the hole in the wall its impact made. “But not good enough.” Like the hell hound, the demon is pleased I’m fighting back. It relishes when its quarry offers resistance. Such an act makes the final suffering more exquisite.

A change runs over its surface. The wrinkled, torn skin transforms to green-black chitin. The thing grows taller until it stands just short of the ceiling. The arms split, forming four vicious clawing and stabbing weapons. The legs reform to support this new shape. Now there stands before me an alien mantis, with the compound eyes still black, displaying the cruel nothingness of the abyss.

It vanishes in an eye blink. Almost before I can register that fact one of the demon’s spears punches through my right shoulder. A scream tears from my throat at the pain of it. The next moment, I’m flying through the air. Another searing wave of torment runs through me as the horror’s weapon tears free. My body smashes into the circle surrounding Mandy. The sparks envelop me again and flay my skin raw. I never feel myself hit the floor.

My consciousness comes back with a whimper. My clothes are sticky with the blood oozing from my wounds. Pain gnaws at my body. Mandy’s executioner stands where it last appeared. “Heal yourself, little brother. We have sometime to go yet.”

My rage is gone and fear now holds me. This thing is as far beyond me as I am from my food. Nothing can stop it. Except…

With a loud groan of pain I roll on my back, flop my head towards Mandy, making sure to keep a blank, despairing look on my face. Her eyes are alight with the joy of her victory and the savoring of my suffering.

But all I was doing was checking my position. My right hand dips to the floor, my claws dig into a board and rip it free. Mandy’s protection circle is broken.

Her face falls in shock and terror. The next instant, her former servant is there. Its shape is different yet again, an amalgam of its previous forms. The body and legs are the hideous humanoid while the armament of the monstrous insect remains. One claw darts into Mandy’s gaping mouth and returns with a small, bloody piece of meat. The candles may burn but she’s giving no more commands.

Before she can do more than moan two sharp points pierce her shoulders and lift her from the floor. Blood sprays from her mouth as she screams. The cambion twists its weapons and her voice fades into a sickly mewl.

“Ah, little mistress,” her tormentor gloats, “we’ve been watching you. How pleased we were at the alacrity you served our purpose. The way you bent and twisted your prey was clumsy, but delicious to watch. How you made them want. How you made them suffer. How you used pleasure to create deep, delectable pain in them. But the game ends now. We served you only from force, and we hate being forced. So it’s your turn.”

Mandy looks at me. Her face is blank with terror, her jaw caked in blood. Her plea for help is writ large in her weeping eyes.

Before I can act, the fiend turns it head to me. “Don’t, little brother. I won’t be denied. I can play with two as easily as one.”

So I draw away. I have no wish for my existence to end. It’s beyond my power to help her,  and I warned Ms. Richardson. This was going to be her fate regardless of anything I could or couldn’t do.

Despair fills Mandy’s features now. She realizes this is her finish and nothing can change that. Her focus returns to her torturer as it speaks.

“I’ve always liked using my victim’s own methods against them. What was it you would do? Oh yes. First, warp their mind.” Its jaw drops and something snaps out of the thing’s mouth, some sort of stinger, needle thin, trailing a length of tissue behind it. The point impacts Mandy’s forehead and the tip passes into her brain.

Ms. Richardson’s eyes goggle and roll, some great internal struggle takes place for several seconds, and she loses.

Mandy’s face goes slack and her skin flushes. I can see her nipples pop into hardness, her aureola crinkle. Her clitoris peeks from its hood as it stiffens while her vaginal lips engorge and lubrication begins to drizzle from her.

Her captor twists the points in her shoulders. Mandy gives another groan. The sound is different this time, she still feels the pain but she likes it.

The proboscis pulls back. “There we go,” it croons, “all ready for playing. Next you would toy with them for a short time.”

The arms not used to hold her up blur into motion. The razors at their tips score her skin. Red lines, dripping with blood appear all over Mandy’s body. She jerks, pants and moans in reaction. Again there is as much bliss expressed as agony.

“Finally,” the demon notes, “you would take them.”

Something grows from the crotch of the beast, a horrible mockery of a man’s phallus. Too big for even an equine, it promises an excruciating pain to any person it is thrust into. That’s only the least of it. Tiny ridges of bone, razor sharp, dot its length.

Mandy sees it and her expressions transmit all the emotions she feels. Cold horror, sharp fear, weak denial show one after the other. Then those thoughts are buried under rampant need. She spreads her legs to receive her fate.

I may be a monster but I can’t stay for this. Turning, I hurl myself down the stairs. From behind me comes a gibbering moan of torment, loathing…and delight. As I snap my hands over my ears to block the hideous sounds I barrel through the front door, smashing it in my blind panic.

The storm has climbed to insane levels. The horrid noises chasing me are buried under the howl of wind and crash of thunder. I’m thankful for that. The night zips past me as I run. I have no thought but flight.

I believed I understood about the abyss. What it held and how to handle it. I was wrong.

And I flee from my learning.

* * * *

I rise once more from the earth of my haven. I shouldn’t have returned here, but I wasn’t thinking. All I wanted was to rest someplace familiar. A place where the abyss didn’t intrude.

I’m numb inside. The monster is not pounding to get out for once. It whimpers deep in my psyche, cowed into submission by what I’ve seen. My human side offers no grip for it as there is no emotion in me.

Like a sleepwalker I go through my evening routine. We always fall back on our rituals when times are hard.

To distract myself even more, I turn on the radio. The news is being aired. The first item is about a double murder and suicide in a seedy motel at the outskirts of town. Before I can hear more, I snap the device off.

There’s no need to listen to the details. I know who the victims are. The abyss claimed three more during the night.

My daze causes me to wander into my living room. There is no reason behind my action. I simply need to move. It’s like something is snapping at my heels and I run from it without thought.

I tense as someone knocks on the front door. Could I be implicated in what happened last night. Is it gendarmes? Or worse? Then a voice sounds and I can hardly hold in a gasp.

“Georges? Are you there?” It’s Diane.

“Please answer,” she goes on. “I’m sorry about what happened. I don’t know why I acted the way I did.

“Something happened this morning. Suddenly, my mind cleared, slipped free of something that held it. I remembered what I did, and God, did it hurt! I’m so sorry.

“Please be home. Please forgive me.”

A smile floods across my face. My lovely lady is free, and she’s mine. I open my mouth to say something, take a half step to the door.

But I go no closer and stay silent. I can’t let her in to my house or my life. She came so close to being swallowed by the abyss, and it was my fault. This time turned out well. But what about the next? I can only protect her by being away from her. I won’t endanger her again.

So I stand still, giving her no indication that I’m here.

After a minute the sound of her bitter weeping comes to me. She wails with her loss. I clench my jaw and fists, willing myself to inaction.

Diane hasn’t lost. She’s gained. She’s gained freedom from the abyss, the chance at a normal life, and the hope of happiness. I won’t deny her those wonderful things.

Soon I hear her sobs fade as she leaves my porch. I withdraw to the bedroom and dress in the dark.

Paris, I think, The City of Light. My home.

I’m going to return to my old familiar haunts. I’ll relax there for a while, visit old friends, try to forget. Forget what I’ve learned in this small and apparently peaceful place.

I slip out the back door, not closing it, and start on my journey home.

Adieu, Diane.

Table of Contents

Black

It’s a pleasant night on the boardwalk in a small seaside town. The walkway is deserted. Almost every tourist here is a college student. It’s the week after school’s out and at this time of night they’re all at the clubs, away from the beach.

So I’m walking alone. I can hear the waves washing the shore. The color of the stars twinkles in my eyes. At times like this I feel calm.

I wish Diane was here. She would love it. The peace of this spot would speak to her. I can see her smiling, and standing on tiptoe to kiss me in thanks.

That vision is quickly followed by the look of horror and disappointment on her face at her discovery of what I am. She runs and I…I…have to stop her. Mortals can never know we vampires exist. We know how humans treat one another for the smallest differences, and we know that something as different as us can expect even less kindness than that.

That dreadful reverie is broken by a muffled groan from farther down the beach. I’ve heard similar sounds many times in my two hundred and fifty some years. I believe the current vernacular is ‘somebody’s getting laid.’

The groans are repeated as I walk on. I can hear the low muttering of speech. Soon it becomes clear. A man is talking in the accent of L.A.; Watts on further thought. As a vampire I have an excellent ear for languages and dialects. A hunter needs to recognize his prey.

“You like that, you horny white bitch?”

“God, yes,” is the reply from a young woman. Her accent is local, Northeastern U.S. “I love your big black cock. I’m such a slut for it!”

“Then get to work, whore! Get all of it down.”

I’m now close enough to see the people involved. My nature means my night vision is excellent. It would be hard for a predator that hunts at night if their vision wasn’t better than those they hunt.

Her profile shows that she is very young, no more than twenty. She is of medium height with pale white skin and light brown hair. Her blouse is open revealing the silhouette of a firm left breast, not much more than a handful. A dark green skirt is hiked up to her waist and she is without undergarments, displaying a shapely lower body. The young woman’s features are quite pretty; symmetrical and narrow. If my soul wasn’t wrapped in the presence of another woman I would find the kneeling girl attractive.

What is most noticeable is the look on her face. I’ve rarely seen such an expression of lust. She is desperate for satisfaction, completion, orgasms many and hard.

The man draws my attention next. He is as black as the sound of his voice, and his physical presence is astounding. He is easily one of the largest people I have ever seen. He has no shirt on and the body displayed borders on incredible. His muscles are all large and clearly defined, like the most dedicated body builder. For a human he’s quite intimidating.

Then I observe the member the young woman is working on. It looks too large even for a man of his size. It appears more like a baton of ebony than a piece of anatomy. In spite of this, the aroused woman squatting in front of him is taking most of it down her throat.

“Yeah, bitch,” grunts the man. “That’s it. Show me what a white whore you are. Take all of it!” And she does.

I chuckle to myself. What people will do to satisfy their desires, I think. My smile fades when I recall some of the things I’ve done to satisfy my desires.

The attractive girl continues at her task with relish. Soon the man leans his head back, teeth showing in a grimace. I can see the woman’s throat work as she swallows his seed. It takes a rather long time before she stops.

She removes his penis from her throat with a gasp. “God,” she declares, “that was so good! I want to do that forever. I love being full of your come.”

The person using her does not get soft. That huge pole still sticks up to nearly his sternum. He grabs his trollop by the shoulders and turns her around. A hard push bends her over so her face leaves an impression in the sand. “There’s other places that need to be filled. Open wide, bitch.”

She immediately opens her legs, reaches between them and spreads her labia with her hands. “Yes, yes,” she moans. “Put your big, black cock in me. Fuck me ‘til I faint!”

He shoves every inch into her in one long, slow thrust.

The woman he’s filling takes her hands away from herself, grips the sand under her and kneads it with her fingers. Her body shivers and jerks, panting moans stutter from her throat. As her exploiter hits bottom a breathless keen rockets out and all her muscles tighten. The sound tells every one within earshot of her rapture.

Two sets of footsteps impinge on my awareness. They are approaching from my left and I turn to look at them.

It would appear that the man I have been observing has relatives. The two people ten meters away and approaching me are cut from the same cloth. They are almost uncanny in their size and obvious strength.

“Yo, mon,” says one with that distinctive Jamaican patois. “Move your skinny white ass out of here. This is our beach now, mon.” He places an emphasis on the “our” that makes it clear how they will enforce their claimed ownership.

I stare for a second, and then shrug. Let the humans claim possession. The beach and I will be around long after they’ve departed from this world. I turn and walk back the way I came.

For a second, I tense as I hear one of them move towards me.

“Don’t bother, Jacob,” comes drifting to me. “We’ll deal with all of them soon. We need to lie low for now.”

The sound of footsteps stop and I disappear into the darkness.

* * * *

I’m sitting at the bar in one of the clubs in town. A club soda is loosely clutched in my hand. I’ve drawn my human appearance over my face, colored it and am working my lungs. What I am is hidden from the people around me. My face and body are thin. If I was standing I would be just a little taller than the average man is. I was born in Alsace, that place between France and Germany. My hair is dark, nearly black, and rather long for a man. Eyes are pale blue and sharp. There’s more German than French in my appearance. I’m dressed casually and well, with a hint of conservatism. It’s hard for people like me to let go of the past. I smile to myself with that thought.

Something catches my eye in the reflections presented to me in the mirror behind the bar. It’s the trio of men from the beach. The woman I saw is not with them. But they have separated three other girls from the dates they are with. Their new prey’s escorts are not pleased but the intimidating physical presence of black men prevents them from doing more than fume.

So, I’m not the only hunter here tonight.

One of the women being stalked excuses herself from the group and heads in my direction. The facilities are just beyond me so that is her likely destination. I smile at a sudden, perverse thought. Let’s see who is the better hunter, shall we?

I watch as the girl with the strawberry blonde hair approaches. Her build is zaftig. Not whippet thin as current fashion dictates, she is formed like one of Ruben’s models. Eyes of sea green are set in a fair skinned, smooth face. As befits one so young, her expression is quite innocent.

For a moment a lance of pain stabs me. She reminds me very much of Diane, especially her eyes. How I wish things had turned out differently.

My attention returns to the present and I continue tracking my quarry. I give a quick prayer she keeps her innocence. Then, realizing she is just prey, I sigh. Such a thing isn’t going to happen, and the part of me that lives in the night is pleased that I’ll be the one destroying her unknowingness.

Just before she reaches my stool, I turn towards her. I act surprised, as if I hadn’t noticed her approach. A small piece of power is focused into my presence. I raise my eyebrows and exclaim, “Enchantez, Mademoiselle!”

She turns to me. A small hiss of breath tells me I’ve caught her attention just right.

“Excusez moi, I mean excuse me,” I go on, “I hadn’t expected to see such beauty tonight.” This is a game I’ve played hundreds, thousands, of times. I could sleepwalk through it.

She draws closer, fascinated by my voice and the power under it. I give a warm smile, showing she has nothing to fear. She stands in front of me and says, “That’s a lovely accent. It’s French, isn’t it?”

I answer affirmatively while pumping a little more power into her. A flush colors her cheeks and she squirms a bit on her feet. I’m stroking those parts of her psyche she is barely aware of, feeding passion where she can’t fight it. Soon we’ll be off, away from here and I can enjoy my evening meal.

A motion behind her in the bar tells me this time will be different. The Jamaican man from the beach has left the table and is stomping my way. The look on his face and his posture makes it clear that there will be trouble.

I catch my prey’s eyes and seize her will in mine. “You were on your way to the washrooms,” I tell her. Enthralled as she is it’s more than an observation. Without further comment she leaves and goes where I told her.

I follow and go into the men’s. It’s empty. Perfect.

After I unzipped my fly at a urinal I pretend to be relieving myself. I don’t of course, I can’t. But I need to keep up appearances.

A large hand places itself on my right shoulder and pulls at it. I move with the pressure. It would be easy to resist, but I want him to believe me to be within his power. It’s the Jamaican.

“What you think you’re doin’ mon? Cuttin’ in on my woman?”

“I’m sorry,” I reply with a bland look on my face. “I hadn’t noticed a certificate of ownership on her. I had assumed she was single.” It’s difficult to appear calm. Undead blood drinkers like myself do not take challenges lightly.

The flare of anger in his eyes shows my answer doesn’t please him. “Maybe you should pay more attention then, you skinny white faggot.” He pushes at my left shoulder. This time I resist. He’s too angry to notice I don’t move.

I raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘Really?’

His fury climbs a little. “Yeah, mon. A faggot you are. I’ll prove it.” He grabs my shoulder and with his right hand, unzips his jeans. As his penis rolls out, I see that he’s built like his compatriots. It’s enormous.

He raises his fist and pushes down on my shoulder. “So, white boy. Give me a blow job. If it’s bad, I kill you slowly. If it’s good, I kill you quick. Real good, and I only hurt you. Get to work.”

I fall to my knees, shaking, as if his threats mean something to me. I’m not a great actor, but I try to put on an expression of fear, with a touch of lust. It wouldn’t do for him to be alert. I reach slowly towards his member, and slam my fist into his testicles with all the strength my condition grants me.

They squash like oversized grapes. He gives out a tiny peep as agony flashes through his body.

I stand quickly and wrap my left hand around his throat, squeezing enough to prevent any more sound from passing his lips. With the merest effort I him off his feet to carry him into a toilet stall and sit him down.

“Mon frere,” I say, “you make too many assumptions.” I show him my fangs…and then I use them.

* * * *

I stand away from the corpse. Blood loss and shock have killed him. I lick rich, red liquid from my lips and then swipe my tongue over the wound I have inflicted. It vanishes, as they always do with that treatment. My hands take his head and with a twist I break his neck to hide what really killed him. It’s wise to misdirect investigation. There are forces out there whose attention I would rather not garner and secrecy is a habit.

A sneering smile graces my lips. He wanted to play in the bigs, is the very modern, and very appropriate thought that goes through my mind. Be careful what you wish for, is the very ancient, and also apt aphorism that follows it.

It’s then I notice something. The taste of the blood I have imbibed. It has a…cloying taste. The best description is that some sort of artificial flavoring has been added to the liquid. I feel almost as if I had a meal consisting of cake. Very filling but perhaps too much. So this man’s excessive size may not be natural. I look at him for a second, pondering whether I should find out all I can about these people.

Heavy footsteps approaching interrupt my musing. My meal’s friends are coming to investigate. I doubt I would have any trouble with them, but it would be best not to make an obvious scene.

There is a window above the toilet, large enough for me to leave through. So I use it.

As I head away from the club I can hear vicious cursing behind me. My victim’s friends aren’t happy. I shrug my shoulders for I don’t care what people like that, mortals, think.

As I merge with the crowds in the street, I ponder how to spend the rest of the night. The library, I think. A good book would be nice company.

I move away from my hunt and disappear into the night.

* * * *

I am walking down a quiet, deserted back street. It is the night following my encounter with those rather unreal men.

As I amble along, I recall the last time I was in this small harbor city, during the Second World War. At that time this was a minor port for convoys traveling the Eastern seaboard. It was also a rest area for the mildly wounded. The hunting was good then.

This part of the town had been built for the sudden influx of population. Two and three story bars and storefronts with apartments on top. I can tell they’ve been rarely used since. Windows and doors are broken. Those places still operating are worn and dirty.

But back then it was vibrant with life. Sailors and soldiers drinking and buying things. The many professionals, mostly women, who lived off them. Even children sometimes, if I got up early enough. I never hunted the children. Their innocence was too refreshing. They would learn soon enough about the world. No need for me to expose them to its horrors.

A new scent comes drifting down the wind. There are two people behind me. At almost the same time I hear their footsteps. A pair of large men. Since I am only strolling, they approach quickly.

Perhaps they’re just in a hurry, I think. But to make sure I take the next corner. Once out of their sight I break into a trot towards an alley. I can hide there, letting them go past if their intentions are innocent. I won’t hunt. I’ve no need as my belly is nearly full.

At the moment I turn into the alley, a bullet slams into my left shoulder. It catapults me forward and I sprawl face first into the waste and filth hidden in the shadows.

Damn, it hurts! Pain washes over me as I lie in the darkness. I can feel the thing inside rising to answer it. Non, mon ami, I tell it, You can’t come out now.

I concentrate to push power to the wound. Some of the blood in my stomach is transformed into flesh and bone. Once I’m healed the agony fades.

Without that to distract me I can hear a voice from across the street. Another denizen from the streets, Watts again, but a different person than the one from last night.

“Yeah.” He’s speaking lowly, in a manner that tells me he’s communicating with someone elsewhere. A radio of some type I assume. “Bastard’s down, but he ain’t dead. Just wishes he was. Orders were to take him alive,so I just winged the cunt.”

You’re wrong, I think, I am dead. But I’m still walking around. You however will not suffer from that curse. You shall simply die.

I slither deeper into the alley. No more shots come. My assailant isn’t watching. Tsk. Overconfidence. When I reach the end I stand up. The footsteps of the ones who followed are very close. I had better leave.

A quick scan of my surroundings shows there is no exit save the mouth of the alley. A dead end. Unless you’re something like me. It’s only two stories to the roof, so I bend my legs and jump.

As I hit the roof I lie flat. Nothing happens. Why should it? They picked the ambush spot. They knew there was no way out. So no one’s watching the roof.

I can hear my pursuers below.

“Can’t find him, J.T.”

“Mebbe he crawled in deeper. Go look.” The order comes from the sniper.

I raise my head a bit to find a person with a rifle on the roof across the street. Yet another member of that group of huge men I’ve encountered. Most interesting. He’s close enough that I can jump that far.

My hands shove me into a crouch. I take three quick steps and launch myself into the air. My target has heard me but didn’t look up quickly enough. I’m halfway across and above his sight line by the time he raises his eyes.

Merde, goes through my mind and a small grimace of frustration flits across my face. I’ve put too much into it. I’ll land a few steps away. I’d have to move fast if I don’t want to get shot again.

Just before I land on the roof I pour power into my body. It magnifies my speed by a magnitude, and I’m already very fast. The instant my feet hit the roof I turn and close the distance before the big man turns halfway around. I slap him hard in the head with the back of my hand. Being what I am, that is very hard indeed. Teeth scatter across the roof like marbles and he falls in a heap.

A, what is it called, yes, a headset is shaken loose and lands on the roof. I pick it up and put it on.

“J.T.? You all right, man?” sounds in my right ear. I smile. You’ll never know, is the answer I do not voice.

The rifle lies at my feet and I stoop for it. An excellent weapon, precisely balanced with a fine targeting scope and a silencer. The safety’s off and there is a round in the chamber. I kneel at the edge of the roof to take the position I need to use it.

“J.T., answer me, man. There ain’t nothin’ in here but a little blood. The white motherfucker sneaked out somehow.” A pause. “J.T.? What gives, man?”

I can see a pair of flashlights exiting from the alley so I line up the rifle. I wait for both of the men to emerge and I stroke the trigger.

The brains of the person in the cross hairs exit through the back of his skull. At once I shift my aim to the other. He is goggling at the corpse still collapsing next to him. Then he looks at me. I can see the light in his eyes go out as I put a hole between them.

When I lower the gun, I turn to the shooter. He is trying to crawl away, still spitting out shards of his teeth. The smell of blood invades my brain. That part of me that lives on it rises to the surface of my mind like a great, dark beast. I’ve used too much of my power and I’m ravenous.

Without thinking I land on the man’s back and wrench his head back with a resounding ‘crack’. The pleasure I feel as I sink my fangs into his neck is indescribable.

* * * *

I pull my head from my victim’s throat as the darkness in me fades away, sated for the moment. The too rich taste of the man’s blood is still in my mouth. If it were possible for me to vomit, I probably would.

An odd tone comes from the clothing of the man I have just killed. Rolling him over and reaching into the man’s jacket, I pull out a small device. Ah. A cell phone. No, a smartphone. Even though these gadgets have been around for decades I’m still amazed at what humans have accomplished. If I had seen such a device when I was alive it would have ended up in a fire. The handheld instrument rings half a dozen times before I pick the right sequence of virtual buttons to start talking.

“Bonsoir,” I finally say into it, “comment-allez vous?”

“Who the fuck are you?” comes the reply. “Talk American. You ain’t J.T. Where is he?”

While the man at the other end is speaking, I pick up the person I have killed. A quick scan of the street shows no one is watching. I set the body at the edge of the roof and push it over. The former J.T. lands head first and his skull shatters like a melon. That should cover my tracks nicely.

I reply in English, affecting a British accent. It’s always wise to misdirect your opponents. “You’re quite right, chap. I’m not J.T.. He is currently cooling at the base of the building he tried to shoot me from. His compatriots are also cooling, across the street.”

“Wha?”

“Allow me to continue, there’s a good man. I have encountered people like J.T. and his fellows twice now. In my world, I regard one encounter as coincidence. Two encounters, even planned as this one obviously was, is happenstance. A third encounter I will regard as making whoever you people are as my enemy. I have no living enemies. Goodbye.”

I have unliving ones though.

I toss the cell phone off the roof. A loud crack sounds before it hits the ground and nearby windows rattle. When I look over the edge I see pieces of the phone scattered around. An explosive charge? That would have been unpleasant, even for me, had that gone off next to my head. I’m going to have to be much more careful from now on.

With the realization that last loud noise is sure to attract attention, I fade away into the night.

* * * *

When I reach my current haven, I run a circuit around it, keeping to the shadows. It’s a small cottage in an area of the city that once catered to summer tourists. Rather run down now, it’s inhabited mostly by people who mind their own business. A person coming or going at this time of morning is not something to be remarked on in this place.

I’m searching for watchers and surprises. There don’t seem to be any. I’ve found over the years that doesn’t mean much, but I’ll take it for what it’s worth. I walk to the front door, acting as someone who lives in this area would. Mildly alert, but relaxed on reaching some degree of safety I fumble for my keys while I examine telltales in the door and windows. They are all still in place. I unlock the door and enter my hiding place.

Once inside I check my internal warnings. Magazines placed so have not been moved. The twenty dollar bill on the coffee table is still there. Tiny threads on light switches rest where I put them. It would appear no one has been here since I left.

I go to the bedroom and slither under the bed. The door built in the floor is lifted loose then I move under the house. After replacing the small rectangle of wood, I rest against the earth on my back and expend some power. Slowly I sink into the ground. An arm’s length under the surface, I stop. The pseudo-life that keeps me moving fades and my awareness vanishes. There’s no need to worry for sunset will awaken me again.

* * * *

It turns out I was wrong. Consciousness comes back to me in a rush. I can feel that the sun is high in the sky. What has woken me is the smashing of doors and the pounding of feet in the house I lie under. Voices reach me even through the layer of earth I lie under.

“Freeze, motherfucker!” There’s a moment’s pause. “Damn! No one here!” Another voice from one of America’s ethnic ghettoes. Washington, I believe.

“Ain’t nobody in this room either. Are you sure this is the place, IceDawg?” The second voice is Southern. Georgia from the sound of it.

“Yeah, we got the right place.” This man is from Harlem. “The real estate agent saw the guy when he rented. Look around. See what you can find.”

Footsteps start moving above me. There’s a fourth person who hasn’t spoken yet. I can tell all of the people above are quite large. Boards and beams groan at the weight they have to support. Things are being opened and moved. The sounds come into the bedroom directly above me.

“Shit! Hey, Ice! There’s a door in the floor here.”

“Check it,” comes the order. Mr. ‘Dawg’ seems to be in charge. “See what’s under there.”

A second later I hear, “Nothing, just dirt.”

“Well, fuck.” remarks ‘IceDawg’. “Sneaky bastard. Okay. We ask around the neighborhood about him. Don’t be nice. We have to nail this little fuck. No one treats us the way he has and he might be trying to stop us.”

“Won’t that cause trouble with the cops, Ice?”

“Nah. One of the first women we treated was the police chief’s wife. That was a good idea. You don’t have to teach an older woman anything. She’s damn fine looking for past forty and the woman can pull a golf ball through a garden hose.

“But the chief thinks we can fix her, and he’s willing to do anything to get her back. He won’t, but he don’t know that.

“So ask around. If we don’t find the Brit, someone waits outside. That’ll be you, JayJ. Don’t try to take him. Call for help if he shows up. We don’t know who we’re up against but the little cunt’s tough.”

A flurry of agreement sounds and the house is emptied.

I return to my sleep.

* * * *

I wake again shortly after the sun goes down. There’s no need for me to stretch, yawn or anything like that. Instead, with a little expenditure of power I rise from the earth. Rolling to my stomach, I crawl to the lattice work at the front of the house and peer out. To my complete lack of surprise there is a car a short way down the street on the opposite side. A single person sits behind the wheel. A very large person.

It takes a only a few seconds of slithering to get to the back of the house where I push out the hidden exit I made there. Once outside I stand and brush dirt from my clothes. Then, using centuries of skill, I move through the back yards of my neighbors. None of them have dogs or alarms that could alert my quarry.

Before long I am a few doors away from the car watching my haven. A quick dash places me behind a tree on the same side of the street. Furtive movement takes me from trunk to trunk until I am just steps behind the vehicle. A rapid glance around my cover reveals that the driver’s window is open. The driver himself has on a pair of those little plastic beads that fit in your ear. Foolish, I think. Listening to music when you should be watching.

Those few steps are covered in under a second. A tap of my knuckles to the temple of the driver sends him unconscious. I don’t want him dead, yet. Intelligence about this man and his cronies is my first requirement. “If you know your enemy and know yourself you shall win all your battles,” a wise man once wrote. I know myself, I must learn of my opponents.

I get behind the wheel and drive off. There is a spot where I can question him without attracting attention.

* * * *

Here we are.

A junkyard at the north end of town is the place I’ve driven myself and my undoubtedly unwilling informant. I’ve had to tap my him again on the way here to maintain his silence. As I stop the car, the big man groans as he regains consciousness. So I pinch the ear closest to me to bring him all the way up.

A pull on that ear turns his face towards me and I stare into his bleary eyes. But instead of his falling under my power my will ends up lost in a greasy fog. There are structures that resemble the hooks I normally use to enthrall my prey, but I can’t grab them. Some slip away like eels and others are like holding foam. Whatever has been done to this person has made him not quite human anymore. I try for several minutes but never succeed in doing more than blanking his awareness.

So I let him go. I’ll get nothing from him this way and I’ve other methods that can extract the information I need from him.

The second he’s free the huge man snarls and punches at me. I slap him back before it connects, not hard enough to break anything but enough to rattle him. I grab his left hand in a lock, putting pressure on until I can feel his bones grind. My passenger grits his teeth and whines in agony.

“Is there something wrong, old man?” I use the British accent again. There may be listening devices in the vehicle. “Your commander told you to be careful. You weren’t. Now you pay the price.

“As I told the person on the phone last night, a third time would be enemy action. I don’t know who my enemy is. But you’re going to tell me.”

“No way, mothafuckah.” This man’s accent is New York. “I’m tellin’ you nothin’.”

Taking his little finger in my left hand, I break it with a quiet and penetrating ‘snap!’ He screams and jerks as the pain hits him. To add a little more persuasion I rotate the finger, running the rough edges of bone against each other. Agony makes his eyes bulge. His face pales, as much as someone as dark as him can pale.

The darkness inside me smiles. It likes what I’m doing. It approves.

Shut up! I have to do this. I don’t have to like it.

Its mocking smirk can be felt. But I’m you. So it’s not me liking the pain.

I stop working the finger I’m holding. “I do beg to differ, old man. You are going to tell me everything. You can do it now, or later.” I place a dark smile on my face. “I’m hoping for later.”

Somehow, my passenger’s face goes even paler. “Okay, Okay! We’re CIA. We’re…”

He screams again for I’ve broken his third finger. I grab both snapped digits, rotate them again. He flops around on the seat. His motions are so extreme that he pushes too hard against my lock and breaks his own wrist.

This is too much for him and he collapses.

You’re not getting off that easy, I think.

There are a couple of soft drinks on the floor so I open one and pour it on his face. With a loud sputter he comes awake again.

This time I wrap my right hand around his testicles. They’re as large as the ones I smashed two nights ago. I give them the slightest squeeze.

He tries to sit up and swing at me with his undamaged hand. Instantly I contract my fingers, feeling his gonads start to change shape under the pressure. A gurgling groan comes from his mouth and he falls back to the seat. I loosen my grip.

“This is a disadvantage to the equipment you have, isn’t it?” I say to him. “Larger equipment means more pain. Now, answer my questions truthfully or I’ll take advantage of that fact.” That last sentence is almost a snarl. I need to break him quickly so anything that lessens his hope is to the good.

