Author: Travis Luedke
Date: 2012-08-08 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Vampires; Erotica; Romance; Paranormal Romance; Urban Fantasy; Fantasy; Adult; Erotic Romance; Fiction
Description: ACE for ASIN# B0090P1MIU The Nightlife Series is violent, sexy, and occasionally violently sexy. Vampires, strippers, escorts, night clubs, pimps and dirty cops – the Nightlife New York is never boring. Aaron Pilan’s life is forever changed when he’s shot trying to rescue a drop-dead gorgeous woman on the streets of New York. Aaron is thrust into the shocking world of vampiric slavery when Michelle shares her blood to save his life. Michelle's existence as a solitary vampire is also altered when she accepts this naive young man into her life. Bound by her blood, Aaron is subject to her authori

The

NIGHTLIFE: NEW YORK

By Travis Luedke

The Nightlife: New York

Published by Travis Luedke

Copyright 2012 by Travis Luedke

Book Cover Art by Joshua M. Allen
http://www.freelanced.com/joshuamallen

KINDLE EDITION

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.  The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Adult Reading Material

The Nightlife Series:

I    The Nightlife:  New York

II   The Nightlife:  Las Vegas    November 2012

III  The Nightlife:  Paris    December 2012

The Nightlife:  BLOODSLAVE    December 2012

IV  The Nightlife:  London    May 2013

V   The Nightlife:  Moscow    July 2013

Young Adult novels by Travis Luedke (TW Luedke)

The Shepherd    October 2012

BOGUS    April 2013

Amazon     http://www.amazon.com/Travis-Luedke/e/B00911L5PS/

Blog     http://thenightlifeseries.blogspot.com/

Website     http://www.twluedke.com/

Twitter   https://twitter.com/TWLuedke or @TWLuedke

Facebook    http://www.facebook.com/TWLuedke

Wattpad    http://www.wattpad.com/user/TWLuedke

Goodreads    http://www.goodreads.com/TWLuedke

Email    twluedke@gmail.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 1

Dead on his feet and ready to clock out, Aaron Pilan didn’t immediately react when Charlene groped a good handful of his ass.  Burnt from a long hard shift of waiting tables, Aaron's delayed reaction wasn't anything charming or witty as his boss Bemichi would have preferred.  Refilling Charlene's merlot that he'd already refilled one too many times, he dead panned, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”  He realized too late, his question could easily have been misinterpreted as an encouragement to her advances.

He definitely didn't want to mislead or encourage Charlene.  It's not that she was unattractive, she had that “MILF” allure––Mother I'd Like to Fuck––of older more sophisticated women.  The problem with Charlene came two-fold.  She was both a regular customer, and of sufficient age to actually be his mother.  She probably knew enough about sex to thoroughly corrupt his innocence, which, much to his chagrin, remained mostly intact.

The real reason he chose not to fraternize with customers was his ever-present fear of the wrath of Bemichi that could descend upon his shoulders like angels of judgment bearing fiery swords.  His boss Antonio Bemichi who owned the restaurant for two decades wasn't one to allow such indiscretions to pass without consequence.  One of Aaron's coworkers warned on his first day in training as a waiter whispering, “Hell hath no fury like an Italian restaurant proprietor scorned.”

Bemichi, like many Italians in New York, took great pride in his fine dining establishment and customer service.  After-all the place was named after him, Bemichis Restaurant.  Like many Italians, his fiery temper flared and screeched like a fountain fireworks display.  Fortunately his tirades burned out just as quickly.

Bemichi was actually a decent guy, and his restaurant was a pleasant place to both work and dine.  Aaron enjoyed his work … most of the time.  The interior décor of Bemichis resembled a New York Italian version of the Olive Garden with comparable pricing.  The kind of place to bring the whole family, devour all the fabulous Italian pastas they could slurp down, and then waddle home an hour later feeling wonderfully sated without having emptied their wallets.

In Charlene's case Bemichis held the added allure of hitting on waiters half her age while being secure in the knowledge that they would grin and bear it for propriety's sake.  Aaron was a pretty good sport about it.  He'd gotten used to her hands on his ass.  He suspected she patronized the restaurant for the express purpose of fondling his behind when her liquid courage was sufficiently wetted.  She seemed to go after him at around the third refill on the merlot.  That should be her cutoff point, but then, he wasn't entirely averse to being groped occasionally.  He sure wasn't getting any at home.  She always left a hefty tip, a consolation prize for putting his wares at her fingertips.

The game of ass-grab had grown old months ago.  It was no longer surprising.  At this late hour Aaron just wanted his shift to be over––like now.  He watched the time tick by.  The hands on the clock seemed to advance in exaggerated slow motion, mocking him with their lazy movements.  Twelve o'clock midnight arrived not a moment too soon.  He moved so fast making his escape out the door that he ignored the first call on his cell phone from his roommate Kyle.  When Kyle called back seconds later he figured he better answer, it must be important.

“Hey Kyle, what's up? I'm trying to get outta here.”

“Hey guy, I gotta warn you.  Delia's here with some friends, she just showed up a few minutes ago.”  Kyle spoke over the top of techno music and laughter in the background.  Aaron could almost make out the telltale snort of Delia's laughter that usually took place at his expense.

“Did she say anything about me?” Aaron asked.

Aaron’s first serious girlfriend, Delia had turned his simple existence upside down with the infamous words spoken in her usual flippant manner, “I think we should see other people.”  This wonderful news was followed up by the even more infamous relationship killer, “But we can still be friends!”  It had been a very long and humbling week since her mercilessly delivered one-two combo knocked him for a loop.

Kyle paused for a second.  Aaron knew he was probably trying to figure out how to console him.  He’d been riding Aaron for the last week to broaden his horizons and do exactly as Delia suggested––see other people.  Kyle made his opinions crystal clear.  He told Aaron repeatedly he’d be better off with someone else.  Kyle didn't care much for Delia’s manipulations.

“Nope-not a word, nada.”  Kyle got a kick out of throwing in random words of Spanish.  He took two years of it in high school.  “She's playing like everything's totally cool, she acts like she's happy to be single.  Look, don't sweat it, there's plenty of fish in the sea.” Kyle spoke as though it was no big deal, but Aaron didn't believe it was really that simple to catch either fish or women.

“The best way to handle her is to hook up with her friends.  If that doesn't drive her crazy, then she doesn't deserve you”, sage advice from philosopher Kyle.

“Do you think she told anyone we broke up?” Aaron was almost too afraid of hearing the answer to ask the question.

“You mean that she kicked you to the curb?  Yeah, the word's out and the rumor mill is crankin overtime.  That boat has sailed, there ain't no stopping it.  That's why you gotta get your game face on and strike back.  You remember that girl Delia's always hangin with, the sexy one with black hair, Amber?”

“Ahh … yeah, I think so.”

“She's here right now, so hurry up, her tight little ass is ripe.  And hey ... um … can you pick up some beer on the way home?  You know how it goes.  You get a few drinks in em' and the pants fall right off.”

Only if you're Kyle.  Aaron had never experienced the good fortune of having women's pants fall off.  His limited intimate encounters taught him there was considerable effort and occasional begging involved in the removal of women's clothing.

“Yeah, I caught some decent tips tonight.  Will a twelve pack do it?”  He already knew the answer, but to ask was habitual, an endless game he and Kyle played.  Kyle never wanted less beer.  Kyle always pushed for more, and he always had a plausible reason, “Better make it a case, I think we're in for an all-nighter.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll get a case, just in case we need a case.”  The cheesy punch line had ceased being funny months ago.  But like most aspects of Aaron's life, it was a habit, a groove he'd fallen into that he couldn't get out of.  He hung up and headed out the front door of Bemichis into the New York streets to do the same thing he did night after night.

Kyle called for the beer.  The moral support play wasn't his thing.  In fact, Kyle was probably making moves on Amber at that very moment.  He didn't mind too much.  There were some redeeming qualities worth mentioning to Kyle’s benefit.  Loyalty, yes loyalty would be one, and a never ending supply of unfailing optimism.  The proverbial glass was always half full with Kyle-half full of beer.

Aaron didn't make it home this night.  He never made it to the corner drug store for beer.  The moment he exited Bemichis, fate conspired to place two opposing and dangerous forces in his pathway; the timing so impeccably perfect one could argue divine intervention.

The first party was a vision so remarkable, so drop dead gorgeous, she seemed surreal against the backdrop of grainy darkness and gloom of the concrete-asphalt streets.  Aaron's world blurred out of focus.  This sparkling gem of a five–foot blond–bomb package complete with cliché black cocktail dress and fuck me pumps was the only thing to remain distinct in his vision.  As she locked gazes with him, nothing else existed in Aaron's universe.  Nothing else mattered beyond this fabulously attractive woman gliding towards him with supreme grace and poise.

* * * *

As he was drawn to the blond like metal shavings to a powerful magnet, the second part of the equation arrived on scene.  Aaron watched with fascination as an unmarked police cruiser drew up alongside her.  He knew it was a cop car by the telltale spotlight next to the driver’s side mirror.

The blond hesitated, appearing torn between giving her attention to them or him.  She was so far out of his league.  Why did she notice him at all?

The men in the car beckoned to her.  Her hesitation ended, she turned away from Aaron to begin conversing with the undercovers.  She probably didn’t know they were cops.  The one on the passenger side propositioned her, “Hey babe, what's goin on tonight?”

Without missing a beat, the blond offered, “Monsieur would like to party? Un Ménage à trois?  We can make a party, Oui?”  She had an intoxicating French accent.

Both detectives were out of the car in a moment, surrounding her in an unmistakably threatening stance.  Aaron advanced on the trio to better hear their conversation.  He stood ten feet away.  He couldn't have taken his eyes off the blond to save his own life.

The big, fat, bulldog cop verbally assaulted her in his Brooklyn accent.  “Hey, who you workin for?  I hope it's somebody we know.  You gotta be paid up with the right people to work this street!”

“I don’t work for anyone!”

Aaron was further smitten as he watched her defy them in that cute little French accent.  The bulldog grabbed her arm, “You’re under arrest!”

The thin, bald, Barney Fife-looking cop, moved in to grab her other arm.  They must think she’s a prostitute.  How could they make such a mistake?

* * * *

She studied the two fools on each arm.  She examined their auras and evaluated her options.  The colors emanating from their auras indicated arrogance and a sense of entitlement.  Like so many others who came before them, these men craved power over her.  It was a base instinct to control and possess as if she was a new toy to play with.  Their selfish desires disgusted her, like a rotten stench surrounding something putrid.  She read the nuances of their hatred towards all women stemming from a sense of inadequacy.  Their souls held a deeply rooted taint from a lifetime of police corruption fueled by greed.

They were a prime example of what was wrong with the world today, authority figures seeking out the seemingly weak for predatory purposes.  But it was nothing new.  She'd been dealing with the sick desires of small minded men for a very long time.  She couldn't help but shiver with disgust and loathing, an involuntary reaction to something so unpleasant.

Glancing at the handsome boy, she immediately noticed the severe contrast between the foul detectives and the purity of spirit evidenced in his aural coloration.  By comparison he appeared a saint, worthy of canonization in his child-like innocence.

His overt infatuation for her held a magnetic attraction she found hard to resist.  She wished she'd followed her initial impulse to ignore the detectives when they stopped their car.  She should have focused on this adorable innocent who was so taken with her.  As she watched the colors of his aura shift, she perceived his indignant response to the detectives man-handling her.  A window of opportunity opened up.

* * * *

Aaron burned, outraged at the audacity of the grotesque, fat, ugly bulldog of a man assaulting the blond goddess.  An involuntary cry tore from his throat, “Hey!  Leave her alone!  Get your hands off her!”  He couldn't believe either of these crude creatures would dare lay hands on the beautiful blond vision of perfection who spoke in an intoxicating stream of French obscenities.

“T'as une tête à faire soutier les plaques d'égouts!”  She blasted the bulldog.  Aaron recalled just enough French to know she’d told him his face could blow off manhole covers.  She continued with, “Voulez-vous cesser de me cracher dessus pendant que vous par lez”, further expressing her disgust by telling him to stop spitting on her while he spoke.

Never ceasing her tirade of lovely French filth, the blond struck at the bulldog in a blur.  In one swift move, she broke his hold on her wrist and clawed his face, leaving a trail of bloody slash marks across his left cheek.  Without pause she instantly pivoted and punched Barney Fife in the nose with a gratifying crunch sound, and a backward head snap.  A splat of blood flew through the air.  She pivoted a split-second later to face the bulldog with a Taser in hand, magically snatched from Barney Fife after breaking his nose.  The combat unfolded before Aaron's eyes like a scene from a martial arts film.  The heroine had the appearance of moving with super human velocity.  By comparison to her whip-like actions, the detectives seemed to be in slow motion.

Aaron's jaw dropped.  He stood in complete awe of the scene taking place before him.  He had difficulty accepting these bizarre events for reality.  As the shimmery cocktail dressed wonder woman fired her stolen Taser, Aaron recognized the bulldog was not truly as slow as he had seemed.  He had a pistol drawn and moving upward in a sweeping arc.

Aaron's dream state shattered along with his heretofore unremarkable and short life when the Taser struck the bulldog at precisely the point when his gun sights aligned with Aaron.  The electric shock of the Taser began a domino effect.  All muscles and tendons in the bulldog’s body clenched, including his trigger finger.  The sharp crack of the gun resulted in a slug passing through Aaron's chest and out his back, knocking him to the ground with the impact.

The pain came seconds later, delayed.  When it hit it was all-consuming, overpowering.  Nothing existed beyond the horrible agony of his body torn to shreds by the wicked projectile.  He wasn't brave or manly or noble like all these scenes of bullet wounds from Hollywood films.  He screamed and howled like a baby, and promptly blacked out from the overwhelming agony.

* * * *

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.  Aaron felt someone smack him three times.  He beheld an angel with a halo of light around her tousled blond curls like the corona encircling the sun.  She had the most succulent puffy lips and a benevolent shine of concern and compassion.

“Are you an angel?”  His beautiful seraph began swearing in a stream of melodic French.

“Le réalité' et toi vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?”  She remarked on his disconnect with reality.  He didn’t know what to say.  How do you greet the angel of death?

She resumed her obscenities, “C'est vraiment des conneries!”  The words seeped in slowly, sparking a memory from French class––this was bullshit.  Are angels supposed to curse?

He was so tired, cold, numb.  Is this what it feels like to die?  He drifted back into unconsciousness content in the belief that heavenly hosts carried him off to a better place.

* * * *

CHAPTER 2

She knew she couldn't stay on the street.  The detectives would not remain incapacitated for much longer and the gun shot would probably bring a 911 call from the restaurant down the block.  The unfortunate boy who foolishly tried to intervene on her behalf was bleeding to death.  A decision had to be made.  She felt guilty, responsible for what happened to him.  If she had paid closer attention she'd have disarmed the fat, idiot cop before hitting him with the Taser.

“C'est pour toi je suis la'.”  She tried to comfort the young man in his pain and delirium, letting him know she was there for him.  In times of extreme stress, most of her speech regressed to French.

She made a snap decision to take responsibility for him.  Without another second's delay she scooped him up in her arms, cradling him like a child.  He didn't weigh more than a hundred sixty-five, nothing for her preternaturally strong physique.  Though she was only a hundred ten pounds, she could easily lift many times her own body weight.

She sped down the street, away from the restaurant and the blood splattered sidewalk, turning into the alley-way with the young man in her arms and her Prada fuck me pumps hanging by the straps in her teeth. It's almost impossible to run in high heels.  By the time the detectives gained their feet she was two miles away.

She reached her fourth floor apartment via the fire escape catwalk and took stock of the situation.  He’d lost a lot of blood already and was losing more every second.  She had to stop the bleeding now.  He stunk horribly of blood and raw meat.  She could barely stand to be near him.  She swallowed down her urges and forced herself to lean in close.  Her mouth filled with venom like a dog salivating over meat held under its nose.  This could be a good thing.  The healing and pain killing properties of her venom would be helpful.

As she licked away the blood and gore a lean well-toned chest was revealed.  He had long striated musculature from work and everyday use––no iron-pumped, steroid-induced, weightlifter bulges.  Not an ounce of fat on his young sleek torso.  His high cheek bones and angular features lent him a sharp elfin athletic look.  He had light skin with dark hair and eyes, reminiscent of a Spaniard or Italian.  .Il est très beau, oui, he is very fine.  The gaping wound does spoil it.