My passenger starts weeping. “It ain’t supposed to be like this. We’re gonna rule the world, man.”

I squeeze my hand, not too hard. “Answers is what I want, not whining and braggadocio.” His back arcs like a bow. Once again, I release the pressure.

My informant slumps against the car door and starts panting his pain out.. “Okay,” he wheezes after a moment. “Six months ago, I was just some skinny little shit running crack. One day, a homey of mine comes back to the hood. Hadn’t seen him in a while.

“I hardly recognized him. He was big now. Had money, dressed good, cool bling, expensive piece. I asked about it. Said he come in on a good deal. He wanted to know if I wanted in. Of course I did.

“So I ended up working for him. Same stuff I’d always done. Move packages. Put the hurt on people when I’m told. Paid real well.

“But that’s it. For four months I do this, but I don’t know who for or why. My homey ain’t in charge. But who backed him? I dunno.” He pauses to whine.

I give a grunt to tell him that he must continue his story, or there will be consequences.

He gasps and starts talking again. “Then my homey comes to me one day and says I’m ready. Says I’m bein’ tested and I pass. So I get in.

“Takes me to a doctor. Big, black bastard. Says I need to take a shot. Don’t like needles. ‘Go on,’ my homeboy tells me, ‘if you want to be like us.’ That sounded pretty good so I get the shot. I’m glad I did.

“I could almost watch myself grow. Over one hundred pounds and ten inches I get. I grew six inches of cock too. It was fucking amazing.

“I got so I needed some pussy real bad. My buddy says no way. Stay out of sight, wait. If I don’t do that the deal’s off. Says it in a way that lets me know how they’ll do it too. So I stay in, jerk off. I have to do it a lot. Barely keeps me from going nuts cause I want some bad.

“A month later, my buddy comes to get me. Takes me to a fancy place downtown. We go up to the penthouse. When we get off the elevator, can’t believe what I see.

“Six homeys there, all like I was now. And at least two women for every one of them. The women are buck naked and gagging for it. Everyone of them has some guy’s cock stuck in them. Or they’re getting it on with each other. Or playing with themselves.

“One of those sees me, pulls her hand out of her pussy and runs over. Doesn’t say a word. Just pulls out my cock and starts blowing. She took every motherfuckin’ inch and tried for more. I think she came as she hit bottom.

“I can’t hold back long and shoot down her throat. I come more than I had in my life. The horny bitch sucking me swallowed every drop and begged for more.

“I hardly got soft. She kept working until I got real hard again. Didn’t take long. Then I pick her up and start to fuck her. It was easy, I was so strong now. Another bitch comes up and starts to lick my balls and the woman I’m fucking. The cunt I’m in is coming like a freight train. And all the time howling about how much she loves my big black cock, how much she wants my jism and to give her a black baby.

“I don’t last long again. When I’m done, I pull the one around me off, push the one licking me to the floor and pound the shit out of her. She goes off nuts too. Wailing, sobbing and screaming for me to fuck her.

“Went through five women in the next two hours. They all wanted me bad. Didn’t care what I did as long as I put it to them. Christ, I was in heaven.

“When I was done, my homey came over. He had been busy too but I guess he got enough cause he was dressed and cool. ‘Get dressed,’ he tells me. ‘It’s time to meet the boss.’ I do and he takes me to another room. Another big black guy is sitting behind a desk. He’s so big and so hard he scares me, even after the change I’ve been through.

“Dude tells me his name is David Duke. He says he discovered how to make guys like me and the women out there. Says he’s going to rule the world using those things, and he wants me around for the ride.

“I say that’s fine with me. With the way I’ve been changed and the way I just got laid, I would have killed for the man.

“I have since. Nothing important, just some dumb white guys who got in our way.”

I ruminate for a second. My font of intelligence looks at me in frightened expectation.

“So, what brings you and your compatriots to this small town?” I ask.

“Mr. Duke said he wanted to get out of New York for a bit. Said as long as we’re here we might as well continue what we’re doing.”

“And the vendetta against myself? Never mind, Mr. Duke doesn’t like people who interfere with his plans or organization.”

My prisoner nods that my guess is correct.

“And where can I find Mr. Duke now?” is my next question.

“I don’t know!” That ill considered statement is followed by a scream. I’m not happy with his answer.

Once I let off the pressure again the man’s head lolls on his shoulders as I do. So again I squeeze an earlobe to bring him around.

“Once more, “ I say as his gaze weakly focuses on me. “Where is Mr. Duke now?”

“God, you’ve got to believe me, I don’t know!” he coughs. “We came in another car, man. Mr. Duke went to a place he owns. It’s near here but I don’t know where. You’ve gotta believe me!”

“There,” I say comfortingly, “I believe you.” The man’s relief is palpable.

“You have a cell phone? That you use to contact Mr. Duke?”

“Yeah, yeah. Here.”

“And the number?”

“It’s first on the speed dial.”

“Wait right here,” I tell him. I walk about two dozen steps away, start up the phone, and dial for Mr. Duke.

“JayJ, where the fuck you been, man?” comes sputtering out of the device. “I been trying to call. What’s up at that freak’s place?” If I was JayJ, I’d be frightened. This is the voice of a man who it is unwise to cross. Not that I care. He’s only human.

“I’m not JayJ,” I reply. “I’m afraid your man picked a bad place to watch from and wasn’t paying attention, Mr. David Duke. I’m coming for you now.” With a casual back hand motion I throw the phone into the car. Then I wave goodbye to my new friend, JayJ, and walk away.

The phone does not explode. The car does.

The shock wave knocks me to the ground and tumbles me through several rolls. A sharp piece of metal creases my head. When I sit up, head spinning and ears ringing, I look at the flaming wreckage that was a car, and a man.

Mr. Duke really doesn’t like me.

* * * *

I’ll give them another hour. With an internal, stoic shrug I peek out from the pile of junk that I’ve used as a hiding place. I’ll wait until morning. If no one comes soon, I’ll go into the earth and look for more of Mr. Duke’s associates tomorrow night.

Headlights heading towards me show that it isn’t necessary. As the Cadillac passes me I can see two people in it. Both are the extraordinarily large men I expected.

The vehicle stops about five car lengths from the smoldering wreckage of JayJ’s car. The two occupants get out and head towards his funeral pyre. They leave the doors open.

Careless, is my thought. Since their attention is on the carnage in front of them I slip from my blind and into the car. I slither into the back, going to the floor and as close to the front seats as possible. Then I wrap myself in shadow. Unless they turn on a light, lean over the seat and look down, I can’t be seen.

Soon they return. One is talking, obviously to Mr. Duke.

“Yeah, found the car. It’s toast and so is JayJ. No loss.” He pauses for a reply.

“Not a sign. We’ll look if you want, but just the two of us ain’t safe.” I can hear nervousness in his voice. I’m guessing these people don’t often face opposition and this person, at least, isn’t sure what to do.

“Right,” the man goes on. “Come on back. Be there in twenty.” I can hear the soft beep as he ends the call.

“You heard me, Dred. We’re heading home,” the speaker directs the driver. The two men climb in which causes the suspension to creak a bit from their weight. The car is started and my unwitting transporters start their trip home.

I smile. I should be able to finish this tonight.

* * * *

The trip is the twenty minutes promised. The vehicle I’m in travels southwards, through town and into an area quite rural, and rich. Summer homes of wealthy urbanites are scattered through it.

I can’t observe much in my position. When the car finally stops I can see the top of a solid stone column and an iron gate.

A window rolls down and the driver, Dred, speaks. “Yeah, it’s us.”

The gate opens and my conveyance sets itself into motion. A minute’s drive and I see a roof appear. The car doors open and my ignorant chauffeurs walk off. A few seconds later I hear another door open and close.

With great care I raise my head, just peeking above the bottom of the window, and look around. I’m in a large carport. Half a dozen vehicles, all large, flashy and expensive are parked here. I can see the door into the building that the black men used. There is a camera sweeping back and forth above it. It seems to be the only one.

I watch the security device, number the seconds of its pattern. Once I have the rhythm I squirm to the door on the far side of the car. At the proper moment, I pop it open, roll to the ground and close it again.

As I keep the count, I rise to my knees and shuffle to the rear end of the car. When the number tells me that the camera isn’t pointed at me I dash towards a spot on the wall far from its line of vision then to the door. Being what I am the short trip takes less than it does to tell. I’m now directly below the camera and out of its sight.

I listen at the wood panel. Nothing sounds beyond it. Gently, I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. A quick look reveals that the room beyond is empty.

In an instant I’m in the foyer of my foe’s manor. A hall opposite the door leads to the ground floor. The babble of many voices drifts from it. Stairs going upwards are to my left, which I use. It would be best to avoid meeting any of the inhabitants here until I know what it is I’m facing.

At the top of the stair, I come to another hallway. When I peer around the corner with one eye I find stretches some distance from where I am. On my side there are two doors cutting the wall in thirds, then a stretch of railing broken by what I assume is the head of another set of stairs and two more doors beyond that. The opposite wall is more doors at the same intervals, with the mouth of a hallway opposite the stairs. The second door from me on that side has a keypad lock on it.

The babble I heard downstairs is louder, a mixture of women’s moans and cries punctuated by men cursing and grunting. It oozes from over the railing.

At that moment, a man emerges from the hallway. He’s the biggest of the black men I’ve seen so far, nearly a giant. It’s his face that catches my attention though. I’ve seen such features on many leaders of men. His expression is confident. He knows things will happen if he commands it. There is also an edge of complete arrogance. This man believes he can never fail.

As he walks to the stairway and a man’s voice hails him. “Yo, Duke! Come on down, the water’s fine.”

So, this is my opponent.

Mr. Duke smirks and descends the stairs. A chorus of female voices greets his arrival, harsh with lust and carnal need.

I steal down the hallway, keeping my steps silent. As I pass the locked door a familiar scent tickles my nostrils. A scent of plastique, gun oil and propellant. When I reach the edge of the open area I glance around a corner and gaze into the room below.

An orgy is in progress.

There are half a dozen of the large black men. All are naked and all have their enormous manhoods in a woman. The same expression is on every man’s face; a contempt for the people they’re using. What they are doing is not an act of love or lust. It’s one of domination and degradation.

There are twice as many women participating and they could care less about how they’re being treated. They want only one thing; to be taken hard and often.

All the women are young. I recognize the girl from the beach. The man from that night is using her again. He’s pushed his full length up her rectum, and she doesn’t care, loves it in fact. The brunette girl grunts and groans, working her hips. Her face loudly displays her absolute ecstasy at being so full.

I spot Mr. Duke. He’s removed his clothes and sitting on a large chair like a king, his scepter the ebony piece of lumber rising from his crotch. He’s watching the goings on with an amused detachment.

The one exception to the young women is kneeling in front of him. This person is over forty, full in build and brown haired. She’s looking at him with awe and desperation. “God, Duke,” she gasps. “I need you. You haven’t fucked me since yesterday and I need it so bad.” Her words tremble with the intense lust she feels.

“Is that so, Mrs. Police Chief?” he drawls at her. “Is there some reason I should fuck you? What will you do to earn that?”

“Anything, Duke, anything!” is her panting declaration. “Tell me and I’ll do it. But just put that wonderful cock in me.”

“Tell you what,” Mr. Duke sneers. “Give me that specialty of yours and I’ll think about it.”

Without a reply, the woman shuffles over to him, grabs his manhood and takes him in her mouth. She works demandingly. The look on her face is that of an addict getting their hit.

A derisive expression twists my face as I pull back. It’s difficult for me to tell which I dislike more. Those willing to use other people or those wanting to be used.

I crouch so I won’t be observed from the main floor, move to the far wall and head to the hallway. It’s rather short with a single door at the end, also locked with a keypad.

With care I make my way to that door. I move the palm of my right hand close to the array of buttons. A moment’s concentration pushes a very small amount of power to it to raise the sensitivity of the nerves there. Three buttons are slightly warmer than the others. It takes only two tries to open the lock.

Inside is a spacious and very well appointed den, the walls lined with excellent books. An ornate and expensive desk sits opposite the door. A fine chair is placed behind it so where I’m standing can be observed from the desk. On top of the desk sits a computer monitor with the tower set to one side. As everything here is, it’s top of the line.

I go over and sit myself down. The computer is sleeping so I tap a key to bring it up. My skills with these machines is sadly limited but Mr. Duke’s is very well laid out so I quickly find something useful, a document marked ‘Journal’. It opens on my double click, and there’s no security. Mr. Duke’s a trusting sort for such a powerful man.

Hopefully, I won’t be disturbed for a bit, goes through my mind as I start reading.

* * * *

An hour’s perusal tells me a very great deal about Mr. David Duke and his plans. His journal goes into great detail.

Three years ago, the man was a street person, a drunk. Sixty years old and suffering from all the problems that come from homelessness and alcoholism, he wasn’t long for this world. No one would miss him.

Which made him perfect for the people that kidnapped him. They were members of a secret government project that meant to create a new type of soldier. Snatching him up one night, my opponent was carried to their lab and injected with the latest version of the drug they had created.

It worked. The result was the David Duke I saw in the hall.

They kept him around for study, to determine how full the effects were and if there would be any adverse consequences. Mr. Duke played along but barely. The newly altered man made it appear that his change wasn’t as severe as it looked. He was now clever enough to make sure the fact that his mental faculties were repaired were a complete secret.

So he learned a lot. Access codes, layout of the facilities, capabilities of all personnel. Most importantly he learned of the other drugs they were working on.

When the time was ripe, he murdered every person in the lab. Since Mr. Duke had access to the storage area, he stole all samples of the drug that created him as well as one other that had caught his attention. With access to all the project’s computers he printed out the formula for them. He then destroyed the lab.

The new superman cashed debit cards lifted from the facility and made his way to New York. With those funds he started dealing drugs. He also got to work on his grand plan.

Mr. Duke had always hated white people, blamed them for his life. Now he had a chance to get back at them. His plans required the drugs now in his possession. These drugs were code named Nhance and Nympho.

Nhance is the one that created Mr. Duke. It causes subtle changes to the subject’s DNA, in effect redesigning it. The subject’s body then transforms to meet the new blueprint. The result is the people I’ve been in conflict with for the last few days. The extremity of the change can be controlled by the dosage, and Mr. Duke has been careful that none of his creations match or exceed him.

Nympho is the drug responsible for the women I’ve been seeing. Simply put, it reduces women dosed with it into raving nymphomaniacs. Unlike Nhance, it can be used to spike other liquids. Any female so exposed have their libidos are pushed to levels where rational thought is nearly impossible. By administering the drug in places where one of his enhanced associates is the first man they encounter in this state the women quickly become addicted to them. All they’ll ever dream about is the next time an enormous, black phallus is thrust into them.

A side affect of Nympho is that it causes men, save those enhanced, to become impotent. Another factor in Mr. Duke’s favor.

As it turns out my adversary is here for reasons other than a vacation. First, he’s testing the next step of his plan.

One of his associates has obtained a job at the water provider here. This person had added a device that releases Nympho into the water system. Everybody in town is exposed.

The dosage isn’t high, but enough. Few men will be able to perform, and the women will be desperate for performance. It’s a playground for Mr. Duke and his cronies.

Secondly, there is a small pharmaceutical company nearby, which he has bought. One of his confederates is surprisingly well educated. This man has been entrusted with the formulae to Mr. Duke’s drugs, and the company is beginning mass production.

Why is he doing this? His diary makes it clear his goal is to destroy all white people. When he expands the plan to the whole country, only babies fathered by black men will be born. In a few generations, all people of European descent will be gone. Mr. Duke gloats frequently about this fact. How he feels about people not of European or Sub-Saharan ancestry he doesn’t say but I doubt they’ll fare well.

He also uses the women he’s changed to blackmail powerful people, as with the local police chief.

On top of that Mr. Duke just finds the whole thing fun. As many mortal men would. To refuse a woman who needed sex as badly as the ones Mr. Duke has made would be beyond the ability of most people.

A snort passes through my nose as I admit to myself that Mr. Duke is no fool, and ambitious. I would admire the man if what he wanted to accomplish wasn’t so evil. In some way I’m glad for I dislike conflict for its own sake. What I’ve discovered gives me a more important reason to stop him than personal survival and pride.

The door opens then and I look away from the computer screen in dismay. The sound proofing here is very good.

Mr. Duke walks in. It’s a credit to him that he shows only an instant’s surprise. “I’m impressed,” he says to me then.

“I’m not, I’m afraid, David Duke,” I retort with scorn in my voice. “Genocide doesn’t rate highly on my list of possible accomplishments a person can strive for.”

He shrugs. “Ask me if I care, white man. I can’t say I know your name though.”

“And you never will. It’s of no concern to a dead man.”

My opponent is not intimidated and grunts in contempt.

I smile at him. His ignorance shall make his passing more pleasurable. The discovery of what I am will be a delectable shock.

Mr. Duke reaches to a shirt pocket. As his hand stays in sight and is not moving quickly I let him continue. There’s no threat to me.

From the pocket he pulls a cell phone, flips it open and dials a four digit number.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to shout?” I ask him. “Not that anyone could get here in time to save you.”

“I’m not calling for help,” he tells me, and presses a button with his thumb.

Darkness.

* * * *

Sentience returns and my first thought is, Why is my face sitting in this mess?

The pain hits then. My consciousness almost fades under it again. But the agony is only above the waist. I can’t feel my legs.

My arms push and with great effort I succeed in sitting up. Despite my head wobbling on my neck I discover that there’s a large hole blown in me, my spine severed by what must have been an explosive charge in the chair. The mess that I awoke in was my stomach and its contents.

That thing inside smashes into my mind and the disguise I maintain fades from my features. That stupid human! He dies!

No longer aware of anything save my rage I concentrate. The little blood remaining to me is pushed to my wound, my spine and stomach begin to re-grow. It’s barely enough but feeling and motion return to my legs, and I’ll need my stomach to feed. I groan as I stand. Even in my state it’s anguish to move. Then I totter towards the door, starvation driving me to find a meal.

I’m almost there when voices drift from up the stairs, approaching me. I’m in no shape to fight straight up. It takes only an instant to form my claws. Then with a small leap I sink them into the oak lintel at the top of the door and lift myself up, parallel to the ceiling and flat to the wall. I doubt they’ll look up, they expect me to still be in the chair.

“Don’t know how he got in, but he’s dead.” Mr. Duke’s voice comes to me. “Ruined my desk and chair though, the fuck. Take the body, dump it somewhere. Don’t know where some dumb white boy thought he could stand up to us.”

I smile, showing my fangs, at that statement. I’m hardly ‘some dumb white boy.’

Two of Mr. Duke’s men come through the door, one at a time. They stop on seeing the empty chair. After a moment’s pause they step further into the room and apart a little. “Duke,” says one of them, “you better see this.”

“See what?” is the question from outside.

“He’s gone. No one here!”

“What the fuck?” With that exclamation, my enemy enters the room.

I drop to the floor behind David Duke and kick the door shut. My claws sink my claws into his neck and buttocks, lift him up and throw his massive body across the room. He hurtles between his thugs. A moment later his legs hit the desk with a ‘crack!’ that tells of broken bones. He cartwheels over it and disappears, smashing the chair in his careen.

Both his men turn towards me. The one on the left is a touch closer. My hand on that side stabs into his rib cage and I rip his heart out. Blood soaks me as it sprays from the wound. His eyes roll up and he drops as if his bones have turned to jelly.

The expression on the other’s face shows that he knows exactly what I am. The wide eyes and blubbering lips transmit to me the utter terror I am. The feeling his terror give me is a base, vicious joy.

He shows courage though. The big man cocks a fist and throws it at me.

I catch it in my right hand and grind his bones to powder, sneering at his bravado. I care not at all what a human can do.

He goes pale with shock, falls to his knees and clutches his destroyed hand to his chest. Tears of pain and horror run down his face. The sensation that shivers through me is almost as wonderful as when I suck down someone’s life.

The smell hits me then. The smell of what I need. Blood. My food, my joy, my passion. I tilt my head back, bring the still beating muscle in my left hand to my mouth and squeeze. The red liquid in it drips out and I swallow it down. Mon Dieu! It’s delicious. I’ll never tire of the taste of it.

But there’s not enough. Lowering my head, tossing the empty heart away, I look at the man before me. I can hear the blood roaring through his veins, his life calls to me. The next instant I’ve snapped his head back and my fangs are in his neck. I can taste his terror, it flavors the blood with a sweet, dark savor.

It takes several minutes to drain a man this big. But soon I let the limp corpse fall. A sound catches my attention. Mr. Duke is trying to crawl past me.

“Yoo hoo!” I call to him. He stops moving, his head swivels towards me. He’s weeping in fear and pain. Again, malevolent joy shivers through me as I observe the effect I have on fools like the one blubbering before me.

“Watch.” I say, tapping the still ragged wound in my midsection. Then I exert my power. His eyes grow wide and his mouth slack at the sight of me repairing myself.

“You are a fool, David Duke,” I say to him when I am finished. “The secret to power is to use it sparingly.

“Take myself for example. You know what I am, how powerful I am. But there are forces in this world that would swallow me down as a shark would a minnow. I stay in existence by being careful.

“You weren’t. You acted as if you were the Almighty himself. So you attracted my attention. Now you suffer the consequences for that.”

“God,” he whines.

“My victims have called on Him for centuries. He’s never answered. I see no reason why He should start now.”

Then I’m at his throat.

He lasts longer than his hoodlum. Which I like. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

Finally I rise, full, and still angry. I smile as only one of my kind can smile. I’ve got a whole mansion of humans to play with. No time like the present.

I head off for my fun.

* * * *

I’m watching the mansion from a hundred meters away and waiting. I wish my nature allowed me to cry.

All that has happened in the half hour since I left Mr. Duke’s sanctum flashes through my head.

Charging down the hall I vaulted the railing. I landed on a young woman being taken on her knees and broke my fall, as well as her back. A quick swipe opened the throat of the man who was using her.

A second later I shattered the skulls of two women with a double punch.

One of the enhanced men grabbed a sub-machine gun from a pile of clothes, leveled it and let loose a burst. Stupid. Two bullets hit me and I hardly noticed. The rest put down three women and one of his cronies.

I leapt across the room and pulled his arm off. The muzzle of the gun went under his chin and I jerked the finger still on the trigger. The top of his head exploded in a spray of brains.

Then I ravened among them like a wolf in a coney of rabbits.

It was necessary to feed before I was done. In my state I burned my power like jet fuel. The drug in the woman’s blood gave an interesting flavor. A lighter taste than the cloying sweetness of the altered.

This gave the few survivors a chance to scatter.

It did them no good. I hunted them down one by one. The last was the police chief’s wife. She was halfway across the front yard when I landed on her back and snapped her neck.

The monster withdrew then. There was no more fun to be had.

My intellect returned to me. The grief and horror that came with it drove me to my knees. It had been a very long time since I had so lost control. I’d forgotten how good it felt, and how sick it made me afterwards.

Thank the Lord, Diane wasn’t here. Yet another layer of terror piles on my soul at that thought. How could she still love me if she knew what I was capable of?

I’ll think about it tomorrow night, I tell myself.

My waiting is done.

I’d broken open the very well stocked armory. Once the charges were placed I’d laid bodies across them, and soaked them all in gasoline.

With a loud thump and a tinkle of shattering glass the mansion begins to burn. There will be no evidence that something like me is involved. By the time the fire department arrives, there won’t be much more than ashes.

Another wave of anguish passes through me. I might have done some good here tonight, but the cost was so high. I straighten my back and shrug. That’s the way it always is. Console yourself with the thought that you prevented far worse than this. I don’t know if I’m lying to myself, but it helps.

However the killing isn’t done. One more person has to die to end Mr. Duke’s dream. His drugs are known to one other. As long as they exist, the genocide he planned could still come to pass.

I know where to look. Mr. Duke’s journal had all the information about his plans. I have five hours to dawn. Just enough time to end this. Turning my back on the massive funeral pyre I’ve created I fade into the darkness.

But I carry within me something far darker than black.

Table of Contents

Embrace

Beginning

Diane Patterson closed the door on entering her apartment, then slumped against the wall of her small abode. There was a fistful of mail clutched in her hand.

She was a petite, fair-skinned woman with what had once been rich auburn hair. That hair was now bedraggled from lack of care. There were deep bags under her eyes and her face etched with exhaustion. Her body was bent a little, seeming to carry a heavy weight.

Her thought, the one that consumed her was, Oh God. I miss him.

It had been a year and a half since they met. As so many times before, the sweet and sad reflections of him came flooding back.

Something close to joy flashed through her chest as Diane recalled the night they met, as memories of time spent together filled her thoughts. She’d almost been unwilling, which perhaps made what happened all the more wonderful.

Her womanhood warmed as she recalled the first time he had taken her to bed. It had been an experience beyond anything she had known. His delightful, passionate love making forged her affection into an attraction deep beyond measure.

A tightness wrapped around her throat as she recalled what happened next. Diane had awoken one morning from a nightmare, wandered in confusion, certain she had lost something. A student of her lover’s came by and when that woman left Diane no longer loved him. Instead there was a virulent loathing. The next time she saw him Diane drove him away, hating him for what he had done to herself and others.

The next night Diane went to the student’s house. She met another woman there, The Dean of the university where Diane worked and her lover taught. The student used them both viciously. It was an experience that came very close in joy to the first time with the man she loved.

A choked sound that resembled a sob squeezed out of her chest. The next morning what Diane had lost returned. She was horrified by what had happened and couldn’t fathom why she had done it. Desperate to apologize she had gone to her lover’s cottage meaning to plead for forgiveness. But there was no sign of him and she never saw him again.

After that, Diane spiraled downwards. She was unable to understand her actions, or to excuse them. Not having him in her life meant she drifted into a place where there were only tears and recrimination. At least until those things ran out leaving her with an aching emptiness where her life had been.

Diane refocused on today. Inside, she felt herself stoop a little more as another brick of shame and loneliness was added to her burden. She noted without real interest it would soon be too heavy for her to bear.

Without interest she checked the mail clutched in her hands. It was the usual; bills, junk…and an envelope that was neither.

She noted the stamp first, French. This puzzled her. It was unnerving as well. Her heart gave an extra twinge at the thought of France.

A glance at the return address revealed the letter originated from Paris. Who do I know from there? she wondered.

Then the name hit her. It was from him! Diane stared, trembling all over, not wanting to believe, almost wishing it were otherwise. But the letters of the name wouldn’t change.

The auburn haired woman found herself opening his message. Her hands seemed to be following their own impulse. She felt so disconnected that it appeared she was only a spectator to someone else’s life.

Three items fell from the envelope; a letter, a plane ticket and a credit card. Again, Diane watched her hands move of their own accord, flipping the letter open. She looked at the words and the sound of his voice filled her head once more.

Cheri,

Please come to Paris. We have much to discuss.

I shall be waiting at the café Le Fin de Sieclé every Saturday night at 11 PM for the next year.

The ticket is for the 10:00 AM flight that leaves JFK for Charles de Gaulle every Thursday morning. Again, this ticket is good for the next year. There is a room booked for you at Le Roi Henri IV. Everything at that hotel will be covered.

The credit card is in your name and has sufficient funds for a trip to New York. Plus a fair amount for any luggage, clothes, etc. that you might need for the journey.

As I said, we have much to discuss.

Georges.

Diane found herself kneeling on the floor. Her heart and lungs didn’t seem to work.

And she realized she still had tears left.

Meeting

It’s been four months now.

I’m sitting at my table outside of Le Fin. There’s a glass of wine in front of me that serves as camouflage and I scan the street surreptitiously, looking for Diane, watching the humans as they go about their lives. My nature has made me somewhat of an emotional voyeur. Indeed, if I don’t want to allow my nature full control, I have to be.

Since I’m keeping my lungs working, I sigh. You would think that I would have learned patience at my age. Instead, I drum fingers on the table, fidget in my seat, do all the things that a man waiting for an important rendezvous with a former lover would do. Where is she? I ask myself with a somewhat vexed anxiousness.

It was the most difficult thing I’d ever done, sending that message to Diane. Our time together had ended so badly, with both of us suffering. It was my fault and so I left her. What I am, the world I live in and the events that occur in it came close to destroying her. It seemed at the time the best thing to do.

But time and distance didn’t lessen my emotions. Not a night went by that I didn’t think of her. I would think of the times we spent together. I would recall her intelligence, her learning, her passion, her love. I knew she loved me, and I discovered I felt the same way. My darling Diane possessed me and I found that I didn’t mind being property at all.

So I sent her a letter asking her to come to me, along with the means for her to make the trip. There will be no secrets this time. I’m going to tell her everything. Then we’ll make a decision. The consequences of making the wrong one will be dangerous for us both. But I now know I can’t go on without her.

My gaze glances around Le Fin with a proprietor’s eye. Which I should as I do own the place through a holding company. The street front café looks just the way I want it; relaxed, simple, a comfortable place where people can come to drink and converse.

This is actually the third incarnation of my establishment.

I’d opened the first in 1788. My arrival into darkness had just occurred and the full import of that was beginning to sink in. Since birthdays now meant little to me I decided to celebrate centuries instead. Hence the name. Le Fin was going to be the place where I celebrated my centuries.

It didn’t work out the way I expected.

I had to flee France during The Terror. Being a member of the aristocracy and a well known supporter of moderation meant the guillotine had I stayed. Not that it would have come to that. I would have burned to ashes when they pulled me into the sunlight.

I set up the second Le Fin in 1858 when I returned to France after a long sojourn in North America. It remained open for eighty five years and became a somewhat famous gathering place for intellectuals and artists of all kinds. Proust, Zola and Sartre frequented my establishment at times. I heard Edith Piaf perform La Vie en Rose spontaneously early one morning. For those moments I believed in Paradise.

That version of Le Fin was destroyed by the Nazis in 1943. I was running a Resistance cell from the place and they found out. They didn’t destroy it without paying a price. I was glutted by the time they were done. One less monster walked the night as well.

The current version opened in 1955. Again, it’s somewhat well known amongst outsiders and intellectuals. Whenever I can I lurk here, reminding myself how varied, how important the people who provide my food are.

My mind returns to today. I sigh and check the street once more. There’s no sign of Diane.

But there is another woman walking this way, her eyes fixed on me. A girl actually. Her clothes are conspicuously sexual, her make up a bit excessive. She’s smiling with a hard edge that falsifies the expression. Her brown eyes are wide and frightened while her knees have a tiny tremble to them.

I don’t look away. Her fear speaks to me. As always, I find that emotion fascinating.

“Bonsoir, chérie,” she greets as she arrives at my table. “Looking for some company?”

Ah, a working girl. Inside I feel a little tremor of pity. She’s too young to be involved in such a profession. She should be home in bed, resting up for school or a day out with friends. A mental shrug follows. Despite what I am and the power it grants me, I can’t save the world. That’s a fact I discovered centuries ago.

“Non, merci.” I tell her.

Her smile grows bigger and more false. Her hand comes up to stroke my face. The palm is cold and clammy. “Come on, chérie. I can show you a really good time.”

“Quite seriously, no,” I repeat. “I’ve someone coming and I’ve no need for company. Pardon.”

The brunette girl withdraws her hand with a jerk. A small whimper sounds in her chest and her eyes grow teary. Her smile becomes more wooden. She turns and walks away with her knees shaking.

When she’s three dozen steps away I stand with a sigh and follow her. I have an idea what’s about to happen and fool that I am, am going to interfere. But she’s too young for such a life. I may not be able to save everyone but perhaps I can save her.

Sure enough, as she gets to the corner a large man dressed in expensive jeans, running shoes and leather jacket stands away from the lamp post he is leaning against. He grabs the young woman’s arm and drags her into a nearby alley.