Aaron's bleeding slowed, but didn't stop entirely.  Somehow he managed to gain consciousness for a few moments.  His lazy eyes looked up at her, glazed and drugged.  Her venom had worked its chemical magic of pain-killer-endorphin-dump.  This wouldn't be enough to save his life, a more drastic remedy was necessary.  She could see the change in his aura, and smell the impending death of his body from shock and trauma.  Her first aid could only delay the inevitable and perhaps make his demise relatively painless.

The only way she could see to reverse his fate was to give him her life blood, making him as she was.  She hated to do it, had purposely avoided it.  If he survived the change, it would create an unbreakable psychic bond, bending his will to hers.  She would be his master, and he enslaved––not a convenient arrangement for either party.

She knew how it felt to be enthralled and enslaved by such a bond to a master.  She had hated every single minute of it.  The imprint was irresistible; she had been forced to submit to every command uttered by her former master, her body and mind acting according to his will.

She vowed years ago to never subject another person to the humiliation of enslavement she endured at the hands of her former master.  Granted, she didn't believe herself to be as sadistic or intentionally malicious as her former master.  Until now, she had never been willing to do this with anyone.  If she was to try, it shouldn't be without his consent.  That's how it had been with her, forced, with no knowledge of what was being done at the time.  At the very least she should give Aaron a choice before going forward.

She asked, “What is your name?” Aaron smiled up at her as she licked his blood from her lips.

“Aaron”, he answered with a huge stupid grin.

“Aaron you must listen to me carefully.  I cannot stop the bleeding.  Your wound is very serious.  There is something I can do for you.  It will save your life, but you must understand first.  If I do this thing you will be bound to me for always.  If I give you this lifesaving gift you must serve me in all things.  Your life will belong to me.  Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”  He had a huge goofy grin.  The strong painkiller of her venom had obviously done its job.  “You must be an angel.  Keep talking, I love the sound of your voice.”

“Once I do this for you, it cannot be reversed, it's very important you understand.”

“Is there something to drink?  I am so thirsty.”  He asked while licking his dry lips.

“Oui, in a moment, but do you comprehend what I have said to you?”

“Yes, it's okay.  Do what you have to, but I'd like a drink now.”

With his permission, she gave him a drink.  At first taste of the coppery tang he almost vomited, but this urge was quickly overcome by a craving for more.  Soon his lips were sucking from her wrist with a will of their own, like an infant's involuntary reaction to a mother's nipple placed in his mouth.

He became greedy for more and gripped her to him, sucking harder.  After a moment she decided he'd had enough.  She couldn't afford for him to weaken her too much.  She pried her arm from his two-handed grip with a yank and a wet sound as she broke his suction from her wrist.

It was done and could not be undone.

* * * *

Aaron's body began tingling all over.  The slight tickle-tingling sensation gradually changed intensity to an ache.  The ache began to throb, coming on in waves, and then became a constant pain.  The pain morphed to a burning sensation, which became an all-consuming fire raging through his body.  He kicked and thrashed.  He cried out in agony as a flaming trail of excruciating fire blazed across his flesh.

He fainted repeatedly from the intense scorching pain, only to awake to more agony.  He welcomed the periods of unconsciousness, the pain receding as he sank into oblivion.  Eventually he reached such a point of exhaustion and fatigue that the pain no longer woke him.

In the midst of his delirium of pain he dreamt.  Initially he dreamed of his girlfriend Delia.  She smiled at him invitingly, slipping her hands over his arms and chest with soft little strokes.  It was a Delia far nicer and sweeter than she'd ever been before.  Then her features changed to a vicious scowl, mocking him with words of rejection and taunts.  That was more like the Delia he knew, though a bit harsher.  Her cute little half smile alternated back and forth to a sneer.  At one point she even swung at him, cursing him for leaving her behind as he moved on to somewhere else … somewhere different where she couldn't follow.  These dreams replayed repeatedly.  It was always the same theme, Delia inviting him in with seductive attentions, and then turning on him viciously as they became intimate.

On occasion his mother would appear asking What are you doing?  Are you ever planning on going to college?  It was strange to see her there.  She rarely ever called and virtually never stopped by his apartment, so why should she be in his dreams?  The one person who he needed to see most never showed up, he'd been gone for six years.  He stopped dreaming of his father years ago.

At some point in his delirium the dream sequence changed.  He became angry, violent.  He seized ahold of Delia with great strength and shook her bodily like a rag doll.  She laughed at him as though it was nothing.

Then his guardian angel arrived.  With the blond angel’s smile he felt a sense of calm radiating from her.  When she touched him he stilled instantly, all concerns erased by the power of her charisma.  She soothed him, taking away the aggression, and removing Delia from his nightmares.

The tenor of his dreams shifted, it turned into a tour, a ride through a video game.  He became a passenger in someone else's world.  It was a strangely exhilarating experience in a strange city where the people spoke in foreign languages.  He dreamed of racing through the night, moving at unbelievable speeds through the streets.  It was like living in someone else's body while he ran at the velocity of a motorbike with nothing but his own two feet to propel him.

His guardian angel came and went repeatedly, appearing to help cool his burning hot body with a wet washcloth, but it was her eyes and her touch that brought the most comfort.  She fed him from a cup, a warm broth.  It tasted wonderful.  He wanted more to quench his thirst.  It seemed he could never get enough of her broth.  She shushed him, assuring him that all is well in her sensual French accent, but she denied him more drink-not too much mon chéri.  His angel held him cradled in her arms like a baby.  The fever and pain was so intense he knew he'd died and gone to hell, burning in the eternal lake of fire.  She held him even when he felt so hot his skin would surely burn her from the incredible heat.

Always the visions of Delia returned, laughing, mocking him, until his angel arrived to chase her away.  He existed in a special level of hell where demonic versions of Delia torment your soul endlessly.

Sometime later, maybe days, or perhaps even weeks, the Delia attacks ceased.  His life was now claimed by the angel.  She fought off his demons and took a permanent position as his guardian angel.  Delia no longer held sway.  The dreams became disturbing, visions of stalking through the streets at night, visions of drinking blood by the gallons––from hundreds of faces of men and women in all parts of the world, all colors and races.  No matter how much blood he drank it could never be enough, his horrible thirst could never be sated.

* * * *

CHAPTER 3

Michelle had never done this before.  She wasn't even certain it would work.  Her own transformation hadn't been accompanied by an instruction manual.  Many aspects of her life had been learned the hard way, by costly mistakes and experimentation.  Her former master hadn't been very forthcoming.  He was a supreme bastard, having no regard for her or anyone else.

She watched Aaron as he thrashed and squirmed, tossing the covers from his feverish body.  Seeing this trim, fit, well-endowed young man in her bed was highly arousing, even though his face was pinched in anguish.  She couldn't just stand there and watch him suffer, but what could be done?  Nothing beyond a soothing word and a cool wet cloth.  Her touch seemed to calm him.  He kept complaining of thirst, so she fed him a little more blood, but not too much.  She beefed up her own feeding schedule to accommodate Aaron's demands.

As time stretched into the third night, and his fever hadn't subsided, she began to think that perhaps he wouldn't make it.  She considered it might be more humane to kill him now, put him out of his pain and misery.  She wasn't sure how long the process should take, it seemed like it should be a couple days, but who knew?  Maybe it was different with each person.

She kicked herself for doing it.  It was a mistake, she should have let him die.  What would she do with him if he did come out of it?  She'd never had a companion to deal with.  She wasn't exactly prepared to share her life with anyone.  What a foolish impetuous thing to do.  She should end it now, save both of them years of complications.

She put her hands around his neck.  It would be so easy, one flick of her wrist, spinal column severed.  He opened his eyes delirious with fever.  For a moment he looked at her, recognized her, and his expression was one of relief.  He mumbled something about my angel.  The fool was delirious.  He smiled at her with adoration and undisguised worship.  That did it.  She couldn't go through with the dirty deed.  It wasn't in her to be so cruel.  It would have to wait until he provoked her, then she could get past his damnable boyish charm

What would it be like to share life with someone?  It had been a very long time since she'd let anyone get so close and personal.  She’d tried to have relationships with a few men before––what a disaster.  A painful lesson she had to learn repeatedly, she didn’t mix well with people, at least not for any length of time.  Those experiments always ended in death.  No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, men always died.  They were so frail, their bodies so easily broken, withered by time and sickness, by her need for blood.  A sure recipe for heartache.

But this time it would be different.  This one would be subject to her command.  He wouldn't be able to beat and abuse her like her master did.  The kid better watch himself.  If he became a problem she knew how to handle it, but he'd get his chance.

She reached back through the decades to remember how it had been living with a male vampire.  Those memories were too dark, filled with violence and malice, her former master was quite the sadist.  But there were moments, she remembered the times when they'd molded together, in painfully savage sexual adventures.  And the synchronous bites!  Those wonderful sensations of blood, sex and venom all rolled into one insane chaotic blend.  There was nothing like it.

Aaron would have his chance.  She'd be gentle with him at first.  He was definitely an innocent.  But if he began to exhibit the signs, if he became anything like her former master, she'd snap his neck without a moment's hesitation.

* * * *

Aaron awoke to a bone dry thirst and a dull throbbing ache in his chest.  He heard a myriad of sounds ranging from snores and grunts to dishwashing and several televisions blasting over one another.  He breathed in crisp strong smells of linen, cotton, vinyl, paint, a woman's perfume, carpet shampoo, and lemon furniture polish.  Each scent had its own distinct signature.  He could differentiate them with amazing clarity.

The last thing he could recall was leaving Bemichis and those life-changing events on the street leading up to the dream-like encounter with his guardian angel.  He reached up to feel his chest and was pleasantly surprised that the gunshot wound had completely healed, although he seemed to have some residual soreness.  That's when he noticed he was completely naked under the bed covers.  There was no light in the bedroom, but he could see clearly as if the furniture and walls emitted a glow.  It seemed that the room was lit, but he couldn't identify any source of light.

Where was he?  It definitely wasn't his room in his apartment.  This room had a feminine touch, the bedspreads, the furniture, candles.  He was definitely in some woman’s home.  The perfume was vaguely familiar.  The scent invoked cloudy memories of being soothed and comforted by a French-speaking angel.

Nothing made sense.  He should be dead, or in some kind of coma/intensive care unit.  He felt great, sniffing the sheets like a dog, and listening to noises coming from outside this room, but not just in the other room.  Were those sounds from the neighboring apartments?  The walls must be ultrathin.  He heard people as if they were in the room right beside him.

There was something there at the edge of his perceptions, some sense of another person, a woman in the other room.  She was coming to him, coming towards the door to the room.  He felt an indefinable attraction to her.  Michelle opened the bedroom door, her golden hair illuminated from behind by the living room light spilling through into the room.  This was the guardian angel who'd delivered him from death's clutches.

He recalled how she held him, wiped his brow, tenderly ministered to him.  She had somehow healed him, brought him out of the bowels of hell where he'd been burning and suffering.

He recognized the magnetic pull effect he felt was for her.  He knew her name to be Michelle, but he couldn't recall having ever been told this.  He knew she was there for him, and she had many things to explain, but he couldn't say how he knew.

* * * *

Michelle studied him for a second, taking in the small details, the nuances of change.  Aaron's aura held an animal magnetism that had not existed prior to his change.  She didn’t know why, but he was much more attractive, somehow manlier.  She wanted to sink her fangs into him and see what it would be like to have sex with one of her own kind again.

She had grown so accustomed to these fragile and delicate human men.  She now desired very badly to have a go at a real man, a strong virile vampire.  Like a carnivore that's been forced to subsist on a vegetarian diet, she hungered for some meat.

She restrained her carnal urges for the time being.  She didn't want to scare her new companion.  He needed to be brought into the fold gently.  His aura displayed an innocent soul.  She expected that sooner or later the inner beast, the vampire's true nature, would rear its ugly head.  Until then, she'd handle him with kid gloves.

* * * *

“Bonjour, how does it feel to be reborn?” she asked with a sly smile.

“I could down a gallon of water right now, but beyond that I guess I feel pretty good, all things considered.”  He tried to be nonchalant but felt childish and unsophisticated in her presence.  He began to suspect she wasn't an angel after all.  He caught a sense, a feeling, that she was quite mischievous and not necessarily benign.  He recalled a vague memory of extreme burning pain, but it seemed as though it was all a weird dream.  How could he have been in such pain if his chest was now healed without any scarring?  All this raced through his mind as she slowly advanced towards the bed, staring intently.  Confused, clueless, he remained silent.

“Many things, they change for you now.  You have noticed you can hear all the petit noises, n’est pas?  You can smell and taste everything, non?  Your senses are very acute?”

“Ahmm…yeah, I guess.”  Aaron stuttered.

“You must listen and I will explain.”  She sat on the edge of the bed next to Aaron.  Her gaze held him, never blinking even once.  It creeped him out just a little.

This was the first chance he had to take a good close look at her.  Michelle was even more attractive than he first thought.  Her eyes were a vibrant shade of green that he had never seen before.  Her face was round and pleasingly symmetrical with a narrow elegant neck sweeping up to her cheeks, very graceful, very patrician.  She had creamy white perfect skin, a light pink blush to her cheeks.  She was too perfect.  She could have been an airbrushed artist's rendering, unnaturally beautiful.  The smirk on her face as he checked her out made him think she knew exactly what was on his mind.

“This may be difficult to accept, but you must believe that what I have to say is the truth.  Do you trust me Aaron?”

“I'm pretty sure you saved my life, how can I not trust you?” he replied with false bravado.  Who was she? Why did she bring him to her apartment?  Her words started to freak him out.

She nodded and continued.  “The only way to repair your injuries was to introduce a special kind of virus, which allows for miraculous regeneration and healing.  There are some undesirable side effects this virus has caused to your physiology.”  She sounded so sexy purring biological terminologies with her intoxicating accent.  He didn't have the first clue what she was saying, sounded like some sci-fi mumbo jumbo.

“Your body now needs regular infusions of fresh blood to sustain itself.  This is the only nourishment you require.  You will not consume food or drink apart from fresh blood.  You noticed the thirst you feel is intense, Oui?”

He wasn't sure what to make of this; he simply stared at Michelle with raised eye brows as though asking, Are you for real? Are you properly medicated?

She continued, “Arriver au point, you are now a vampire, and you must feed on fresh blood very soon.”  Her cute accent now held the potential to become irritating.  He shook his head no, an involuntary reaction to the overpowering denial resounding through his mind like a pounding drum beating out a steady rhythm of No!  No!  No! No!  This had to be some kinda sick joke.  At any moment people would fill the room with cameras and smiles yelling, “Hey dude, you’ve been punked!”

She didn't give him much time to react, “I can see you do not believe me.  C’est bien, I will demonstrate!”

With this she cut her wrist on her left hand using the nails from her right hand and held it a couple inches from his face.  The wondrous smell of sweet delicious blood assaulted his senses.  His mouth watered at the strong, savory perfume drawing him down to lick from her wrist.  Like a shark drawn to the scent of blood in the water, he couldn't resist its lure, he had to have it.  His mind reeled in revulsion, but his thirst overwhelmed him.  He latched onto her wrist with a snake-like chomp, sucking frantically.  It was just so damn awesome, he couldn't resist, and he was sooo thirsty.  He bit down hard into her open wound, his sharp little canines punctured through her flesh like biting into a juicy peach.  Oh God that’s wonderful, more, more MORE! He devoured every drop of the succulent syrup.  He had never tasted anything like it.  He didn't think he could ever stop.  He wanted to drain her arm, wring it dry like a sponge.

Michelle moaned.  Her breathing quickened, she panted heavily like a dog, her legs squirmed.  “Oui! Oui!”  Small gasps of intense pleasure spilled from her lips.  Suddenly she sat back and in a deep resonating timbre of voice commanded, “Enough! Pas Plus!”

Reacting instantly to her command he released his lockjaw hold on her wrist.  The truth hit him like a bucket of ice cold water, drenching him with shock.  He had just fed from her slashed wrist like some bloodthirsty animal.  He reeled and pitched, losing equilibrium.  He leaned back against the pillow of the bed as his head spun.  He couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe.  He tried to deny the delicious smell of blood in his nostrils and the gut-gnawing hunger for more.  He tried to plug his nose, to think of anything other than the blood.

He couldn’t deny what he knew he'd just done.  He had to face the irrefutable facts.  He enjoyed her blood immensely.  It was the most wonderful sensation, almost better than sex.  He understood without a shadow of doubt that he needed blood.  He’d do anything to get it, like a junky jonesin' for a fix, like a fish needs water to breath.  He had the blood smores, and he needed some more.  The burning, itchy, dry throat was bad, but to top it off he had a hunger, a potent need.

Michelle twitched and made a little groaning sound, still pulsing with her response to his bite.  She watched him with a half-lidded lazy-eyed look, like she was drugged.  “Mmm … ah la vache!  Ooh … I like that very much.”  She paused to regain her composure.  She retained the lazy Garfield-the-cat half lidded smile.

“There are details I must explain to you first and then we will see to our needs properly.”  She wiped a hand across her face, regaining her composure. “When you were dying from the gunshot, I fed you the same way, from my blood.  This has brought on the change, you are now like me, but also tied to me.  This is a very special connection.  You are blood of my blood and you will answer to me when I command.”  Michelle paused for a moment then continued, holding his gaze with a look of apology in her eyes.

“I am sorry you must live this way, but this was the only way to save your life.  Your injuries were too severe.”  Her eyes seemed to beg his forgiveness for what she had done.  “Now you must consume one liter fresh blood every twenty-four hours until you learn to control the thirst.  I will teach you how we live.  It is relatively simple.  There are many benefits and pleasures.  The most obvious is that you age very slowly, like dog years in reverse.  Every fifty years is like one year to you.”  She smiled at him hopefully.  Shocked by his ravenous consumption of her blood, the implications of her words seeped in slowly.  He just sat there dazed and confused, wishing people would jump out the closet and tell him this was all a gag.

She continued, “You are now very strong, many times stronger than you were before, and you can move much faster than people.  They will be like turtles, moving in slow motion.  You are not immortal.  You can die, but this is very difficult because your body is more resilient and will heal rapidly.”  He was at a loss for words.  He stared at her silently, still watching the closet, hoping.

“You and I have a very special bond that cannot be broken.  You will know things about me.  I can send to you, you are also sending to me.  Is like telepathy.  Oui?  You understand? Vous me comprenez?”  He simply nodded his head in silent acquiescence.

She went on, “I will teach you to close your mind, is like a radio station to me.  I can hear the station all the time.”  This got his attention.  He popped up from his dazed stupor.

“You mean you're hearing my thoughts right now?” he asked with a shocked expression.

She smiled reassuringly, “Oui, calmez-vous my silly American boy.  This is no problème, as I told you, we have a special connection.  I will show you how to remain private in here.”  She tapped on her head and smiled again.  He returned the smile with embarrassment.  He caught the impression she approved of him.  He had no cause for shame or concern.  The truth of it was staggering.  She’s in my head!  Oh. My. God.  She’s in my fuckin head!

Her smile let him know that she understood.  It was okay.  But it wasn't okay!  Nothing would be okay ever again!  This beautiful, callous, psychotic, foreign woman was inside his head, sending him messages and reading his thoughts.  What a mindfuck!  This is really happening!

“You must remember I am now your master.  When I command you will obey.  There is no choice in the matter.  Also, is very important you know this, we live the nightlife, after dark.  No sunlight.  We are extremely sensitive to the sun.  No direct sunlight.  You will burn very badly in the sun.  We sleep in the daytime.”

“No!” He grabbed his head.  “No!  This is too much.  It’s too fast.”  He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the horrifying thoughts pelting through his consciousness.  “This is too weird!”

Lucky for him she understood how he felt.  “Don’t worry.  I am not some evil creature.  I will not abuse my authority over you.  You must trust me.  You have no choice.  C'est la vie!”  She shrugged her shoulders in a flippant such is life manner.

“As soon as you tell me where my clothes are I’m gone.  You got a great scam goin here, but I’m not buying it.” He had trouble getting past the feeling that this was all some kind of horrific dream.

He looked around the room for any sign of his clothes.  Michelle reached out to put her hand in his.  Instantly it was there, that sense of rightness, a feeling it was gonna be okay, because she was there with him, she had it all figured out.  He wondered if she was manipulating his emotions through this weird connection they seemed to have.  Then he noticed her wrist.  It showed no marks at all from having been slashed open just minutes before.  Not a cut, not a scab, not one mark.

That was it.  He had enough twilight zone horseshit for one night.  “You’re screwing with my head!  What kinda drugs did you give me?”  He let go her hand and jabbed a finger of accusation at her flawlessly healed wrist.  “That is so not right!  I saw you cut your wrist like ten minutes ago!”

He was reaching the edge, staring into the abyss of madness, where reality and insanity blend together in an inseparable concoction that leaves men babbling to themselves in the street.  He was about to lose it.

“Oui.  This is the way of things with our kind.  One of the many benefits of this life.”

Michelle stood up abruptly, “Put your clothes on.  I will show you, our life can be very simple.”  He blanched.  He was naked beneath the covers.  He must have been naked when she was doing whatever she did to him.  She smiled, patting his hand in a motherly fashion.

“You Americans are so silly with your modesty.  Don’t worry.  I have not done anything with your body.  Not yet anyway!”  With that she walked out of the room smirking, closing the door behind her to allow for his privacy.  He instantly knew there were clothes for him in the top drawer of the dresser.  He knew like he had known her name without a word being said.  She’s in my fucking head again!  Oh.  My.  God!

* * * *

CHAPTER 4

They began sitting indian style, face to face.  Aaron couldn't think of anything but Michelle.  She wore a slip of a white dress, very short, nothing more than a nighty.  As they sat there, legs splayed wide, he could see every detail and contour of Michelle's inner thighs and skimpy white underwear.  It was impossible to concentrate on anything she said.

“Please close your eyes!”  She snapped at him with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Picture me in your mind.”  This was easy.  She was right there with the curves of her breasts and thighs calling to him, and that devious little smile that promised soon there would be sex––lots and lots of sex.

Gradually his mind's eye view of her changed.  Not that the picture was different per se, but now there was a sense of something more.  This beautiful hundred pound kitten exuded a power, a force of personality like a massive lioness.  He could sense her amusement.  She wasn't mocking him, it was more the pleasure one derives from watching a child walk for the first time.

He knew he was child-like in her eyes and this test of their connectivity was the equivalent of baby steps.  He hoped he didn't botch it his first time out.  He didn't want to make a fool of himself.

He concentrated further on the woman who was really a lioness in human skin, and delved into her psyche.  He sensed her attraction to him, her desire to both fuck him and bite him at the same time.  In the middle of this desire was a vague memory of another time, a very far away time.  Shadows of another man, but not exactly a man.  The shadows mixed together in a blend of longing, desire, and hatred.  There was a sense of violence, extreme violence, and sex.

Suddenly his mind slammed into a blank wall.  He could perceive no emotion, no thought, only the image of Michelle accompanied by her powerful predatory nature, chained to her iron control.  He heard her voice, but not with his ears.  The sensation was so much more, replete with intent, an irresistible force of command.

“Imagine yourself, your mind, sealed within a steel box.  Is like a vault.  Picture your mind enclosed within a vault.”

He did this and instantly recognized a closure, a blocked layer of protection closing his mind off from the world around him.

“Very good, this is easy for you.”  She spoke again in his mind and he registered her approval and relief at his ability to do as she instructed the first time, without difficulty.

It occurred to him that if he was blocked, how could he still hear her in his mind?  Why wasn't she blocked from him?  He began to get a sick feeling in his gut, suspecting that maybe he could not attain any privacy.  Would he be doomed to a life where his every thought, no matter how petty and disgusting, his every sin was laid bare for her perusal?  Who could live with such a burden?  Could any man live every moment of every day with perfect thoughts?  He worked himself into a panic and in his distress, his neat little mental vault failed completely.

“Michelle, how can I still hear you if I'm inside my vault?”  He spoke aloud, unable to hide the distress in his voice.  His fears and panic were transmitted to her along with the obvious fear on his face.

“Aaron, calmez-vous, you were closed to me, with your mind blocked.”

He interrupted, “But ...”

She spoke over the top of him, “But I can still send to you.  Don’t worry, this will always be the same.  I can send to you always.  You can also send to me always.  This is a constant.”  She sent him a calm feeling, letting him know that she approved of him without reservation, that everything was gonna be okay.  It seemed to help.  He relaxed some and gradually became embarrassed over his panic attack.

She spoke again into his mind, “Try to reach out to me and read my thoughts. You will see how it is when we are blocked.  You cannot read me when I choose to be private, it is the same with you.”

He tried hard, straining, physically leaning towards her as he flowed down through their connection to hit a solid blank wall where her mind should have been.  Nothing, not a damn thing.  He couldn't read one nuance of meaning from her apart from the fact that she was sitting there smirking at him, pleased.  He continued to hit her blank wall, and so he pushed harder, concentrating on reaching with all his intensity.  His mind washed over and around Michelle, engulfing her, but not finding a way in.  He kept reaching out as he sensed others in the surrounding residences.  Aaron touched on an older man, someone in his sixties whose mind was hazy with alcohol from the six pack of Bud Light he had consumed while camped in front of the TV.  The old man's mind was filled with speculations of football statistics and possible outcomes for the game.

As soon as Aaron noticed the man's mind, he also became aware of the woman who slept in the bedroom of the same apartment a few yards away.  Her mind was deeply shrouded in dreams, a cloudy world of images and feelings, something about her sister and her husband, the man watching football.  She dreamt of the vague details of an illicit affair between her husband and her younger more attractive sister.  Her emotions were in turmoil over the dream, a frenzied mix of anger, resentment, jealousy, and self-loathing for her inability to retain her husband's attention and affections.  She writhed in anxiety, fighting with her own sheets and blankets.

Aaron had enough of this and reached out in other directions, seeking what else he might encounter.  He was completely absorbed in his psychic scanning and had lost focus on Michelle and his internal privacy block.  She read everything he encountered, his mind transmitting it all to her unwittingly.

He touched on a teenage girl who chatted online with her boyfriend.  She was typing frantically on her laptop, trying to justify her actions to her boyfriend.  She had gone to a party with one of her girlfriends, drank too much, and ended up in the bedroom with another guy.  She didn't want her boyfriend to know how far things had actually gone.

Michelle snatched his attention away from his psionic ramblings with a psychic push.  Her mind shoved his mind, a very disorientating experience.  He grabbed for something, reaching out with his hands to stabilize himself on the carpet.  He felt off balance, dizzy, but she hadn't touched him physically at all.

In the moment of her psychic push, Michelle transmitted flashes of surprise, anger, and envy to Aaron for a split second before blocking herself behind the blank wall of her privacy.  He remembered himself and refocused on his own mental vault, reestablishing his privacy.

She stood up abruptly, “You were reading their minds, Oui?” She gave him a raised eyebrow, looking down on him.  “You are far more adept at this game than I thought.  I think that is enough practice for tonight.”

He realized he had transmitted his encounters with the neighbors directly to her.  He was gonna have to learn to multitask, to maintain his mental vault while scanning others nearby.  He suspected it would be like trying to chew gum, pat your head, and rub your belly all at once, not impossible, but difficult.

“Why didn't you tell me I could do that?”

Her irritation leaked through their emotional ties, her eyes flashed in anger.  “I did not…”

“You didn’t know?”  He spoke over the top of her when he realized she hadn't known it was possible.  His ability was unique.

“Non.” She snapped curtly.

He swelled with pride, a childish feeling of superiority and wonder at this magnificent new existence.  He speculated about what new experiences, as yet undiscovered, that this life might hold for him.

“I see the auras, but I cannot read minds apart from yours.”  She flashed her eyes at him again in a demand for submission, the master pushing its subordinate to see if he would take the bait and rise to the challenge, only to be slapped back down in place.  He wasn't adversarial or proud, nor foolish enough be baited into a challenge.  He looked down away from her in the universal sign of submission.  He stayed seated while she stared down on him, standing over him like a master ready to whip her slave for taking undue liberties.

After a moment of glaring without catching a rise out of him, Michelle softened.

“You have every right to be intrigued by your abilities.  Pourquoi dois-je être celui avec le gamin spécial?”

He barely understood her.  She had said something about being stuck with the special boy.  Special like the kids on the short bus.

She reached out her hand to pull him up and explained, “The aura tells me of moods and personalities.  I knew things about you from your aura the night we met.  I knew those two men were police corrompue, and they would create many problèmes, but I did not know they would shoot you.  I cannot read their minds ... or see the future.”  She admitted this apologetically as he stood up to face her.

“No more of this conflict.” With this she returned to the role of benevolent master she had assumed upon his awakening.  Michelle placed her hands on his head, holding him straight, directing his eyes into her gaze.  She restarted her instruction with the basics of mesmerizing people through direct eye contact and subtle commands.

“It is magnétisme animal, is natural for us to attract the prey.  We are predators.”  She stared unblinking, drawing him in with those entrancing vivid green eyes.  He felt her looking down into his soul.  She owned him with nothing more than her gaze.  She broke the eye contact, yet again leaving him with the feeling he was child-like, inadequate.

She spoke reassuringly, “You will see tonight, women will be attracted to you all the time.  They are very easy prey.”  She stated this as if it were a normal everyday thing to hunt people like animals in the wild.

Michelle then explained, “When feeding, there is a chemical release, une médicament puissant.”  She opened her mouth inhumanly wide.  Her jaw unhinged like some kind of beast that would swallow him whole.  She pointed at her elongated canines tapering to razor sharp little points.  He took a step back out of her reach, fear and morbid fascination dueling to keep him in place.

“You mean like the venom of a snake?”  He managed to sputter out a nervous question.

Snapping her mouth shut as if it had never happened, she said, “Exactement.  This médicament helps to rapidly heal the bite marks.  They do not bleed when we are finished.”  She expanded further, “The bite causes erotic pleasure.”  She stepped towards him, recovering the lost distance.  She wrapped her hands around his face and purred, “With prolonged bites victims will reach climax.  Is too easy.  But you must remember never feed more than one minute and absolutely never more than two minutes.  They cannot handle excessive feedings.  Is very dangerous.  Best to be conservative until you learn control.”

He nodded acceptance, but he didn't have a clue how he would be able to stop once he started.  As she spoke, a wicked hunger awoke inside him.  He wanted to feed now, not in ten minutes, not for just one minute, not in the hour or two it would take them to cruise around town.  He wanted it right this second!  He wanted to drain someone dry, every last drop he could get, and then tear into their flesh and squeeze it for more when he was done.

“Come, I will show you everything step by step.  Watch, listen, and learn, Oui?” She smiled at him, disarming his apprehensions and making it very difficult to think of anything beyond her angelic face just inches from his, holding his head in her hands.

As the idea sunk in that they were actually planning to go out on the town to feed, Aaron suddenly remembered his job at Bemichis, “Oh shit, I've got to get to work tonight, I'm late.  I'm scheduled to work all this week, Bemichi is gonna kill me!”  He felt panicky.  He couldn't imagine how to reconcile all she had told him of his new life with his former day to day existence.  He tried to step away from her, to make for the door.  She halted him with her hands securely clamped on his head and a command snapped out in his face.

“Stop!”

That's exactly what he did.  Stop.  Right there in her hands, frozen solid.  Panic struck with an explosion of adrenaline.  He wanted to move, to run, to do something other than stand there, but his body wouldn't obey.  She had him seized up dead in his tracks.  His eyes could move, swirl around back and forth, side to side, up and down, but his body wouldn't do a damn thing.  It was like being cast in concrete, he simply couldn't move, but he could talk.

“Please let me go, please.  I promise I won't do anything if you just let me go.”  He was heading over the edge of the abyss, staring into the bottomless well of madness.  All reasoning processes washed away in the flush of panic.

“Silence!”  She ordered him again, robbing him of the very last aspect of his free will, the power of speech.  “You have been unconscious through ze period of change.  This is four days now since ze incident wiz ze police.  You have been dead to the world all this time.”  She gradually released the iron grip of her will over his body.  She let go of his face, taking a step back to see if he was gonna lose it or accept the unpleasant reality of her domination.  To Aaron it felt like chains being lifted from all around his body.