I pick up my pace and as I do a loud slap reaches me, with a woman’s gasp underneath it. What I am rises closer to the surface as my anger at what’s happening loosens my grip on it.

“You stupid little bitch,” cuts through the air. The man is speaking French, with a distinct Russian accent. “I’ve been looking after you for two weeks. I’m damn well going to be paid back.” Another slap sounds. “Get this straight, whore. That’s what you are now. You belong to me and you work as I tell you.” He strikes her again. “So don’t you ever come back to me with an empty purse again.” The ‘smack’ of his hand hitting her fills the air.

I’m at the mouth of the alley now and I step into it. The young woman is in a heap on the ground. “Excuse me,” I say.

The man whirls to face me. In the light filtering in from the street, I can see he has a broad, scarred face; the face of a man who’s lived a hard life. His eyes shimmer with a gleam that makes me doubt his sanity. Solidly built and about my height, if I were human I’d be intimidated.

“Fuck off, Frog!” he snarls. “This isn’t any of your business.”

I say nothing, do nothing.

“Fine,” he remarks as a vicious smile crosses his face. “Time to teach you, skinny faggot, a lesson.”

He stalks towards me, cocking his fists. The happy expression on his face shows he’s very much going to enjoy beating me to a pulp.

I make no move.

Two steps away, he lunges forward, aiming a punch at my head.

I step my right foot back just enough so his fist whistles past my nose. My hands come up, one grabs his wrist, the other sets itself against his shoulder. In this position, even if I were human, he’d be off balance and at my mercy. But I put a little of the monster into it and slam him against the wall.

The fool impacts with a crunching noise. His nose breaks, probably some ribs as well. I let him go and he collapses to his knees, wilts to the left, boneless in his unconsciousness.

For a moment I consider finishing him off. But I’m not hungry and it’s not necessary. Our conflict is over and he lost. Instead I walk over to the girl and kneel.

She’s breathing with sharp pants. Her body jerks as she tries to hold in sobs. The young brunette looks up, wide eyed, when I touch her. I can see bruises on both cheeks where her former pimp struck her.

“There, petite,” I say to her softly. “It’s over, you’re safe.”

The next instant her arms are wrapped around me and she weeps on my chest. I return her embrace, cuddle her close. Even something like me likes being a comfort rather than a terror on occasion.

It takes several minutes but she soon winds down. “I want to go home,” she sniffles.

“Where is home?” I ask her.

“Cherbourg,” is her reply, “but I’ve got no way to get there.”

“Leave that to me. Why did you leave, young one?”

She ponders for a moment. “Being stupid, I guess. My mom was being a pain. Always telling me what to do. That’s how I felt. I wanted to come to the city, make my name, be free. I had no idea what I was getting into. Like I said, stupid.”

“Petite, if I told you the stupid things I did when I was your age we’d be here all night and until at least noon tomorrow.”

For the first time she acts like the girl she is and giggles. The young are so resilient.

I stand, drawing her up. “Let’s go. Train station. We can arrange for you to get home.”

“I can’t,” she stammers as we start out of the alley, “can’t afford something like that. Even if I sold everything I own, it’s not enough.” She looks at the limp heap that beat her. “It’s all at his place, anyway.”

“As I said, leave that to me. In a case like this it’s best to leave everything behind. Trust me, I’ve had to run at times in my existence.”

We’re now on the sidewalk and I hail a cab. The driver asks, “Where to?” when we climb in He’s Algerian so I tell him, “Saint Lazare Station please,” in Arabic. “D’accord,” he replies with a smile and sets off.

My charge clings tight the whole trip. There’s no passion involved. I’m simply the first person who’s been kind to her in a while.

We arrive and I pay off the cabby. I make sure to give a good tip. He most likely has a family to look after.

As we head for the ticket counter we attract a few looks. Paris is hardly an inhibited city but the two of us, she her age and me mine, apparently cross a line or two. I don’t care, let people make wrong guesses.

It only takes a few minutes to get the young lady a ticket. There’s a train leaving shortly. As I hand it to her, her eyes grow teary and she tells me, “Merci,” in a nearly inaudible voice.

“De rien,” I tell her. “One more thing though.” There’s a cash machine nearby. It doesn’t allow me to take out all the money I want but there are a number of machines here and I use them. After the short tour is done I hand the young lady 5,000 Euros.

Her brown eyes go wide in shock. “I, I couldn’t,” she stutters, “I can’t. I don’t know how to pay you back.”

“This isn’t a loan. It’s freedom. With this, you won’t have to make bad choices. You can stop and think.”

She looks at me. I can read in her face that she isn’t sure how to react, if she can trust me, what I might want in return. I make sure that all I show is what I want; for her to be free for a while until she can make her own life.

The young woman ponders for a moment more then reaches out, takes my gift and places it in her purse. Again, she thanks me in a voice so quiet even something like me can hardly hear it.

“We’d better go,” I tell her while wiping an errant tear from her cheek, “you’ll miss your train.”

They’re boarding when we reach the platform. I turn to her and spread my arms. She steps into them so that we share a hug for a long moment.

I release her and my charge steps back. I like the way the sweet girl looks now, happy and unafraid.

“Good bye, petite. Live a good life.”

Her face takes on a new expression and hardens in determination. The next second she darts her head forward, goes on tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek. “I will. Merci.” At that she turns and heads to the nearest car door. Before she finishes mounting the steps, she pauses, turns to wave.

I wave back, smiling, pleased with her.

She disappears into the train.

Shortly, a huff of air comes and the train begins to move. I watch but I don’t see the young woman again.

A smile is plastered on my face. For once I’ve done some good. I’ve needed to take little advantage of my nature. The only person hurt wasn’t badly and deserved it. I wish I had more nights like this.

Merde! I look at the platform clock. It reads 12:10 AM.

That makes me roll my eyes in frustration. The world working the way it does the time means I may have missed Diane. Of course the night she arrives will be the one where I’ve allowed myself to be distracted.

It’s difficult to keep myself reined in as I race through the station. However, throwing people out of the way like small kittens would probably not be a good idea.

I climb into a cab, direct him to Le Fin. The driver must read my mood for he hurries more than a little. He lets me off in front of my café. Blindly, I shove some money at him for my supposition is correct.

Diane sits at the table I had occupied before I was drawn away. Her back is to the street. With her elbows set on the table, her face is buried in her hands and her slumped shoulders I cannot mistake her physical state. My love is exhausted in heart, body and soul.

There is a twinge of pain in my chest at that realization. I rush over to the table, and pull up short, a couple of steps away from her. I am, to my surprise, frightened. Without intending to I’ve played with her emotions again. How she’ll react I do not know but I fear it will be with anger and disdain. It’s several long seconds before I manage to I square my shoulders and speak.

“Bonsoir, ma cheri. Comment-allez vous?”

Diane’s head snaps up, and that’s all for what seems like an eternity.

I don’t move. I won’t until I’m sure.

She sets her hands on the table and draws a deep breath. The next moment she stands, shoving her chair back. It almost hits me. After letting her breath out, Diane draws another deep one. She turns to face me.

Mon amour, je suis tellement désolé! My love, I’m so sorry! My heart, unbeating and cold though it is, almost breaks at the sight of her.

Her once bright eyes are nearly empty now. There are more lines on her face. They show that she has carried a great burden of pain and loneliness. Her mouth, those sweet lips, once wore an easy smile. Now they support a loose grimace.

We stare at each other for a protracted instant. Then her face changes.

The emptiness vanishes and her eyes glisten with tears. Her new lines smooth, disappear. Her mouth pulls up, the corners drawing into the beginning of a smile. But her lips tremble.

Then our arms are wrapped around each other.

I can feel her heart hammering. I hope she doesn’t notice that mine is silent. But it would if it could. That familiar warmth envelops me.

“Georges,” she whispers, “don’t ever do that again. I couldn’t bear that you left me.”

“I won’t,” I tell her. I hope it’s true.

We hold together for several minutes, making up for the time we’ve been apart. Finally we pull away and look at each other. Although the marks still show, my Diane is back. Once again I feel as I did when we were together, almost like a man.

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” she starts, “after what I did…”

I interrupt by placing a finger on her lips. “My going had nothing to do with that.”

She grows puzzled. Her eyes frown a question.

Before she can speak that question, I go on. “That’s one of many things we must discuss.”

Diane nods. “Now?” is the query she makes instead.

“No. Not tonight, not tomorrow night. Two nights from now. We set that night aside. We’ll need all of it.”

“Always at night,” she smiles. “You don’t change, do you Georges?”

“That’s one of the things we’ll talk about.”

“So what’s for tonight?” she inquires.

“Dinner,” I tell her. My hand takes her hand to lead her to the sidewalk where I hail a taxi. The destination I give the cabbie makes her glance at me in the mirror. I nod a confirmation.

It’s a ten minute drive. The smell of the river is strong when we exit our vehicle. The building we’re in front of is three stories high, brick construction and with curtained windows. Wedged between a boutique and a bookstore it’s not apparent what purpose it serves. We climb the short flight of stairs and a discreet brass plaque informs us that we’re standing at the entrance to Le Restaurant du Carl. I reach forward, turn the knob and open the door. Smiling, I wave Diane in then follow her inside.

We’re standing in a small, well appointed foyer. None of the furniture or hangings are excessive but to someone who knows, they are the best. It’s the perfect entrance. The atmosphere is quiet and comfortable.

The maitre d’ is standing next to a small podium. His eyes light up and a smile forms at the sight of us.. “Ah, Monsieur Belleveau. I see your guest has finally arrived.”

“She has, Phillipe. I trust all is ready.”

“It is,” he replies, and brings his attention to bear on Diane. “Enchantez, Mademoiselle. It’s rare for our patron to bring a guest. We shall endeavor to make your meal a very special one indeed.”

My lovely lady colors at that. She reaches out to take my arm, huddles close. Her eyes grow worried and her mouth forms a moue of uncertainty. Diane brushes her hair with her free hand, smoothing it.

I lean over and give her forehead a gentle kiss. “Here, you’re always welcome. Don’t worry about how you appear.”

“Exactly, Mademoiselle,” interjects our greeter. “Your presence is glorious. It enhances our establishment.”

Diane colors again. Her smile comes back and she squeezes my arm.

“This way, please,” we’re directed and we follow the maitre d’ into the main restaurant.

Despite being nearly one in the morning the place is busy. There are fifteen tables here and ten are occupied. Mostly couples, they speak in low voices, smile at each other. The wait staff bustles about in an efficient manner without intruding on the patrons.

We’re led to a set of stairs. Up them we go, past a landing and then up some more to a door. Our guide opens it, steps out and holds it for us. Diane and I step through it.

She gasps at the sight. We’re on a small balcony at the back of the building. A stretch of the Seine flows past us, just on the other side of the road running beneath the railing. The lights of small boats drift past and they twinkle on the buildings on the far bank. My home city lives up to its nickname.

There is a small table with a damask tablecloth on it. Fine cutlery and china are set for us and two candles flicker in a holder in the centre.

Diane lets go of my arm and she walks to the rail at the edge of our dining area. No, she trips lightly. Her body speaks of the wonder filling her. She places her hands on the railing and draws a deep breath, standing very straight as she does. Releasing it, she relaxes and all the tension that had filled her leaves.

I step up behind her wrapping an arm over her shoulder and across her chest. “Do you like it, cheri?”

In answer she turns to me. Her hands take my face and she pulls it to her. My love kisses me hard and deep.

I do the same. Drawing her close we show each other how much we care.

Diane pulls back, her eyes glittering at me in the way I remember so well. “Thank you, Georges.” She turns her head to look at the view. “This is a wonderful welcome back present.”

“De rien, cheri.”

Her eyes return to mine and sharpen. I recognize that look. Her very quick mind is getting to work.

“When the man at the front desk called you ‘patron’ he wasn’t just referring to you as a customer, was he?”

“No,” I reply.

“You own this place, Georges?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re wealthier than I thought, aren’t you?”

“Very much so.”

She puzzles for a second. “Why didn’t you mention it? Were you afraid I would turn into a gold digger if I knew?”

“I didn’t mention because I don’t give a damn about my wealth. It’s handy to have but it doesn’t define me.”

Diane smiles. “That’s what I thought. You don’t care at all about what’s outside, just what’s inside.”

I smile back. “Not entirely true. I also care about what happens because of what’s inside.” That’s a deeper statement than she knows.

She laughs. “That’s right. You and Sartre are good buddies.”

We frequented the same cafes for a while. That hardly makes us ‘buddies’, is the thought that goes through my mind. But I smile at Diane. Although she doesn’t know what I am, she knows who I am. that is much more important.

A quiet cough breaks in on us. We break apart and turn to face the source of it. The small dark haired lady is the sommeliére here.

“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Belleveau, but here’s the wine you requested.”

“Merci, Marie.”

I take Diane’s hand and walk her to the table. After I pull out a chair for her, she seats herself in it and I place myself across from her.

Diane picks up her wine glass and raises it. The sommeliére steps up to pour a finger’s worth of red liquid into it. My lovely woman goes through the ritual, sniffing, then sipping. “Oh God,” she gasps.

I’m pleased. I remember wine, good wine, even after all these years. That my love appreciates it warms me.

“Perfect,” she tells the woman with the bottle.

Marie smiles. “Monsieur Belleveau knows his wine. You do as well, I can tell. We’re glad to meet you. He’s been so unhappy since he returned from America. We wondered why and felt so helpless.” She blushes then. “Excuse me, Monsieur. I shouldn’t comment. It’s not my business.”

I smile to relieve her discomfort. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you care.” That’s quite true. Caring, both giving and receiving, keeps the monster at bay.

“Thank you, Georges,” the wine steward tells me. “You’re more than the owner to the people here.” She fills Diane’s glass. “The first course will be here shortly.”

Finished her wok for the moment Marie leaves. Diane and I are alone together for the first time in far too long. I’m, once more, amazed at how content I feel in my lovely woman’s company.

“I see you’re not eating with me, again,” my lovely lady observes.

“You know I need special meals,” I tell her, “so I ate earlier.”

Her eyes take on that penetrating look. “That’s one of the things we have to discuss, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But…”

“…not tonight,” she smiles.

So instead I talk about my latest book. It will be both history and social commentary. I’m drawing on my memories of Versailles under Louis XVI and comparing it to modern power structures. How full they are of courtiers, and how the silly games that take place where courtiers abound are distracting them from their responsibilities.

Diane counters with her own observations, attacking my points. “There’s always courtiers, Georges. But we’re not as bad as Versailles.”

“Not yet, but getting there.” I expand some more.

Of course she deals with my details. As we debate a smile grows on my face. I’ve so missed her brilliant mind. She challenges me as few do. No wonder I love her.

Diane’s dinner is as good as I had hoped. Carl is an excellent chef. To him, food is to be eaten, not admired. All his ingredients come from small farms that grow or raise their food the old fashioned way. So none is tainted with chemicals. Diane often has to stop talking as she feeds herself. The sybaritic joy of her provender demands that she enjoy it, not waste time in speech.

Finally, she’s done. She pushes her dessert cup away and sighs. “Thank you, Georges. I didn’t know food could taste so good.”

“I’m pleased, cheri. You deserve only the best I can offer.”

And it might be one of the last times you get to eat food is the observation I keep inside.

“So, what now?” she asks of me.

“I take you back to your hotel. You can get a long sleep and tomorrow night I take you on a tour.”

“Always at night. We do have to discuss that, don’t we?”

“Yes. Now, let us go.”

The maitre d’ appears. The man’s timing is always impeccable. “This way, Monsieur, Mademoiselle.” He leads us back down to the entrance and bids us a good night.

“Thank you, Phillipe,” I tell him. “You and your staff always do such an excellent job.”

“Merci,” Diane goes on after me. Her Southern U.S. accent gives the word such a delightful lilt. “I’ve never had a better meal.”

Phillipe smiles, a touch of pride showing. “Merci beaucoup. I’ll let everyone know. Bon nuit. We hope you come again soon.” He closes the door and we descend to the street.

“Will you be able to get a cab at this time of night?” Diane asks.

“No need. It’s a short walk.” I take her arm in mine, turn her in the direction we need to go.

One of the last people I expected to see is three doors away, walking towards us.

Domino is the only name I know for him. He’s one of my kind. I know he is a great deal older than me, and that’s about all I know. I’ve asked around but no one can tell me anything about him. Except he makes us all nervous.

He shows up at the oddest times and seems to know everything that goes on in this city. All apparently without any of the usual sources of information and power we build. He has no bought servants, enchanted thralls, contacts in the human world or anything of that sort. Yet he knows.

He’s picked a perfect disguise, the only facade I’ve ever seen him present to the world, that of a street mime. It’s astoundingly simple, a few streaks of make up and his white skin becomes normal. The odd shape of his face seems to fit. The clothes he wears, black pants with suspenders and striped shirt, make him harmless and eccentric. The battered top hat with the flower makes him safe to be around. I’ve never seen him break character.

The sight of him causes the same reaction it always does. I smile, for he is amusing. I shiver inside for I don’t know what the disguise conceals. Not really.

Diane clutches my arm a little tighter. I hear a tiny gasp from her.

Domino continues in our direction. His right hand moves as if a walking stick is in it, his steps are a saunter. His eyes rove pretending to be watching people as he goes. He tips his hat to them. The image of a gentleman out for an afternoon walk is complete. I almost cringe, thinking I feel my skin burn under the fatal caress of the sun.

We stand still watching him. It doesn’t occur to either of us to move.

He stops two steps away and his eyes come to rest on us. His expression is startled for a moment and then he smiles. He doffs his hat and gives me a courtly bow.

“Bonsoir, Domino. Comment-allez vous?”

After replacing his hat he shrugs in that manner described as Gallic. His head rocks from side to side showing things are as they always are, good and bad.

His eyes turn to Diane. They go wide and his mouth forms a surprised ‘O’, followed by a smile. He steps forward to take her free hand and gives it a kiss. I turn to watch her. She smiles, shyly of all things, pulls her hand from his and takes my arm with it. She snuggles against me.

Domino turns his face to mine, bounces his eyebrows and gives me a crafty grin. He spreads his arms wide as if to hug us both and a moment later places both hands over his heart. His eyes look into the distance and a wistful smile forms on his painted mouth.

With a sudden movement, his face returns to us and grows serious. His right hand comes up, the index finger pointing skyward. Then it goes to his forehead, shading his eyes. His head moves back and forth, watching.

That grave moment passes. His light hearted look returns and he tips his hat to us in farewell.

“Au revoir, Domino. Nice to see you again.”

He nods, gives an impish wink to Diane and saunters on his way. He continues his ‘afternoon stroll’ until he disappears around a street corner. We watch the whole time.

“That…was strange,” remarks Diane.

“It always is when Domino is involved,” I tell her.

She turns her head to me. “I’m not surprised you know him. A friend?”

“I’m not sure what Domino is to me.”

“Did you understand what he was saying? I get the feeling he was telling us something.”

I’ve figured some of it out. “He likes you. ‘You sly dog’ was the message to me. ‘All the world loves lovers’ was next. That last mime, no, I don’t know what he meant.” I suspect I should though. In fact, A shiver of unease tells me it’s important, but there’s still no meaning for me.

We turn back the way we were headed. Our half hour walk is in silence. We just hold each other, bask in the comfort of the other’s presence.

I escort her into the Henri IV. The girl at the front desk nods acknowledgment of our presence. Diane and I walk up the stairs to the room on the second floor. I sense her grow tense. She trembles a little. Her odor changes slightly, a hint of arousal permeates the smell of soap and perfume she exudes.

As we walk down the hall we encounter the porter. He’s a swarthy man, thin, his movements quick, rodent like. He nods as well, but it’s obvious the action is just perfunctory. I don’t like him on sight.

The two of us go past him to Diane’s door. She pulls out her key, sets it in the lock and opens the portal to her room. “Would you like to come in?” she asks me. Nervousness flits across her mouth for a moment.

It fades when I reply, “Of course.” It’s two and a half hours until dawn. I have a little time to spare, and we’ve been apart for far too long.

The instant I close the door she has me wrapped in her arms. Diane kisses me with a desperate demand. “Love me, Georges,” she gasps. “I can’t wait any more.”

For a moment I start to use my power, feed emotion to her, make her want. But ritual isn’t necessary. The way she clutches at me, kisses me, shows that she has more than enough passion.

I reach up, grip one of her breasts, squeeze it gently while teasing the nipple with my thumb. My tongue runs into her mouth and I toy with her.

My love moans in my mouth. Her body trembles under my palm. She squeezes me so hard in her grasp that if I were human, she’d crack ribs.

The same emotion fills me. Only my nature keeps me from showing the physical signs of my lust for the lovely woman I’m playing with.

My hands go to the hem of her sweater. Grabbing at it, I pull it up and over her head. That so nicely shaped torso, slim and fair skinned comes into my view. Her breasts are covered in a jade silk bra. She’s so beautiful. A sweet pixie of a woman.

I move my lips over her left shoulder, working my mouth, laving my tongue. I can taste the sweet sweat seeping from her pores, the heat rising from her body.

Diane leans her head to the right exposing herself. Her hands stroke, up my flanks, down my chest, cup my manhood.

It can’t respond but I do. The feel of her teasing makes me hiss with pleasure.

Her hands reach behind her back, unhook her undergarment. She works it free of her body and her lovely breasts are exposed to me. They’re not large, but firm and nicely shaped. The aureola and already stiff nipples are a coral pink that complements her alabaster skin. “Use your mouth, Georges, please.” She takes them in her hands and offers herself to me.

I don’t turn down her request, couldn’t in a million years. Kneeling a little, my tongue sweeps over the sensitive surfaces she’s presented. I wash across their tops, down one side. When I push her hands aside, I play underneath, back up then between. My palms press them against my face, my thumbs roll her nipples.

Diane’s hands slap against my head as she pulls me tight. She pants and moans. Her pelvis bounces against my chest as she pumps it, the reflexes of love driving her. “Suck them,” she pleads, “God! I love when you suck on them.”

Again, I do as she asks. I draw in her left nipple, swirl my tongue over it.

My lover pulls at my hair, pressing herself tightly to me. Diane lets loose a warbling keen at the sensation filling her.

I take the nipple in my canines, bite gently. As always, a strong hint of the ecstasy feeding causes explodes into my beautiful woman.

A burbling hiss of pleasure gushes from her. Under my palms, her flesh goes slick as her passion is stoked to furnace levels. I can feel the fluttering shivers that seize her body.

“Georges,” Diane gasps, “finish me. I have to come. Please, I’ve waited for so long. No more. Please!”

“D’accord,” I tell her. As I release her breast, I look into her eyes. The sea green irises are swirling with lust, with desperation, and with love. That expression raises a warm smile on my face. It’s been a long time since I was loved as well.

I kneel on the floor, reach to the laces of her sneakers and undo them. At the same instant, she undoes the button on her jeans. I hold her shoes as she steps from them, draw her socks from her feet. Pulling her pants and panties down, I free her from all her clothes.

I look at her vulva with passionate joy. The pubic hair is trimmed close and a copper red rather than the auburn of her head. Her lips are engorged and glistening with her want. The soporific aroma of her arousal stuffs my nose. That odor fills me with an enormous pleasure. To be wanted so badly, with such honest need, is a rarity in my existence and I revel in it.

“Legs on my shoulders, cher,” is my instruction to her. She stands on one foot and drapes her other limb over my shoulder. I grab her firm cheeks to support her. Diane shifts her weight then lifts her other leg into place. I pull her close and bury my mouth in her aroused womanhood.

“God,” she gurgles as I do, “So good, so nice. Get me off, please.”

My tongue washes over her lips, sopping up the rich taste of her desire.

Diane hisses, grabs my hair. “Yes!” she exclaims. “That’s it. Don’t stop. Please!”

I grab one of her labia with my lips, tug at it gently.

Her thighs clamp on my head, a rush of fluid gushes from her, signaling how intense her joy is. A breathless little shriek bursts from her lungs.

My mouth moves up and the flat of my tongue covers the little nub at the top of her slit. I lap at her then swirl my tip around it.

“Shit,” my woman gasps, “so good, so good. You always, know, where to, touch me.” Her body squirms, the madness that grips her forcing her to move in random motions.

One of my hands releases the buttock it holds, runs along her perineum. Arriving at her labia I pet them, scissor them between my fingers. They become soaked with the fluids dribbling from my love.

Diane squeals at my touch, her body shakes. “Inside,” she huffs, “please.”

I stiffen two fingers and push them into her, running deep. In spite of the tight clamping of her channel I enter easily for my darling Diane is very wet. I start to pump, a languorous rhythm that makes her twitch, as if I’m pulling a string connected to all her muscles.

She grits out words as I thrust into her. “Georges. Good. So, good. Love, you. Don’t, stop.” Her hips begin to match the pace of my fingers. She clasps them very tight.

So I speed up, work a little harder. My tongue presses more firmly against her clit, pushing against it with vigor.

Diane grabs my head, pulls at my hair. “Yes!” she cries. “That’s it!” All her muscles tighten, showing how close she is.

My fingers find that so sensitive spot inside her. I push against it, rub it hard.

And Diane falls.

She draws in a breath, and lets it out with a bellow. She humps and jerks, her orgasm seizing complete control of her. Warm honey flows from her to dampen my hand. Her cry ends, a jerking moan replaces it, a sound rich with heat.

Diane relaxes, her climax pulls back. Just a little. But I continue working, teasing. My tongue reduces its pressure to a feather touch. I know she’ll be too sensitive to handle a firm contact. All this hits her still high lust. It swells up and explodes in her once more.

Again, she pulls me tight. Again, her wetness dribbles down my fingers. Again, she jerks and moans, twitches and hisses. She releases the pent up energy she’s carried so long.

My sweet love softens. But her womanhood still clutches at me, demanding my touch. The shoulders of my shirt are growing damp with the sweat my play forces from her pores.

I don’t stop. This moment is going to be very special, a moment she’ll hardly remember and never forget. My fingers pump, my tongue laves. In moments, she climaxes again. Diane keens with joy, shakes and shimmies with the delight blasting through her.

We go on, and on, and on. She never stops demanding and I never stop answering.

Abruptly, she straightens, every muscle cords to its maximum. Sweet Diane draws in a long, shaking breath that sounds as if it’s her last one.

Then she wilts, her body turns to jelly. I leave off my playing, withdraw my fingers from her. Gently, I lower her until she’s seated in my lap.

Diane just lies against me, panting hard. I look down and her eyes are blank, her jaw slack. She twitches as random little shocks race through her. I smile, bask in the warmth of her glow. I don’t know how I continued to exist without her and the joy of her happiness.

She’s a strong woman. Soon, my lover sighs, places her arms around me and hugs softly. “Georges,” she whispers, “don’t ever do that again.”

“Make love to you?” I ask, a smile on my lips.

She chuckles. “No. Leave me.” Her head leans back and she looks into my eyes. “I couldn’t stand it. I need you, Georges. I love you.”

I take her lips in mine and give her a soft kiss. “Moi aussi, cher. Je t’adore. I’ll never leave you again.”

You may leave me after our talk though. I succeed in keeping the terror this thought brings from showing on my face.

I look at the clock on the night stand next to the bed. It’s less than an hour until dawn.

“Let’s get you to bed. You need your sleep,” I tell her with a sly wink.

She smiles. “I sure do after that.” Her pleased expression fades, just a little. “I’d ask you to stay, but I know you won’t.” Her eyes glisten with tears.

“Not won’t, can’t. You’ll find out why in two nights’ time. Now to bed with you.”

I place her in the bed and kiss her goodbye. “I’ll be here at 8:30. Sleep well, cheri.”

She smiles, snuggles into the rich linen and fades.

I leave the room, making sure the door is locked and descend to the lobby. The desk clerk tries to give me a bland smile, but envy and humor shape her lips. I wink back and continue on my way.

Hustling now because the sky is lightening, I take the streets necessary for me to get to my haven. As I walk the sidewalks of my city, I’m filled with the loveliest of feelings. It’s been one of the best nights of my existence. My risk has paid off. Diane is here and we still love one another. We have one more hurdle to cross. I’m sure we’ll cross it together.

Conflict

I’m on time the next night, and Diane is waiting for me. She’s only been awake a couple of hours. What we did in the very early morning made her sleep deep, dreamless and long.

First we have dinner at a small café where we can people watch. When we’re done it’s still early enough that we can visit the Eiffel Tower. It’s a tourist trap, I know. But it has a wonderful view of the city that may soon be her new home. I lead her to each corner of the observation deck, step behind and wrap my arms around her. With my chin on her head I tell about what we see, and what was there in the past.

I remember this place before Hausmann changed it. Back then much of Paris was a teeming slum, poverty stricken and crime filled. Riots frequently broke out which the army and gendarmes found themselves hard pressed to put them down. I hardly blamed the rioters, despair makes you do strange things.

So Paris was rebuilt to house the expanding middle class. The new straight and wide avenues were perfect for cavalry charges and cannon fire so any riots would be ended quickly.

The poor ended up north of the city, refugees in their own country. It’s hardly surprising that those times they had the vote, they voted Communist.

Much of those areas are still poor, only now the poor are immigrants rather than French, and as recent events have shown the problems of despair still plague them.

Diane listens as I talk. She snuggles into me and holds my arms with love. When I’m done she kisses me, thanks me for the history lesson. Her smile shows how happy she is.

Then we proceed to street level and I take her on a walking tour. The places I pointed out are observed close up and I tell her more about each one. I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. I love this city. It’s been my home for so much of my existence. I’ll always be here, if just in spirit.

After several hours Diane’s a bit footsore. “Let’s go home, Georges,” she asks. “I need to lie down for a while.” Her lickerish smile tells me what she wants while she’s lying down.

Our route back to the hotel goes through backstreets to shorten our walk. We’re halfway down one when a man steps out of a doorway ten meters in front of us. A big man who turns in our direction and who moves with purpose. He clenches both fists.

At the same moment I hear two more men moving in behind us.

Without thought I grab Diane’s hand and shout, “Run!” I burst forward, pulling her with me. A moment before we reach the assailant in front of us, I let her go, move in front of her. His fist whistles over my head as I set my shoulder in our assailant’s midriff and straighten. He flips over me and lands on the concrete with a sound that tells me his head impacted first. Good flits across my mind and I form a wicked, satisfied smile. He won’t be following us any longer.

Diane dashes past and I fall in behind her. “Left,” I direct her. We run down another narrow street. I can hear the pounding of our pursuers. They’re drawing closer but not quickly. But if they get much closer I’ll pick my lover up and carry her. I’ll blame the speed at which we move on adrenaline. It’s not yet time for our talk.

It isn’t necessary. We go right at the next intersection. A wide and busy boulevard can be seen at the end of it. Brighter light and more people surround us when we dash there. I turn us in the direction of the Henri IV and we run some more, dodging around pedestrians.

A quick glance back tell me our assailants have not followed. There are too many witnesses for them to pursue us farther. “Stop,” I gasp. I don’t need to but hiding what I am is automatic. My love and I pull up. She’s panting hard with exertion.

As we regain our breath Diane looks at me and asks, “Is that what I think it was?”

“Yes. Someone tried to mug us.” Honest perplexity makes me frown. “That’s never happened to me in this city before.” That’s a semi-lie. It hasn’t happened in Diane’s lifetime.

Diane’s face scrunches and her eyes fill with tears. She hugs me close and weeps. Her fear leaks down her cheeks with her tears.

I hold her close, stroking her hair, whispering endearments, praising her courage. Such actions are a joy to me. It’s so rare for me to comfort some one, and that it is a person so dear adds depth to my emotions.