He mumbled quietly, “Thank you.”  He feared she might use her force of compulsion on him again.  He was living on eggshells with a heightened awareness of the slightest nuance of her displeasure that might cause a loss of his freedom of movement.

Watching him warily, she spoke in her weird enigmatic way, “The world you once knew is no more for you.”  It was so true.  The freedom he once knew was gone.  He had begun to learn there were very finite limits to Michelle's patience.  He took in the lesson and nodded his head silently.

Michelle put her arm through his and walked him to the door of the bedroom, keeping him close at hand.  He stood there gawking as she pulled off her nighty and slipped into a dress right in front of him.  She didn't need to command him to stay, or stop or whatever.  She held his attention solidly with that perfectly sculpted body.

She gave him another tidbit of sage advice.  “Don’t concern yourself with anything else tonight.  You must focus on the task at hand.  Focus on what I am saying.”  He nodded at her like an idiot, barely hearing her words while she squirmed her picture perfect body into designer clothing worth more than his entire wardrobe.

Michelle had changed into a shiny silver sleeveless dress, the loose fabric bunched at her hips, continuing a few more inches down as a skin tight skirt barely covering the bottom curve of her ass cheeks.  She wore no bra underneath, and her nipples were clearly visible through the almost sheer material.  The effect was stunning.  He would gladly do anything she asked.

In the elevator, her arm entwined around his, Michelle gave him a sly smile that silently hinted at pleasures yet to come.  Despite all the negative associations she represented in his life, he buzzed with anticipation and trepidation.

As they left the apartment building, he noted the 90’s décor, upscale for its time, now outdated.  She had some money, but not too much.  It wasn't Park Avenue, that's for sure.  Despite the need for upgrades, her place was a huge step up from the telephone booth-sized apartment he shared with Kyle.  Much roomier and higher class than anything he could afford on his budget.  He guessed Michelle's one bedroom suite cost her somewhere near two thousand a month.

In the taxi––making their way out into the New York nightlife, he spoke in hushed tones.  “Michelle, I don't want to hurt people.  Will they die from the feeding?  Is it violent?  Painful?  What if I can't stop?  What if I kill someone––by accident?”  She turned and cupped his face in her hands giving him a radiant smile.  He completely forgot about all his myriad concerns, her powerful physical presence so close and intimate, wiped his mind of all else.

“That is so sweet.  C'est mignon.  You are cute.  Listen to me and do not worry.  I am not a murderer.  We drink only a small sip.  Un apéritif, Oui?  Is like taking shots of whiskey.  It's not necessary to hurt anyone.  Actually, they will enjoy this very much.  You will see.  I promise.  D'accord?”

He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, his tensions flowing out through her magical fingertips.

* * * *

CHAPTER 5

They stood outside a seedy strip club, the likes of which hadn't appeared in the A lists for decades.  As the taxi left, Aaron’s anxiety returned.  The neon sign out front snapped and crackled electric sex into the darkness of the surrounding night with a flashing declaration, “Girls, Girls, Girls.”  It was like walking onto the film set of a bad 80's rock music video.

His low opinion of the site dropped several more notches upon entering.  The smoky interior was covered in dark red upholstery and carpet, and populated with shifty looking men stealing furtive glances in their direction.  This was the kind of place you never wanted anyone you knew to catch you coming from or going to.  He sensed relief from those who looked in his direction when they didn't recognize him.  He sympathized with them.  He felt the very same relief for not having recognized anyone.

There were several scantily clad girls slinking around eyeing him and Michelle for prospective targets.  The rest of the girls were sitting with men in various states of undress.  The girl dancing on the raised platform in the center of the room undulated with the pole sliding up and down between her thighs in an imitation of sex.  Her generous naked breasts jiggled and bounced with each shift of direction.

Aaron was gradually buried in the crush of psychic waves of thoughts crashing over him from those in the room.  The most prominent emotions were lust, desire, longing, and from the girls a lot of indifference and greed.  A moan of confusion escaped his lips.  Michelle gripped his arm tightly, maintaining a hold on him both physically and psychically.  He felt the chains of her compulsive will power tightening around him.

She whispered-hissed in his ear, “Block it out!”  With her compulsive prompt, a neat little bubble of silence slammed in place, effectively cutting off the bombardment of psychic noise.  He realized that she had forced him to draw back his scanning of the surrounding people.  He could have done it without her help.  All he need do was quit reaching out to the people nearby.  His own curiosity had triggered the barrage.

Once his internal storm quieted he noticed Michelle whispering to the doorman, who turned and led them to an alcove with several curtained areas.  As they stood waiting, the doorman brought over a golden skinned athletic––looking girl with bleach blond hair in a butch cut and a dental floss thong bikini.  Her booby tassels barely covering the tips of her nipples left little to the imagination.  They followed her into one of the curtained booths and she closed the drapes behind them.  Aaron reached out to the Butch tentatively, trying to maintain a grip on his senses, trying to keep his scans focused on her alone.  It worked for the most part.  He could hear the Butch’s thoughts and the man in a nearby booth, but he wasn't swamped out by everyone in the building.

With his scanning senses somewhat under control, he delved into Butch's mind.  She was totally focused on Michelle.  Aaron might as well have been a shadow on the wall as far as Butch was concerned.  She had a serious itch to get intimate with Michelle.  She wasn't one of those bisexual girls who played with women at parties or stole kisses from their girlfriends.  Butch was a full-on lesbian.  She only stripped for the money.  She wasn't really attracted to men at all.  It was relatively easy for Butch to tactfully avoid men's advances, pushing their hands away (occasionally swatting them away).  It was all strictly business.

Butch finally turned her fake, I-think-you’re-so-sexy, smile towards him, but her thoughts were all about Michelle.  “Are you looking for a two on one?”––Butch asked with a raised eyebrow.  She hoped not.  She wanted Michelle all to herself.  It was a rare treat when a woman that beautiful came to a dive like this.

Michelle reassured her, “Non, just me for now.”  Butch's smile was genuine as she moved towards Michelle.  She was planning to have some real fun on this one, maybe even break the cardinal rule, no sex.

The girls sat down together on the semicircular seating.  Butch only had eyes for Michelle.  She began to dance for her, moving to the rhythm of the dance music that pervaded the entire club.  Within a moment she had climbed up onto Michelle's lap, swaying and grinding her hips, her legs spread-eagle.  She stroked her fingertips over Michelle's nipples, smiling as they perked and hardened with her touch––it was okay to touch people, but they weren't supposed to touch back.  He sat down on the seat a couple feet away from the show, his eyes glued to the girls.  This was definitely the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed.  He was already rock hard in his pants, and the action hadn't yet begun.

Michelle maintained eye contact with Butch the entire time, inviting her in with an unmistakable come-hither look.  It was one of those Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly kinda moments.  Michelle seduced the seducer.  The girl didn't have a clue she was sitting in the lap of a lioness.

Michelle leaned forward whispering to the girl with a hypnotic suggestion, “Come to me.”  Butch leaned in, and Michelle struck swift and hard, biting her neck with a soft wet sucking sound.  As Michelle clutched the girl to her, her arm locked around the back of her neck, Butch began grinding hard and fast against Michelle's lap.  Butch breathed in desperate gasps and hit two quick heaving spasms.  As she orgasmed atop Michelle's lap she cried out, “Oh my God!  Oh, oh God.  Yes!”

Michelle released her bite as the girl slumped against her chest panting heavily.  It took Butch a moment to regain her composure, and then she stood up on shaky legs and stepped away from Michelle's lap with a shy embarrassed grin.  Michelle stood up face to face with Butch, maintaining that freaky unblinking gaze, and handed her a couple twenties.  “That will be all for now, you can send another girl for him.”  Michelle gestured towards Aaron, who Butch had literally forgotten was there.  Butch was sorely disappointed to be summarily dismissed so quickly.  She wasn't used to being treated that way by the usual club crowd.  It was a humbling experience to be on the receiving end of this kind of treatment.

As soon as Butch left the curtained booth Michelle explained, “It's all in the eye contact.  Do not break eye contact.  When you hold her wiz your eyes you can tell her what you want.  She will be under your control.  Do exactly as I did.  Release the bite after one minute.  The girls get very close to you here, is very easy.”

Next entered a cute brown haired, brown eyed girl with a sweet, shy smile.  She looked really young, younger than Aaron.  Michelle gestured in his direction and the girl asked, “What do you have in mind?”

He replied, “A lap dance.”

She took off her robe setting it to the side and said, “My name is Lisa.”  She was completely topless with the same kind of dental floss bikini as the previous girl.  Her body was soft and curvy without the athletic hard edge of the Butch that danced for Michelle.  In truth she looked barely of age.

Lisa moved slowly and sensually to the music, sliding up into his lap.  He held her gaze as she mounted him.  His erection punched up the crotch of his pants, pitching a tent.  Lisa began rubbing her breasts up his chest while curving her warm wet center back and forth over his raised pants, giving a constant massage of the tip of his engorged penis.  He read her sincere desire to screw him silly right there, rules be damned.  She was totally under his spell, and all he'd done was stare at her.

As she dry humped him with a wonderfully agonizing pelvic grind, Lisa was definitely close enough to bite.  His senses heightened with arousal.  He could see her pulse beating throughout her body with a fluttering at her throat just under the skin.  He felt an itch coming from his fangs.  They were fully exposed and needed to be sunk into this girl.  He sooo wanted to take a chunk out of her.

Michelle gave a slight nod which he perceived as the signal, and he lashed out to bite down on that beautiful little pounding pulse point.  It was the most natural thing in the world.  It felt like he'd been doing this all his life.  The instinct and know-how to bite was deeply ingrained into his new psyche.  It was official.  He could no longer deny the truth.  Aaron was now a vampire.

The puncture of his fangs breaking skin made a yucky squish sound.  Lisa tensed up at the initial pain of the bite, and then relaxed as his venom dumped a wonderful magic flow of endorphins into her bloodstream.  Her blood was a delicious syrup.  He sucked it down hard and fast, gulping whole mouthfuls.  Her strong little heart pumped blood into his mouth just as fast as he could swallow it.  The experience was exquisite.  Simply the richest, sweetest delight of flavor he had ever experienced.

With the blood flow came a new flood of Lisa's emotions, passions, a sense of her very life essence.  His psychic connection to her sunk in deep with the flow of her blood.  He was immersed in her psyche, everything Lisa.  She washed away his own sense of identity.  There was only Lisa and the fantastic euphoria she experienced, brought on by the venom coursing through her blood stream.  Lisa's breathing reached the point of panting and gasping and her whole body rocked with the force of her grinding thrusts on his lap, her entry engulfing the tip of his cock.

He felt psychic waves of ecstasy pouring off Lisa when she reached her venom-soaked climax.  As her wetness gushed onto his pants, soaking his erection, he penetrated another inch into her entry, having sex fully–clothed.

Lisa's peak struck again and again, each eruption slamming gasps and cries from her lips.  The combination of the blood high, Lisa's psychic ecstasy pouring over him, and his near climax, hit a total sensory overload.  This was a divine religious experience, like entering the kingdom of Heaven with all its hosts and choir singing praises to God.

Michelle shut the pearly gates to Heaven in Aaron's face with her command, “No more, stop now!”

He released Lisa involuntarily and she collapsed against his chest with heaving gasps and pathetic whimpering sounds with each exhale.  Her body molded to his torso like gelatin.  She was shaking and quivering with the intense life-changing experience she'd undergone.

Lisa looked upon Aaron in adoration, kissing his neck and face, caressing his body with her hands.  After she stopped shaking and moaning with orgasmic aftershocks, Michelle lifted Lisa off Aaron from behind like a mother removing a babe from her father's arms.  Lisa looked as though she would leap back into his lap, like she couldn't stand to be apart from him.  Michelle held Lisa's gaze, mesmerizing her while shoving twenty dollar bills into her hand.  She commanded her go to the restroom and clean up.  Lisa suddenly remembered herself and realized her behavior with embarrassment.  She rushed out the curtain towards the back rooms.

Michelle leaped toward Aaron hissing.  “Imbécile, look what you have done!”  He hurled daggers of malice with his eyes.  He considered jumping up and throttling her on the spot.  He had never experienced such severe aching sexual frustration in all his life.  He understood now what it meant when people joked about having blue balls.  Michelle had ordered him to stop mere seconds before he reached his own peak.  He was rock hard and frustrated.  No happy endings for Aaron Pilan.

Michelle threw a napkin at him from her purse and spit rapid fire, “Wipe yourself, Hurry!  We must go now!”  He looked at her as if she was insane.  How could she force him to leave here after what just happened!?

“Tues bêtes comme te pieds!”  Michelle responded to his accusing look, letting him know he was no more intelligent than the bottom of his feet.

“I will explain it to you once we leave this place.  Hurry, she will return any minute.  She is now your bloodslave.  We cannot stay!”

Exactly as Michelle predicted, Lisa caught up with them at the exit just before they could escape.  Lisa latched onto him with a smile a mile wide, slipping her hand into his pocket with her phone number, stroking him intimately from inside his pants.

Lisa looked him in the eyes with her free hand holding his chin and said, “Call me … seriously.  I want you to call me tonight.  I don't say this to men who come in here.  I'm saying it now.  I'm totally serious, I mean it.  You better not forget me okay?”  She seemed consider for a second then continued.

“It's not about money.  I don't want your money.  I want to see you again tonight.  I'm off work in four and a half hours, at three a.m.  You can meet me in the parking lot.”  She begged him with her eyes and stroked the length of him to prove the sincerity of her invitation.  “I don't even know your name.”  She gave him a puppy dog needy look.

“My name is Aaron.  And I'll call you, don't worry okay?”  He had a huge grin.  She had stroked him the entire time and he was aroused to the point of throwing her down on the floor right there to have his way with her.  He suspected she'd probably let him do it, he held that much influence over her.  Having this kind of power over a beautiful, young, half-naked stripper was a heady experience.  It felt fantastic to finally be the one in control of the situation.

She aligned her body with his, pressing up on him with all her lovely curvaceous parts, “Please don't forget me okay?”  She looked like she was about to cry at his leaving.  He almost begged Michelle to let him stay, but thought better of it.  She seemed pretty pissed off, and he suspected he was gonna catch an earful on the way out.  He reassured Lisa twice more that he would not forget her while Michelle dragged him out the door to their next set of adventures in vampiring.

In the taxi Michelle turned to him with a steady controlling hand on his thigh and calmly said, “I know how you feel right now, but listen to me.  What you did to that girl was horrible.  Your bite can be stronger than heroin with prolonged exposure.”  She held his gaze as she flicked her fingertip at his fangs, pointing out the obvious.

“These chemicals cause rapid sexual excitement.  Too much creates instant addiction, just like heroin.  You must never feed more than two minutes or you risk the addiction.  You held this poor girl for three minutes straight.  She had many orgasms in a row Oui?”  He nodded, admitting the truth of her words.

“I can assure you she will be anemic for days, you took too much.  The real problème is now this poor girl is addicted to you.”  She poked her finger at his chest in accusation.  “It is psychological and physical addiction.  You must never bite this girl again.  You must never see this girl again.  We cannot return for her tonight.  If given the chance, she will pursue and stalk you.  You have marked this girl forever, she will think of you always.  It is very important that you understand.  It is a serious problème.  Très mal.”

Michelle paused to let the import of her words sink in.  “She is now your bloodslave.  If you don’t feed from her she will suffer withdrawals for many weeks.  Her pain will be constant. Depression may drive her to suicide.  You should be ashamed of what you have done.”

He was, at this point, quite ashamed, yet still very frustrated from the whole experience.  “Why didn't you tell me before?  Why did you let me do this?”  He felt like a complete asshole once he understood the full ramifications of what he'd done to Lisa, and he wasn't above laying the blame on Michelle's shoulders for her part.

Michelle cupped his face with her hands. “Oui, this is my fault.  You were not truly prepared for this, but now you know.  There will be no excuse next time.  You must never make zis mistake again.  Let zis be a lesson to you.”  She was dead serious.  He caught the flow of her emotions leaking through their psychic bond.  She had an unwavering resolve to ensure that Aaron never abused another woman––a deadly resolve.

He followed this thread of thought in Michelle’s mind via their connection.  This bloodslave thing was a real sore spot for her.  She'd seen it happen before.  He caught a shadowy glimpse of the faces of many people, thin emaciated faces.  A great heap of sadness and grief was there just under the surface of her mind.  He almost reached into that pile of writhing snakes, but thought better of it.  He shied away from her pain and leaned back to the other side of the bench seat.

She held him with a calm unnerving gaze.  He’d dug a little too deep, traveling through unwelcome corridors of her mind.

“I will do whatever is necessary to be certain you have respect for them.  Do not test me.”   There it was in her mind, plain as day for Aaron to read.  She would ensure he was careful with the women they fed from, even if it meant killing him.  This mistake was on her, a freebie.  If he continued abusing women it would get serious.  It was a non-negotiable issue.  He sensed a dark gruesome history underlay Michelle’s strong feelings.  She had been a victim.

* * * *

CHAPTER 6

Aaron stood beside Michelle on the roof of her apartment building looking out over the city lights, breathing in the smells, listening to the night sounds of passing cars and people living normal lives.  To his enhanced vision the night sky-line and rooftops glowed with illumination.  He could see everything, almost as if it were daylight.  His night vision was superb.

Standing there looking down on the world, he felt divorced from the human race, an outsider peeking in windows but never truly entering within.  He'd felt this way before, especially after his father's death, but now it was for real.  He was truly disconnected from all of humanity.

The tangs of city life in all their ripe flavor drifted on the air; remnants of meals cooked, unwashed sweaty bodies, sewer vents and auto exhaust.  He took it all in, identifying each scent with the understanding that he would never again be mired in such things, human things.  It was exciting, but equally intimidating.  He had no one in the world but this strange woman he called Master.  His father had been gone for years, and his mother bailed on him shortly thereafter.  Relations with Kyle and Delia and all those other people who were once a significant part of his life couldn't continue.  He was detached from the world and all its problems, and it felt kinda … good.  He felt free, like a great weight had lifted from his shoulders, all expectations gone.  There was no one to answer to, no one to buy beer for, no one except Michelle.  She reminded him of this new weight of expectation as she squeezed his hand demanding attention.

She'd brought them to the roof but hadn't bothered to explain why.  She turned to him, “Is a good time for you to learn how your new body moves.  This is purely instinctual.  Don’t think too much.  Watch me, I will go first, then is your turn.”  With that Michelle did the craziest thing he'd ever seen.  She stepped right off the roof of her twenty story apartment building and gracefully landed on the fire escape catwalk two stories below.  No ceremony, no warning.  She did it like it was the thing to do when standing at the edge of a building, like the chicken that crossed the road to get to the other side.  She touched down as if nothing had happened.  There was virtually no impact from her landing.

Michelle continued doing the impossible by leaping across the alleyway, flying fifty feet through the air, gradually descending in a graceful arc until she hit the wall of the neighboring concrete building.  For a second it actually looked like she was standing sideways on the wall.  As she hit, she crouched down into the impact and vaulted off the wall back out into the alley for another graceful arc of descent.  She glided down at an angle into a textbook perfect landing precisely at the fire escape catwalk outside her apartment window.  With each of these artfully executed maneuvers she descended lower and lower as though traveling down a switch-back trail from a mountain top.

After all that, she had the audacity to lean out over the catwalk railing to look up at him with an innocent smile and said, “Now is your turn.”

He was stunned into silence.  He stood there with a dumb expression, his mouth open in awe.  She was a friggin Jedi master, a super hero (heroine).  Spider woman, cat woman, and the black widow all rolled into one.  And just how the hell was he supposed to keep up with all that?  How could she expect him to do that shit?

When he regained the ability to speak he protested loudly, “No.  Fucking.  Way!”

She had that I'm-not-playing-with-you-Imbécile look.

He tried to reason with her, “Maybe this is another one of those situations I'm not quite ready for yet.  I honestly don't see how I can do that.”

“You can do this, no problème.  Your body knows how to move, is like breathing.  Don’t think about it!”  She smiled again.  Wonder woman hadn't even broke a sweat.  She stood there with an expectant look.

“No way Jose, no can do.”  He shook his head.  Then he started to feel a dread sensation at the bottom of his gut that she was actually serious.  She really wanted him to jump.  He could feel her emotions broadcast over their psychic bond.  She had lost patience with him.  He could sense what she was about to do a split second before she did it.  That was all the warning he got.

“Jump now and follow in my steps!”  Michelle spoke in that strange resonant timbre of command and he jumped off the side of a twenty story building involuntarily.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shiiiiit!”

Much to his surprise, he made a decent landing on the catwalk below, same as Michelle.  The thirty foot drop felt like it was only a three feet.  Continuing on with the follow in my steps command, he leapt across to the neighboring building, descending in an arc.  He was basically following Michelle's path, but he had underestimated his strength.  When he hit the wall of the neighboring building feet first, the cement cracked a ten foot wide spider web.  He launched off the wall exactly as Michelle had done, mimicking her movements, following her path of descent, but a large piece of the cement wall dislodged behind him and fell to the alley below.  He was far more powerful than he knew.

In his final maneuver, he miscalculated again, using too way much force for his jump.  Instead of landing on the catwalk as she had, he plowed straight into Michelle.  Of course, she saw this coming, and intercepted him.  Michelle spun and slammed him into the wall behind her, redirecting his force and knocking the wind out of him with a bone-crushing thud.  He thought he heard something crack, but he wasn't sure if it was his back or the wall behind him.  He felt like it was him, perhaps one or more of his ribs.  It took a moment to catch his breath past the sharp pains in his back and chest.

“See I told you!  Next time listen to me when I tell you something!”  She snapped with a smug grin.  “Stupid Americans, think they know everything!”  She spit in derision.

“Tu me pèles le jonc!”  She let him know his behavior was getting on her nerves in her not-so-cute-anymore French accent.  With this exclamation she heaved Aaron over her shoulder, spinning 180 degrees.  He went flying out into the alleyway tumbling end-over-end heading straight toward the pavement.  He had absolutely no forewarning.  She'd cleverly concealed her intention to toss him over the railing of the catwalk like yesterday's newspaper.

“Oh Fuck!  Oh my god!”

Though he had no advance warning, he recovered quickly.  As she attempted to explain to him earlier, he instinctively knew how to manage the fall.  Like a cat with nine lives and inhuman agility, he twisted and turned in the air till his spinning momentum aligned him with a feet first landing.  He dropped into a tight little crouch with the impact, his hands touching down for balance.  He fell four stories without injury, landing as if it was only a four foot drop.

Michelle shocked him further by issuing another compulsory command, “Come to me now!”

His body involuntarily leaped into the air, snatched up the bottom rung of the fire escape ladder 12 feet off the ground, and scaled the fire escape.  He pounded up the switch-back fire escape stairways at a breakneck velocity any fireman would be proud to witness.  He reached the 4th floor where Michelle stood in mere seconds.  The little blond psychotic witch welcomed him with a smile.

He looked at her with trepidation.  She damn near killed him twice in the span of a couple minutes.  He couldn't decide whether he should laugh, scream, cry, or beg.

As she opened the window to let him into her bedroom, she mocked him, asking if he was having a mid-life crisis, “Avoir le démon de midi?”

He followed her inside, and wisely kept his mouth shut.  She went about the apartment doing this, that, and the other thing, girly things.  She kept her distance, letting him calm down.  How courteous and considerate of her.

Sitting on Michelle's bed, steeped in the scents of her perfume and other distinctive body odors, he attempted to reconcile his new reality.  He was now a blood sucking vampire with amazing physical strength and agility, and some rather interesting talents for seduction.  He had exceptionally acute senses and could read the minds of those nearby.  He was a slave to the will of his drop dead gorgeous (though slightly psychotic) vampire master whom he found difficult to trust and was fast learning to fear.  The question was how did he feel about it?

He didn't like the answer obvious every time Michelle spoke in that alluring-irritating-cute-sexy-maddening French accent.  He was stuck on her, and stuck with her, but that wasn't really the truth of the matter.  Despite all the reasons he shouldn't let emotion color his dealings with Michelle, it was too late.  He had to face the fact that the war had been lost before it began.  It was love at first site.  Whether she was a guardian angel or a demoness didn't matter.  He was smitten, infatuated, and he could hardly keep his eyes off her.  She had him good, right where she wanted him, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.  She owned him; body, heart, and soul, and she hadn’t even fucked him yet.

He knew Michelle didn't feel the same way about him.  He was a trainee, a liability, not a man to love or respect.  All things considered, he decided it wise to conceal his thoughts deep in his mental vault and try not to wear his foolish heart on his sleeve.  He was her slave, but that didn't mean he was without pride.

Regardless of his attempts to mask his emotions, he knew she was aware of his internal battle.  It was clearly written on his face, and he wasn't all that good at blocking her out of their psychic connection.  She could read him too easily.

“Are you planning to scowl at me for the rest of the night or are we going to have sex?”  She gave him a Helen of Troy smile that could launch a thousand ships, sending them all to their demise.

While doing a double take he snapped, “You just shoved me off the roof of a building.  Can I have a chance to get my head straight?”  As her words penetrated his frustration, he began to warm to all the wonderful possibilities that stemmed from her blatant proposition.

After a minute of silence he back tracked, “Look, I'll admit the roof thing was exciting and kind of fun and … I don't even have a scratch on me so … I guess there's no harm, no foul.”

“Does this mean we are going to have sex now?”  She slipped her fingers through his hair seductively, massaging his scalp in wonderful little circles.  “I promise I will not order you around … this time … Oui?”  She gave him her most innocent look while wrapping her arms around him to bring his head down to her breasts.

“Well, since you put it that way.”  He mumbled into her mostly uncovered cleavage.  He knew he couldn't say no, didn't even want to say no.  So why bother pretending?  For once he was getting laid and he didn’t even have to beg for it.

They could let bygones be bygones for the moment.  She wasn't gonna force him, or so she said.  But then maybe that sort of force wouldn't be so horrible, as the saying goes, you can't rape the willing.  Michelle took control of the situation when she lashed out to bite him on the neck.  He reacted without thinking.  It was an instinctual thing that just happened.  He wrapped around her and bit her right back.

He realized she’d been counting on it.  She wasn't the least bit surprised.  He fell into a heavenly bliss of feeding and drug-like euphoria as the venom induced ecstasy brought him to climax simultaneously with Michelle.  She purred her pleasure at him, grinding her moist hot crotch all over his leg.

“Ooh La La!  It has been such a long time since I felt this way.  Only with vampires can it be so … mmm … there is nothing quite like the double bite ... this is the raison d'être!”  She spoke while licking the blood from her lips and caressing his hard cock from the outer bulge of his pants.

His mind whirled with the overwhelming power of her presence and touch.  He felt like a kid in a candy store.  He could scarce believe his good fortune at being the object of this super model's seductive attentions.

“You know I'm not really experienced in this.”  It slipped from his mouth without any thought, his venom-saturated loins speaking before his brain kicked in.  As soon as he spoke the words, he mentally ordered himself to shut-up.

“Oui, this is no problème.  I will teach you everything in time.  You must trust me.  I know you don’t, but you have no choice.”  She stated this matter-of-factly while unbuttoning his pants with quick deft movements.  The girl was an old pro.

As she undressed him, she explained, “I know how the world sees French women, they say we are sexually liberated.  Oui?”  He nodded slowly, uncertain where she was headed with this revelation.

“The truth is we are actually quite traditional.  We like the old-fashioned courtesies.  Tu comprends?”  He nodded again, entranced as her hands undid buttons and zippers and slid his shirt off his chest.

“I expect the simple courtesies like opening doors, pulling out chairs, changing light bulbs, unplugging the nasty sink drains, answering phones to fend off telemarketers …. sending flowers now and then for no particular reason.  But most important, you must give the courtesy of allowing me to orgasm first.”

“That’s the French way?”  He swallowed with an audible gulp as he stepped out of his pants and underwear.  He had never been naked with a woman with the lights on, it was kinda nerve wracking.

“Oui, classical European etiquette.  This one time I will make an exception, for the purpose of our lesson.”

She gently pushed him back onto the bed and proceeded to work him by hand.  She knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it, where he wanted it.  She plucked it straight from his mind.  Within moments she worked him to a back-arching explosive peak, robbing him of the ability to think or speak.  This was achieved in the same impersonal manner she had adopted as his official teacher of the fine arts of vampirism.

She gave him a short minute to compose himself while cleaning her hands methodically.  Then she stepped out of her dress and stood before him wearing nothing but the tiniest pair of black thong panties he’d ever seen.  He grew rock hard all over again staring at her fabulous body.  She had to have been completely shaven, there was no way hair could hide under her minuscule fishing line panties.

She represented every ridiculous Hollywood-inspired fantasy he could recall.  He’d jerked off to far less attractive swimsuit models as a teenager.

“Oh my god you are so beautiful.”  He blurted it out like a lovesick idiot.

She worked the black string down her hips and stepped up to greet him and his swollen erection thumping against his belly.

“Now is my turn.”  She took his hand in hers and began her instructions by showing him the key points of female anatomy that must be attended to and duly appreciated.

Following her lead, he played upon the sensitive erogenous zones of Michelle's body, each touch eliciting a corresponding musical sound.  Michelle opened her psychic link to Aaron, allowing him to feel all that she felt, to reinforce her instructions with her erotic responses to his caresses.

“Oui, there … and here.  Oui oui!  Faster, harder, don’t stop!”

He found the noises of her pleasure extremely arousing.  She was not a quiet lover.  Michelle made wonderful French music with her moans, groans, and sighs––and the occasional growl or grunt.

“Oohh … Ahhh … OH!  Aiieeee … Oooff ... aarrggghh …. Shoosh!”  Her crescendo finished in a screaming orgasm of, “Oooouuiii!”

After reaching her peak, she crawled over the top of him.  Unsure what she wanted, he asked, “Do you want to be on top?”

Fangs fully extended in a gleaming white grin she said, “But of course!”

Legs wide open; she impaled herself all the way down in one smooth move.  Michelle was indeed an old pro.  She rode him with the enthusiasm of veteran porn-stars, gliding up and down, popping and grinding her hips to get every last inch she could hit.  Soon her pace and force reached that of hard pounding, pelvis crushing slams.  It was slightly painful with her preternatural strength and vigor, but the intensity of their dual climaxes wiped away all discomfort.

Breathing heavily with a glazed smile on her face, Michelle hauled him over to the side, rolling with him.  He ending up on top with her legs locked around him in a professional wrester's hold.  She bit him for a moment allowing the magic of her venom to engorge his arousal.  He grew a full size erection inside of her within seconds.  Without speaking a word she instructed him in a series of motions through their psychic bond.  She taught him all the different angles and methods of intimacy from this position, following through into various other classic positions.  Her educational series took them through several more mutual peaks punctuated by episodes of mutual biting.  They went to the point that he could take no more.

“Please … let’s give it a rest … it hurts.”  He admitted sheepishly as he tried to catch his breath after the umpteenth round of sex.  She surveyed his cock as it started going limp.

“Oui, that will do for now.  We have all the time in the world for more lessons.”

* * * *

In the morning just before sunrise, as they lay tangled together in bed after three hours of blood-sucking-mind-blowing sex, Michelle considered her situation.  She knew he was infatuated with her.  He couldn't hide it.  But he was very young, and such things are common with inexperienced men.  Michelle thought it possible she might eventually develop some sentiment for him.  He had a certain boyish charm, he seemed so guileless.  He was not a deceptive or malicious person.  Those two points alone were enough to hold her attention.  Such men were a rare find in this culture of artificial personalities.  He was genuine, maybe a bit too naive, but still genuine.

She had found him fresh and clean, uncontaminated by the decadence of the New York scene.  Michelle assumed it was only a matter of time before these qualities she admired would dissipate.  Life had a way of stripping away luxuries like innocence and naiveté.  She would lose this fresh young boy eventually.  She intended to fully enjoy it while it lasted.  It was quite a nice change from the men she normally met in her line of work.

Emotional attachment was the issue now.  She couldn't really afford to get too close to him.  If he started to turn sour and violent, like her former master, she'd be forced to deal with it.  She couldn't allow her feelings to sway her judgment.  She had to be objective about killing him.  For the meantime, she was willing to discount her lingering attraction for him as nothing more than the sated after effects of great sex.