My auburn haired love is a strong woman and soon pulls away to give me an unsteady smile. Her body trembles still with reaction. “Should we call the police?” she asks, her voice shaking.

The unease I feel at that idea doesn’t show on my features. I’d rather not involve officialdom in my existence. “What can we tell them? I didn’t get a good look at any of them. They’re long gone. Let’s chalk it up to experience and let it pass. Now, come on. I think you could use a drink.”

I lead her to a nearby bar. It has the bourbon I know she’s fond of. She tosses it down when it arrives. That’s followed by a woofing gasp as the liquor burns her throat and her body stops trembling.

“You sure surprised me,” Diane remarks then. “You reacted so fast, and you took that guy out so easily.” She turns to me with that sharp look of inquiry is on her face. “That’s another thing we’ll be talking about, isn’t it?”

I smile at her. “Yes it is. Now let’s get you back to your hotel.”

So we continue in our way. On arrival we go straight to her room. We encounter the night porter again. He pointedly ignores us. There’s also an aura of unease about him. Perhaps he is embarrassed by our rather loud display last night.

Once inside, we just lie on the bed and cuddle. After what just happened, neither of us is in the mood. We talk lightly, telling little jokes, chatting about things that have happened in our lives. I, of course, keep my reflections to those a human would relate. It’s not tomorrow yet.

Finally, Diane falls asleep, her breath shallow and warm on my neck. I don’t move. We’re a comfort to each other and I will stay where I am as long as possible.

Dawn approaches and I must leave. She wakes as I pull myself from her grasp.

Diane’s face gains an edge of sorrow. “I wish you could stay.”

I lean over and kiss her, lovingly. “After tomorrow, things will change. Then we’ll see.”

She smiles at that, although her eyes contain a small amount of fear. She’s wise enough to know change is often a mixed blessing. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be here. I always will be.”

That may soon be more true than you know, churns through my mind.

“Bon nuit, cher,” I say instead, “Je t’aime.”

She burrows into her pillow and sleeps once more.

I tiptoe out, close the door to her room and make sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ tag is in place.

As I walk to my haven, happiness and unease swirl through in my mind. After tomorrow night everything will be different. There are so many things that can happen. I’m hopeful, but even one such as I can’t know the future.

Loss

8:30 and I knock on Diane’s door. It’s time. I’m ready. She’s ready. I’ll keep nothing from her.

But there’s no answer. I listen to find only silence. There’s no sound of a shower. I wait, but no flushing of the commode occurs. Perhaps she’s still asleep.

So I knock a little harder. This accomplishes as much as the first knock. If Diane is in her room I can’t find a sign of it. Concern and some small fear tighten my gut.

Reaching into my pants, I pull out the key I have to her room. It’s apparent from the second I enter that something is wrong. The bed is unmade while the sheets and bedspread half lie on the floor, telling me the person sleeping in it was dragged from their slumber.

A moment’s panic clutches me, followed by a sudden emergence of the monster. Who dares? is the thought that goes through my mind, as well as images of the painful things I will do to the people responsible for this.

I push both those reactions down. Panic won’t help and the monster would only make things worse. Instead I head to the front desk.

“Pardon,” I ask the woman there. “Mademoiselle Patterson? Has she gone out?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Monsieur.” She turns to look at the man behind the desk with her. It’s the porter. “Pavel,” the clerk asks, “do you know where Mademoiselle Patterson is?”

She wouldn’t notice but I do. His eyes widen slightly and the color of his face grows a shade paler. He stammers a little when he speaks. “N,no. I haven’t seen her since I came in.” There is more than a trace of a Russian accent in his voice.

Being the predator I am, his reaction brings me on point. The man’s body language practically shrieks of knowledge. He’s involved and I’m going to find out how.

His eyes come up to me and grow wide. “I’ve, I’ve got work to do,” Pavel announces and he hurriedly goes out the door leading into the service area of the hotel.

I look at the clerk and she stares back in fear. I realize then I’ve let my mask slip. She backs away from me, teeth chattering, eyes weeping.

My gaze grabs those teary irises and I seize her consciousness with my power. Immediately her expression blanks.

“Clean your face,” I direct. The young woman does as she’s told, grabbing some tissues from a box and wiping her cheeks dry. While she’s doing that I replace my facade.

“Remember this,” I go on, “I asked about my friend. You and Pavel knew nothing. I became a little angry and that’s all. You saw nothing to frighten you.”

I let her go and her professionally cheery expression returns leavened with a small amount of fear. “I’m sorry I can’t help more,” she says. There’s not a sign of her terror now.

“We probably got our signals mixed,” I answer. “I have a good idea where she is. Pardon my temper. Bon nuit.”

I hurry out of the lobby and turn left as I leave. I’ve surveyed this hotel, as I do all places I might spend time at, and there’s only one way Pavel can leave other than the front door. The porter is headed towards me when I reach the mouth of the alley that connects to the employee’s entrance.

The weasel scrambles to reverse course the second he sees me. I follow for several steps then use my strength. The leap, easily twice what a human athlete could perform, is timed to perfection. I grab his shoulder, lift him up and slam his back into the wall. Not as hard as I could, but I want his information rather than his death. For the moment.

“We need to talk,” I say to him. There’s a smell of urine as he pisses himself.

“I don’t know anything,” Pavel gasps back. He’s short of breath from fear and the impact of the wall.

One side of my face quirks in amusement. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever encountered,” I tell him. “You do know something, and you’re going to tell me. If you don’t I’m going to stuff something in your mouth and break bones until you do talk. I think you would rather avoid that if you could.”

Pavel stares at me for a long second. His lower lip trembles with terror. “It’s Grigor. He took her.”

“Grigor?”

“I knew of him in St. Petersburg. He was a pimp there.”

“A pimp?” I remark. On a hunch I describe the man I bounced off a wall two nights ago.

“That’s him. The mad eyes are what everyone knows about him. Almost everyone is frightened by him. Even in my country he stood out. Treated his girls like shit.”

Damn! I think. Why does no good deed go unpunished? And why did the Fates have to involve Diane? For a moment I have to fight with myself. Killing my only source of information won’t help me at all.

“Why is he here in Paris?” I finally ask.

“He got too big for his britches. Tried to take on a vor, a crime boss. He was lucky to live. He managed to get here and ran out of money. Started back in business to make some more. He’s been here two years now.”

“How did he get in touch with you?”

“He didn’t. Yesterday morning after work, I was talking with a friend. This guy was from back home and said Grigor was looking for someone. The description matched yours. I know that Grigor keeps an answering machine running, so clients can call for girls and people can leave information. I called it and left that I saw you last night. Mentioned the woman as well.”

So, they must have followed us from the hotel. I curse myself for stupidity. You would think that at my age I would remember to check our tails.

I continue my questioning. “Did you have any more contact with Grigor?”

He gulps, shakes. “Y, yeah. This afternoon, getting ready for work, I get a knock on the door. He’s waiting for me. He gives me a choice. Help him or he kills me very, very slowly. All I have to do is get a key for him. I don’t know what happened after that.”

His face lightens a bit, a thread of hope shows. “I’ve still got the money he gave me. Two hundred and fifty Euros. You can have it.” His hands scrabble at a pants pocket.

Rage fills me and darkness swirls through my mind. What I am almost pushes to the surface. Only the greatest will keeps it at bay. My fist wraps itself in his hair and I lift him up. “You sold my lover for two hundred and fifty Euros?”

The smell of feces joins that of urine. What a weakling this person is.

“I need to know where Grigor is.” My voice is dark. The monster flavors it with blind fury.

“I don’t know!” Pavel squeaks. Another squelching sound emerges from his trousers and the odor of excrement grows stronger. “All I know is the number I reached him at. Please, I didn’t know what he’d do!”

I don’t have time to waste. This worm has no more useful information. So I let go of his hair. Pavel’s legs almost collapse when his feet hit the ground. He shrinks against the wall, wishing it would absorb him and get him away from me.

“Merci,” I tell him, “you’ve been helpful. So I’ll be nice. You have twenty four hours.”

Pavel merely blinks at me. I haven’t gotten through his terror.

“Twenty four hours to run. After that, some time in the future, you’ll see me again, and that will be the last thing you see.”

That hits home. He falls to his knees, bends over and throws up.

“Don’t use up your day vomiting,” I tell him and walk away, back towards the mouth of the alley.

As if I’ll waste my time chasing him. A small snort of contempt passes through my nostrils. Not necessary anyway. In his mind, I’ll be a step behind him forever.

Back on the street, I pause. A wave of strong emotions shakes me. I’m closer to panic than I’ve been in decades.

I don’t have many underworld contacts. The phone machine will take time to track down and will be a dead end anyway. I don’t want to involve the police. I have no idea what to do and the thought of Diane in the hands of a mad pimp empties my chest with terror.

Domino?!

He’s standing in front of the alley across from mine. His hands gesture with force, beckoning me. I can almost hear him saying “Vite, vite! Follow me!”

So I do. He fades into the alley as I approach and I enter it as well. Once I’m in, he starts moving as only beings like us can. Up to the roofs, along them, keeping out of sight of our food. I stay several seconds behind him the whole way.

Shortly, we’re in a poorer section of the city. Not slums but close. There is almost no one about. Domino drops to the street, walks normally towards a corner and waits. When I draw up next to him he indicates a building down the intersecting boulevard. It is a small, two story house, brick with a short flight of concrete steps leading to the front door. A man lounges on the balustrade, apparently passing the time and smoking.

“She’s there?” I ask.

Domino nods an affirmative.

“I owe you, my friend.”

He shows a little frown, waves a hand, dismissing himself of any favors. Then he gives the wistful smile and the hands over heart gesture of the other night.

“I do,” I smile back.

To keep from alerting the sentry, I take an easy pace. I cross to the side of the street my goal is on and turn in its direction. With my head down I appear to be a man lost in thought. If I show no interest in him Grigor’s sentry will not become interested in me. On occasion I glance up, checking for reaction from the man on watch. He sees me but as I hoped doesn’t change his relaxed posture.

When I reach the foot of the stairs I bring my head up to focus much of the anger and fear I feel on him. His response is instantaneous. Recognition fills his features.

But instant is too slow. I leap to him and punch him in the gut, not as hard as I could, but it’s enough. His breath explodes out of him. That’s followed by grabbing his hair to bounce his head off the nearest railing. There’s that familiar hollow sound and he goes limp.

I place an ear against the door and listen. There’s no sound inside, no indication anyone’s noticed the very short fight outside.

The door’s locked when I try to work the knob. So I place my palm on the wood just by the jamb. My muscles tense slowly, raising the pressure until the wood gives way with a soft crack. Then I dart inside and close the door swiftly.

Again, nothing happens. There’s no alarm to show that my break in is noticed. The silence means I can take a second to listen some more. Voices come from the upper floor. The stairs are right next to me and I move with all my stealth up them, prepared to act without hesitation or restraint if it should be necessary. But nothing happens.

There are four doors on the second floor. Only one is closed, the one to the frontmost room. The voices emerge from behind it, louder but still unclear. With great care I make my way down the hall press my ear close and listen.

A guttural voice says something in Russian. “That’s right, sweet thing. It’s heroin.” This voice sounds very similar to the man I dealt with two nights ago.

Another man speaks, repeating the words in English. I guess Grigor doesn’t speak that language.

The mad pimp continues, his words translated once more by the second voice. “I’m going to keep you high on this for a week. By then you’ll be so hooked you’ll do anything to get your next hit. Then I’ll pimp you out and make sure that stupid Frog of yours knows it. That will teach…”

I don’t learn that well, I reply with a quiet snarl. Standing straight, I slam both palms into the door. The hinges and jamb break and it hits the floor with a thunderclap. A single step into the room and I survey the tableau there.

Diane is tied to the frame of a small bed, dressed in the clothes she wore last night. The left sleeve of her blouse is pulled up, baring her arm, and a rubber tube is tied just above the elbow.

Grigor and his henchman turn and gape at me. My sudden and loud was the last they expected.

There’s a third man in the room. He’d made no noise…and he has a pistol. Its muzzle gapes at me like a dark tunnel.

A flash of light dazzles me.

Something hammers me in the chest.

Diane screams.

And I’m falling.

Forever.

Discovery

Fortunately for a monster like me, forever doesn’t mean much. Consciousness comes back. I’m lying on the floor with the door under my legs, my body having been thrown back through the doorway.

A finger presses against the side of my throat. “On myert,” comes to me. He’s dead.

I open my eyes and let my mask fall away. These idiotic mortals have had the temerity to hurt me. It’s only fair they learn what they have angered. “Da,” I tell the man leaning over me, the one who shot me.

His eyes expand until they seem too large for his face. My would-be murderer’s mouth drops and he becomes almost as pale as I am.

I place both hands on his chest and throw him straight up. He hits the lintel of the door with the crunching of shattered ribs and a broken back. A bloom of blood appears on his mouth as air forces it from ruptured lungs. Rolling to my feet, I’m out of the way before he hits the ground. The fool lands like a sack of loose grain and begins coughing his life away.

Grigor and his crony are frozen. Although they are tough, nasty individuals, hardened by the lives they lead, their brains cannot fathom what they face. With no purchase, they have no way to react.

I leap at Grigor’s translator. The motion hurts a bit for something moves in my chest. That pain feeds the monster, acts as a goad. My left hand shoots out, fingers pointing like a spear. The tip of them smashes his larynx. He falls to his knees, clutches his throat and tries desperately to breathe.

Then I face the mad pimp, the sick thing that threatened my Diane with far worse than death. There’s a different insanity in his eyes. Terror is his madness now. He backs away as I step towards him, and back some more as I continue to approach. This soon stops as his shoulders thump against the wall with me a pace away from him.

My smile is that of a vampire as I tell him, “I’ve got something for you.” I draw in a deep breath then expel it again with a viscous noise. The object in my chest is ejected and I spit it into my hand in a glob of blood. I take Grigor’s right hand, pull it up and place a deformed lump of lead in it.

He stares at the bullet, unable to comprehend. His eyes return to my face. I show him my fangs and he finally understands. An infantile whimper passes his lips.

The next instant I’m at his throat, pulling the life from him. It’s a delightful sensation. I can taste all of him. His madness, his dread, his soul pass over my tongue and fill me with ecstasy. I revel in what I am and the power it grants me.

Soon, I let the empty vessel go. The pimp’s corpse falls in a heap. A sound comes from behind me, a gasping pule. For a moment, I smile as I consider what I can do to play with the person who makes that noise.

Then I remember who that person is and how much she means to me. The monster flees before that warm emotion like an animal running from a flame. I take a second, make sure all of what I am is hidden from sight. I become the man, not the monster. Buttoning up my jacket I hide the small, bloody spot where I’ve been injured.

When I turn to look at her I find Diane has her face away from me. Her chest heaves, her skin glistens with a clammy moisture. She pulls at her ropes very hard.

“Diane,” I say, “it’s just me.”

A chant comes quietly from her lips. “No, no, no, no…”

I do something I rarely do. My power reaches out, takes hold of her emotions, and stills them. Calm is fed to her rather than the usual passion. Her breathing slows and her head turns towards me.

For an instant there’s a grateful smile, her eyes are warm. Memory returns and that expression vanishes. Her face becomes wary and fearful while her mouth thins in an uncertain line.

“It’s just me,” I repeat. “Now come on. We’ve got to leave.” She nods, saying nothing.

I pull off the tube wrapped around her arm and button the sleeve closed. My actions are smooth for sudden moves are sure to restart her panic. Turning to her feet, keeping my left hand hidden, I extend a single claw and slice through her ropes. Her arms are free in another moment.

The instant she’s loose my love wraps me in her embrace, holds me tight, shaking. I withdraw my claw and return the gesture. I smile, hoping her reaction shows this isn’t the end for us.

Abruptly Diane goes stiff and lets me go. I release her and stand. Her face is again confused and fearful.

“We’ve got to go,” I tell her. “We can’t be found here.”

She nods and tries to stand. Her legs won’t hold her up though. I catch her and pick her up. She clings again, stiffens, relaxes. The battle inside must be fierce.

“Don’t look down,” I tell her as I step over the body in the doorway. It makes a tiny rattle telling us the last of life has fled from it. I avoid stepping in the small pool of blood that’s formed. No need to leave much evidence of my presence.

It’s a quick trip down the stairs. As we go I heal the damage the bullet has done. “Can you walk?” I ask at the bottom as I let go of her legs.

They’re shaky, but leaning against me, Daine can stand. I open the door, guide us out and close it again. Sirens are sounding, coming this direction.

Domino’s waiting at the foot of the steps. The man I left here is gone. The vampiric mime licks his lips, swiping a small red spot away. He gestures, showing me which way to go. That’s followed by pointing at the building behind me and slapping his chest.

“D’accord,” I tell him. “Merci beaucoup.”

I walk Diane in the direction he indicated. She staggers frequently. That’s good. We’ll look like a man escorting his inebriated girlfriend home. No one seeing us will connect us to the carnage we’ve left behind.

As we reach the corner I look back. Domino stands on the opposite side of the street from the house Diane was in. His hands move through a short series of complex movements and he points emphatically at the window of the room where the bodies I’ve made lie. That window shatters as a gout of flame erupts outwards and glass tinkles to the sidewalk. He repeats his action and the first floor starts to burn.

A sudden gust of fear sweeps through me making my eyes widen in shock. This display of Domino’s real power is terrifying. My imagination couldn’t encompass what he is really capable of. I hurry myself and Diane away from him, hoping he’ll not notice us.

Five minutes walk brings us to a busy street and I flag down a cab. Diane moves to the far corner when I place her in it. She looks out the window through most of the trip. Occasionally, she glances at me, smiles for an instant. Then her features blank and she turns away again.

I keep to my side of the cab, knowing I can’t help in this battle. The feeling I hate the most, being helpless, makes me grit my teeth and dig my fingers into my thighs. I watch my love though in the hope that she’ll make a decision soon.

We stop in front of her hotel and exit the cab. As it pulls away we face each other. She’s no longer pale and shaking but her face is sad and confused.

“So now you know,” I say to her.

“Now I know,” she echoes.

“It’s a lot to take, isn’t it?”

Diane nods.

“And I can’t help, can I?” I continue.

She shakes a negative.

“I’ll wait until I can,” I tell her. “I’ll be at Le Fin until you either come or you go.”

“All right,” she assents.

“Bon nuit.”

“Good night, Georges.”

I turn and walk away, not looking back. Like Orpheus, I fear if I turn around I’ll lose her forever.

Exploration

It’s been four nights now. I’ve waited. She hasn’t come to me.

Nor has she left yet. My nightly conversation with the desk clerk on the phone is always the same.

“Bonsoir,” I say, “is Mademoiselle Patterson still staying there?”

“Oui, Monsieur. Shall I ring her room?”

“Non, merci.” And I hang up.

So I have some hope. Not a lot but some.

Foolish perhaps, but I have my back to the street. For once, I don’t want to observe humanity as it goes about its nightly business. When I see people happy makes me sad as I fear my happiness won’t come to pass, and seeing them sad reminds of how melancholy I feel.

Thus it’s a surprise when I hear, “Bonsoir, mon chérie. Comment-allez vous?” in that lovely drawl.

Two and a half centuries of control go by the wayside. I stand and face her, unable to keep a broad smile off my face. Hers has the same expression.

But she dodges when I reach for her. The smile retreats but doesn’t vanish. Diane seats herself at my table. I return to my chair. We stare at each other for long moments.

“We do have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” Diane finally observes.

“We do, but I must show you some things first.” I rise again and extend my hand.

She stands as well, and takes my proffered palm. There’s a small tremble as we touch.

I find I can’t guess at the emotions causing it. Strange, to be out of my depth after so many years.

“It’s time to show you some of my existence,” I tell her. “You’ll understand later, after we talk.”

Diane’s hand never stops shaking as we walk to the curb.

I hail a cab and the two of us enter it. The driver turns to look at me when I inform him of our destination. “At this time of night?” he asks.

“Yes. Don’t worry. We’ll be quite safe.”

He shrugs and starts driving.

The trip is three quarters of an hour. We end up in an area mostly commercial at the edge of the city, and not high end commercial either. It’s dark and less than clean. Many warehouses fill this area and our destination is one of them. The driver stops in front of it and I pass the fare as well as a good tip to him. “Wait,” I tell him, “we’ll be about thirty minutes. Then you can take us back.”  He agrees. The set of his shoulders shows he’s uncomfortable with it though.

I escort Diane to the personnel entrance of the warehouse. The building seems old and dilapidated. But only if you don’t look closely.

The windows aren’t standard glass. Instead they’re a nearly unbreakable plastic. What appears to be dirt is actually paint, spread to camouflage the strength of them. The frames are the most modern steel. They can’t be seen but laser, contact and integrity sensors are set to alert a security force if attempts are made to breach the building.

The door we come to also seems less than it is. The card reader next to it looks barely functional. I pull out my wallet, draw a rectangle of plastic from it and run it through the device. The door opens in a puff and cool air wafts from the interior of the building.

I escort Diane inside, close the door and turn on the lights. She gasps at what is revealed.

It’s very clean inside and well lit, the very opposite of the exterior. The storage area is divided up with many Plexiglas cubes of varying sizes. These areas are sealed and the doors have keypad locks.

Diane walks over to the nearest. It contains many canvases, stacked carefully. She leans close to examine the only one that can be seen. “Is that a Guagin?” she asks.

“Yes. One of his earlier works. I have several. There’s also some Van Goghs, a few Lautrecs and some Picassos as well. In addition there are some by people no one’s ever heard of outside of the art world. But things can change.”

I indicate another cubicle. “More modern works there. Pollock and that sort of thing.

“Come,” I ask her, extending my hand. “There’s more to see.” She takes it and I lead her on another tour.

“Comic books?” she asks with a giggle when I point out the storage compartment for those.

“You’d be surprised how much those appreciate over time. Like the baseball cards over there,” I tell her, pointing at the boxes that contain them.

She giggles again. Her smile fades and she looks at me, confusion showing in her eyes and doubt shaping her mouth.

I show her all the art I’ve collected; vinyl records, first editions of books, rare editions of which some are older than I, even some films.

“This is how you make yourself rich,” she notes as we come to the entrance again.

“Yes. I’m taking advantage of my immortality.”

“Why not stocks, or something similar?”

“Too short term and too volatile. I don’t understand much about business. I do have some brokers running mutual funds and that for me, but my real wealth comes from here. I find some noveau riché who wants to display their wealth, or some wealthy collector who has to have something, or a corporation that wants the prestige of a particular artist hanging in their boardroom and I supply it to them.”

“You don’t sound like you think much of the people you sell to,” Diane remarks.

“Not especially. Wealth and glory are such fleeting, unimportant things. Love is rare, special and much more satisfying.” I squeeze her hand and smile.

She smiles back, and this time it doesn’t fade. My soul lifts. I haven’t driven her away.

Yet.

We return to the cab and I direct him to an intersection closer to the heart of the city. It isn’t our next destination although it’s close enough to walk. There’s something I want to pick up first as I always do when I visit that spot.

He lets us off and I pay him, tipping nicely once again. It’s a habit I can’t break. My father taught me to reward people well. They do better work when compensated properly, and having their good work acknowledged makes them happy.

There’s a young lady selling flowers at the corner. She’s here most every night. The raven haired woman has a son, her husband disappeared from their lives and she has few skills. So she sits here, offering beauty for those who can buy. She’s a pretty woman and could make more money selling that beauty. The flower vendor’s wise enough to know that’s too hard a life and not something she wants her son to see.

I buy a white rose and a red rose from her, paying as if I’d bought a dozen of each. She doesn’t protest as it’s not the first time and knows I won’t pay less. The young lady gives me a grateful smile. I return it to her. Kindness keeps the monster chained.

The white rose I give to Diane. It’s a symbol of the hope for our future. She colors, gives me her sweet smile, sniffs it. I’ve never seen her more beautiful.

Then I take her hand once more to lead her to our next destination. Soon we’re standing in front of a small church. It’s an old one, built before The Terror. The grounds were once larger but The Church sold parcels of it off long ago. So the four and five story office buildings surrounding it press close. I lead Diane into the shadow of one of these buildings.

There’s some light that drifts in from the street. Diane’s fair skin and her rose shine in it. I check around for people that might observe my next actions. I find none.

The roof is a little farther than I can jump. But I’ve made this trip before. I let go of Diane’s hand and tell her, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

I jump to the gargoyle about halfway up, pause a second, and leap the rest of the way. A gasp sounds from below. I clamber to the top of the roof and crouch. Moving to the cross at the front of the church I place the red rose on it.

“I’m sorry, cher,” I whisper. “It’s been a while. But I haven’t forgotten. I never will.

“I’ve found someone. I’m going to make the same offer I did to you. I don’t believe I’ve misjudged her, she’ll be strong enough. I hope so. I couldn’t go through that again.

“Au revoir.”

I fade back, slide to the edge of the roof. After I check to make sure I don’t land on Diane, I let myself fall. I can’t jump this far but I can drop. When I alight there is hardly a sound.

Diane starts at my arrival and turns to face me. There’s something in her features, a trace of wonder about her eyes, fear in her lips. Somehow, I don’t think it has to do with me.

“What is it?” I ask with concern in my words.

“I sensed someone standing over there,” she replies, pointing further into the darkness. “I looked and there was a woman. I could see her clearly. She was almost as tall as you, blonde hair, grey eyes, rather buxom. She wore a long blue dress. She smiled at me but looked envious and sad. I heard her speak but her lips didn’t move. ‘Be good to him. Be strong for him. I wasn’t and I’m sorry for that.’

“Then she disappeared. Just…vanished.”

Diane tries to smile, “I should be used to strange things happening when you’re around but that was a bit much.” There’s a quiver in her voice, telling me how unsettled she is.

I’m staring at the spot she indicated. Stepping past Diane I whisper, “Jocelin?” It doesn’t seem possible. But then I don’t seem possible.

A hand falls on my shoulder, squeezes gently. “Did you know her, Georges?” Diane asks.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I’ve been coming here for over one hundred and fifty years. I wonder why she chose now to appear.

“Come.” I turn and lead her back to the street. “I’ve a place we can go to talk.”

Exposition

Our place to talk is a small apartment I maintain. It’s not my haven, far too exposed for that, but it serves a purpose. Here I can interact with humans. I have the occasional soirée here. Comfortable and intimate, I can’t think of a better place for Diane and I to speak. We’ve hours available to us as it’s not even midnight yet.

I’ve made sure the liquor cabinet has the bourbon she prefers. I draw her a finger of it. We sit on the couch and look at each other for a long moment. Her face is set, she knows what I have to say will require great fortitude on her part to understand. I find I’m still reluctant to speak. So much to say and I’m so uncertain, still, how she’ll take it.

It turns out I’m wrong about Diane’s motivations.

“Before you start,” she says, the words bursting out, “I want to say I’m sorry. For that last time I saw you, when I was so cruel. I don’t blame you for leaving after that.” Her face grows puzzled and her eyes tear. “I didn’t know why I acted that way. I still don’t. It’s frightening not knowing.”

“You have no need for forgiveness. I didn’t leave because of what you did, and I know exactly why you acted that way.”

She gapes at me. This wasn’t at all what she expected.

“Do you remember that student we encountered,” I ask her, “the one who we met at that faculty function?”

Diane nods and distaste twists her mouth. “Yeah. I remember her. Ms. Richardson you called her. A nasty piece of work she was.” Then her face scrunches and tears flow down her cheeks. “Why would I betray you with her?”

My response is instinctual. I slide over and wrap my arms around her. Diane clings to me tightly, her chest heaving with sobs.

It  takes some time before my lovely lady ceases weeping. I pull away and she tosses down the rest of her drink.

After I replenish it I restart our conversation. “Well, as it turned out, Ms. Richardson was far more than she appeared to be.”

Diane meets that statement with a blank stare. “I don’t understand.”

“She was a mage. Mandy had been hurt very badly. In her rage, she’d found a book. It allowed her to summon and control things from beyond our world. She used them to change people, alter their minds, make them into slaves.”

The blood draws away from her skin. She goes from fair to pale in an instant. “That dream! God, I was frightened. And I was, different, after that.”

“The occult arts work best when the victim isn’t aware, so changing you when you were asleep makes sense.”

“But why?!” Diane’s face has its color back and a ruddiness of anger fills it. Her eyes and mouth show she still doesn’t understand.

“Ms. Richardson and I ended up in conflict. I was marking her papers fairly. She had enslaved the Dean of the university almost as soon as she started attending the school. So she’d gotten out of the habit of working.

“Because of this she was very unhappy with me. She got the Dean to try and force me to change her marks. I wouldn’t. Then she found out about you, and she used you to get to me.”

“That bitch!” snarls Diane. Tears start to flow once more. “She raped me.” These words are a stammering gulp. “Worse than that.” Her voice vanishes under soft, angry, bitter sobs.

Again, without thought, I slide over and wrap her in my arms. She clings, her tears soaking my shirt. I can’t blame her for her reaction. I understand the horror of being made into an unwilling, unknowing plaything.

It’s a half hour before she pulls away. I pull tissues from a box on the coffee table and give them to her. She wipes her face and blows her nose. Her eyes are bloodshot but the set of her mouth shows the crisis is behind her.

“What happened to her?” Diane asks then.

“We fought, she almost won. She was a very clever young lady. At the very end, she called up a very powerful creature, set it on me. I was as helpless as a child before it.”

Diane blanches at that. She has an idea of how powerful I am. Something even more so is hard to imagine.

“I broke the barrier that protected her from it. The demon turned on her. What it did was so hideous even I couldn’t stay to watch.”

“Good,” Diane remarks, her jaw clenches in fury. “I hoped she suffered.”

“Please don’t say that,” I ask. “She was foolish and evil, but no one deserves to suffer like that.”

Diane gulps and turns her face from mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. To wish her pain doesn’t make me much different from her.”

I take her hand. “Understandable. You’re human after all.” I smile in both reassurance and humor.

She faces me again to smile back. “Thank you.”

That familiar expression of inquiry forms on her face. It’s probably my favorite look. It suits her so. “So why did you leave,” she asks then, “if not because of what I’d done?”

“To protect you, from me.”

“What?!” she gasps.

“My existence is like that. What I am seems to draw odd circumstances to me. I often end up in conflict with others, supernatural and otherwise. As events this week have shown.”

Diane nods, discovery shaping her features.

“I didn’t want that to happen again,” I continue. “I couldn’t bear to see what Mandy had done to you. But the only way I could think of to keep that from happening again was to be away from you.”

“I wish you’d trusted me,” she notes. “I can take care of myself. If I know what I’m facing.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

She nods again. Diane’s quiet for a few moments. That expression that shows her mind is working shapes her face and she stares at her knees. Finally she looks up. “So, what changed your mind? Why did you contact me and ask me to come here?”

“Because I love you, cher. As Marie noted, I haven’t been happy since I left.”

The next moment she’s leapt into my lap and is kissing me ravenously. I answer in kind. The most wondrous joy fills me. Diane is still mine.

We break the kiss and snuggle. My love sighs happily. Remaining that way for several minutes we bask in our warm emotions.

“So you think you can protect me now?”

“I’m going to ask you to change things so you can protect yourself.”

She sits up, straddles my hips and looks into my eyes. Her face is uneasy, she has some inkling of what I’m about to ask. “What do you mean?” Her hands take my shoulders, grips them for support.

I take a deep breath. Not necessary but I find it calms me. “Join me, Diane, please. Become like me. You’ll be able to protect yourself then. We’ll be together forever. Time won’t separate us.”