She wasn't really willing to examine her feelings in any great depth.  It seemed wiser to maintain his fear and respect for her, keeping strong emotions out of the equation.  Sex, for her, was not complicated, especially with Aaron, who unlike the weak humans, could actually keep up with her physically in the bedroom.

However, emotional commitments were very complicated.  She hoped to maintain a balance in the master/slave relationship without becoming too overbearing and avoiding emotionally involvement with her slave.  It would be a challenge, but she was up to the task.  Michelle prided herself on her rigid self-control.

* * * *

CHAPTER 7

Police Chief Schueller yelled in Detective Konowicz’s face, “I know this chic didn’t go ballistic on you two for no good reason.  I know what the fuck you were doin!  Don’t lie to me!”

Konowicz sputtered, “She was on somethin, crack or meth or somethin.  I’m totally serious Chief.  She was all speeded out, a real public safety hazard!”

“You’re gonna find this girl, and I will find out the truth!  If I hear you were hittin her up for money you’re gone.  I told you last time, the next hooker files a report against you and it’s over.  Not even the union will be able to save your ass.”

“Yes sir.  No problem. I’ll get right on it.”  Konowicz shuffled out of the office.

“I know you will, and you’re gonna bring her back here safe and sound in one piece so I can talk to her!  Not a mark on her you hear!”  Konowicz didn’t acknowledge.  He kept on rolling out the door.

Schueller shook his head, a temple pounding headache coming on.  He recalled a book he read back in the 80’s called the Peter Principle, about employees having a tendency to rise to the highest level of incompetence.  The book described how employees hit the ceiling of their careers due to the inability to competently manage the responsibilities they've been granted.  Schueller had become convinced that Dr. Lawrence J. Peter was a prophet.  The good doc must have foreseen the life and times of Scott Konowicz when he wrote his book twenty years ago.

In Schueller’s opinion this was the essence, the defining characteristic of Konowicz’s life, incompetence.  Konowicz was a shining example of the golden age of mediocrity celebrated across America today.  His exquisite failures reached into every facet of his life, leaving no stone unturned, no accomplishment untainted.  His spectacular divorce and lack of children was a shining trophy on the mantle of failure he donned upon his shoulders each day on his way out the door to work (after spiking his coffee with the cheapest bottle of rum available at the corner liquor store).

Konowicz ate, slept, and drank of ineptitude to such excess that it rivaled his alcohol consumption.  When Schueller confronted Konowicz four years ago about his alcoholism, trying to offer the idiot some help, Konowicz replied, “No Alcoholics Anonymous for me, no siree bob that shit's for quitters!  The only twelve steps I need are the steps leading from the car to the checkout counter of the liquor store!”  The idiot had laughed it off.  You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.

Schueller watched through the blinds of his office window as Konowicz approached his fat sidekick Oberman.  They couldn’t be more different looking, and yet they were two sides of the same coin.  True to the statement birds of a feather flock together Konowicz and Oberman were cut from the same cloth, matching each other nearly point for point.  Their lives were like mirror images of one another.  They damn near finished each other's sentences.

Both detectives shared the same tendency for corruption and bribery.  This was the primary reason Schueller pared them up as partners six years ago.  Better to allow two bad apples to rot together rather than watch them pervert others on the force with their corrupt influence.

Schueller sighed, rubbed a hand across his face and mumbled to himself, “They’re poster children for labor union reform.  If the union can make allowance for their continued employment, it must be fundamentally flawed.”

Schueller was well aware that both detectives spent their unproductive days skating on the minimum effort required to keep their jobs.  They played the Rodney Dangerfield role, I get no respect!  He also knew they spent their lonely nights shaking down pimps, prostitutes, and drug dealers for a little bonus pay, a few hundred here, a few hundred there.  Both having hit the limits of their careers years ago, they took it upon themselves to get ahead the old fashioned way; threats, blackmail, extortion, and coercion.

Schueller sincerely hoped he could finagle a signed statement from this mystery blond and put an end to both their careers.  It took alotta dirt to get rid of an NYPD officer, but those two had been pushing the limits of tolerable police behavior for far too long.  The office of internal affairs had a dossier on both of them longer than most criminal rap sheets.

* * * *

Detective Konowicz was not a happy man.  Every time he spoke, turned his head, tried to eat or drink, his nose spiked pain throughout his skull causing a series of throbbing waves of misery.  His Oxycontin pain pills kicked in with a nice buzz, but the catcalls and teasing from his fellow officers left him with a foul attitude.

“Hey Konowicz, is it true you had your ass handed to you by a hundred pound bimbo?”

“Hey!  We should put the bimbo on the Jerry Springer Show with Konowicz and Oberman.  After she's done kicking their asses all over the stage, she can do a number on the stripper pole!”  This knee-slapper had them all busting a gut, tears streaming down their faces.

“I heard she tased Oberman right in da freakin nuts wit’ your piece.  You gotta give her points for originality on that one!”

“I bet the chief had their balls for breakfast over that shit!”  The legend of their confrontation with the blond grew with each retelling.

“Everybody's a fuckin stand-up comedian.”  Konowicz grumbled under his breath so as not to incite any further comment.  The incident with the little blond cunt was the most recent humiliation he'd endured, but it was a symptom of a much larger problem.  This event was only one in a long line of embarrassing disappointments.  The list stretched back over the decades, extending throughout twenty-two years of an unrewarding and meritless police career.

Life had not been good to Konowicz, but his police work provided a nice outlet for the anger and frustration.  Out on the streets he and Oberman didn't take any crap from criminals unfortunate enough to land in their path, especially the prostitutes.  Bust a few heads, shake down some whores, collect a few dollars, grab onto some new names and do it all over again.  Whether by cash or services rendered, the girls always paid.  Konowicz had the unbreakable power of the law behind him, nobody dared to defy him.  Nobody but the blond bimbo.

His encounter with the blond was a serious thorn in his side.  Being saddled with a broken nose for all his co-workers to see and appreciate had enraged him to the point of murder.  Konowicz planned to get that little blond bitch one way or another.  It wasn't just business, it was a personal vendetta.  She’d never make it to see the Chief.  There would be no signed statements.  He wasn’t a fool, and he surely wasn’t going down for some hot piece of tail with a bullshit complaint of extortion.

Konowicz fantasized long and hard about doing horribly unspeakable things to the little blond whore before he killed her.  Oh how she would beg, she'd plead with him, she'd do anything he wanted, anything.  She'd probably try to pay him off first.  That's how it usually went when things got rough.  He might even let her scrape up some money before he finished the job … drag it out a little longer.  Konowicz got down with some serious planning.  He put more effort into his plans for revenge than his own career.

He needed to be certain Oberman would go along with the game plan.  Konowicz approached Oberman privately during lunch at the greasy spoon diner they frequented.

“Hey … we gonna fuck dis chick up when we find her?  We ain't takin no prisoners right?”  Konowicz spoke in hushed tones, his plugged sinus's adding a nasal whine to his voice.

“Yeah, no problem, this bitch is gonna wake up dead in a dumpster by the time we're finished.”  Oberman confirmed with a malicious gleam in his eye.  Konowicz had expected as much, they were both on the same track.  Business as usual.

“You get the artist's rendering yet?”  Konowicz whined.

“Yeah, it looks close enough.  Where do you wanna start?”  Oberman asked.

“I was thinkin we could hit up Talco.  See if he knows anything about her.”

“I bet he knows somethin.  We'll catch him tonight, he owes us one after the last stunt he pulled.”

“Gotta figure a package that sweet turns alotta heads, we're gonna find her real soon.  She must be workin wit somebody.  Chick like that ain't walkin the streets alone.”  Konowicz nodded.  With the network of pimps and prostitutes they had access to it was only a matter of time before they found her.

* * * *

Talco stood at the entrance to Chandler's Bar and Grill waiting for the arrival of Oberman and Konowicz, a.k.a. Los Demonios.  Everything involving those two A-holes equated to a deal with the devil.  He wondered how he'd ever rid himself of their tyrannical influence on his life.  He couldn't imagine anything short of killing them that would free him, and he wasn't a murderer.  A pimp, a bastard, a felon on probation, he fit all these descriptions, but not a killer, not yet.

“It's about fuckin time you showed up.  Been waitin for twentyfive minutes mane!  You think I got nothing better to do?”  Talco complained in his heavy Puerto Rican accent.

“Relax, sit down, have a beer.  Ain't you ever heard, patience is a fuckin virtue?”  Konowicz gestured to a corner booth in the bar.  He continued, “You're too high strung.  Look at Oberman here, that's what happens with too much stress.”

“Yeah fuck you too, your ugly mug ain't winning any beauty contests.”  Oberman retorted at Konowicz.

Talco looked at Oberman's scratched face and Konowicz's broken nose.  He prayed to the Blessed Virgin he would never allow himself to deteriorate so badly that he resembled either of them.  His sleek, fit, 27 year old, golden tanned Puerto Rican body was in its prime, and he intended to keep it that way for years to come.  To Talco, Oberman's overweight fifty plus years of bulk with heavy bulldog jowls and beady eyes was the worst condition a man could be in.  Konowicz, although trim, was plenty undesirable in his own gaunt balding way.

They looked like a wicked version of Laurel and Hardy with Brooklyn accents, heavy drinking problems, and noses for smelling out nasty business.  Somehow, these indecent ventures always seemed to find a way from their hands to his lap.

Los Demonios ordered rounds of beers and burgers.  I’ll be paying the tab.  Those putos didn't ask for separate checks.

“I got somethin here for ya, look at this.”  Oberman handed the artist's rendering of a blond woman to Talco.  “You recognize her?”  Talco looked over the drawing for a moment and shook his head no.

“She's workin the streets, she's been seen in the last week by Palmetto and 60th.  Claims to be workin alone, but she's a hot little bitch, and it don't make no sense that she'd be out there on her own.”

Talco sensed something personal involved in this.  He got a really bad feeling.  There was more to this girl than they were telling him.  He speculated she had something to do with the scratches across Oberman's face and silently praised any woman brave enough to fight back.  The sad part, this chick was already fucked, she just didn't know it yet.  You do not go head to head with NYPD, a very big mistake.

Konowicz stared hard at Talco, making certain to impart the severity of his request. “This baby here's got your name all over it.  You find her and we're square for the last payment you owe.  Think you can handle it?”

Perhaps the girl was dangerous, maybe she needed to be taken down.  Maybe it was legit.  “I'll ask around, see what I can find out.  I'll put in the time, I'll try, but I can't guarantee anything.  And what if I can't find her eh?  All dis for nothing?  You still gonna be on my case mane?  I gotta life too, a wife and kid!”  Talco knew there was something about this blond that smelled like serious trouble.

“Hey, you better remember a few things.  You gotta do everything you can to protect that sweet little chica at home.  You get popped on a probation violation and you'll be doing twenty-four months.  That ain't gonna be so good for the mamasita.  Maybe she's gonna have to work the streets again to pay the bills.  You wanna see that?  You wanna see her on her back again while you're locked up?”  Konowicz threatened in his nasal voice.

He knew these weren't idle threats.  With nothing but a phone call to his probation officer from either detective, Talco would be immediately thrown in lockup.  Since he was already convicted, and on probation, he had no rights to speak of.  And he wasn't exactly keeping his nose clean, running a prostitution racket on the side.  His life had been a living hell from the moment the detectives pressured one of his girls into revealing who their employer was.  They had owned his ass ever since.

Talco seriously considered the idea of killing these two disgusting pigs.  They could sit here in front of him, calmly drinking beer at his expense, and discuss the ruination of his life.  His temper flared, his fists and jaw clenched tight, generations of hot blooded Puerto Rican genetics warred against his better judgment.  Evita warned him constantly to calm down and think before acting.  He had to cool down, that's what Evita always said, “Cool it pappy, te quiero mucho.  No te asustes.”

It was his hot blood that put him in prison the first time, after he beat some asshole senseless for smacking around Evita when she refused to allow him anal sex.  She'd been so appreciative of Talco's valiant protection of her body that she stood by his side through every court appointment while he was prosecuted for aggravated assault.  In the face-off of an obnoxious fast-talking Puerto Rican vs. a respectable white businessman, the jury's verdict against Talco was a foregone conclusion.

The one witness whose testimony could've brought to light all the mitigating factors in his defense had remained silent.  Talco refused to let Evita take the stand.  She wanted to defend him, to return the favor, she begged Talco to let her testify.  The prosecutor knew the score.  He threatened to have Evita deported back to Columbia if she testified.  Talco forced her to stay out of it to protect her immigration status.  He took the rap.  He actually was guilty, he'd beat the living shit out of the fat bastard who laid hands on Evita.  He was no slouch in a fight.

Found guilty and carted off to prison, Talco learned real quick who his true friends were.  Evita was the only one who stuck with him when the chips were down.  It was her money he spent on a shyster attorney who did little if anything for his defense.  Evita was a keeper.  He married her two days after his release from serving twelve months, a two year staid sentence hanging over his head.  She waited the entire year without complaint.  She was there when no one else gave a damn.  She'd proven her worth a hundred times over.

He owed it to Evita to keep a cool head.  He tried reasoning with the detectives, swallowing down his pride and fury.  “Hey, take it easy mane!  I'll do what I can, but don't expect miracles.  If my people know who she is, then we got her.  I’m on it.”

“Damn straight you are, and you're gonna pay the fuckin tab too!”  Oberman motioned to the waitress, “Hey, can I get another round over here?”  Oberman and Konowicz always drank their fill when someone else was paying for it.

* * * *

CHAPTER 8

Awake in bed at sunset of the following evening, Michelle lying next to him, Aaron knew he needed to contact his roommate Kyle very soon.  Besides, if it was Michelle's wish that he live with her, he needed to get his stuff from Kyle's place.

He couldn't imagine sleeping away from Michelle's bed after the phenomenal sexual acrobatics of the night before––insanely erotic things he'd never imagined in his wildest fantasies.  To top it all off, there was no fear of STD's or pregnancy.  Another one of those fringe benefits of being vampires.  Nothing but purely awesome, condom-free sex and a whole lot of biting.

The downside?  He was now madly, irrevocably, undeniably, hooked on Michelle.  It scared the crap out of him.  His limited experience with serious relationships taught him one lesson very clearly.  Women can destroy a man's peace and turn the whole world on its head in a matter of seconds.  Michelle was no exception to this.  If she ever got truly angry with him he'd be royally fucked.

Despite this fear and uncertainty, he couldn't ever recall having felt this strongly for another person.  His relationship with Delia couldn't hold a candle to the intensity of emotional attachment he felt toward Michelle.  His whole world revolved around Michelle.  He could actually sense her thoughts, feelings and emotions, 24/7.  In a way he was Michelle, and she him.  It was becoming difficult to tell where her feelings ended and his began.

He wasn't sure how to bring it up without sounding like a lovesick puke.  He decided to just go for it, put it out there and see what happens.  He approached the subject of Kyle and his apartment cautiously, “Should I assume that I'm living here now, permanently?”

Michelle was engrossed in her iPhone, texting like mad.  “Oui, this is necessary for the moment.”  She paused, sent another flurry of text flying through the airwaves, and continued, “I have a new job for you.  I sent your pictures to the escort service and they like what they see.”

She had pictures of me?  When were those taken?  OMG –– I hope I had clothes on.  He opened his mouth to protest and thought better of it.  It seemed prudent to say as little as possible when it came to Michelle, she already knew way too much about his thoughts and feelings.

“You have a date tomorrow night with an older woman who likes sexy young boy toys, five hundred dollars an hour.  This is much better than the strip clubs.  The ladies, they pay you for the bite, is très bien.  Sex is not necessary, but maybe you can do later, when you have learned control.  One good bite with a happy ending is enough to satisfy clients.  Is easy when they look you in the eyes, you have dominance.  You lead with suggestion.”  Michelle dropped this bombshell in his lap without ceasing her flurry of text activity or one moment of eye contact.

“This we practice tonight.  Remember to be very careful not to cause the addiction, is very important!”  There it was again, the veiled threat.  She didn't quite say it, but he knew she was thinking it.  Thinking about how she'd kill him if he proved uncontrollable.