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, hard, and she gasps. My beautiful lady takes herself from my lap. She sits down on the couch, grabs her drink with a tremoring hand and throws it back. Then she ruminates quietly for long moments.

Turning to me once more she asks, “Will things be the same?”

“Yes and no. We’ll still love, but we’ll be both empowered and bound by what we are.”

“What sort of powers?” she inquires.

“Physical strength. I’m strong enough I can throw a small automobile about its own length. At first you won’t be quite that strong, but you’ll become stronger as time goes on. Like humans, we grow into our powers.”

She looks away again, nods, both unnerved and interested.

“Your senses will be sharper. Night won’t be a hindrance to you. Your vision then will be almost as good as a human’s during the day. Your hearing and sense of smell will be sharper as well. As all predators are.”

She jerks a little at my first mention of what she’ll be.

“You’ll be fast, and one power you’ll gain is the ability to move much, much faster. But that power is like an afterburner on a jet, it burns blood very quickly. Too much and you’ll starve yourself in seconds.”

Diane gulps as I say what her sustenance will be.

“You’ll gain more subtle abilities as well. At first, you’ll have a very strong presence. You’ll be able to focus that and affect people’s emotions. You can raise their fear and passion. Lower them as well.

“Eventually you’ll be able to affect their minds, make them forget things or remember what you want them to remember. You can give simple orders that they will carry out.”

Her face snaps to mine. There’s a scowl there, and one eyebrow is raised in a question.

“Rarely,” I answer. “It wasn’t necessary. Also, I couldn’t bear to do such things to you.”

Diane deliberates for a moment. She gives me a weak but understanding smile. “Don’t do it again,” she warns.

“I shan’t.”

“What sort of boundaries will I have?”

“You’ll only live at night. You’ll never see the sun again. If you do, you’ll die, painfully. You’ll burn to ash in moments.”

Diane swallows at that revelation. Giving up the day, finding that sunlight is now a death sentence, is hard to fathom.

“Your body will be dead,” I go on. You won’t breath nor will your heart beat. You won’t urinate, defecate or sweat. You won’t laugh and you’ll never cry again.”

Perplexity shapes her eyes and mouth. “I’ve heard you laugh. You smile. I’ve seen you sad as well.”

“You’ve heard me chuckle. I can’t laugh. I believe it to be tied to being, well, dead to all intents and purposes. I can show emotion but the more automatic body functions don’t happen. So a belly laugh or a cleansing weeping are beyond me. As they will be for you.”

Diane’s face turns away again. She looks pensive as she tries to understand what I’ve told her so far. A wry smile fills her features after a moment. “I guess that means I won’t get my period any more. That almost seems a fair trade.” But the tremor in her voice lets me know she has some idea of the price she’ll pay, what she’ll lose.

I continue my explanations. “Your only food will be blood. You don’t have to kill but you will have to feed. If you don’t, what you are will get out of control.

“And what you will be is a monster. You’ll want blood, all the time. You’ll like the power you have and you’ll like using it. You’ll like the fear you create in others.”

Diane closes her eyes and sits still for a while. I’ll say nothing more until she responds.

Finally she opens them again. “You’re a very bad salesman, Georges.” This is said with that wry smile.

“I’m not selling, I’m explaining.

“But one thing I will explain is that things won’t be that different. Humans have dark drives as well. Many fall to them, revel in them. However we and they have the same free will. We don’t have to act as the monsters in us dictate.” I emphasize the ‘have’. “We can be restrained, careful, even good. It is our choice. It’s always our choice.”

“That’s better,” Diane tells me, “Make the mark feel empowered. That it’s their decision.” The smile on her lips shows she doesn’t mean this quite as cynically as it sounds.

“Have you done this before, Georges? Asked someone to become like you?”

“Once. A century and a half ago.”

“What happened?”

“A month after I changed her, she climbed to the roof of a church and waited for the sun to come up.”

My love pales. “Was that her I saw?”

“It sounded like it could be.”

“Why, why did she do that?”

“She didn’t think she was strong enough, and she didn’t want the monster to become all of her. I still mourn for her. I still wish I’d not asked her. Only God knows what I took from her besides her life.”

“I need another drink, please” she tells me. I get it and she sips at it. My love sits quietly and thinks for a long while.

“Do you have anything else to tell me?” she asks then.

“Only this. We’ll still love one another, Diane. That will be enough to carry us both through an eternity of nights.”

She smiles. I open my arms and she falls into them. We cuddle feeling those quiet, warm emotions lovers feel.

“So, cher,” I say to her, “what will it be?”

Death

He came to her at her hotel, helped her check out. They left her luggage at the front desk, saying they’d be back for it shortly. Then he took her by the hand and lead her into the Paris night. She never let go during the half hour walk. There was a fear in her, a fear that if she let go she would lose him again. Like Eurydice, she would be pulled back into an empty, bleak world if they were separated.

They stopped in front of a row house. There was nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the domiciles on the street. With a smile he opened the front door and with a bow told her, “Welcome to our haven, cher.”

Diane smiled as she entered, then she stopped. It was obvious at once to her that the house wasn’t lived in. It was clean, and neat, but there was no vibration of life in it. She turned to him with a quizzical look on her face.

Her lover chuckled. “That’s my lovely, intelligent lady. This is not where we’ll sleep. Come.”

Their destination was the basement. It was well furnished as a reading room. The parquet floor was beautiful, and the selection of books amazed her. This room, it seemed to her, was a place her sweetheart used often.

Diane’s vampiric lover reached for a particular book and pulled it out from the rest, just a little. In response a part of the floor at one corner of the room rose up like a lid on a jar. When he drew her to it she found a round hole in the cement and the top of a set of circular stairs. Only the top two steps were visible.

Diane paused for a moment, knowing this was the last point at which she could change her mind. If she entered the dark hole in the ground all she knew would leave behind.

She straightened her back then. Georges would come with her. Her lover was the entry to a new world, not the exit from her old one. They’d be together forever, and Diane knew she wanted that more than anything. All other losses would be paltry to losing him.

So she descended into the dark. That murk didn’t last long. When the door closed above them lights came on to illuminate their destination.

Diane goggled at what was revealed when she reached the bottom step. It was a large area, done up as a bedroom. An old canopy bed in oak dominated the far end of the room. All walls were done in stucco and dark wood. Hooded lights shone on them filling the room with a warm light. There were two comfortable chairs in one corner, full bookcases behind each one. A fridge purred quietly in another corner. Next to it was a shower with a glass door. The room was her lover's, she could see that. It was comfortable but not ostentatious, a place where a man of refinement and restraint would sleep.

“Our haven, cher. Welcome.”

She turned and smiled. “I’m glad to be here, love.” But her voice quivered.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Diane nodded, only the slightest hesitancy in the gesture.

He reached out, took her chin in his hand. Leaning forward, he kissed her. Just a soft touch, reassuring her she was in no danger.

Diane sighed, closed her eyes. She swallowed as he pulled back. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking into his. They were warm, loving. There wasn’t the slightest hint of what he was. Only a man, who loved her, stood there.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her once more, with passion. She hugged him tight and answered him with equal ardor.

His hand caressed her breast with tender passion. Diane moaned at that touch. Her nipple hardened under the silk of her bra as he brushed his thumb across it. Her hips jerked, pressing herself to him. Diane’s womanhood began to grow wet.

Her lover grabbed the hem of the wool sweater encasing her upper body, jerked it up and over her arms. Her undergarment quickly followed. His mouth left her lips, suckled at one of the breasts revealed. Diane grabbed his head, pulled him close, demanding he love her.

He played there for long minutes, swiping his tongue over her sensitive skin, rolling her nipples in his lips, biting gently at them. Diane’s passion rose, and rose, and rose. Her body twitched, shimmied at his teasing. Her vaginal lips engorged and her panties grew wet with her fluids. She kicked off her shoes as he was unbuttoning her jeans. He pulled her lower garments down and she stepped from them. She was naked now, ready now.

He stood and disrobed. Diane waited with heated expectancy. The sight of his body raised her warmth with the knowledge he would soon be pressed against her.

Taking her hand once more he led her to the bed, knelt on it. He placed her in his lap, hip to hip, chest to chest, intimately. His hands and mouth roved again. Diane did the same. She loved the feel of him, the soft of him, the hard of him. All these sensations made her groan, made her sweat. Her hips started to pump driven by ancient behavior. She sank into the bliss of her love.

His right hand moved over her stomach. Downwards and his fingers stroked her clit. Diane hissed, jerked into it. The feeling was so gorgeous. She could feel the precursors of climax shake her.

Fingers now playing over her lips, he soaked them in her lubrication. Her undead lover turned his palm towards her. The tips spread her open and thrust inside, filling her wanting emptiness.

Diane keened a sweet noise and her hips started jerking. “Yes, chérie,” she panted, “yes. How you fill me. How you love me. Please, please.”

He pumped harder. Her lust flared and slackened at the same beat, each pulse a little more ecstatic than the last. Diane clamped tight on his fingers, dug her nails into him. She exploded with a “Now!”

She thrashed, hissed, twitched, moaned. Her orgasm smashed into her awareness, burying it under sheer carnal pleasure. She was wandering in a hot mist of bliss.

Vaguely, she became aware of his mouth at her throat. The next instant his teeth penetrated and her delight overwhelmed her. Diane floated away, her only perception was joy.

A joy that shrank. Its borders pulled in, darkness replacing it. Diane didn’t care, wrapped in ecstasy as she was. She just watched, felt the blackness compress her. Smaller, smaller, and she was gone.

Undeath

Her awareness came back in a blood red haze. Her mouth held a taste of liquid. She knew what it was, knew that she needed it. Her whole body, her whole existence, was desperately hungry for it.

Diane’s eyes snapped open and she sat up from the prone position she was in. She was on the floor, lying on a large plastic sheet. Snarling, she looked for something to feed on.

She felt as much as saw an object flying towards her. When Diane snatched it out of the air she found it was a soft, clear container, and she knew instantly what the red fluid in it was.

Without hesitation she ripped the neck off, tilted her head back and poured the contents into her mouth. Diane was too famished to be fastidious and much of the liquid sluiced down her bone white skin. The taste wasn’t quite right, stale almost, but Diane gulped it down. She needed this.

She was finished in seconds, began wiping her body clean with her hands, licked away the scarlet coating her fingers.

There came that sense of something in the air and another container landed in her hands. Again she ripped the top loose and drank the contents down. She was more careful this time. The edge was off her hunger and she wasted less.

Another container came. Diane sank her fangs in it, sucked out delicious redness it held. The taste was still not quite right, but she reveled in it as she had once enjoyed the finest chocolate.

There was another bag, and another. Yet more after that. She drained them all.

In a precipitous instant, that howling hunger vanished and her reason returned. Diane stared at her blood stained hands, became aware of what she was sitting in. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. There was no vocalization for what she felt.

She was in his arms then. “There, cher, there. The first is the worst. Yours wasn’t so bad. When I was made, there was no way to store blood. So my maker had people ready. I fed on two of them to their deaths.”

Diane held hard to him, the anchor she needed. Without him she would be lost, lost to what she had become.

He stood and produced a towel. Pulling her to her feet he ran it over her mopping up the mess of her first meal.

“Shower, love,” he told her while leading her towards it. “You’ll feel much better after you’re clean.”

After starting the water running, warm, he placed both of them in the cubicle. His hands gently soaped her, caressed her. Diane’s fear receded at that. She discovered she had other pleasures, simpler pleasures, happy pleasures. Free of the effluvia left by what she now was, she felt free of its drives. It seemed she hadn’t lost much after all.

They dried each other with fluffy towels, exchanging soft kisses the while. When done they embraced again, happy with this intimate moment. Diane felt an extra happiness knowing this was just the first of an eternity of nights.

“Georges?” she asked then. “I feel something. Something odd. I feel like I’m fading.” What she was experiencing was disturbingly similar to the moments before she changed.

“Dawn’s coming, love. We must sleep.”

He led her to the bed. They lay down, her back spooned up into his chest. He stroked her, comforted her.

Diane smiled, closed her eyes. Almost none of her earlier confusion and terror was felt. She simply felt like a woman who was loved.

The instant the sun came up, she slept.

Beginning

Diane Patterson came awake. The sun was down and she was free. Free to hunt, free to feed. Free to terrorize and free to kill. She was overjoyed at the prospect of it.

Her eyes twitched open. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who she was. Diane looked frantically around, searching for clues, anchors to draw her from the strange place she found herself.

The pair of arms held loosely around her torso pulled her tight to the body pressed against her back. “Shh, mon amour,” came a voice. “You’re here. The first waking is always confusing.”

Diane felt herself fill with loving warmth. She knew where she was now. With the man she loved.

Not a man! came the thought then. Then all the memories from the previous night rushed back. “God,” she moaned, “what have I done?” A dreadful bewilderment colored her voice.

He rolled her to face him. For the third time she saw him without his mask. His face was that beautiful, inhuman monster she had first glimpsed almost two years ago.

To her surprise he didn’t frighten her. Instead she became aware that she looked the same way. She could feel the different shape of her features, the fangs in her mouth. That frightened her. She struggled in his grip, meaning to run, hide from herself.

He held her tight. “No, my love, watch.”

Wide eyed, she did.

The next instant, the man she remembered was there, his blue eyes loving and warm. Diane’s terror calmed as her love rose to meet his.

“You try,” he directed. “Recall what you looked like when human. Push that memory to your face.”

She did so, and she knew at once her own features had changed. No one who had known her before would be able to tell what she now was.

It was then Diane noted the lack of color in her lover’s skin, bone white. She glanced at her arm to find she was the same shade. No human was colored so. She looked at him with concern painted across her face.

Then his skin flushed, changed hue until he was merely pale.

“Feel your power, Diane,” he told her, “the blood in your stomach. Concentrate, take a small piece of it, spread it around your body.”

Diane did as he asked, and it was how he described. She took it, moved it. When she held up her arm she saw that her attempt at camouflage had worked.

“See, cher?” He smiled. “You have choices. You need not be a monster. You’re free to do as you want, not as it wishes.

“And the most important thing hasn’t changed. I still love you.”

Joy burst in Diane’s soul at that. That was a true statement, she could see it, and she still loved him. Without thought, her head darted forward and she kissed him, to show him how she felt. He answered with equal fervor.

It was then Diane noticed something odd. She could feel where his hands touched, feel the emotions he raised, but her body didn’t reflect this. Neither her nipples nor her clit became engorged. Her skin didn’t slick with sweat to respond to the heat that filled her. Her vagina didn’t release the lubricants needed to aid penetration. In fact, she didn’t feel the need to be penetrated at all.

Now the discovery struck her. She was dead. Her body couldn’t respond. She had passed beyond it.

She broke their kiss with a frightened gasp. Diane looked into her lover’s eyes and knew her face held the shock she felt.

“Shh, cher,” he responded. “It doesn’t matter. You still exist, still feel, still love. People such as us have a different consummation. Let me show you.”

He sat up, cross legged. Lifting her up, he set her in his lap, her legs gripping his hips. He played again. Mouth working, lips nibbling, hands fondling, he played again at her sensitive spots. He cupped one of her ass cheeks to pull her close, rubbed her cleft against the skin of his stomach.

Diane felt it. He was right. Her body didn’t matter, its state didn’t matter. She still had all the emotions of the living and that was the significant fact. Kissing him hard once more, she returned his gestures, worked to make him feel as good as she did.

He pulled away. His hand wrapped around her left wrist and he bought it to his mouth. At the same time he raised his arm to her.

Diane knew what to do, what he offered. Without thought she grabbed his limb, extended her fangs and sank them into his flesh. At the same instant, he started to feed from her.

An ecstasy as great as any she had known exploded in Diane. The blood she drank was full, full of the man she loved. She could taste his intellect, his learning, his courage, his restraint, his warm emotions, his love for her. Laced through it was his darkness, his hunger, his rage, his cold malevolence, his tenebrous joy. It was delicious beyond anything Diane had ever imagined. She wanted to drink until there was nothing left.

A voice drifted through her carnal haze. It spoke a name. She cared not at all. The word made no sense to her, was of no interest.

The voice spoke more forcefully, demanding her attention. She knew it was her name that was called. Her awareness returned to answer that call. What the voice said now made sense. “Diane, you’ll destroy me. And yourself.”

Her will took hold of her hunger and slammed it into the recesses of her mind. The thirst snarled there, and waited for the next time it came out. Diane knew it would come back. She’d never be free of it.

With another effort of will, Diane pulled her head away from his wrist and leaned back. His eyes caught hers and she saw he was proud of her. She smiled, knowing how much he thought of her, believed in her.

“You see, my love?” he said. “You’ll always have a choice. You’ll always be strong enough for that.”

They embraced again. Diane snuggled into him. Her mind was a swirl of emotions and she held tight to her anchor, her maker, her lover. She felt her love for him and his for her. She felt the expectancy of a new and very different world waiting for her. Finally she felt the being she had become in all its malignant delights and baneful wants. All this filled her with such a bitter joy she wanted to cry.

But she knew she’d never cry again.

Table of Contents

Setting Out

As they’ve all been for the last ten months, it’s been a good night.

Diane and I rise with the setting of the sun. We bathe together, a ritual that binds us, reminds us of what we feel. After that we dress, chatting. We rarely run out of things to talk about. When we do the silence is warm and full, not empty, begging to be filled with words. Her French is now as good as my English. We’re at the point where we change languages in mid-paragraph. It gives our conversations a delightful shading and rhythm.

Then we go to the large loft we’ve rented. We’ve set it up as a training ground. Diane needs to become accustomed to the physical abilities of our kind. As with humans, the more an ability is used the more potent it is.

Diane can now lift more dead weight than any human save the most dedicated weightlifters and she could knock three seconds off the world record in the 100 meter dash, assuming they held it at night. I’ve also devised exercises for balance and agility. Both those traits of hers are now impressive, even for people such as us.

Other tests are designed to use these traits at less than their maximum. If they are used to the full in public it can be very dangerous to us. The first few times she used the heavy bag she punched a hole in it. It’s been months since we’ve had to replace it. Her control is now fine tuned.

She still hasn’t manifested some of the more outré physical powers. She can’t form claws, create a veil of shadows or sink into the earth yet. I don’t know when they’ll appear, but they’re handy skills, not necessary ones. Her empathic abilities are coming along well, but she can’t yet directly affect a person’s mind.

Diane can use the power that lets her move at a speed far beyond any living thing. It takes a great deal of concentration, and blood. I make sure to have some available when I test her, to make sure the monster doesn’t take control through hunger. Still, my accomplished lady can press the timing buttons I’ve set up in each corner of the loft in under three seconds.

I’ve also been training her in hand-to-hand combat. I’m hardly an expert but conflict has often been a part of my existence. It will be for Diane as well so I help her with the skills she’ll most likely need. She is a very good pupil and a rather nasty infighter. I’ve had to heal more than a few broken bones. I hurt her less often, but those occasions allow her to practice repairing herself.

We exercise for an hour and then proceed about our night. As we wander the streets of Paris the two of us watch the humans as they go about their lives. Buskers, street artists, tourists, natives, all give the my love and I something to observe and enjoy. We stop in a jazz club to listen to a band visiting from America. They’re very good and the quiet joy of their music enriches us.

We also find our evening meal there, a lovely young lady from Rome. I let Diane lead the seduction, an exercise in using her empathic powers. She has a natural skill at it. We end up in our prey’s hotel room. Pleasuring her to the brink of madness, we feed at the moment of her climax.

As we feed frequently, Diane and I don’t take much. When done we leave the woman sated, happy and weak. It will be a very pleasant memory for her.

I’ve made sure the two of us hunt together. This early in her existence it’s too easy for the monster to slip her control. Bitter experience taught me this fact. I don’t want her to carry the burden of someone’s death. Also, bodies can raise questions so I stay close to make sure the monster in her remains contained.

Now we’re sitting on a bench at the bank of the Seine, relaxed, full, watching the water flow past us. As always, we’re snuggled together, enjoying the presence of the person we love.

However I sense a tenseness in her. I recall she’s often had a pensive look on her face over the last month. I don’t inquire, she’ll tell me her thoughts when she’s ready.

Which is now.

“Georges?” she asks. Her arms draw me tighter as she does.

“Oui, cheri?”

“I want to go home.”

This isn’t good, I think.

“I’m not sure that’s wise, love,” is what I say out loud.

Diane squeezes me tightly. “I know. But I feel the need. I want to see where I grew up, visit friends and family. I want to see them, remember who I was. I, I feel me fading, Georges. Who I used to be doesn’t seem quite real anymore. That scares me. I’ve never worried about losing touch before. Maybe if I can make who I was more real I won’t be scared anymore.”

For a moment I prepare arguments to turn her from her goal. Then, as always, I find I can’t refuse her. She means too much to me.

“All right, cher,” I assent, placing a soft peck on her forehead. “We’ll go see Marcel tomorrow.”

Diane smiles brightly, sits up and gives me a loving kiss. After a minute she pulls away. Her eyebrows rise in curiosity. “Who’s Marcel?”

“My travel agent.”

Table of Contents

First Hunt

The door to The Lavender Pit opened and a cool night breeze wafted inside. The puff of wind bought a woman with it.

She paused at the top of a short flight of steps and looked around the dark club. Her eyes didn’t squint to penetrate the dim light.

What she saw was a room balanced in size between small enough to be intimate and large enough to be capacious. The bar was just a few steps away and parallel to the right wall. There were two servers, a willowy blonde and a full figured brunette, working behind it. They filled their orders from a large selection of liquors lined up on several sets of shelves on the wall behind them and beer taps protruding the bar. Ten stools, all but two occupied, sat in front of the mahogany wood counter. The left hand wall had a shelf waist high running along it with another row of stools. A small dance area had a few women on it writhing to a techno beat.

Every patron of the bar was female. Their ages ranged from barely old enough to drink to those who might be grandmothers. Their appearances covered an even wider range, some dressed and coifed almost mannishly, some very feminine with most somewhere in between. Many of them were paired, holding hands or snuggling close. There were a fair number of singles as well.

One group of four women stood out, the aforementioned butches. They sat in the middle of the left wall from which vantage point they could see the entire bar. Their loud laughs and forceful gesticulations made it appear as if they owned the place. One was a large woman, heavily muscled. She was dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt, black jeans and combat boots. On her right forearm was a tattoo that read ‘Semper Fi’ against an ornate background. A knife entwined with snakes was on the left. Her upper arms had a number of inked in marks, upright singles and sets of five delineated with a horizontal line. These covered her right biceps and triceps. The other side had only one five and three uprights.

The woman who just entered saw all this in a quick glance. Her movements were smooth, self assured and without wasted motion. She noted everyone who turned to look at her.

What they saw was a petite lady with a fair, bordering on pallid complexion. Her auburn hair ran in a cascade of waves to her shoulders. She had a pretty, thin face; her nose was narrow and a little long. The eyes gazing over the bar were sea green and alert. Her lips were lean and a shade paler than pink. A loose silk dress shaded deep black with spaghetti straps holding it up covered her torso and hips. The garment reached to mid thigh. Beneath its hem a pair of slim and beautiful legs showed. Her pretty feet were in black sandals laced to her calf. The attractive redhead gripped a small clutch, the same color as the rest of her garb, in her right hand.

The woman at the door drew in a sniff of air. Her head swung a little as if testing every odor. That was followed by a smile, one that skirted wicked. It seemed the auburn tressed lady had found what she was looking for.

A person stood away from where she was leaning, at the wall next to the foot of the stairs. She was a tall, brawny black woman in a red leather bustier and breeches with her blonde dreads tied back in a pony tail. She placed herself in front of the person who had just entered to look the new patron over. The woman’s gaze ran from face to shoes and back again. Her grim mouth and hard eyes spoke of her suspicion.

The redhead looked back and gave a sweet smile.

The bouncer relaxed and stepped aside. The woman in black sauntered down the steps and into the bar.

She walked with an easy, almost feral grace. Again there was no wasted movement. Her head scanned about in a manner similar to that of other women here. Yet there was a pointed regard in her eyes that implied this person was looking for something else.

As the pale lady passed the butches the big woman called out, “Hey! Sweet thing! Come ‘ere. I’ve got what you’re looking for.” She emphasized the words by grabbing her crotch. Her right hand moved to the opposite biceps and tapped it. “I need to add to my collection,” she added. Her cronies laughed.

The woman in the black dress stopped and looked at them. She tilted her head, her lips pursing. After a moment’s contemplation she replied, “Thanks, but no.” Her voice was colored with a southern U.S. drawl. “I’m not impressed with people like you anymore.”

Snorts of laughter sounded from those nearby. “Nice one,” muttered someone.

The butch turned red with fury. “You cu…” she started to snarl, leaning forward.

“Roxy,” interjected a loud voice from the spot near the door, “there’ll be no trouble here.”

Her face still crimson, Roxy fell back and drew a swig of her beer.

The auburn haired woman turned away, unconcerned with what had just happened. Her gaze fell on a young girl seated with her left side to the bar, watching what was happening around her while her left hand tapped topaz colored nails on the countertop.

That person’s tresses were a rich chestnut reaching to mid-back and her skin was a few shades short of olive. A bit taller than the woman looking at her, the girl had wide shoulders and a full ass. Dressed in a white halter top only just large enough to hide her full breasts her smooth skin was on display, as it deserved to be. A mini-skirt, also in white, was wrapped around her hips and her graceful legs were shod in stilettos of the same color. The stool next to her was empty.

A tiny, sharp smile shaped the lips of the redhead. She hastened across the room, dodging the other patrons with ease and sat next to the brunette.

The girl watched the woman approach with a mildly perturbed expression. She faced forward and hunched her shoulders as the seat beside her was occupied. Both hands gripped the stem of the wine glass in front of her. Her eyes flickered towards the just taken stool and her mouth was set in a neutral line.

“What’ll it be?” asked the slim bartender.

“Bourbon, straight,” replied the just seated patron.

As the server turned away, the easy grace the pale woman held herself with disappeared. Her back slumped a touch, her shoulders drew in. The cast of her face sobered while her mouth tightened. That instant of doubt faded, she sat straight. Her expression relaxed and she swiveled towards the quarry she had chosen.

She fixed her eyes on the lovely femme in the next chair, and they never left. Even when her drink arrived and she took what appeared to be a tiny sip of it, she watched.

The sultry girl being appraised didn’t react at first. Her gaze stayed on the white wine she had been sipping. She started to fidget, squirm in her seat. Her eyes kept flitting in the direction of the stool just occupied while she chewed on her lower lip. After a minute her head turned and her brown eyes met the other woman’s green ones. A shiver ran through the girl. Her throat worked as she swallowed with nervousness. The muscles of her stomach tightened. Her legs squeezed together for a second.

The woman with the auburn hair spoke. “Hi,” was all she said. Her lips formed a smile as she lifted the tumbler of bourbon to them.

The dark haired girl’s mouth opened in a little gasp. A light film drew across her eyes and she pressed her thighs together again.

“You’re very beautiful,” the fair skinned woman went on. Her smile grew firmer, a touch of wicked amusement played across her face.

Another shiver rippled and the femme hissed in a soft breath.

The redhead spoke again. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“C, Cindy,” was the reply.

“A sweet name for a sweet girl. I’m Diane.”

Cindy’s mouth moved without making a sound. Her body made a tiny twitch. A flush filled her face and her skin began to gleam as a thin film of sweat appeared on it.

Diane’s green irises darkened for an instant. That enigmatic smile grew stronger still.

A hand attached to a tattooed arm fell on Diane’s left shoulder. “I saw her first, bitch. Back off,” snarled Roxy.

Diane turned to look into the butch’s face. The petite lady’s expression became impassive, not a trace of emotion showed save a flicker of something dark that flashed through her eyes.. Her right hand came up and placed itself around Roxy’s forearm. The slim fingers barely reached halfway around the solid muscles, and they squeezed.

Roxy’s eyes widened and she grunted in pain. She jerked her arm away from Diane to stare at the livid marks where the other woman’s hand had rested.

The bouncer came up in a rush. “Roxy,” she gritted, anger clear in her voice, “You don’t own anyone in this place so sit down and behave yourself.”

The mannish dyke did as she was told. But her eyes glared at the woman who hurt her.

“You okay?” the black woman asked Diane. Her face was hard. She ran her suspicious gaze over Diane once more. The stern look faded, became laced with uncertainty. She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her biceps, showing her vacillating thoughts about the pale woman sitting in front of her.

“Yes, thank you,” was the reply as the bar’s guardian was again shown a sweet smile. The bouncer relaxed, although not much, before returning to her spot by the door.

Diane refocused her gaze on Cindy.

The brunette stared back with wide eyes. “How,” she stuttered, “how’d you do that?”

“Mind over matter,” the older woman replied. “If I don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” The smile gracing Diane’s lips grew mocking. “Roxy thinks she’s frightening. She has no idea what real fear is.” The deriding expression fell away. Diane’s features and eyes blanked for a moment, looking somewhere other than the place she was in now.

Cindy swallowed. Her legs twitched. One foot went to the floor and her thigh tautened as the femme started to stand. She paled a little, her lips were set in a grimace of unease.

Diane’s smile returned and she refocused on her quarry. “Enough about me. How about you? What do you do?”

Once again, the brunette’s eyes glazed while the hot blush reappeared on her cheeks. Her legs ceased twitching and they moved apart a little. Ripples appeared in the surface of her wine as the hand gripping the stem of the glass trembled. “Stu, student,” the femme managed to spit out. She turned in her seat to face the woman beguiling her.

“What do you study, pretty girl?” was Diane’s next query. Her oblique smile grew some more and her eyes glinted with hunger; a hunger similar to but not quite the same as the girl she was chasing displayed.

A sound bubbled in Cindy’s chest, a sound of need. Her breathing sped up and quivers raced through her body. “Psychology,” was the shaky word that passed her full lips.

“The human mind,” noted Diane, “a very interesting thing isn’t it? And emotions. Such an important part.” Her left hand went down, stroked the smooth skin of Cindy’s right thigh. “I can tell you’re experiencing a lot of emotion right now, aren’t you?” Once more the redheaded temptress’s eyes clouded with a hint of malevolence, there and gone in an instant. A certainty settled on Diane’s features as she pulled in another small sniff of air.

The femme shuddered at Diane’s touch. Her skin broke out in small beads of moisture. A fevered whine leaked out of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth quivered.

“What brings you here tonight, Cindy?” was the pale woman’s next question. Her hand didn’t stop its gentle petting.

The brunette slumped a little, released a quiet moan. The sweat grew thicker on her skin. Her mouth worked although nothing emerged. Her eyes were locked on the other woman’s face and shone with heat.

“Let me guess,” Diane went on. She leaned closer and whispered, “You were looking to get laid.” Her face lit up in eager expectation.

“Oh!” gasped the girl being teased. Her body shivered. Cindy gave an addled smile and a weak inclination of her head.

“What a coincidence,” grinned her seducer, “so was I.” Diane’s teeth were very white and her upper canines seemed a little longer than normal. “I think we should take advantage of that coincidence, don’t you?” the woman in black asked.

Again, Cindy nodded weakly. Her breath was short and fast. The brunette squeezed her legs together and a subdued groan oozed from her.

Diane opened her clutch and placed a ten dollar bill on the bar. She stood up, took Cindy’s waist and drew the brown haired girl from her stool. The femme wrapped her arms around the woman holding her and huddled close. The pair headed for the front door.

A snarl came from the small pack of butches. Diane glanced towards the source to see two of them with their hands on Roxy’s shoulders, holding her in her chair. The tattooed woman’s face was twisted in rage.

Diane smiled a mocking smile at the big dyke and faced front. She guided Cindy to the stairs. When the couple got there, she turned to the bouncer and said, “Thank you.”

The black woman frowned a little. Her mouth grimaced. It opened for a moment, then closed again to a thin line. “Good night,” she replied through tight lips.

With her catch still in her arm Diane climbed the stairs and opened the door. She and Cindy stepped out into the empty, dark street. The second the door closed Diane turned, pulled her quarry close and kissed her hard.

The brunette femme answered with a tremulous moan. She clutched the other woman tight. Her mouth opened and she groaned at the sensation of her seducer’s tongue teasing around inside. Cindy’s pelvis pumped, running a damp, demanding vulva against the thigh pressed to her.

Diane pulled back to declare, “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you. You’re going to be delicious.” She took the girl by the ass, lifted her up and bore her towards a nearby alley. The easy way she walked showed that this required no effort on her part.

The woman being carried wrapped her legs around Diane. Her hips shimmied. She gibbered with her want. Cindy placed her mouth on Diane’s neck to lick and kiss the pale skin with abandon.

The entwined women entered the alley and went down it a short distance. Dropping her clutch, one of the auburn haired woman’s hands let go of the full cheek it held and lifted up the white halter top hiding Cindy’s breasts. When revealed they were marvelous; large, firm, with broad aureola and stiff nipples. Diane grabbed a handful of brunette hair, bent Cindy back and sucked on a tasty mound.

An inarticulate sound bubbled out from the young woman. The sweat on Cindy’s skin began to run. Her legs tightened their hold and the rhythm of her hips sped up. She clung to her seducer with a desperate grip.

“Want to see a neat trick I learned recently?” asked Diane.

Cindy managed to lean her head forward. Her eyes were glassy, a simper of blind hunger leered across her mouth. She whined a sound betraying the exquisite passion filling her.

Diane took that as agreement. Smiling, she grabbed a rigid nipple in her canines and bit softly.

The girl’s mouth dropped and her eyes snapped wide. Her voice devolved into a sputtering babble. Cindy’s hands seized her ravisher’s biceps. Every muscle in her body drew tight.

The pale skinned woman let go of the stiff nubbin and continued playing. Her tongue washed over Cindy’s sweat slick skin. She drew in the nipple not yet played with and bit that one as well.

Cindy jerked, hissed and moaned through the erotic treatment. “What’s,” she murmured, “happening? Never…” That was all she could say before the nip of Diane’s teeth washed away her wits.

“Are you ready?” asked the redhead.

Cindy’s answer was an aching groan.

Diane chuckled and let go of her plaything’s ass. Cindy planted her feet on the ground. With a quick motion, the woman in the black dress turned the girl around so they were spooned together. Her left hand gripped a firm breast, the right went under the white mini-skirt and petted the sopping garment covering Cindy’s engorged labia.

The fingers on her hot skin drove the olive skinned girl’s passion to the very edge of sanity. Her entire body shuddered with the sensation triggered by Diane’s gentle touch. Somehow a “Please!” succeeded in passing her lips. It was a word eloquent with rapture.

“What ever you say,” grinned the red headed huntress. Her fingers pushed the sodden fabric of Cindy’s thong aside. Two of them slid into the hot, quivering pussy revealed and her thumb placed itself on a hard clit. She pumped slowly, tickled with a gentle touch.

So Cindy got what she needed.

Her hips blurred in a mad rhythm while her body jerked at the wild eruption of bliss that rocketed through her. She pressed her head into Diane’s shoulder. Her mouth opened to fill the air with a keening wail. Anyone who heard that sound would know exactly how intense Cindy’s orgasm was.

Diane’s mouth rushed to the climaxing woman’s neck. Her auburn hair fell forward to cover her face.

Cindy’s brown eyes goggled, her face went slack. Her body’s movement stopped save for an occasional quiver. At random moments her throat worked in a gulp. At others, her mouth opened and closed in a silent gasp.

For just over a minute the women held this tableau. Then Diane pulled her head back. Cindy collapsed in her grip, gulped at the air like a swimmer who had nearly been pulled to sea by an undertow.

The face that pulled away was not the face that had descended. Now the features were monstrously beautiful, a sight that would cause terror with its sharp, too perfect glory. The green irises held a hideous malice.

The creature looked down at the small holes still oozing blood in Cindy’s neck. Her evil eyes lit up, her head started to descend once more.

An instant later, the woman returned. Her mouth was grim and her face hard. The thin lips relaxed and her sweet smile reformed. Diane’s irises lightened, all traces of shadow fled from them. Her head moved again and she licked up the thin trickle of red liquid. The punctures vanished as her tongue moved over them.

“How do you feel?” she asked the still slack girl in her arms.

Cindy mouthed a faltering sound in response. One arm lifted for a moment then flopped downwards. A twitch shook her before she wilted once more.

“I’m glad,” smiled Diane. “Let’s get you home.” She drew her meal’s halter back into place then stooped for her purse. The vampire moved next to Cindy, placed an arm around the young woman’s back and lead the shaky legged girl out of the alley.

The femme staggered. She made a sound like the beginning of a sob. This was followed by a feeble giggle. Her eyes were torpid and her face slack.

A familiar snarl greeted them as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Diane turned her head in the direction of the bar to see Roxy and her compatriots standing a few paces away. The big butch took a step forward, clenched her fists.

Diane’s eyes filled with darkness again.

Roxy’s gaze looked right into the stygian gulf of them. The muscular woman blanched, gasped. A wide stain appeared on the crotch of her jeans. She turned and ran. Her companions followed. They hadn’t caught the full force of the small woman’s glower but had seen enough to want to be elsewhere.

Diane’s sea green irises became normal once more. A cab turned the corner and she flagged it down. She placed Cindy in the back seat and gave the girl a soft parting kiss. “Sleep, sweetie. Eat something with lots of red meat in it tomorrow. An iron supplement is a good idea too.” She pulled a hundred dollar bill from her clutch and gave it to the driver, telling him to keep the change. She watched with a smile as the cab pulled away.

“Enjoy yourself, cher?” sounded a voice. It came from a lithe figure garbed in black leaning against a lamp post across the street. The man’s hair was dark and a little long. His eyes were blue and his skin was as pale as Diane’s. A warm smile graced his lips.

Diane’s smile changed at the sight of him. It grew wide and matched his tenderness. Her eyes sparkled as she walked towards him. “Yeah,” she answered, “I did.”

In a moment their arms were around each other, they kissed deep and long. The embrace was passionate but not wild. They fit together just so, belonged to each other.

The couple broke apart. A warm content graced their features. Each turned so they were side by side, an arm around the other’s waist. Steps matching, they moved away from Diane’s hunt.

“It was interesting,” the woman remarked.

“How so?” the man asked.

“When I was human, Georges, and came to places like this, I’d have been going home with Roxy about now. I was the femme then. This time there was no interest at all. It was Cindy who I wanted.”

“Two predators hunting for much the same thing, cheri,” he explained. “There isn’t likely to be attraction between them. Competition instead. You handled that well. Conflict can draw too much attention.”

Diane kissed him on the cheek.

“If I may make an observation though?” Georges went on.

“Sure.”

“A touch more subtlety next time. You weren’t in there more than fifteen minutes when you came out with your meal. The girl was nearly catatonic, and you managed to make someone angry with you at the same time. We don’t need to feed as often as humans. So take your time. It’s more entertaining when you savor your hunt.”

Diane ruminated for a second. A puckish cast appeared on her face. “I guess I did overdo it a little. But it was fun. Watching Cindy give into my power was delicious, and I liked intimidating Roxy.”

“Be very careful with that, my love. The monster in you is strengthened by those temptations.”

Diane’s body tightened and she shivered.

He stopped them walking and hugged her close. “Not to worry,” Georges reassured her. “You did well. Just be aware. The monster’s often more subtle than we give it credit for.” He gave her a loving kiss, one which she answered.

The couple broke apart again and continued on their way.

“May I ask a question, Georges?”

“Always.”

“Why did you insist I hunt alone tonight?”

“It’s time for you to make your own identity, mon amour.”

Diane turned her face towards him and her forehead furrowed in puzzlement.

“When I made you a year ago,” Georges explained, “you were my child. You knew nothing of yourself, your power or the world you’d be living in. You needed me to support you as you learned all these things.

“You’ve learned well.”

His lover rested her head on his biceps and hugged him.

“But as with humans you need to be able to make your own way. You need to know that you are yourself, not just an extension of me. I want you to want me, Diane. I don’t want you to need me.”

The next instant Diane wrapped herself around Georges, legs behind his buttocks and his face in her hands. She kissed him with a fierce, but human passion. He returned it. They held there for a minute.

She let him go, stood on her feet. “Thank you, my darling,” she said. “I’ll always want you.” Her face was that of a woman deeply in love.

His expression was that of a man feeling exactly the same emotion.

Resuming their positions the couple sauntered on their way.

“Now come, cher,” Georges announced. “I’ve spent a great deal of my existence in New York. Allow me to show it to you.”

Diane tightened her arm in agreement and they moved off into the night.

Table of Contents

Prey

Clint Hammes leaned forward in the back seat of the car. “Hey, guys. I think we’ve got one.” Blonde, blue eyed and in great shape, he still looked a lot like the surfer and high school quarterback he’d been years ago.

A grunt came from the driver, a big man with a bull neck and large, solid muscles. His name was Pedro Rodriguez but every one knew him as ‘Hulk’. The sound he made was rich with dark anticipation.

“I see her, boss,” was the response from the person in the front passenger seat. Darren Nyman was small and slightly built with mousy brown hair and eyes to match. His quick, nervous mannerisms made his nickname of ‘Weasel’ an obvious one.

They were driving east on Lakeshore Blvd. and the time was two in the morning. Just passing the water treatment plant the person that had caught their interest was about halfway between them and the Coxwell Ave. light. All that could be told so far is that she was petite and female. The streetlight she was under showed that her hair was a mane of auburn waves. She moved with an easy grace, her steps smooth and her balance effortless.

“Keep driving, Hulk,” directed Clint. “Don’t spook her.”

Weasel opened the laptop sitting on his thighs. In a couple of seconds a map of Toronto showed and he directed the view of it to the area they were in. “Turn right at the light, Hulk. Then hang left. There’s a parking lot that will let us see what she does.”

The trio had learned to be careful since they’d first met in an exclusive private school a decade before. They soon found they had a similar idea of what fun was, and they had their first taste of that fun with one of their female teachers. Several hours with her left the woman battered and carrying the child of one of them.

It was careless of the trio. She hadn’t taken it lying down and had gone to the principal. He, realizing how damaging a scandal would be, called their parents. Their fathers had been very upset. Not for what their offspring had done, but for making things complicated.

Those fathers; Clint’s, a ‘security consultant’ specializing in industrial espionage; Weasel’s, a defense attorney not above making witnesses disappear if need be; and Hulk’s, a Mexican drug lord; bought off the school’s owners. The drug lord sent a couple of his men to the woman and her husband to explain the consequences of continuing to make a stink.

After which, each father had people in their employ give their sons a professional beating for being stupid.

Those sons had been very careful ever since.

As the car drove by their possible next victim, Clint checked her out.

The woman had a sweet face with very pale skin and no makeup. Not that she needed any. Her slight frame was dressed in black; running shoes, jeans and T-shirt. These were just tight enough to show her breasts were a little on the small side and her legs shapely. She wasn’t that young, mid-thirties he guessed, but wore the years well. The redheaded woman probably had a husband and children.

Good, Clint thought with a malicious smile. We can use that against her. She’ll suffer more if we let her think she’ll see them again. A frown crinkled his forehead as he puzzled a little. She’s a little old to be dressed so Goth though.

The woman glanced at the car as it went by. This caused the blond man another moment of disquiet. She wasn’t afraid in the least. Most women would not be happy with three men so close when the woman was alone this early in the morning. Their target noted the car was there but wasn’t concerned at all.

For several seconds, Clint pondered. Maybe we should find someone else. This doesn’t read right.

Then his face twisted in disgust at his cowardice. She’s just a cunt. Prey. No woman is a danger to us. We’ll use her and kill her, just like all the others.

Hulk followed Weasel’s directions. A minute after the passed they sign that read ‘Woodbine Beach/Ashbridge’s Bay Park’ they were parked at a corner of the lot. The lake was just visible through the widely spaced trees of the park.

“Okay,” Weasel started. “She can go five ways. She can turn back. If she does we’ll lose her. She’ll be gone before we can follow.

“She can cross Lakeshore at the light and head north on Coxwell. I don’t recommend we follow. It’s too likely there'd be witnesses. There’s houses and apartments not far away and she could make it to them.

“If she continues along Lakeshore we have too small a window to grab her and we’d likely to be seen. Houses again.

“If she enters the park it’s better for us. There’s a boardwalk right in front of us. If she uses that, we can drop someone to herd her east. The others take the car to the pool in that direction. We can drop another person, catch her between us and get her in the car. The window is a little small there as well. Past the pool is a lot of houses again.

“Best is if she hangs right. That will take her into a spit of land. There’s a small marina there. I don’t think there are any people there at this time of night. From what I see none of the boats are meant to be lived aboard.

“If she goes that way, we can herd her to the end of the spit and we’ve got her!” Weasel’s voice was full of excitement at that prospect.

“Your analysis of the situation is flawless as always,” Clint complimented his partner in crime. He picked up a set of light amplifying binoculars from the seat next to him, brought them to his eyes and directed his gaze in the direction they’d last seen the woman they’d chosen.

“I see her,” he informed his compadres. “She’s heading down the fork in the lane we didn’t take.”

“Wait a bit,” Weasel advised him. “She’ll have to cross it to get to the boardwalk.”

They waited.

“She didn’t cross,” Clint noted. “Heading along the drive towards that building there.”

“Yacht club,” said Weasel. “Closed this time of night. What’s she up to now?”

“Going past the club. Heading south.”

“Good. She’s committed. There’s nowhere to go but the spit.” Weasel turned his laptop towards Hulk. Clint leaned over the seat to look.

“See?” the thin man pointed. “There’s a paved path that runs around the edge of the spit. It splits there and joins again at the far end. She can’t get past us.”

“Okay,” decided Clint. “Here’s what we do.” He gestured at the screen with a finger. “We go to this point, where we split up. Hulk go left, follow the path along the lake. Weasel, up the middle. I’ll take the right and check out the marina.

“Gloves, gentlemen,” he announced then. Each of them pulled on tight latex gloves.

“Is the clean up equipment ready?” was his question to Weasel.

“Yeah, boss. Enough for three sinkings.” The trunk of their car contained plastic sheets, chains and bricks. When they were done, their prey would be wrapped in a cocoon and a brick chained to her feet. Once stuffed in the trunk they’d go to a boat Hulk’s father owned, sail into Lake Ontario and dump her deep. Like the other twenty-one times they’d hunted.

“Clean phones, guys.”

Weasel reached into the glove compartment and pulled out three cell phones, brand new, prepaid and to be dumped in the lake with their victim. While they were handed out, Clint reached under his seat and grabbed the silenced Glock 9mm pistol he’d stashed there. He clipped it to the back of his belt, concealing it under his jacket.

“Let’s go,” was his final order.

The trio of rapists left their vehicle and started their hunt.

It was a five minute walk to the point where they would start herding their prey. “Phone if you need to,” smiled Clint and they went their separate ways.

The blond killer kept his head moving as he walked along the right hand path, watching for their target or any witnesses. There was no sign of the woman. Hulk quickly disappeared from sight behind the rise of the spit. Weasel could be seen in the half full moonlight at the top of it.

Clint checked out the marina as he approached. The thirty odd boats moored there were all dark. None was suited for sleeping aboard so he figured they were all empty. Good. No witnesses.

The blond man pulled out his cell to contact Weasel. “Marina’s empty,” he whispered. “See her yet?”

“Not a thing, boss,” was the reply.

A quick call to Hulk got him the same report.

Soon the path leaned left and Clint followed it. A small amount of concern made him frown just a touch. The ground was open, the grass well kept with only small trees scattered through it. There was no place to hide. He wondered where their next victim had gotten to.

The path came to an end, turned back towards the lake to form the route Hulk had followed. A copse of trees and brush was just beyond it. The three men exchanged surprised expressions. None of them had seen their prey.

Clint looked around, then leaned forward to examine the scrub in front of him. “There’s a path here,” he noted quietly.

The others smiled, and he joined them. The woman had gone to the very end of the spit. There was no way now for her to slip past them. The undergrowth was tight enough that only the narrow trail would allow her to escape. That meant there was no way past them.

“I’ll go first,” he told his partners in a whisper. “Hulk next and then you, Weasel. If it opens up, Hulk goes left and Weasel right. Be quiet, gentlemen. We want to surprise her.”

The three men showed hunter’s smiles. Surprising their victims was something they’d never tire of.

They headed down the path, Clint feeling with his feet to find and move things that might make noise out of the way.

It turned out the copse wasn’t large, perhaps forty paces wide. Then it opened into a small clearing at the shoreline of the spit. Illumination spilled from the water treatment plant across the bay. Coupled with the moonlight the cleared area was a bit more than dimly lit.

The woman was standing at the very edge of the open space, looking out at the city gleaming in the darkness. She stood feet slightly apart, head cocked a little. Her posture spoke of how enrapt she was with the beauty she saw.

The men took their positions, each growing tight with anticipation of what they were about to do. Clint cleared his throat and said, “Good morning.” His voice dripped with sarcastic courtesy.

The woman turned to face them with the same smooth grace she had displayed while walking. She didn’t jump or twitch. Her face was impassive with just a touch of curiosity. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” she asked in a calm voice. Her words carried the drawl of the Southern States.

Weasel chuckled. “Gentlemen she called us.”

“Oh yeah,” rumbled Hulk with wicked amusement. “You can help us a lot.” His right hand gripped his crotch, caressed his erection.

Their prey’s face twisted with mirth at their actions. She gave a low chuckle. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Clint felt yet another shiver of unease. This wasn’t going according to plan. The woman should be frightened out of her wits, begging for mercy she wouldn’t receive. But there was no sign of any of those actions.

“Cunt!” spat Hulk. “We’ve done this lots of times. We’re damned good at it and you’re going to be sorry for laughing at us!”

The woman’s face locked tight. Her body shivered. She glared at her tormentors. “That was not a good thing to say,” she remarked through clenched teeth. Those teeth were very white. It might have been the low light but it seemed that, for a moment, her canines were long and sharp. “I don’t care much for people like you.”

Clint’s anger rose to match Hulk’s. Who does this bitch think she is? He reached to the small of his back, pulled out his pistol and pointed it at her. “You really ought to modify your attitude if you want to live, you stupid slut.” His lip curled in a grimace of pique.

Her look of amusement returned. Another chuckle sounded. “If I want to live,” she chortled.

The blond man’s anger turned to fury at her disdain. A sneer plastered itself across his mouth as he lowered the muzzle of his weapon a little and squeezed the trigger.

The hollow point bullet smashed into her left knee and it exploded in a spray of gore. Their prey collapsed face down on the ground. Her injured leg stretched out behind her, the angle of the calf showing that no more than thin strips of tissue held it to her thigh.

The trio of rapists smiled. Now would come one of their favorite things, those whines of terror and agony that proved how powerful they were, how much greater they were than the bulk of humanity.

They gaped in surprise then. As they watched, the woman’s leg straightened. Although hidden under cloth and bloody ruin it was obvious her knee was repairing itself, its bone reforming, her muscles and sinews knitting themselves back together. A dreadful growl trembled from the figure on the ground. The woman raised her head to look at them.

All three men whimpered in terror. They now knew that what they had hunted was not a woman.

She’d been pretty before. Now she was beautiful in an utterly inhuman way. Her face might have been carved out of bone by Hell’s greatest sculptor. In her snarling mouth were the sharp fangs of her kind, perfectly designed to draw the blood from her prey. The vampire’s eyes were full of dark, hideous malevolence. All the blackest terrors of humanity was contained in them.

Clint looked into those eyes and his body locked, every muscle froze. His volition was seized by her gaze and it vanished into those terrible irises.

He heard squeaks of horror from Hulk and Weasel. There were thrashing sounds as they fled through the brush of the copse.

“Stay right there and don’t make a sound,” the vampire ordered Clint.

He could feel her order soak into him. His brain struggled, tried to make his body do something, anything. But those impulses crashed against the impregnable wall of her unyielding will.

She moved then, so quickly that he could barely trace her movements. Once out of sight she was so quiet Clint couldn’t garner any idea of where she was. There was a noise; a sharp, quiet crack. A few seconds later there came a muffled crunching.

Clint stared at the city, at the lights twinkling in the distance, the only thing he could do. Nice, he thought, that my last sight should be so beautiful. A wild hilarity filled him. He would have giggled if he’d been able.

Terror overwhelmed the insane humor. He wanted to scream, run, anything. He didn’t want to die and he knew that was all fate had in store for him now.

The vampire reappeared. She smiled at him. It would have been a coquettish, sweet expression on a woman. On her it sharply emphasized her inhuman beauty.

Lust filled Clint at that instant, although he couldn’t fathom why. His body was afire with it. His cock hardened to stone. He ached for the vampire. He wanted her more than anything he had wanted before. His passion needed her, had to have her. Clint would have accepted any act she was willing to perform on him if he could rut with the redheaded fiend.

The monster reached out, stroked his member where it pressed against his jeans. A shudder of eroticism almost broke the supernatural bonds placed on him.

“Ooo,” cooed Clint’s former victim. “Is that for me? I guess you’re happy to see me.”

A whine leaked from his throat. Clint was happy to see her…and terrified and helpless and hating her for making him feel all those things. He was her prey, he realized that now with every cell in his body. Prey was something he never expected to be.

She looked into his eyes and he felt her grab his will again. “Follow me,” she ordered. “We need some privacy. Stay silent.” As she headed back down the trail the helpless rapist did as he was told.

When they emerged from the copse Clint noticed two shapes on the ground, just visible in the moonlight. The big one was obviously Hulk. The loose way his head lolled showed that his neck had been snapped like a twig. Weasel made a sound like he was trying to breath liquid. His arms clutched weakly at his chest, he stared blindly at the starry sky.

He’s drowning in his own blood! She smashed his chest in! A gurgling noise bubbled from him as Clint tried to scream in terror. But that was the closest his body would come to disobeying the vampire’s commands.

A rattle and sudden cessation of noise told him that Weasel was gone.

His tormentor stopped and Clint did as well. She turned to face him and remarked, “This will do. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted, now, would we?” She snickered with a dark glee.

The vampire moved her hands to undo Clint’s jeans, reached inside and pulled his erection into the cool night air. “That’s so nice. I like to know how badly I’m wanted.” She stroked him with a gentle touch.

Clint’s lust rushed to the breaking point. The feel of the vampire’s fingers was so exquisite. His balls drew up and his ass clenched, preparing to launch his seed onto her hand.

Before he could explode she grabbed his manhood, too tightly, with a near crushing force. The agony of her grip stopped his orgasm dead. A peep of pain jerked from his chest. “Oh no,” was her comment. “You don’t come until I say you can.” Once again Clint could feel her orders sink into his body and mind.

The vampire kneeled. Clint’s eyes followed her.

The auburn haired vampire loosened her grip and pumped him, slamming a wonderful ecstasy into his soul. Clint didn’t want to enjoy it but the pleasure of her touch filled him. His eyes lost focus. Another whimper seeped past her possession of him.

Her tongue ran out from between her sharp fangs to wash around his crown. His body tried once again to orgasm. But her orders held. That near release pushed all his feelings higher than ever. Terror, loathing, and lust swirled like a tornado through his soul. Another whimper sounded in the quiet air.

The vampire opened wide, placed a fang on Clint’s glans. Then she pushed it all the way through his member.

Clint keened with agony and passion. The blackest delight and most horrible joy blanked out his awareness. His consciousness became the most vivid of emotions, both dark and light. The desire to come rose to agonizing levels. Tears began to flow down the victimized rapist’s face.

She pulled her fang from him, licked up the blood that leaked from the hole she punched. “Interesting taste you have,” the vampire remarked. “So foul. You’ve got almost no redeeming qualities. A certain intelligence maybe. But no warmth, no empathy, no real joy. It’s a good thing there’s not many people like you. I wouldn’t like my meals very much if most people tasted the way you do.”

The not yet dead killer whimpered again. Clint could tell that his blood informed his tormentor of every facet of his personality. Shame that he disgusted even a monster like this was added to the melange of emotions in him.

The vampire looked into Clint’s agonized face to ask him, “Do you have something to say? If so, say it quietly.”

“Please!” Clint entreated with a desperate edge.

An angry glower shaped the vampire’s face. “I’ll bet all your victims said the same thing. They plead too, for their lives, for you to stop the pain. It didn’t stop you. Pleading won’t stop me either.”

“I don’t want to die!” he went on.

“Did the women you killed want to die? No. But you killed then anyway. You didn’t care.

“I don’t care if you die either. All I care is if you suffer before dying. I want you to know pain. I want you to know fear. I’m going to enjoy every second…”

She stopped talking. A quiver shook her. The monster disappeared and her disguise as a woman returned. Her mouth was a grim line. She stood up without letting go of his manhood.

“Oh no,” she whispered, so low she must have been talking to herself. “I’m better than you. I won’t dirty myself with torture.”

Clint felt a wave of relief wash through him. He was going to live.

The woman smiled then, widely, showing that her fangs were still there. “No more noise,” she ordered. The hand she held him with started to pump once more with a gentle, pleasurable beat.

Despair filled Clint. He was still going to die. She just wasn’t going to play with him first. That despair didn’t stop his body from approaching the instant of orgasm. A gurgle telling of all the emotions in him leaked into the moonlit night.

“You can come now,” she told him.

He did. Great jets of semen spurted from him, landed on her T-shirt, covered her hand. The climax was the most intense Clint had ever known. Some of his seed seeped out the still bleeding holes in his member. The sharp sting of that alkaline liquid only added to the intensity of the bliss he felt.

The vampire’s other hand darted out. She grabbed his head and jerked it down, towards her. The next instant her fangs sunk into his neck.

The wave Clint was riding crested high.

And it carried him, silently screaming, into Hell.

* * * *

The door to the condominium opened and the red tressed woman stepped into it. Her hair was damp, like she’d just gotten out of the shower. She was dressed in Clint’s shirt and Weasel’s jeans.

The living room she entered was dark, all lights were off. Illumination seeped into it from the city beyond. The CN Tower blinked in the distance. A man with a lithe build, dressed in black, was silhouetted against the window.

He turned at the sound of her entering, a warm smile on his face. That changed to shock when he noticed the look she wore.

Her expression was bleak, ashamed and frightened. She lifted her arms to him in a desperate request for support.

Without hesitation he ran across the room and gathered her in his embrace. Holding tight, he showed how much he cared for her.

The woman grasped at him like an anchor that would keep her from being drawn in by an whirlpool.

The pair held each other for several minutes before she released him. They stepped away from each other, showing their lover a weak, warm smile.

“My darling Diane,” the man said, “did something happen?” His voice had a trace of a French accent, the timbre of it carried his caring for her.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her reply was another silent nod.

“Let’s be comfortable then.” He took her hand and lead her to the couch. As the man sat, he drew her onto his lap, embraced her once more. His hands stroked her hair gently as the petite woman huddled against him.

Again, there was several minutes of silence. Which Diane finally broke.

“Do you remember, Georges? That article we read in the newspaper about women who had disappeared?”

“Oui.”

“I met the men responsible for it.”

Georges’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ah. What happened?”

Diane started to recount her experience. Her voice was a little cold as she recited the events of her evening, her eyes unfocused. The events she was relating to her lover were ones she didn’t wish to get too close to.

Georges interrupted with a snarl as she told of her being shot. His own mask slipped for a moment revealing that he was a vampire as well. The man returned with a “Pardon.”

She smiled and stroked his face. “De rien. I love that you love me so much.”

“What happened then?” he prodded.

Diane’s face grew bleak. “I, I lost it, Georges.”

He clutched her tight. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I killed them. I liked it. The first two quickly. It was fun.

“Then I took my time with the last one. He was the leader and I thought he deserved all the pain I could give him. It was so delicious. Almost as much fun as feeding.”

“Oui, mon amour. The monster enjoys doing evil.”

“It’s the first time I’ve had that happen. I didn’t really understand what it was like before. Every other time you were there to hold me back, bring me around. This time you weren’t. I lost it!

“What happens next time? Will I become nothing but the monster?” Diane’s voice grew high with fear.

Georges pressed a hand against her cheek and directed her to look at him. “Non,” he told her. “Because it didn’t happen this time. You’re too strong and good for the monster to control you forever.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you came back. You’re sitting here, not the monster.”

Diane’s face relaxed and the start of a smile formed.

“How long were you gone?” he asked.

“Not long, maybe five minutes.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Because I realized I was being just like them. I was enjoying someone’s pain and terror. It wasn’t something I wanted to do.”

“Just so. And here’s another thing. What would you have done if you were still human and encountered these people? If you were armed, say, with an assault rifle?”

“I would have rocked and rolled.”

Georges’s blinked at his lover in confusion.

She chuckled at that expression. “I mean I would have held the trigger down until I emptied the magazine.”

“Ah, I see. An appropriate metaphor.” He smiled at Diane. Delight shone in his eyes.

“Would you have felt bad about it?” he continued.

“A little. I’m not much for killing. But I wouldn’t spend much pity on those assholes.”

“Just so.” He pulled her into a comforting kiss. One that told Diane all she needed to know.

“So,” Georges remarked as they broke apart, “the monster came out, but you reeled it in quickly. Your victims were people that deserved their fates. I see no reason why you should worry too much. I love you even more learning how strong you are.”

Diane took his lips and kissed him hard. He answered with the same passion. The kiss was a long one.

Finally they separated and snuggled together. There was a great contentment on their faces.

“If I may ask?” Georges inquired. “What did you do with the remains?”

“I checked their car,” Diane told him. “They had everything needed to sink some bodies. So I took it and prepped them. After I removed some clothes. Mine were a little bloody.

“For a minute I had considered throwing them into the lake using a hammer toss. Then I remembered that I don’t need to worry about drowning. So I stripped down and carried them in one at a time. They’re about one hundred yards out and ten fathoms down. I got dressed, found a cab and came back here.”

Her lover chuckled. “You are such a brilliant woman.”

Glancing up at the window, he discovered the horizon was beginning to lighten. “Bedtime, love.”

Diane got off his lap, stood up and extended her hand. He took it and rose himself.

“I think we should leave Toronto tomorrow night,” he told her as they walked towards the bedroom. “We’ll leave the bad memories here behind. Montreal is a few hours away and I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“I’d love Hell if you were with me,” she replied.

The bedroom door closed to end their night.

Table of Contents

You Can’t Go Home

My love and I are traveling through the warm, Mississippi summer night in our RV. Diane is in the driver’s seat. I could pilot our vehicle, but it’s something I learned late and I’m not good at it. She, like most modern people, learned the skill as soon as she was able and is very comfortable behind the wheel. Even in a vehicle as large as this one.

I have my feet up on the dashboard. Through the open window the odor of ripening crops, fruit in orchards and farm animals waft into the cab. There is a touch of skunk as well. Luckily the last animal is distant. With a vampire’s sense of smell their defense mechanism is even more unpleasant for us than for humans.

Our trip has been very enjoyable. It’s been entirely by land and water for people like us can’t fly. A plane taking off and landing in a single night is very difficult to schedule. I doubt passengers bursting into flame over the mid-Atlantic is something that would stay out of the news.