“Is there a problème?”  After seconds of stunned silence from Him she jumped up and gave him a peck on the cheek with her most sincere look of innocence.  He was fast learning to regard that look with suspicion.  It seemed her faux innocence became more convincing when she was up to something, like roping him into a job as a male escort.

He hesitated, debating whether or not to challenge her.  The idea of her making such important decisions without consulting him was just irritating enough that he was willing to let a little fang show.  He snapped back at her sarcastically, “No, no big problem.  But don't you think you should ask before you go making plans on my behalf?  I do have a job you know.  I had a life before I met you.”

She snapped her head up to peg him with a stare that communicated her irritation with his snipish attitude.  “This restaurant, this is no good for you.  You must sever ties with those who knew you before.  You are very much changed now.  People are not that stupid, they notice the difference.”  She said this with an air of impatience as if she were telling him something he should already know.

He was still scowling at her, his mind awhirl at the prospect of working as an escort in the sex trade.  He knew that escorts were rarely ever just an escort.  It was nothing but a technically legal term for prostitution.  Escort rolled off the tongue a little easier, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

She continued explaining that which He should have understood by now, “Is better we live the nightlife, is difficult to have relations with friends or family.  They are like cattle.  We feed from them, but that is all.  This is a dangerous game to play.  You will risk they learn the truth about you?”  She surveyed him with the raised eyebrow of you-know-I'm right-and-you're-wrong.

He shook his head in denial of her truth.

“Le prix à payer est lourd.  The price we pay for this life is obscurity.  They can never know our true natures.  We would be hunted relentlessly.  We take many pains to avoid this.  No relationships with the food!  It cannot be.”

Her logic had begun to sink home.

Shaking his head in resignation, he said, “I suppose you're right.  I should have seen this for myself.  I guess I didn't think about it.  It's probably best to break these connections now.  I should go to my apartment, get my things, and give my roommate some excuse.  Maybe I'll give him a bit of the truth.  I'm living with you now, and I work with an escort service as eye candy for lonely wealthy women.”  He was being sarcastic, but Michelle took him seriously.

“Oui is a good idea.  Tomorrow night.  Tonight is more training.  You still have much to learn.”

And that was that, subject closed.

As they exited the apartment building she said, “Wait for me here, mon cher.”

Ten minutes passed, and then ten more.  He stood in the wet drizzle, on the sidewalk where she'd instructed him to wait.  And he waited, and waited some more.  At the point he was ready to head back up and find out what the hell was keeping her, it happened.

“COME TO ME.”

It hit him with a massive adrenaline surge.  He needed to be there now now now.  He darted into the alleyway zinging past a stack of pallets and leaped over the five foot high dumpster in his way.  In another second he’d leaped up twenty feet in the air snatching the metal railing of the fire escape.  Up and over, and he was running.  As his feet pounded out a rapid fire staccato beat up the metal stairs, his mind filled with the urgent need to get to Michelle on the roof.  Within seconds he reached the top level catwalk of the fire escape, leaping to the edge of the roof, thirty feet above.  With a desperate scrabble of hands and elbows he made it over the edge.  She was right there, he could feel it, his vision zoomed in on her as he ran balls out to reach her.

He almost plowed right into her, barely skidding to a stop inches away.  He felt an aggression he'd never known before, an urge to attack/defend.  His enhanced senses ranged out over the roof top, seeking sounds, smells, or telepathic signature of some nameless threat.  He felt primed for battle, a truly powerful and exhilarating experience.

Michelle congratulated him with a quirky lopsided grin, “Very impressive!  It only took you forty seconds to reach me.  I'm very proud of you.”  She squeezed his biceps and kissed him on the lips as if he was the conquering hero welcomed home.

He huffed as he panted heavily to catch his breath, “What was that all about?”  His nerves were stretched taut, a bowstring ready to snap.

“This was a test to see how quickly you respond to my call.  You passed beautifully.  Is good exercise to learn coordination.  You are faster and stronger than I am, you know?”

He had to admit she was right.  He'd moved pretty damn fast.  It was fucking awesome.  He felt proud and powerful.  Both feelings were quickly swamped by his rising irritation.  Michelle had that effect on him regularly, an assault of mixed signals and emotions.

She touched him, holding his gaze without blinking while sending a strong sense of calm and approval.  It hit like a tranquilizer, draining his aggression and relaxing the tension.

That's when the realization soured in his belly.  This had been a convenient demonstration.  She held the power to order him around and then manipulate his feelings about it after the fact.  He felt like the golden retriever living up to its namesake, having retrieved the stick for its master.  Michelle's behavior smacked of a prideful dog owner patting him on the head saying, good boy, while he stood there wagging his tail, waiting to play fetch all over again.  As much as it bothered him, he couldn't shake that lingering sense of pride at her words of praise.

They returned to the street level with the same high flying acrobatic maneuvers of the night before.  Michelle stepped off the side of the building, and He followed right behind her, without even being asked.  The difference between then and now was when He followed Michelle downwards in the descending switch-back game, he moved with confidence and grace.  He had begun to learn to coordinate his new strength and speed, and he had to confess he felt physically invincible.  He couldn't really maintain a bitter attitude about Michelle's little training exercise.  The game had served its purpose.  He was flying high on his exhibition of masculine power.  All other petty concerns became meaningless.

Rolling through the streets in a taxi, Michelle explained the night club routine she had planned for them.  They purposefully waited until one a.m.  At this time the clubs were packed to standing room only and most everyone was intoxicated.  They'd find groups of women on the dance floor and take quick thirty second nips from three or four of them.  This strategy allowed for multiple feedings without drawing too much attention from their prey or the nightclub security.

Upon entering the club Michelle weaved through the crowd to the dance floor with Aaron in tow.  She maneuvered them to a group of girls dancing together wedged into the center of the dance floor.  Michelle and Aaron slipped into the middle of them swaying seductively to the music, maintaining eye contact constantly.

He began to notice something different.  These girls were watching him, and they were interested.  Women didn't look at him that way, not unless they were so drunk they looked at everyone that way.  These girls wanted him.  They moved in closer.  Before he knew it two girls sandwiched him and began grinding front to back.  He'd never been singled out by two women for such intimate attentions.  It was an incredible sensation to command the affections of several beautiful women.

He could get used to this real quick.  Being the focus of so much attention was intoxicating, he felt like a rock star partying with his entourage in the VIP section.  He looked over at his fellow rock-star-vampire-master.  She was gettin down to business.  While the ladies got funky, grinding all up on him, He gawked at Michelle in morbid fascination.

She had already bit into one girl for a few seconds, and immediately turned towards another girl behind her for a second bite, making short work of anyone within reach.  Nobody seemed to notice what he saw.  They were being tapped one right after the other, totally oblivious.  She was an illusionist of the highest order, sleight of hand and fang.  The cattle were blinded by her splendor.

The girl in front of Aaron leaned back into him with her backside offering the juicy target of her neck and shoulder.  She looked up with a seductive smile, giving him the eye contact he needed.  Her petite golden brown Latina curves begged to be bitten.  She licked her lips suggestively, an invitation he could hardly refuse.  He struck hard and fast, letting the feeding instinct take over as he sunk into her exposed neck swallowing down her red delicious life.  The girl reached up to run her fingers through his hair, cupping his cheek in her palm.

“Mas, mas, don’t stop!”  She fisted her hand in his hair with her explosive orgasm.

He didn't want to let go.  Every instinct in his body said to hold on, to suck until there was nothing left.  He dug down deep to find the strength of will to release his bite after what he thought was thirty seconds.  He pulled back leaving her hot and bothered, unsatisfied.  Reading her mind was a lesson in desire.  She wanted more.  She wanted him to do it again.  She didn't have a clue what he'd done, but she wanted him to keep on giving her those wonderful sensations.  The girl smiled up at him with a drugged dazed look, a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her dark pupils solid black from dilation.  He had made a new friend.

Michelle flashed her eyes at him, sending a psychic kick through their mutual bond, silently urging him to move on.  He turned away from the Latina to face a tall willowy blond who matched him in height.  In seconds his direct unwavering eye contact gave him the control he needed.  When he beckoned, she came.  She moved right up on him, aligning her slim curves with his body as they both swayed to the music.  She wore a short blue dress and easily straddled his thigh, spreading her legs to place her most intimate flesh on his leg, her hips grinding in time with the music.  The Latina behind refused to be dismissed so easily.  Latina began working to regain his attention.  She molded herself to his backside with her arms flowing around him, slipping her fingertips into the front waistband of his pants.

He bit down straight into the pulse of the blond grinding her moist sex on his leg.  He tried his best to focus on only one girl at a time, even though they both struggled to gain his attention.  Within seconds the blond took his hand in hers, pulling his fingers down between her legs, inviting him to touch where she needed him most.  Her dress had hiked up exposing her inner thighs to his caress.  While he drank deeply of the blond, she used his hand to massage herself, leaking her wetness onto his fingers.

The Latina hadn't given up the battle for Aaron's affections, she worked harder to regain his attention.  With her hand down the front of his pants, she worked him to a full blown erection.  He was so drunk on the overlapping sensations of blood and seduction that he almost fed too long from the blond.  As he released her neck, the blond became more aggressive with her ministrations, pulling her underwear aside to shove his fingers partway into her entry.  At the same time, the Latina spooning him from behind worked him to the point of climax.

For the second night in a row Michelle abruptly cut into his erotic fun when she grabbed his free hand and yanked him out of the clutches of the sex sandwich.  She plowed through the wall to wall dancers with Aaron in tow.

When they reached the exit she turned to him with a sly smile, “Sorry to interrupt, but things were getting out of control.  You did very well with the timing, but you must learn not to engage them sexually in public.  You attract the wrong kind of attention.  You don’t want the attention of security and police.”  She smooched him on the cheek and led him outside to the taxi.  She didn't seem angry, in fact she appeared aroused.  Her eyes dilated with pleasure.

“Your eye contact puts you in control, especially when they are drinking.  Arousal from the bite and your natural attraction will drive women to rape you in public.  Is a sexual frenzy, you must learn to moderate your effect.”  She was stroking his arm and crotch seductively.  It was a study in contradictions, to speak of moderation while arousing him to the point of explosion.

“I know is difficult, this is very exciting, even to me, just watching you is exciting.  I will take good care of you tonight.”  She punctuated the promise by gripping his erection with her hand down his pants, while kissing him.

This new life with Michelle?  Well, he thought ruefully, pretty damn cool so far.  He hoped that someday her affections might become genuine, something more than desire and lust.  He wished that one day she could feel as strongly about him as he felt about her.

* * * *

CHAPTER 9

Aaron had mentally prepared himself for a quick in-and-out meeting with Kyle.  He felt confident he could explain away having disappeared for almost a week.

Michelle blew his carefully constructed plans all to hell when she announced her intent to accompany him.  “Let’s go.  Is time to close the door to your previous life.  We must see this friend of yours.”

He knew there was a good chance they might run into Delia and her friends there as well.  This is gonna be a disaster.  Like watching the cars pile up one by one in a train wreck; he could see it coming from a mile away.

“I don't know if it's such a good idea if I bring you along.  Things might get complicated.  My ex-girlfriend could be there.  Maybe it would be better if I do this alone.”  He gave it his best shot at diplomacy, but he already knew from his connection to her thoughts and feelings, Michelle would not be deterred.

“I will make certain it is very clear to your friends that you are mine!”  He was confused.  It felt good to hear her declare something so intimate, but her manner made him uneasy.

“You will take us now to see your friends.”  Spoken in the unmistakable timbre of command, Michelle ceased all debate on the matter.

* * * *

“Hey guys, how's it going?  I just stopped by for a few minutes to say hi, I'm in a hurry, gotta run.”  Aaron edged in the front door, hoping not to attract too much attention, praying he could get in and out quickly.

Kyle popped his head out the bedroom door near Aaron with a surprised look.  Delia and her two friends stood at the far side of the room deep in conversation.  The girls were debating the usual meaningless drivel of he said/she said.  They hadn't noticed Aaron yet, but Kyle was quick on the draw.

“Whoa dude, where the hell have you been?  I called your cell like thirty times.  I was beginning to think you were dead!”  Kyle was all over him with a suspicious look on his face.  Aaron read his thoughts, which were even more suspicious than his face revealed:  “Where has he been?  What the fuck was he thinking?  How are we gonna pay the rent if he lost his job?  Why didn't he answer any of my calls?  Oh shit, who is this magnificent piece of ass wrapped around him?  OH … My … God!  She's a fuckin knockout!”

Michelle most definitely fit the description of a fuckin knock out.  She was dressed in a tight fitting pink top with dark blue jeans molded to every delicious curve of her body.  Painted on.

Aaron had to check himself.  He almost answered questions Kyle hadn't spoken aloud.

He caught himself at the last second and said, “This is my … friend … Michelle.  Michelle this is my roommate Kyle.”  He hadn't known what word to use to describe her.  Friend was the only thing that came to mind that would make any sense to Kyle.  Admitting that she was his Vampire Master probably wouldn't work out so well.

As he spoke, Aaron looked at Michelle several times.  Her demeanor had magically transformed into the sexy-girl-next-door.  She clung to his arm as if they'd known each other all their lives.  It was nothing short of miraculous.  She could be quite the actress when she needed to.  She held his eyes for a moment.  He caught a glimpse of her mischievous nature.  The real Michelle was still lurking in there waiting to pounce.

“Bonjour everyone, is nice to meet you, and you too Kyle.  Aaron has told me so much about you.  I feel as though I already know you.”  He followed Kyle's mind as he spun off in speculation of what Aaron might have said about him.

He tried to placate Kyle's unanswered questions quietly before the rest of the room got involved in the conversation.  Delia and crew stared in their direction.

“Listen man, I've been staying with Michelle the past week.  I'm really sorry I didn't call you.”  Aaron leaned into Kyle speaking quietly in a conspiracy of two men appreciating the obvious good fortune of spending a week in Michelle's bed.

“Really, I'm sorry.  I lost my cell phone, and then I met Michelle, and it's been totally crazy.  But it's all good you know.”  Reading his mind, Kyle was trying to envision Aaron on a bender, partying it up with Michelle.  It didn’t make sense to Kyle, Aaron's personality didn't allow for such behavior.

Delia and company closed in from across the room.  He tried to be fast and discrete.  “Seriously, Michelle is sooo awesome.  She has this fantastic apartment and I got a new job that pays way better than Bemichis.  I'm moving in with Michelle.”

Kyle popped at this last statement.  Aaron realized from the course of Kyle's thoughts that he'd neglected to address the primary concern, the rent.

Kyle started in on him, “Hey man, you're moving pretty fast here.  I mean we have rent coming due in a couple of days and … um … you two barely met each other!”  Kyle had begun to panic.  He could see from his thoughts that Kyle actually didn't have enough to pay the rent on his own.

Delia and gang surrounded Aaron.  They had gathered the basic concept that he was moving in with the blond goddess caressing his arm, and moving out of Kyle's apartment.  Aaron glanced at Delia briefly.  She looked different now.  He didn't see all those adorable little details that had once fascinated him, keeping him in a constant state of frustrated arousal.  Delia's shoulder length dirty blond hair didn't shine like it used to.  Her cute little sassy look now appeared spiteful and catty.  Seeing her now was like looking at an old photograph, remembering something long forgotten.  Delia seemed diminished, less than.  She couldn't begin to measure up to Michelle.

As Delia and her two friends moved into flanking positions, blocking off avenues of retreat, Michelle intervened.  She addressed Kyle as though he'd been speaking to her with his protests.

“Oui is true, we just met a few days ago, but what can I say?  Its très magnifique!  We are together all the time, is like I don’t want to let him escape!”

He snickered to himself.  If only they knew how very true those words are.

With this Michelle reached around and squeezed his ass, planting a loud smooch on his cheek.  He was now marked territory with a big sign hanging from his rear that said, Property of Michelle – NO TRESPASSING.

Delia looked both Aaron and Michelle up and down with a scowl painted on her face.  He read how Delia puzzled over what qualities he had that could attract Michelle and keep her occupied for an entire week.  Delia began wondering if she'd missed out on something.  Maybe she should've let Aaron have his way with her.  Was he really all that in bed?  She thought perhaps he was like that guy from the movie “Fight Club”, an unremarkable scrawny weasel who suddenly transforms into a badass alter ego, a screw-your-brains-out-all-night-long Brad Pitt.