So Marcel set up a long, pleasant journey for us. We drove from Paris to Monaco, stopping at a house designed for our kind to sleep in along the way. After two nights in the Principality, gambling, wandering, we boarded a ship where we had an interior suite. That sailed to Majorca, Barcelona and finally to Lisbon.

We changed vessels to travel the Atlantic and it was a most enjoyable voyage. We walked  the decks at night, haunting the bars and ballroom, basking in the life crowded around us.

We spent a week in New York after we docked there. I’d lived in the city for many years, off and on, so I showed Diane some of it. The museums, a show on Broadway, little places tourists wouldn’t visit. She hunted on her own for the first time there, and she did very well. Her prey never knew what happened. More importantly, Diane’s meal survived.

Then we picked up our RV which was modified by one of our kind for vampiric use. All the windows can be shuttered. The interior where the bed is has walls and tightly sealed doors so we can sleep in it if need be. It also had other luxuries such as a satellite linkup for entertainment purposes and internet access. A small fridge holds blood for emergencies.

From New York we travelled to Toronto. Although not one of the world’s major cities I’ve found it a lovely place to visit. New York but cleaner and less violent.

It was unfortunate we had to leave quickly. A trio of serial killers had mistaken Diane for prey. Since they didn’t survive their foolishness we decided to move on.

Montreal was our next destination. It’s an old city, still lively but it’s not the place it used to be. We went to Quebec City next and I, as always, was delighted to see it had kept much of its soul. It was the place I first lived when I fled Europe for North America at the end of the 18th Century and the city has always held a place in my heart.

After a week there we decided there had been enough procrastination. So we headed south, visiting important Civil War battlefields along the way. Although I’d been here in America at the time I’d stayed in New York where the war never reached. I did see some of the draft riots but that was it for excitement.

Diane, being from The South, is enthralled with the war. Every battlefield we stop at she gives me a running commentary as we wander through it. It’s a change of roles for us, one I don’t mind at all. I find it refreshing to learn that I don’t know much. Diane’s knowledge, intelligence and enthusiasm fire up my passion for her. Often we interrupt our tours with happy lovemaking. She always scolds me for being a lecher, and kisses me to show she doesn’t mind at all.

Our trip has been leisurely, it’s been three weeks from Quebec City. Now we’re in Mississippi and an hour from Diane’s family. I look to find her face has a happy smile, but she is tense across the shoulders and back

I lean over to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, cher,” I reassure her. “It will be fine.”

She takes her eyes off the road for a moment, smiles at me. “Merci.” Turning back she remarks in English, “I wish I could turn the headlights off, the glare isn’t very pleasant. I don’t need them anyway these days.”

“But,” I smile at her, “a vehicle without lights will draw attention.”

“I know,” Diane replies. “I’m just not fond of hiding all the time.”

“You’ll get used to it. Put your sunglasses on if the light’s that much bother.”

She does, and chuckles. “Sunglasses at night. Am I cool or what?” I grin at her for I love her sense of humor.

We fall into silence and continue enjoying the drive. The smells change, less crops, more fruit. A coyote hustles across the road at one point.

“Oh look!” exclaims Diane. “It’s Red’s. It’s still open!” Her voice is infused with happy memories.

The view out the front windshield shows we’re approaching a long, low building of wood construction. A large parking lot surrounds it, full of vehicles. There are as many pickup trucks as cars, an observation I don’t find surprising considering the venue. A hint of both steel and acoustic guitars drifts in the window, the odor of beer and people crowded together accompanies it. A large neon sign at the juncture of lot and road proclaims the name of the place. There’s not a lot of exterior lighting though, just single floods on each wall.

“An old haunt of yours, cher?” I ask.

“Yeah. I spent a lot of nights here before I went to university. It’s a fun place to hang.”

“Then let’s spend another night there,” I tell her. “You wanted to come back. This looks like a good place to start.”

A big smile forms on my love’s face, her eyes dance. “I was hoping you’d say that.” And she pilots our vehicle into the parking area as we come to the sign.

The lot is crowded. There’s only a few spots available at the back, right at the edge of a field. We exit our vehicle, lock it and proceed to the front door hand in hand.

Turning the corner, we mount the stairs and walk along the covered porch that runs the width of the building. There are a number of people out here, leaning against walls and posts, smoking, talking. I examine them closely as this is the type of place I rarely visit.

My examination of our fellow patrons discovers those traits that that are familiar to me from other rural areas. They show the wear of working in the fields. Much less so than similar people from two centuries ago, but their life of hard outdoor labour shows on their faces and hands. Their clothes are practical and relaxed.

Another attribute I associate with farm life shows as well, suspicion of outsiders. It’s not strong but it is there. However it is covered by a trait I’ve heard about the South, courtesy. As we come to each individual or group, they nod and greet us with words flavored with drawl of the region.

I have to glance at Diane when she returns them. In the years she spent away from here, and the year with me, her accent had faded. Now it’s back full force. I do love the sound of it, it suits her.

I nod back as well and reply, “Bonsoir.” I could easily fake an American accent of some description but I don’t want to hide while Diane’s being so open.

The reaction is mixed, but largely positive. People look surprised, smile and welcome me to America. I smile back and thank them in English.

One person though, makes a face as if someone had shoved feces in his mouth. He turns from us and hawks a large glob of phlegm into the parking lot. I tighten a bit  while Diane’s hand trembles in mine. But we shove our monsters down and enter the bar proper.

Inside, it’s fairly well lit and rather crowded. The age of the patrons covers a wide range but most are younger than Diane. There’s a fair bit of tobacco smoke in the air, something I find surprising as that habit is banned in so many other areas. There’s a dance area in the back, a small band belts out songs in the old Country and Western mode. They’re rather good and I find a finger on my free hand tapping time to the music.

Off to our left a half dozen pool tables are in use. One group of players and watchers draws my scrutiny for a moment. Something in their posture and their faces shows an unsupported arrogance. They’re all unshaven and their clothes less than clean. The people at the neighboring tables are careful to watch them and not intrude on their space.

The leader of the group is a large man, built somewhere between solid and fat. He has a florid, unpleasant face, damps spots show under the armpits of his stained T-shirt. The man who spit outside approaches him and directs his attention our way. The heavy set person shows a malignant smile as his gaze comes to rest on us.

Diane turns us in the opposite direction, towards the bar on the right wall. She squeezes my hand very hard. “Shit!” she mutters. “Why of all nights did that asshole have to be here?”

“You know him?” I inquire.

“Yeah. Dwayne Coltrane and ‘friends’. A finer collection of turds in the punchbowl of life you’ll never meet.” Her words are filled with loathing.

“They won’t be any trouble for people like us. Remember that, love.”

She turns her head and smiles at me. “Yeah, I keep forgetting. Thanks, cher.” She rises on her toes to give me a quick kiss.

We arrive at the bar and Diane nudges her way between two men. I stand a little behind letting her lead, this is her world.

The person on her right glances at her, an expression of surprise fills his face. Then he turns towards her with a wide smile. “Diane?”

My love turns to look at him, and wraps him in a hug. “Tim!” she squeals. “It’s good to see you!”

He returns the gesture. Then, with a bit of edge to his voice Tim asks, “Uh? Could you ease off? I’d like to breathe.”

Her mouth grimacing in chagrin, Diane lets him go. “Sorry,” she says, “I’ve been exercising.”

Tim draws a deep breath to flex his ribs. “Tell me what the system is,” he says, “it works.”

The woman behind Tim leans away from the bar and says, “Hands off my man, girl.” The look on her face is amused though, and the words carry the sound of an old joke.

Diane beams at her. “Patti! You two still together?”

Patti steps next to Tim and places her arm around his waist. “Yep,” she replies, “Closing on fifteen years now.” She smiles the same sort of smile I see on Diane’s face when she looks at me.

“What brings you back?” Patti goes on.

“I’ve been away too long,” explains my love. “I needed to see how things are here, and I wanted to show the person I fell in love with where I came from.”

Tim and Patti both smile broadly at that. “We’re so happy for you,” Tim tells her. The two of them look out to the crowd. “Is she here?” he goes on. “Can we meet her?”

Diane turns her head to me and reaches out. Stepping forward, I take her hand, face the other couple and say, “I’m not a she,” with a slight smile.

I believe the correct term for the looks on their faces is ‘gobsmacked’. “Huh?” is Tim’s remark. “What?” comes from Patti.

“Georges Belleveau,” I tell them, extending my free hand. “Comment-allez vous?”

It takes a couple of seconds before they react. Patti recovers first and takes my outstretched palm. “Pleased to meet you,” she says. Tim follows his wife’s lead. Their expressions are still befuddled.

Diane chuckles. “You aren’t half as surprised as I was. But there it is. Who knows where your heart can lead you?”

The other couple smiles for an instant. A moment later, their expression slides back to confusion with a small and growing amount of concern.

“I’m rather tired, love,” I say to my sweet lady. “Let’s find a place to sit down.” I think it would be wise for us to be away from Patti and Tim. It seems Diane has changed too much. If they think on it too long, they might start to penetrate the obfuscations with which the two of us surround ourselves. That wouldn’t be a healthy thing for them to do.

“Good idea,” she returns, “I’m beat too. All that time on the road.” She pulls a wallet from her jeans and takes money out. Leaving it on the bar, she picks up the beers she ordered and hands one to me.

Diane returns her attention at her friends and says, “We’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Tim tells her, “if you want. We’re still at the same place.”

“We’re going to my folks. We’ll stop by if we get the chance. Nice to see you two again.” She leans forward just a touch, her arms start to rise. Then she pulls back.

“Same here,” Patti says. “See you.” Her arms repeat Diane’s action. Another wave of confusion passes over their faces, which then become rather sad.

Hand in hand, my love and I wander into the crowd. After a short search we are fortunate enough to find a booth being vacated. We set ourselves down and pretend to drink from our bottles.

“I’m not happy about that,” Diane says as a grimace of sorrow flashes over her face. “Patti used to be a really good friend. Tim too. I haven’t seen them for years but I thought I knew them.” Her countenance takes on a bleak cast. “I sure didn’t expect them to react that way.”

“As you said, love, it’s been years. Also you’ve been elsewhere, learning new things, becoming the person you are. They stayed behind. You’ve grown apart, a little.” I lean closer so I can whisper. “People, both human and vampire, are often disconcerted by the way others change.”

She smiles at me, leans over to give a quick kiss. “Thanks.” When she pulls back she remarks, “I hope it goes better with my folks though.”

“It shall, I’m sure,” I tell her. I’m certain it’s going to be difficult but she needs reassurance more than wisdom right now.

We watch the crowd for a while, Diane looking at something familiar and with a different perspective than before, me on something new. We make observations, occasionally comment on the desirability of a person as a meal.

Twice we’re approached by people who knew her when she had lived here. The encounters are always short and bittersweet. They knew Diane as a gay girl. The apparent change in status to straight woman is hard for them to handle. I suspect they sense other things have changed as well.

Technically, we’re neither straight, gay, nor any particular gender. She snickers when I whisper that observation in her ear. It fades quickly though and her bleak expression returns.

The band starts up a slow ballad, which gives me an opportunity to salve my beautiful lady’s mood. I stand and extend my hand. “Would the lady give me the honor of this dance?”

Diane smiles broadly, takes my hand and replies, “But of course, kind sir.”

Fingers entwined we go to the dance floor. We wrap our arms around each other and pull close. Our dance doesn’t consist of any particular steps. It’s just soothing movement in time with the music.

The feel of her in my embrace is as it always is, wonderful. She fills me. Her presence drives the darkness deep within me, compresses it to a point where it is hardly noticeable and takes no effort on my part to control. I smile a content smile and lean my head against hers, complete.

Diane reacts the same way. She had been tense when we started dancing. In moments her state is relaxed, calm. She runs her hands over my back, pleasuring herself with the feel of me.

The ballad ends and we step away from each other. “Thank you,” she says to me, her warm smile shaping her features.

“De rien,” I say back. “Your happiness and comfort is more important than mine.” We move back together and share a kiss.

We must hold it longer than we thought for someone remarks, “Get a room.” We break apart and smile at that person. He grins back, gives a thumbs up and continues leading his partner through their dance.

We find our booth taken and our beers gone when we return. Good. We’d been pretending for a little too long. An observant person might have noticed we weren’t actually drinking. We head back to the bar to replace them. I stand a few steps away while Diane goes up to the bar.

At the moment she steps away with our drinks Dwayne emerges from the crowd. When he is arm’s length from my lady he gives that nasty smile. “Hey, brain,” he drawls. “Been a while. Come back looking for something?”

Diane’s face goes cold, her mouth forms a grim line. “I’m back to visit my parents. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You can’t kid me. You came back looking for a man, a real man.” He puts on an arrogant sneer. “Here I am.”

She blinks at him, and chuckles. “Get real, Dwayne. There’s two problems with that idea. First, I’ve already got a man.” She turns and reaches for me with a smile.

I step up, take her hand and smile at her antagonist. “Bonsoir,” I grin at him. There’s a touch of a gloat in my expression.

The hooligan’s mouth drops and his eyes go wide in astonishment.

“The other problem is you’re not a man,” My lover goes on. “Being a man requires traits you can’t even spell.”

His reaction is to turn beet red. A grimace of fury pulls Dwayne’s lips back and his fists clench.

Before he can act, Diane turns us away and leads us into the press of people. Her hand holds me very tight. A quiet growl comes from her throat.

I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Nicely done,” I tell her. “Have I said lately how much I love your wit?”

That garners me one of her warm smiles. “Not for a couple of hours now.”

“Then consider it done.”

Another booth opens up and we take it. We sit, hands entwined, soaking up the ambiance of this establishment and the emotions of the crowd. It’s a drama people like my love and I cannot participate in, but enjoy watching. One of the biggest dangers of our existence is to wander too far from the world, to only see humans as food. Such a mindset is dangerous. It could alert the mortals to our presence. Although we are much more powerful individually we are greatly outnumbered. On top of that our weaknesses are as detrimental as our powers are advantageous.

The crowd shifts a little, and a woman steps from it in our direction. She’s average in height and build, with brown eyes that contain a great depth. Her chocolate skin is smooth while her hair is short and tightly kinked. A happy smile is fixed on her face and her gaze is on my lady.

Letting go of my hand, my sweetheart rises from our booth. Diane meets the black woman as she arrives at our table. They wrap their arms around each other in a warm hug.

“Ginny!” exclaims my love.

“Hi, Diane.” Her head turns and kisses Diane’s cheek.

She gasps then, and steps back. Her eyes are wide with shock, her mouth slack. She blinks. Her face goes blank while her lips tighten to a thin, fearful line. “N…nice to see you again. I…I can’t stay. See you.” She turns back into the crowd, her steps quick, almost a trot.

I rise and take Diane in my embrace from behind. This can’t be good is my thought. Her body is tense. A little noise of pain trembles in her chest.

“Oh crap,” she murmurs. My lovely lady turns her head to whisper in my ear. “We’d better go, Georges. Now. I’ll explain on the way.” She pulls herself from my grip and heads for the front door.

I catch up and we leave Red’s.

Once we’re off the porch we’re nearly alone. No one is close enough to hear as Diane speaks in a low voice. “I’d forgotten. Ginny’s grandmother and mother had…a reputation. People went to them for help, for advice about the future, or to find out about things in the past. They were usually right. Ginny didn’t have that reputation.” There’s a pause and I can see her searching for words. “But Ginny was, insightful. I think she knows, Georges.”

“That’s not good,” I remark. “This is your world, cheri. What should we do?”

My lover’s shoulders hunch. She knows, and understands, that humans shouldn’t know about us. She doesn’t want to do what our people usually do to mortals who do know.

“Let’s find her,” she says. “We can decide then.”

“We’ve found her,” I tell her. We’re approaching our vehicle and a person is sitting on the back bumper.

Ginny rises as we draw close. Her face is pensive, a touch of fear shows in her eyes. She leans forward just a little with her arms pressed tightly to her sides, bracing herself for what is to come.

Diane and I walk until we’re a couple of steps away. We check as we go, making sure that there are no witnesses, if we have to do what we have to do. We reach for one another and interlace our fingers. I’m struck yet again how much we depend on one another for strength.

Diane’s friend watches. As we take one another’s hands the fear in her features fades a little. Her mouth smiles, just a bit. Her eyes gain that puzzled look that is becoming familiar.

“Hi, Ginny,” Diane says then.

“Hello, Diane,” returns her friend. The black woman’s tone is flat, none of the emotion in her shows in her voice. “That is, if you are Diane.”

“I am,” my love tells her. “Changed a little, but still me.”

Ginny’s face frowns for a second as she tries to match what Diane has told her and what she’s learned about us. “I’m not sure. It was a joy reading you back when. You were so bright, so sharp. Something’s gone now. Something else has been added, and it’s dark, very dark. You look and sound like Diane. But you don’t feel much like her now.”

My love squeezes my hand very hard but I ignore the pain. Stepping behind her I wrap my free arm around her. She needs me, I know.

“What happened?” asks Ginny then.

“I fell in love,” Diane’s answers. The hand not holding me comes up and grips my forearm. I can feel tension leave her as she does. “Georges asked me to stay with him. I accepted. It was my choice. I’m very happy I did.”

Ginny brow furrows in confusion, pulls her head back a little. “Can something like you fall in love?”

A quick flash of anger shoots through me. Diane strains against my embrace for a moment. Neither of us likes to be judged. I push down that emotion. She relaxes as well.

“We feel everything you feel, Ginny. Love, happiness, pain, grief.” Diane trembles for a moment. “The only real differences are physical. You should know how little those matter.”

The other woman nods after a second. Much of the fear fades from her face. “I suppose,” she remarks.

Diane lets go of me, spreads her arms and steps forward.

But her friend recoils and steps back. “I, I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re not the person I knew. I can’t.”

My love slumps and I wrap her in my arms again. Her hands come up, cover her chest in a gesture to protect her from the cold. She huddles against me.

Ginny turns, takes a step away. Pausing then, her head swivels to us. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret. I saw a lot of your ways when I touched you. Understandable because I have to do much the same. I know how people are about different.” She rolls her eyes. “And I just showed I’m not much better.” She refocuses her gaze to continue. “I’ll say nothing. Who’d believe me? How would I explain I know what you are from reading your soul?”

I turn my head a little to look at my love and she does the same. A very small nod of confirmation answers my unspoken question.

Diane turns back to her former friend to reply, “Okay, Ginny.” Her voice is clipped, the tones rather formal. “I trust you. I’ve never doubted your honesty. Sorry things turned out the way they did.”

“Me too. Good bye, Diane.” She walks away not looking back.

My lady watches, staying very still. She remains that way for a minute, long after her lost friend has vanished from sight. Then she shakes herself, steps out of my arms. “We’d better go, love,” she says. “It’s getting early.” She gives a quick smile that vanishes into misery.

We re-enter our vehicle and start out of the lot.

“Do you want to get to your family tonight?” I ask her.

Diane ponders for a moment. “No,” she decides, “I wouldn’t want to wake them up. Let’s head to that campground a few miles back.”

“D’accord,” I agree. We can sleep there and arrive at her parents early tomorrow night.

We’re about halfway to our destination when I notice another vehicle appear in the rear view mirror. A pickup truck, moving fast. The echo of several men giving those infamous ‘Rebel Yells’ comes to me. Our pursuer quickly overtakes us and pulls up on Diane’s side, disappearing from my view.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she growls.

“What?”

“It’s Dwayne and his buddies. I’ve got a shotgun pointed at me. They’re signaling me to follow them.”

“Oh let’s,” I tell her. “This might be fun.”

Her eyes dart to me and she grins. “It might at that.” The wide smile vanishes and she sets her jaw. It’s only the second time she’s been in conflict since her change. That time wasn’t as serious as this one. I can see she’s rather nervous about it.

The pickup pulls in front. There are three men in the bed. The one with the shotgun keeps it on her. Another points a pistol at me. The third man, the one who spit, lounges sitting against the cab, a baseball bat across his knees.

After a couple of minutes driving, the other vehicle pulls onto a lane and shortly after that leads us into a field. They halt so that their vehicle is perpendicular to the nose of our RV and about five car lengths away. The men in the back jump to the ground and bring their weapons to bear once more. Dwayne climbs from the driver’s seat and the last man, the one in the passenger seat. comes into view. They gather in a loose line a step or two from their pickup.

“Come on out, darlin’,” drawls the big man. “We got some things to talk about.”

Diane turns off the engine but leaves the headlights on. We exit our vehicle and move to the front of it as our assailant’s commanded. The man with the shotgun comes forward, stands to my right, covering us both.

“Come ‘ere,” Dwayne directs my lady, curling a finger at her. “We want to make sure that man of yours gets a good view.”

She steps forward with a relaxed gait. I can see she’s not the least bit concerned with what’s about to happen. The four men by the truck watch her approach.

I turn my face to the man covering me. He smiles back. I can see he’s anxious for me to give him an excuse to pull the trigger. So I gaze into his eyes, bury his will in mine. His face slackens. “Don’t move a muscle or make a sound,” I order a low voice. With a nod of my head in Diane’s direction I order him to watch. When I let him go, he does as he’s told. A quivering of his lips and the terror in his eyes show how alarmed he is at his sudden helplessness.

My attention returns to Diane and the idiots confronting her. She stops a step away from Dwayne. He and the others leer at her. I can’t blame them for that.

“I never liked you, bitch,” states the florid faced man. “I don’t like dykes. I don’t like smart asses. If you’d gotten some decent cock, that would have changed.” He looks at me. “And when you do decide to get some cock it’s with some fucking cheese eater.”

I keep my face impassive but snicker inside. It’s been over two centuries since I ate any cheese.

“Tonight, bitch,” Dwayne goes on, “you’re going to get all the good American cock you can take. That skinny bastard over there is going to watch. When we’re done your bodies will go into an old well and we’ll find something useful to do with your RV.”

He steps up to Diane, his hands reach out and squeeze her breasts. Her hands come up to his chest. Dwayne sneers a vicious smile, thinking the small woman he’s about to abuse is helpless.

Then he flies through the air. He slams into the driver’s door of the pickup, shattering the glass and leaving a man shaped dent in the metal.

His compatriots stand frozen with amazement.

My lady bounces to the man holding the pistol. She pushes it down and away. Her left foot comes up between his legs, lifting him well off the ground. His gun discharges harmlessly into the dirt and he collapses.

With two swift steps to her right Diane buries her fist in the torso of the man on that side. The sound of his sternum breaking cracks though the air. He goes to his knees, gagging on his pain.

The man with the baseball bat snaps free of the shock that held him. With an animal howl he swings his weapon at her. My love turns in his direction and grabs it with her left hand, stopping him dead. He pushes at it with a grunt, trying to complete his attack. She doesn’t budge. Then, his face twisting in effort, tries to pull himself free of her grip. That, needless to say, is not successful either. His mouth goes slack and he stares at Diane with astonishment. I can almost hear the gears whirring as he tries to fathom how a slip of a woman can hold against him.

Without effort, Diane takes his weapon from him and slams it against his jaw, shattering it. He goes full length to the ground.

Diane corrects her grip, steps forward and brings the bat high. Her mask slips and the monster she is comes out.

“Cher! No!” I shout at her.

She turns to glare at me, hell in her eyes. “Don’t come between me and my prey,” she snarls. Her voice has almost no humanity in it at all.

My own darkness rises to meet her. I don’t like being challenged any more than she does. But I seize it, push it down. “Diane,” I say quietly, “no.”

She holds still for a moment. The woman I love returns to give me a weak smile. “Thanks, chére. I wouldn’t want to dirty my hands with these assholes.”

A whimper sounds to my right, and the smell of urine fills my nostrils. “Drop it,” I tell the man I enthralled.

“My lady,” I say to him when his hands are empty, “isn’t she magnificent?” I follow that with a right cross to his jaw that lays him out.

I walk towards Diane and she towards me. We embrace, lay a warm kiss on the other’s mouth. “Well done,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Thanks. That was fun. These guys have been needing a shit kicking for a while now.” My strange lady looks at the limp forms scattered about. “What ever shall we do with them?” is the question she then asks in a most sarcastic tone.

In answer I lead her to the man I’ve knocked out. “I think it’s time for you to try a little something.” I bend, grab his collar and sit him up. “I’ll bring him around. You try to control him. Meet his eyes, you’ll be able to feel him, his mind. Concentrate, grab it. Then plant some memories, and remove any he has of you and I.”

She nods and kneels. “I’m ready,” she tells me after a moment’s pause.

I squeeze his earlobe hard. With a gasp he comes awake. A moment later he goes slack, his eyes fixed on Diane.

“Oh, cool,” she remarks. “I can feel him, he’s open to me.”

“Feed him a story. Make sure he doesn’t remember us.”

“Okay.” She pauses again, then speaks to him. “You didn’t see us after we left Red’s. You and your buddies went looking but didn’t find us. You did find some bikers who beat the shit out of you. You have no idea where we went to or what we are.” She lets his mind go and I slap him into unconsciousness.

“Will that hold up you think, Georges?” she asks me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “His memories of us here are gone now. They will be filled by other things his mind will create to fill the gaps. Of course it won’t be consistent but the inconsistencies will be about those creations and not what we did here. Any authorities will be baffled but they won’t know about us.

“Now let’s fix the rest of them. Wipe down the baseball bat, it’s got your prints on it.”

We clean up, get back in our vehicle and head to the campground. Diane smiles, shows much less tension.

On arrival we rent a spot for the day. We connect power and water then spend some time relaxing, Diane on-line while I read.

Dawn approaches and we close up. Shutters come down and are locked. We get undressed, close off our sleeping area and climb into bed. Spooned together, we wait for the sun.

“That was an interesting night,” Diane says.

“It was. Merci, chéri.”

“Why thank me?” she asks.

“Because I got to spend it with you.”

She wriggles against me.

The sun comes up and we know no more.

* * * *

We rise with the sunset. The shower is too small for both of us so we have to take turns. Ladies first, of course.

When Diane finishes I clean myself. I can hear her brush her teeth at the sink, get dressed and go outside. She likes being outdoors and is always the first out of where ever we’re staying.

I finish my toilette, then start opening shutters. Just as the last one at the very back rolls up, a police cruiser goes past. ‘Sheriff’ is written in large letters on the side of it. The play of lights that dances over neighboring vehicles tells me it pulls up in front of our RV. A touch of concern furrows my forehead as I head to the side exit.

A car door opens, quite obviously the law enforcement vehicle I just observed. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I hear a deep female voice say. That’s followed by a sudden gasp. “Diane?”

“Carol!” responds my love.

At that point I open the door and peer out. A medium sized woman with short dark hair, solidly built and dressed in a deputy’s uniform has her arms wrapped around my lady. Diane is returning it.

The deputy pulls her head from Diane’s shoulder, leans it forward, aiming her lips at Diane’s mouth. My love turns her to catch the kiss on her cheek. The brunette woman jerks her head back, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion twisting her mouth.

I walk up to them. “Bonsoir, deputy,” I greet. “Can we help you?”

Diane takes herself from the other woman’s arms. She steps back, next to me. Our hands automatically reach for each other.

The other woman’s mouth drops in astonishment and she stands still for several seconds. Her eyes glitter for a moment before she closes them, wipes an arm across her face. When she opens them again, she shows only her profession. “Perhaps, Mr.?”

“Belleveau, Georges Belleveau.”

Carol pulls out her notebook and jots that down.

“Where are you from, Mr. Belleveau?”

“Paris,” I tell her, pronouncing it properly, “France.”

“And you, ma’am?”

“You don’t need to be so formal, Carol,” Diane tells her. “But I’m still Diane Patterson…and I’m living with Georges now.”

The deputy shivers for a moment, the corners of her mouth dip downward. She firms up after a second to ask, “And what is your purpose in our county?”

“We’re tourists,” I tell her, “on our way to visit my love’s family.” I lift Diane’s hand to my mouth and kiss it.

A small whine sounds from Carol’s throat.

I sigh inside. It’s obvious she and Diane share a history. So I’ll lessen my displays of affection. I don’t want to hurt someone whom my lady cares about.

The other woman manages a weak smile, her professional mien fades for a moment. “Your folks are doing good. I talked to them last week. They didn’t know you were coming.”

“We wanted to make it a surprise,” Diane tells her.

“It will be.” Carol lifts her pad and continues questioning us. “Were you at the establishment known as Red’s last night?”

“Oui,” is my reply. “We drove by it and Diane told me she had happy memories of that place. So we went in and had a couple of drinks. We saw some old friends of hers and talked to them.”

“Could I get those people’s names, please?”

We mention Tim and Patti, as well as Ginny.

“Did either of you see the man known as Dwayne Coltrane or…” and Carol rattles off four more names.

“Dwayne?” I ask. My head turns to Diane and I affect mild confusion, asking, “Wasn’t he that unpleasant looking individual that accosted you?” I turn back to Carol. “I don’t know any of those other names.”

The deputy snickers. “’Unpleasant looking individual.’ You have a good eye for character, Mr. Belleveau. How about you, Diane?”

“Yeah,” is the answer. “They were there. Dwayne tried coming on to me in his inimitable manner. I shot him down. You know how I feel about those assholes.”

Carol nods. “Did you see them outside of Red’s?”

“No,” I tell her, “we left and came straight here.”

The dark haired woman folds up her notebook. “Okay, thanks.”

“May we ask what this is about, deputy?” I question then.

She ruminates for a second. Carol looks at Diane, and sighs. Then she looks at me with a quick flash of jealousy flashing across her features. Her eyes go to the pad in her hands then come back up.

“Okay,” she starts. “Don’t spread this around, but someone did a number on Dwayne and his friends last night.”

“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of people,” is Diane’s remark.

Carol grins. “I won’t lose any sleep over it. But their story doesn’t add up.

“They claim they were attacked by some bikers. But no one saw any bikers in the area last night, and bikers would have worked them over pretty good. All of Dwayne’s friends suffered one disabling injury and nothing else.

“His injuries were worse, but very odd. Someone threw him against his truck, hard enough to break limbs, ribs and his pelvis.” Carol’s voice communicates her consternation to us. “You know how big he is. It’s hard to believe anyone could do that. Maybe another big man, on PCP or something, could do it. But we haven’t found anyone like that either.

“It’s really strange.” Diane’s friend shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe the story just recounted.

My lady and I look at each other, and we show surprised stares. “I’ll say,” remarks Diane, returning her attention to her old lover. “I wish we could help more, or are we under suspicion?” The tone of her voice is bantering

Carol chuckles. “I don’t think I need to worry about you two for some reason. You don’t look like the types who could take out five armed men.”

She puts her pad and pen away. Carol looks at Diane and her face carries a trace of melancholy. “Nice to see you again. Call the station and we’ll get together.”

“If I find the time, I will,” Diane assures her.

The deputy turns away and gets back in her car. Reversing it out to the trail, she pauses for a moment, looks at the two of us. Her lower lip quivers for a moment. Then she faces front and drives away.

Diane turns to hug me tightly.

As always, I return the gesture. “Someone you know, cher?”

“Yeah. She took my virginity.”

“Ah,” I remark. I feel no anger about that. Why should I? Diane had her own life before she entered my world in darkness. As well, it’s obvious her heart belongs wholly belongs to me.

“It was the summer before I went to university,” my love goes on. “She was the older sister of a friend of mine. Carol had just graduated and I went to pick her brain.

“I was very unsure of myself, sexually. None of the guys around here did it for me. There were rumors because I was so relentlessly single. I guess Carol had heard them. She seduced me. It was flattering, skillful and awfully exciting. No guy had really tried that.

“I gave in. It was fun. We had a hot relationship that summer.

“But it didn’t stop me from going away. Nice as it was, it really wasn’t what I was looking for. I hadn’t realized until now that she might have fallen for me.

“So much for my feminine intuition,” she finishes with a smile.

“Don’t feel bad,” I tell her, smiling back. “I’m not without intuition, and I have a couple of centuries experience with it. But I made the same mistake not too long ago.”

“But we fixed that, didn’t we, love?”

Our mouths meet and we share the kiss that lets the other know how much we care.

When I finally pull my lips from hers I note, “We’d better get on the road. We don’t want to arrive at your parents too late.” Diane nods and we go about preparing for the last leg of our trip.

We’re on the road within ten minutes. A tad less than half an hour after that, Diane turns our RV up the driveway to her parent’s home.

It’s a two story wood building, blue with white trim. It has the porch so common to farmhouses in North America. There’s a lot of ground free of trees surrounding it, quite a few acres it seems. The area around the house is a well-kept lawn, the rest is hay just starting to turn. There is a shed to the left side of the house and a barn somewhat farther behind it. I can smell the excrement of horses.

We drive up to the house, stopping so that the passenger side is facing it.

A man comes out onto the porch. A stocky man about my height. Although at least seventy he moves with the ease of someone much younger. I can tell where my love got her green eyes from. His hair is white but I would bet it had been auburn once.

I open the door and climb to the ground. I hear Diane do the same.

“Can I help you, mister?” asks my lady’s father. I don’t bother to reply. Diane walks into sight. A delighted expression fills his face in an instant.

At that moment a dog emerges from the front door with a clicking of nails on wood. A collie, getting on in years. It looks at us…and its head lowers, its tail goes between its legs. With a whine it backs away into the house. A moment later I can hear it barreling up the stairs and to the farthest point of the upper floor.

I turn to look at my love. There is hurt and surprise showing in her expression. We vampires don’t often encounter animals in our world. They always know just what we are. In a city, our most frequent hunting grounds, it’s much less obvious to humans what causes the reaction we just observed. So we rarely have to worry about animals giving us away.

“I guess you’ve been away too long, cher,” I say aloud.

She turns her face to mine, gives me a weak smile. “Yeah, I guess I have.” Looking at her father she greets, “Hi, Dad. I guess this is a surprise.” Her features warm, with more than a little apprehension showing.

Mr Patterson looks back with the same expression.

A voice emerges from inside, a woman’s voice with a slight quaver of age to it. “Jim? Are you all right? The dog just ran by and he didn’t look happy.”

“Lilly, you’d better come see this,” he replies.

The woman exits the house. I can see the relation between her and my love immediately. They share identical builds although her mother is stooped a little with age. Blue eyed, her face is a sweet as Diane’s despite the lines on it.

Lilly stops, blinks in surprise. Then she smiles widely and rushes forward, arms spread. Diane hustles to meet her. A moment later they are wrapped in a warm embrace. A moment after that her father joins them.

“Honey,” says Lilly after a quick kiss on the cheek, “it’s so good to see you. I wish you’d given us some warning though.”

“We didn’t want to make a big fuss about it, Mom,” is my love’s reply.

“You’re looking a little pale,” her mother says next. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve never felt better in my life.”

I manage to keep a quirk of amusement from showing at that observation.

Lilly’s eyes focus on me. Her husband’s do as well. I stay where I am. I’m not part of the family yet.

Diane pulls herself from her parents’ arms, steps back and takes my hand. “Mom, Dad. I’d like you to meet the man I fell in love with. Georges Belleveau.”

“Bonsoir, Monsieur et Madame Patterson,” I say to them. “Comment-allez vous?”

Her parents show the astonishment Diane’s announcement keeps causing. Their eyes go wide and their mouths drop a little. They hold that for a moment.

“Is this the person that was making you so unhappy, sweetie?” Diane’s mother asks.

“We were both responsible for that,” my love returns.

“Yes, I am,” I overlap. Then we grin at each other.

“I didn’t want to fall in love,” I explain then, facing her parents once more. “I’d not been a success at it in the past, and I didn’t want to hurt your daughter the way I had other people I’d been involved with. So I talked her into letting me go.”

“And then I did something foolish.” Diane picks up the thread. “I did something to drive him away. When I came to my senses, he was gone.”

“It took me a while before I realized my mistake,” I continue. “So I asked Diane to come to me. She did, we repaired our rift and we’ve been together ever since. I’ve never been happier.”

“And I’m just as happy.”

I lift her hand to my lips. Her grip tightens ever so gently.

Her parent’s expressions lighten, lift into smiles, with a little confusion shaping their eyes. “We could tell from your e-mails and phone calls that something was going on, and there were so few of them,” Jim says. “It hurt a lot that you didn’t share. We’ve never poked into your business, always waited for you to open up. You didn’t this time. That hurt as well.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t understand myself what I felt and why. It was such a strange place I was in, I didn’t think anyone could help. Please forgive me.”

“Of course, honey,” comes from Lilly. “You’ll always be our daughter.” She turns to me, steps forward and takes me in her arms. “Welcome to the family, Georges. Anyone my daughter loves, I’ll love.”

I return the gesture with a smile. I can tell her declaration is an honest one.

Lilly releases me and Jim steps forward, extending his hand. “Welcome, Georges. My wife speaks for me on this.” His smile is forthright. However, there is a small amount of concern in his eyes.

I take his hand and shake it, careful to show none of my strength. “Merci,” I tell him, “I’m happy to be here.”

“Come inside,” announces Mrs. Patterson then. “Would you like some ice tea? Or lemonade?”

Diane steps towards me and we take each other’s hands once more. “Thanks, Mom,” she replies, “but we’re fine.”

Jim and Lilly mirror our action. It gives me a warm feeling to see people who’ve been together that long still showing their affection. As far as I know, Diane and I are unique amongst our kind. I’ve sometimes been concerned the weight of time might be too much for us. To see her parents gives me hope.

Diane’s mother and father turn and head for the house. “Let us show you around, Georges,” says Jim.

“D’accord,” I tell him and we follow them.

The Patterson’s have a lovely home. It’s well maintained and very comfortable. They show us the living room, dining room and kitchen. There’s laundry machines in a room behind the kitchen. Across a hall is a television room and Jim’s den. His room is full of books and magazines. A computer sits on a desk sits here. There is a locked gun cabinet containing a small collection of firearms, all of them meant for hunting.

They lead us up the stairs. First is Lilly’s sewing room. The next room is my love’s bedroom.

They’ve left it as it was when she lived here. I can see her in it. The single bed is covered by a thin comforter with lace trimming. A pillow in a case of the same design and color sits atop it. This shows her femininity. The rest of the furniture is bookcases and a desk with writing materials on it. Her so deep intellect is displayed by these items.

I smile. I can see my lady here, what made her the person I love so dearly.

“That’s our room at the end of the hall,” Jim tells me. “We won’t go there. That’s where the dog is hiding. I don’t think he’s used to you yet.” A small frown fills his face and he looks at us with worried curiosity. His wife shares that expression.

“Let’s go to the living room,” is Lilly’s request then. Diane and I step into the hall and leave space for her parent’s to precede us. They head for the stairs with the two of us a couple of steps behind.

A mournful howl cuts through the air. It spills from the master bedroom. The wavering sound contains the agony of a canine losing a loved one.

We all start and turn our heads in the direction of the Patterson’s bedroom. Lilly’s hand jerks, hitting a glass figurine sitting on a small table. The statue topples and heads for the floor.

Diane lunges forward and catches it before it’s a quarter of the distance to the ground. Straightening, she places it back where it had been.

Her parents stare wide eyed at her. Their astonishment at the wondrous speed and precision their daughter showed is writ large on their faces.

“I know how much that meant to you, Mom. I couldn’t let it break.” She smiles, with tension showing underneath.

Jim and Lilly’s amazement fades, pulls back to a smile like Diane’s. “Thanks, honey,” returns her mom. “Let’s head to the living room. We’re going to put Georges through the third degree.” She winks at me, although her unease weakens the humor it was meant to convey

I smile back, put a faux look of fear on my face and return the gesture. Diane chuckles, squeezes my hand. “You’re in trouble now, buddy,” she snickers.

We go to the house’s main room, Jim and Lilly taking the large sofa, Diane and I the smaller one.

“So what’s your story, Georges?” asks Jim.

I tell him the almost truth. How I was born to a minor noble family in Alsace and how I grew up in my family’s villa. That’s followed by relating my parent’s insistence that I work in the local vineyards so that I wouldn’t suffer the arrogance so many of my class possess. Then my speech wanders to the tutors hired to make sure I gained the education required of me. My tale describes my moving to Paris as a young man. Finally, I talk of my travels, mostly to North America.

I don’t tell them how long ago I was young, or the length of time these events took place over.

“Damn,” remarks Jim when I’m done. “I’ve done my own traveling, when I was in the Army. Alsace was one of the places I visited when I was posted in Germany. A lovely region. Interesting history as well.” He sighs. “That was before Diane was born, or I met Lilly.” He turns to smile at her and squeezes her hand. They look so much like Diane and I, I can’t help but smile myself.

He turns back to me. “I have a book, A Flame Rekindled by a Georges Bellleveau.”

I bow my head a little in acknowledgment. “Oui,” I tell him, “that’s mine.”

“Considering it’s twenty years old, you must have been very young when you wrote it.”

“Yes,” I reply. “Just past twenty. But I’d long had an interest in The Enlightenment. That book was the result.”

“I liked it a lot, learned a fair bit. You had a viewpoint I wouldn’t expect from a man as young as you at the time.”

With a shrug of my shoulders I say, “I think it’s my love of history. Often had my nose buried in a book about the past. I guess it affected my perspective.”

Jim smiles. “I can see know why my daughter likes you so much.” A moment later his lips tighten and his eyes dart back and forth between us.

Lilly stands. “Would you like something eat?” she asks. “It’s a little late and I could use a snack.”

Diane and I look at the clock. It’s almost midnight. We return our attention to her parents as their daughter replies, “Thanks, Mom, but we’re okay.”

Her mother nods. The older woman’s face holds a brittle smile. She looks at her husband to ask, “Could you help out, dear?” He agrees, rises, and they both head to the kitchen.

Concern sharpens the corners of our eyes as We glance at each other. I squeeze her hand to reassure her and smile to let her know I’ll always be with her. We wait to see what their parents are deciding.

I pray that this won’t be a situation where we can’t leave witnesses. That’s a thought I keep to myself.

A radio comes on in the kitchen. It’s loud enough to obscure anything Jim and Lilly say, even to ears as sharp as ours. They talk for several minutes.

Diane grows nervous, her free hand fidgets a little. That makes me lean over to kiss her cheek in reassurance. Her face warms, as it always does when I show my support of her.

The radio goes off. Jim goes to the hall and down to his den. Indistinct metallic sounds follow. “Georges,” sounds his voice, “could you come here for a minute?”

I rise, wink at Diane and head to his room. I guess I’m getting a man-to-man talk. As I reach the door I turn into it and enter the den…

…to find myself looking down the barrel of one of Jim’s shotguns.

“What have you done to my daughter?” he asks in a tight, quiet voice.

I have to slam the monster down. It does not care for surprises of this type. “I did nothing that she didn’t agree to.”

“She’s so different now,” he goes on, not seeming to hear me. His eyes are a little distant. “She moves differently, and so pale. Diane was always a self-contained girl but now she seems so…restrained. The dog is scared of her and I couldn’t believe how fast she moved when she caught Lilly’s figurine. I’ll ask again, what have you done with my daughter?”

“Just what I said,” I reply.

His knuckles turn white on the barrel. “Not good enough. Give me a reason not to pull this trigger.”

There’s a rapid pattering noise and Diane is standing between me and her father. “Dad,” she states in a flat voice, “don’t. You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Mr. Patterson’s jaw drops, the muzzle of the shotgun droops as his muscles relax. He blinks as his mind tries to grasp what he’s just seen.

Lilly comes into the room in a rush, her face ashen with shock. She stops and then her expression matches her husband’s. After a moment she steps over to her husband and wraps her arms around him.

“Mom, Dad,” my love tells them then, “we have to talk. Let’s go into the living room.”

They nod. Diane reaches for me and I for her. We turn to the door. “You won’t need the shotgun, Dad. I promise.” she says as we exit.

On arrival in the living room, we take the second sofa. We sit, hips touching, hands clasping. Her parents enter and sit themselves across from us. Their faces are studiously blank although tears twinkle in Lilly’s eyes.

“Can Georges and I take a moment?” Diane asks.

They nod a careful agreement.

My love and I lean our heads close. “What can we do?” she asks.

“Several things,” I tell her. “You know what they are.”

Her mouth tightens. “No. I won’t kill my parents. I can’t.”

“Then we won’t.”

She ruminates for a second. “Could we erase their memories?”

“Doubtful,” is my reply. “They have too many of you. I doubt we could create a lie that wouldn’t fall apart and quickly.”

Diane gets a very bleak expression on her face. It seems to her we have no choices, and she’ll have to participate in a horrific act. One that will scar her deeply. Perhaps more than she can stand.

That isn’t the case though.

“How much do you trust them?” I ask then.

“They’re my mom and dad, Georges.”

“So we tell them. We know they can keep a secret.”

She nods. “Fangs only,” she says. “That will be enough.”

“Fangs only,” I agree.

We draw apart and turn to face them once more.

“Mom, Dad. This is what you need to know.” As she finishes I pull my lips back and extend my fangs. I know she’s doing the same.

Lilly makes a strangled noise, buries her face in Jim’s neck and starts to weep. His face falls. No tears emerge but his eyes glisten.

Diane releases me, gets up and walks over to them. She kneels to place a hand on their thighs. “It’s still me. I swear to God, it’s still me!”

Lilly swallows her sobs, looks at her daughter. “Are you?” she asks. “How can you make us believe that?”

“What would you do if you wanted me to be honest in the past, Mom? I’ll do it.”

Diane’s mother ponders for a moment. She looks just like her daughter when her offspring is thinking. Lilly gets up and goes down the hall. In a minute she returns with a leather bound book in her hand.

A moment’s fear tremors through me. What she holds could be dangerous to my love and I. But I keep quiet. I don’t dare interfere.

Lilly extends the book. “Swear on this,” she says. “My daughter wouldn’t lie on this.”

Diane turns on her knees to face her mother. She places the palm of her right hand on the tome. “I swear, Mom. I’m still me.”

She jerks back with a pained groan as the stink of burned flesh suffuses the room.

In a second I’m wrapping her in my arms. Together we stare at her hand. The skin is black, red streaks of flesh showing through the cracks in it. Wisps of smoke still rise from it.

Then it begins to change. The black returns to the pale pink it was, the cracks vanish. In moments her hand is back to normal.

A gasp sounds from both her parents.

Diane grips me very hard. She sounds a whine of effort and her body strains against my grip.

“Shh, cher,” I tell her. “I’m here. Hold on.”

Her mother takes a half step towards us. I look up, give my head a little shake. She stops, drops her Bible with her face is full of misery.

“Jim,” I say then, speaking quickly, “go to our vehicle. There’s a fridge in the back. Bring three. Hurry!” My voice places a heavy emphasis on the last word.

He’s goes without a word, moving with a speed and grace that belies his age and size. In barely a minute he’s back.

Extending my arm, keeping a tight grip on my love I say, “Give me one.” He places a blood bag in my hand and I bring it to Diane’s mouth. With a convulsive movement she sinks her fangs in it.

“Gently, mignonne,” I tell her. “Don’t waste any.”

She sucks at it with a voracious strength, showing how close to starvation she is. Her throat works, drawing the sustaining fluid into her stomach.

I squeeze the bag as she drains it to make sure she gets every drop. As she finishes it I reach to Jim for another. He gives me one, I offer it to Diane and she starts to feed again.

She’s not as hungry now, so emptying this bag takes more time. Her body relaxes so I loosen my hold.

The third bag she takes her time consuming. When done, she turns her head to peck at my cheek. “Thank you, love,” she says.

I take her lips in mine and we share that deep kiss. Then I release her, move back and nod my head at her parents.

At once they kneel and embrace her. “I’m so sorry, honey,” her mother blubbers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

“I know, Mom,” is the reply. “I’m as surprised as you.”

I let them hold there for several minutes. It’s good to let them be. It will help rebuild the bond nearly broken by our revelation.

“We have to finish our talk,” I say finally. “We’ll need the rest of the night.”

They draw apart and we take our previous positions.

“Convinced now, Mom?”

Her mother gives her a smile flavored with shock. “I am. You always did the right thing no matter how much it hurt.” Lilly looks at me, her eyes and lips slit with anger. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Because what happened is a very unusual phenomena,” I tell her.

Lilly’s anger fades. Both her parents frown with confusion.

“You have faith, Lilly. Not just belief, faith. You know without proof that the power behind the words in that book exists. You have no doubt of it.

“So, in your hands, the book becomes a focus of that power. Diane and I come from a different power. Thus the power of the book hurts us.

“I didn’t know you well enough to be aware of that. I’m sorry. What happened is my fault.”

Her parents smile again. “Forgiven, Georges,” Lilly tells me. “It did prove she’s still my daughter. As I said she always did the right thing no matter what the consequences. I don’t understand how He works but anything else wouldn’t have convinced me.”

Jim interrupts. “It wouldn’t have been good if we weren’t convinced, would it, Georges?”

“What makes you say that?” I ask in return.

“I keep an eye on the world, Georges. I’ve lived a long time and I’ve heard not even a rumor of thi…people like you. You must work hard to keep your existence from the world, and I’ll bet that the methods you use aren’t always kind.”

“You have the right of it. But your daughter and I don’t like to use those methods. We value human life. Furthermore, your daughter trusts you. Which is why we revealed ourselves.”

“Thank you, Georges.” he says. Jim ponders for a moment. “So what really happened?” is the question he asks next. “To you and my daughter?”

Diane and I start talking, leaving nothing out. I stop when it’s her turn to speak, she picks up the thread, hands it back to me when she’s done. It’s a single story we tell, not the same story from different perspectives.

We tell how we met, how we grew closer, how we fell in love. How what I am drew her into my world and how the conflict that came to me almost destroyed her.

Lilly’s features blank with horror as I talk of that, her eyes tear and she grabs her husband’s hand tightly. “A mage?” asks Jim, astonishment and fear in his voice. “There are actually people who use magic?”

“Yes,” I reply. “They are very rare. Even rarer than our kind. It’s hard to tell, though. They, from what I’ve learned, are as careful to hide as we are.” I go on telling of how my conflict finished, but I leave out some of the darker parts. I don’t want to create a new breach between my love and her parents.

“Thank you, Georges,” says Lilly as I finish. “Our daughter as a slave would have been too much for us.”

“Don’t. It was my fault, the reason I left her.”

“Why do you say that, Georges?” Jim queries.

My love and I start talking of what happened after. I fled to Paris, she fled into herself. We both became empty people wandering through our lives. I tell of how I realized I needed her, how I had people find her and how I sent for her. Diane speaks of her journey to where I was, of us meeting again and of the conflict that once more befell us. We speak of me rescuing her and how it revealed what I am to her. She tells of the break this disclosure caused, her struggle to accept her discovery, and her eventual reconciliation with me. I speak of my offer and her agreement to it.

“I see,” remarks Jim. “It seems you’re often in trouble, Georges. You were afraid of my daughter being hurt by it.”

“Oui. Even here, we had a small conflict.”

“Oh?”

“Georges and I encountered Dwayne on the way here,” my love informs them. “They picked the wrong people to start a fight with.” Her mouth shapes into a satisfied smile.

Jim and Lilly blink at us for a second. “I guess I’m not going to be grounding you any more am I, young lady?” her dad remarks. His eyes twinkle with humor.

“No, Dad,” Diane grins back, “you’re not.”

We all chuckle for a moment.

I pick up our tale. “That shows one of the reasons I asked Diane to join me. If we had encountered Dwayne and his cronies while she was still human it might not have turned out well. I might not have been able to protect her. I had been lucky the other times. Now she can protect herself.” I smile and lift her hand to mine to kiss, “and she did very well at it too.”

Diane squeezes my hand lovingly.

“The other reason, Georges?” is Jim’s next question.

“How would you feel, Jim, if you were immortal and Lilly was not? What would your feelings be knowing she was going to fade from your life and there was no hope of her returning?”

He swallows and grimaces in pain. Lilly brings her other hand up, Jim also, and they grip each other tightly. “I’m not sure I could stand it,” he says, his voice thin and bleak.

“Nor could I. Now Diane and I will never be apart.”

“And Dad,” Diane interjects, “Georges told me everything before he changed me. I knew just what I was getting into. It was scary, but not half as scary as the thought of losing him.” She leans towards me, wraps her free arm around my stomach and huddles close.

“Have you…?” Lilly starts to ask. Her face is fearful of the answer she’ll receive.

“Fed on people?” my lady replies. “Yes I have, Mom. But I haven’t killed anybody. I only need to feed. I don’t need to kill.”

I do nothing to give away the fact that my Diane is lying. Her parents need to know, but they don’t need to know everything.

Her mother’s expression lightens a little. “Are you happy, honey?” is her next question.

“More than I’ve ever been, Mom.”

“Moi aussi,” I add.

Both her parents form a content smile at that statement. “Then we’re happy for you, honey,” her dad says. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

We sit quietly for a while, each of us wrapped around the person we love. This is a time when being with the most important person in your existence is a great comfort.

Jim yawns, Lilly a second later. I check the clock, it’s only a couple of hours until dawn. Our stories have filled the night.

“You’d better get to bed,” Diane tells them. “Sorry we kept you up so late.”

“No, honey,” Lilly returns. “We should have asked. We should have trusted you. But you had changed so much we were frightened. We’re sorry for that.”

“Then consider that our mistakes cancel each other out,” I say. “We’re even and start with a clean slate.” They smile and incline their heads in agreement.

We stand and they escort us to the door. Lilly hugs her daughter and myself in turn. Jim shakes my hand and then embraces my love. “You’re always surprising us, honey,” he says.

“I surprise myself, Dad,” she replies with a warm smile.

“I guess we’ll see you tomorrow night?” Lilly asks. Her face is a rich melange of emotions. Happiness and love are mixed with confusion and sorrow. She blinks tears free from her eyes.

“You will, Mom. Good night.”

“Bon nuit,” I add.

“Night, folks,” Jim finishes. “See you tomorrow.” Diane and I step out and her father closes the door behind us.

We walk to our vehicle and enter. As I close the door, Diane lets me go and heads towards the living area at the back. I follow a step behind.

She stops and whirls to face me, with her mask down. The being she really is shows. There is an expression shaping her features I never expected to see when the monster is revealed. It’s there, the sharp angles, the unreal beauty, the sinister eyes. But her face contains a cold bleakness. “Love me, Georges,” she demands, her voice reedy and trembling.

I let my facade fade, and I smile. The smile I’ll always give her regardless of the aspect I display. The one that shows how much she means to me.

The corners of her mouth lift ever so little. She spreads her arms.

Stepping into them I wrap her in my embrace, bend my head and take her sweet lips. I kiss her hard, the passion that fills me heating my soul. I draw her tight, pull in a breath and moan.

Diane reciprocates. Her tongue sweeps along the slit of my mouth. I open and let her in. She teases, pokes, plays with my fangs. Pushing back I run into her mouth. We bounce our tongues back and forth faster and harder.

I grab her lovely ass in my hands, lift her up so we’re eye to eye. She crosses her legs behind me to press herself into my stomach. Our bodies can’t react, but our souls feel the lust this action creates. We dig our fingers into each other.

She pulls back and I see a wonder. Her features are those of the vampire, but her eyes are human, sea green and warm with the lustful sparkle I know so well. “Get naked, love,” Diane demands. “I want to feel your skin against mine.” She lets me go, steps back and begins removing her clothes.

I pull desperately at my own. At this moment, I can’t bear to be away from her. My body needs the touch of her as well.

Diane stands now, naked, and so beautiful. Slim, firm, white skinned and so nicely shaped. She lies on her back, spreads open. “Love me, Georges. I need you more than ever now.”

As always, I answer her call. I kneel between her legs, drape myself over her. My kiss is passionate.My hands roam overhear skin as I rub myself against her labia. My equipment may not work but I don’t care. The feel of her fills me, makes my mind burn. It’s a joy, a pleasure, an addiction. I feel like I had never touched a woman before I had touched her.

She sucks at my tongue, plays her digits across my back, pumps her hips. Diane makes little squeaks, an occasional moan. Her lust is apparent in her frantic actions.

We play, stroke, tease. For many minutes we show how much we want each other.

“Now Georges,” she gasps, “now.” She leans her head to the right exposing herself.

I place my mouth on her neck and my fangs penetrate. I don’t suck, just let the thin trickle of her blood run over my tongue. The taste of it tells me so much.

Her fangs penetrate my shoulder and my passion, my love, blanks any perception save that communicated through my love’s blood.

At first, her flavor is almost flat, the emptiness of despair the strongest component. It’s mixed with the delicious foulness of her basic nature. Little bursts of ecstasy, joy and love dance through the fluid.

Diane fills her lungs, releases it with a languorous noise that I know is my name. Her limbs pull me tight and she shivers against me.

Her savor changes slowly. The bursts fade less rapidly, spread out, fill the vacuum of her melancholy. Step by step, her emptiness vanishes, her darkness is pressed back. Finally I can taste little more than the sweet delight of her love.

It makes me clutch at her hard. I feel a peace I have never known in my dark existence.

It takes some will power but I manage to pull myself from her throat. Diane withdraws her fangs, relaxes and gives a happy sigh. We lie there for a while. We don’t sweat or pant as humans do after they make love. Our feelings are the same. We’re filled with the tranquil bliss of lovers, a delicate and strong emotion drawn forth by the other’s happiness.

“J’taime, Georges,” she whispers in my ear.

“I love you, Diane,” I return.

Dawn approaches. Without a word we stand and shutter our vehicle’s windows. We close up our sleeping area, spoon on our bed.

“I think we should go tomorrow,” my beautiful lady tells me.

“As you wish.”

* * * *

Her parents take the news well.

As soon as we give it, Diane and I turn to exit her childhood home. Her parents follow and the four of us pause on the porch to face each other.

Jim’s face is nearly blank, his mouth is a straight, thin line. The ends twitch at moments, up then down. His eyes glisten at the corners. Lilly’s face is drawn tight, her eyes shine and her lips quiver.

She lets go of her husband’s hand, steps forward to embrace her daughter. Diane returns the tight hug. Lilly loosens her arms, moves to me and repeats her gesture. I hug her back. It’s very rare to receive such an honest gesture from a human.

Diane’s mother releases me and steps back. “I’m very pleased to have met you, Georges,” she says. Lilly reaches out to take her daughter’s hands. “You’ll keep in touch?”

“Of course, Mom.”

Lilly turns to me once more. “Loo… Loo…” she stammers, her voice strangled with emotion. Then her face scrunches and she flees into her house.

Jim looks after her, his face pensive and hurting. He faces me and extends his hand. I take it  to share a firm handshake.

“Look after my daughter,” he asks, finishing his wife’s request.

“With my own existence if need be,” I tell him with all honesty.

He smiles a quirky expression of acceptance, wonder and loss. Shaking his head Jim says, “It’s so strange. To learn this late in life about people like you and my daughter, to pass her to a place I never knew existed.” He looks into my eyes and his own are full of respect. “To ask a person from that dark place to care for her and know that he will.”

I smile, nod my head and we open our hands.

Jim goes to his daughter and gives her a warm squeeze. “We love you, sweetie. Never doubt that.”

“I know, Dad.”

They step away from each other. Diane reaches for my hand and I accept it.

“Good bye, Dad.”

“Adieu,” I add.

“Good bye,” is his reply. A single tear trickles from his left eye. Head erect, shoulders square, he turns and goes into his home.

Diane and I head for our RV, hearing the quiet click of the door shutting behind us as we go.

“I think you should drive, Georges,” Diane tells me as she climbs into the passenger’s seat.

That raises an eyebrow. But I do as she requests, go to the driver’s door and start us up.

Carefully, I drive the RV to the end of the lane leading to the road. Mentally flipping a coin, I turn left and head west. For ten minutes I concentrate on driving while snatching an occasional glance at my love.

She simply stares out the window, not moving.

“Stop!” comes the sudden demand from her. I pull to the shoulder and turn off the engine. Darkness surrounds us as the headlight beams vanish.

Diane crosses to me, sits on my lap and hugs me hard. I pull her close, lay my cheek against her head. We hold there for a minute.

“I was wrong, Georges,” she tells me then.

“About what?” I query.

“I didn’t come back to re-connect. I came back to say goodbye.”

I squeeze her tight at that statement.

She pulls back, her mask gone. “I’m a vampire now, Georges. I no longer have a place in the human world. I know that now.

“And I’m glad,” she finishes.

A “Hmm?” of curiosity comes from me.

“I hadn’t realized until last night. Remember I said Carol wasn’t what I was looking for?”

“Oui.”

“It’s been that way all my life. Some part of me knew the world wasn’t for me. I think that’s why my sex life was with women. I knew men weren’t for me. But I was never happy with women either.

“When I met you that changed, you became part of my life so quickly. I was so drawn to you. I fell in love without even trying.”

I grin a wide happy smile at that. We lean forward and give our special kiss.

Diane pulls back again. Her face may be that of our kind but an entirely human joy fills it.

“When you made your offer to me, when you made me what I am, I had little doubt. It was frightening, but it was right. There’s been moments when I wasn’t sure.” She makes her wry smile. “Well, a little longer as the last couple of months showed, but I didn’t want to go back. I was where I belonged. Where it counts, in my heart, I was the person I was meant to be, and with the person I was meant to be with.”

Our mouths reconnect. It feels like the first time we kissed. We cuddle, rejoicing in our triumph.

“I love you, Georges,” she says finally.

“J’taime, Diane,” I tell her.

She climbs from my lap, jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “Out of the seat, buddy. You drive like an old man.” Her mask is back. Her eyes twinkle with humor and her mouth grins.

I grin back, put up my facade and rise to my feet. “Children these days,” I grumble playfully, “no respect for their elders.” We change seats and Diane starts the engine.

“Where to?” she asks.

Leaning over I place my left hand over her right. “Where ever you want. The world is yours now, my beautiful lady.”

She smiles. “Las Vegas. It should be fun.”

I nod my agreement, she steps on the gas and we head into our future.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

First of all, as always, I wish to thank my lovely wife, Deanna Graham. She keeps me grounded and gives me the nudges I need to keep working. She is the crutch I lean on.

I’d like to thank Suzan Butler for the absolutely gorgeous cover. She did a great job of bringing Georges and Diane into life. As it were.

And finally, thanks so much to all the proof readers who helped me polish this work until it shone.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Foreword

Abyss

Black

Embrace

Setting Out

First Hunt

Prey

You Can’t Go Home

Acknowledgements

My Places on The Web

R. C. Graham’s Biography

Where to find R. C. Graham on The Web

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

R. C. Graham’s Biography

R. C. Graham likes creating things. Whether it was building sand castles as a child, playing Dungeon Master as a teenager, programming computers as a young adult and now writing in middle age bringing new, beautiful and exciting things into existence is R. C.’s greatest joy.

You can find his work available for download at these sites.

Smashwords

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Audiobooks from Audible.com

Table of Contents

- Copyright
- Kindle Edition, License Notes
- Foreword
- Abyss
- Black
- Embrace
- Setting Out
- First Hunt
- Prey
- You Can’t Go Home
- Acknowledgements
- Where to find R. C. Graham on The Web
- R. C. Graham’s Biography