Aaron became overwhelmed at the girls' thoughts in response to Michelle's boldness.  All three girls and Kyle hit his mind in a tumbled mess of irritated confusion.  “What is she saying?  Are they sleeping together?  Is he living with her now?  God, I wish I had her hair!  What a slut!  I bet she has him totally pussy-whipped!  That's so typical of Aaron to fall in love with the first girl who grabs his ass!  Look at her eyes, that color is freakish, that's gotta be contacts!  Those are five hundred dollar Gucci shoes!  I bet he paid her to do this, she can't be for real!  Delia must be dying with jealousy by now!  What could she possibly see in him?”

Dazed and confused, Michelle tugged on his arm, bringing him out of his internal mess.

“Is only fair to Kyle that we pay this month’s rent, is so sudden.”  Michelle had entranced Kyle.  He was putty in her hands as she maintained her wicked soul-snatching eye contact.  The woman could charm the skin off a king cobra.  Her distraction provided Aaron the stimulus he needed to hastily erect a mental block to ward off the tangled assault of thoughts aimed in his direction.

After enjoying a couple seconds of mental silence, he got with the program, “Yeah, um … I guess you're right.”  He turned to Kyle and offered, “Here's six hundred.  That should cover you through the next month.”  Aaron handed Kyle a wad of bills that Michelle had given him the night before.

Kyle nodded in agreement with a dreamy idiotic expression.  He barely managed a one word answer, “Okay.”  As Kyle shoved the cash into his pants pocket in a crumpled ball, Michelle finalized the transaction with one of her adorable French asides.

“Viola!”

This foreign sound from Michelle elicited frowns from all three girls.  Kyle remained bewitched with his idiot smile pasted on.  Amber, The girl to the right of Delia, said, “Wow, that's really cool.  So like ... you guys are moving in together?”  As she spoke Amber nudged Delia with her elbow.  Delia barely noticed it.  She stared unwaveringly at Aaron.

He made the mistake of staring back, catching Delia directly in the eyes with the full force of his gaze.  He forgot how powerful his eye contact could be.  He broke away from her stare after a few seconds, but the damage was done.  He followed her thoughts as Delia noticed the subtle but distinct differences in her ex-boyfriend.  She felt a near irresistible attraction to him, far stronger than ever before.  She wanted to run her hands all over him, under his shirt, down his pants.  There was something disturbing about him, something strange, almost unnatural.  She regretted having dumped him two weeks ago.  This situation wasn't right at all.  Aaron had always been hers, wrapped around her little finger.

Delia began to realize she might have been wrong.  Aaron was a real catch after all.  What was she thinking when she broke up with him?  Aaron wasn't supposed to go off dating European models.  He was supposed to be jealous, begging her to take him back.

He frowned as he recalled doing just that, begging Delia to take him back.  She had him groveling, calling her several times a day, leaving syrupy voicemails and text messages on her cell for an entire week.  Right up to the moment he met Michelle.

Listening to Delia's thoughts gave him inspiration.  “Michelle, this is Delia, she's a friend of mine.  Delia meet my girlfriend Michelle.”  Delia flinched as though physically stung by the intensity of Michelle's scrutiny as she looked her up and down.

Michelle gave him the opening he needed.  “Why don’t you get your things while I gossip about you with your friends?”

What goes around comes around, Delia.  He was off the hook and headed into his bedroom before he could finish mumbling, “Good idea”.

* * * *

Delia moved toward Aaron to follow him.  She was halted in her tracks by Michelle's firm grasp on her arm.  She turned to Michelle with a blatant sneer, and was immediately captured by those vivid green eyes in an intense staring contest.

“I know you were with him before, but I hope we can be friends.  These things can sometimes be a problème.  Oui?”  She still had an iron grip on Delia's arm, staring directly into her eyes without blinking.

The spell finally broke.  Delia shook her head and stammered, “No … um … I mean … no problem.  I ... we broke it off weeks ago.  It's cool, he's …. we're just friends now.  Are you guys like … dating?”

Delia wasn't fooling anyone.  Her tension was obvious despite her attempts to appear calm.  She displayed her nervous tick, pulling a stray hair behind her ear, avoiding further eye contact with Michelle.  Delia looked to her friends for support.  Amber jumped to her aid.

“Oh yeah, it's alright, they broke up like two weeks ago, it's all good.”

Delia bobbed her head, Amber joined in, both nodding emphatically, a united front declaring Aaron to be a free man.  They wouldn't dare think of laying their hands on him.  Michelle could have him all to herself, no problem at all.  No one who knew Delia was fooled, and neither was Michelle.

Kyle had enough of this drama.  He addressed Michelle.  “So, you live here in New York?  How long have you been here?”  Their conversation delved into the safe platonic zones of weather, traffic, and the rudeness of New York taxi drivers.

* * * *

Aaron made sure to stay busy in his room, away from all the stares and pointed thoughts.  As he assessed his possessions and stuffed them into a couple trash bags he realized just how much his world had changed in the span of one week.  He no longer felt any attachment to this place, these people or his stuff.  His meager clothing appeared drab and unsuited to his new personality and life style.  His books and music no longer interested him.  His friends in the other room ensorcelled by his vampire master no longer held any emotional significance for him.  By comparison to the radiant Michelle, Delia was a self-absorbed, frumpy looking, awkward little girl, who was now uninteresting and frankly irritating.  He couldn't remember what it was about her that had appealed to him in the first place.

He recalled his life in this bedroom as it had revolved around Delia and Kyle.  The memory in his mind's eye seemed like a lifetime ago.  A life lived by a different Aaron.  He recalled how it had been living day to day between work, partying with Kyle, and the foolish pursuit of Delia's meager affections.  His life had reached a significant fork in the road.  The instant he aligned paths with Michelle there was no turning back.  Every night traveled down this new path took him that much farther away from humanity.

He quickly finished gathering his junk and prepared to leave.  He overheard Michelle dropping the “E” bomb as he walked out of his room.

“Aaron is working with me now in the Escort Service, here is my card with my cellular.  Aaron's cards will be ready in a few days but for now you can reach him at my cell number.”

Thoughts exploded left and right, front, side, and back.  The mental shrapnel hit Aaron every which way.  He took deep calming breaths as he scrunched up his eyes in concentration to block out the pummeling assault focused on him:  “She's an Escort!  She's a prostitute!  She's pimping Aaron out!  They must be junkies!  She's got him strung out on crack!  He's lost his mind!  I knew she wasn't with him for real it’s a business transaction!  God I wonder how much she charges per hour?  Could I afford a half-hour, catch a friendly discount?  Maybe just a blow job?”

He did his best to get a grip, slowly and methodically shielding the waspish buzz of thoughts directed at him.  Michelle grabbed his hand, lending him her calming influence and strength.  She setup a fast exit.

“Ah … you are ready to go?  Sorry to run, but we have things to do and people to see.  It was very nice to meet you all.  Adieu!”

He took his cue and said, “Bye guys, talk to you later.  I'll see you around, take care.”  They were all staring, jaws agape, obviously shocked.  None of them would dare to say what they were thinking.  Kyle couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to get a half-hour freebie from Michelle.  He kept picturing her going down on him, her blond hair bobbing back and forth as she sucked him off.

Aaron jetted for the door.  There was nothing to be gained by spending another second in the presence of these humans.

As he turned his back on his former life, Michelle couldn't resist one last jab.  “Your friends are sooo nice to me.  I'm glad we met.”  She snatched a handful of his ass and nailed all four of them with the silent message in a backward glance over her shoulder.

As they closed the door behind them Kyle yelled out, “Don't be a stranger.”  Aaron knew things would never be the same again because he was already a stranger.

On the taxi ride back to Michelle's apartment, he pondered if Michelle's show of possessiveness was simply an attempt to help navigate the situation with Kyle and Delia, or if there might be the slightest hint of real affection underlying her actions.

* * * *

CHAPTER 10

Aaron was in high spirits having made his escape from Kyle and Delia relatively unscathed.  He'd been nervous about the situation, but was pleasantly surprised at how easily Michelle handled the gang.  She was quite charming, a nice change from the aggressive control freak persona he'd grown accustomed to.

After dropping off Aaron's trash bags full of stuff at Michelle's apartment they headed out again to another nightclub where Michelle knew the doorman personally.  Her connection ushered them through the door immediately.  They made a bee line for the dance floor and located a group of girls huddled together in a tightly packed formation.  Picking through the brains of the nearby girls, digging for those who were attracted to him, he found they all had one thing in common.  Though each girl was different, each mind having its own particular flavor, a mutual desire was prevalent throughout the crowd.  All these women really wanted was to meet a man –– not just any man, a man who might be the one.

He thought it funny how these women go out with their friends hoping to be romanced off their feet as they dance the night away with that special man.  The reality more often than not was ridiculous.  The ladies stayed securely locked away in their safe zone with their girlfriends, brushing away the majority of the men who would chance to meet them.  These girls discouraged and actively worked against the very thing they desired most, a meaningful romantic encounter.  They wouldn't find what they were looking for with Aaron, but they never stopped hoping.  The women who noticed Aaron viewed him as a target for acquisition, a good candidate, never once seeing past the charming boyish exterior to the underlying truth.  He was there to feed upon the cattle.  And they were lucky a little nip was all he planned on taking.  It would be too easy to take anything he wanted.

The vampires slid through the crush of swaying bodies like snakes in the tall grass.  Their prey couldn't see them coming until it was too late.  The girls were no match for the animal magnetism radiated by the hunting vampires.  As targets were selected one at a time, the unsuspecting girls thought themselves the chosen elite, excited to be singled out from the crowd by one of these sublimely beautiful creatures.  Instead of fearing their proximity to a predator, they felt privileged to receive the attentions of either Aaron or Michelle.

He had begun to discern a pattern.  It was always this way with the cattle.  They were completely unaware of the danger.  Was it his benign intentions putting them at ease?  What excuse might there be for Michelle?  She could never be categorized as benign.  This was definitely a rapacious pursuit on her part.  The only rationale that seemed to fit was ignorance.  The cattle honestly did not perceive the threat in their midst.  The vampires were able to feed upon the women one at a time without a single member of the herd ever realizing they'd been singled out for attack.  They didn’t know what was happening right before their eyes on the dance floor.

Each girl they encountered was enthralled, bitten, thoroughly dowsed with sexual ecstasy and then discarded as the vampires moved on to the next targets.  It seemed as though they lined up for it, like children with the ice cream man, eagerly awaiting their turn.  The attraction exuded by the vampires was akin to the music of the ice cream truck, signaling to come and get it, one and all.  There was enough to go around.  He felt like he could do this all night long, feeding from one woman after another.  His thirst for blood was insatiable.  The thirty-second nips they snagged here and there only took the edge off his need.

By the time Michelle was ready to go, he had hit full swing, having fed from six different girls and ready to take on another dozen.  She tried to reason with him.

“That is more than enough for now.  We must go before we attract the attention of security.  They are beginning to notice.”  She gave him a mental nudge in the direction of a massive bald black guy with a black t-shirt that said SECURITY.  She was right, the man was indeed eyeing them both suspiciously.  When Aaron focused on the security guard's thoughts, he realized the guy suspected they might be pickpockets from the way they were working the room.

Despite the obvious threat from security, Aaron's bloodlust was kickin.  He wanted to feed more.  NOW.  He didn't give a shit what the big scary man thought of him.  Three girls nearby eyed him, wishing he'd come talk to them.  He had every intention of doing so.  The new and improved Aaron Pilan was not easily intimidated by humans, even if they weighed three hundred plus pounds.

Michelle glared at him issuing a none-too-subtle command, “We Go Now!”

And that was that.

He followed Michelle out the exit, his movements jerky and mechanical like a marionette.  Her marching orders went against every instinct in his body.  What he really truly desired more than anything was to feed.  He didn't want to leave.  He wanted to set up camp in that nightclub, hang out all night long––till sunrise, tasting every single woman who walked in the door.

Maybe another nightclub?  He opened his mouth to make the suggestion.  She stopped him with her fingers on his lips and “the look”.  The I-already-know-what-you're-gonna-say-and-the-answer-is-NO, look.  He didn't bother asking.

In the taxi ride home, Michelle surprised him by reaching down into the front of his designer DKNY black slacks.  She freed his semi hard cock from his pants and promptly went down on him.  It only took her a few seconds to suck him to full tilt rock hardness.  She sucked and sucked and sucked until thoughts of feeding and bloodlust were replaced with another kind of desire.

“Oh shit.  Damn!”

She grunted and slurped, making wet guttural sounds as she swallowed him whole over and over.  She pulled and tugged, stroked and sucked, till he couldn't think or move except to hold onto the armrest for dear life as he was rocked by the force of his release into her powerful warm suction.

The taxi driver tactfully looked the other way with a grin that he couldn't hide as Michelle slipped Aaron’s spent manhood back into his pants.  She zipped him up and tucked his shirt back in like a mother primping her child to send him off to school.  She patted his thigh affectionately, smiling as she wiped her mouth with a tissue, licking her lips in a silent promise of good things to come.  He wondered how hard he’d have to scrub to remove all that red lipstick from his groin.

He was struck with a lightning bolt realization:  he loved her so much it hurt.  She was everything to him, his mother, goddess, lover, caretaker, and the most gorgeous and sexiest woman he had ever known.

She ruined the magic of the moment when she started asking questions.

“Are there any more friends or family we need to deal with?  What of your parents?  Why don’t you speak of them?”

* * * *

Michelle sensed her probing had struck a nerve.  This was a sensitive issue for Aaron.  He clammed up and gave her a non-answer.

“I don't really have any other friends I hang out with, and my parents ... well … there's nothing to say there.  My father died and I don't really speak with my mother much anymore.”

Michelle was concerned about the potential loose ends of Aaron's former life still out there blowing in the breeze.  She needed to be certain there wouldn't be any surprises from his past rearing their ugly head in her nicely ordered existence.  She enjoyed the simplicity of being completely unattached to humanity.  It was a lonely life, but one without complications.  Michelle had learned the hard way, through costly mistakes, that she could not build or maintain relationships with people.  They were food and entertainment, nothing more.  In her experience, these affairs always ended to the detriment or death of her human companions.

She briefly considered ordering him to talk to her.  She could force his hand, but that seemed extreme and unjustified.  She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of compulsive authority.  She was acutely aware of the fine line between control and abuse in relation to Aaron's free will.

She considered another form of coercion to get him to talk, one she was well versed in.  Having decided upon a course of action, she didn't hesitate.  She continued rubbing his thighs, reaching inward to tease his cock back into semi-hardness.  She barely let up as they exited the taxi into the apartment building, caressing and kissing him in the elevator.

He loved every minute of it.  He got hotter and hotter with her sensuous massage, his cock growing rock hard in his pants.  Upon entering Michelle's apartment, he stripped his clothes off immediately in anticipation of what was to come.  To his surprise, Michelle backed away, smirking at him with a half-smile.  He stood naked before her, his erection pointing in accusation as if to say, you did this to me.

Michelle studied him, appreciating her handiwork, obviously pleased with his display.  She stepped up, taking him firmly in hand, and whispered in his ear, “Please tell me, I want to know, tell me of your parents.  I don’ like secrets.”

As she spoke, her fingers slid down the length of him to his most vulnerable point.  She cupped him, holding his precious jewels safely ensconced in her tender grip.  Her hands and fingers kept moving slowly, sliding and testing his size and weight.

Michelle was cheating big time, stealing away his reasoning capacity with skilled calculated seduction.  His thoughts broadcast to her loud and clear, he wanted to throw her on the floor and ravage her body.  She had worked him into a mindless need.  Nothing else existed beyond the need to be inside her, to finish what she started.

Using both hands now, while kissing on his ears and neck, she continued to work him, stroking his full velvet shaft while fondling his balls.  She whispered again in his ear, “You promise to tell me everything after we finish?”

His arousal had sparked her own.  She was soaking wet with anticipation.  He was so drunk with lust that he would have agreed to assassinate the president if she asked.  His whole essence was consumed by the unbearable need to be buried inside her.  He answered without reservation.  “Yes! Michelle, I promise!”

With his agreement she flung off her clothes, stripping pants, top, and underwear in a lightning fast blurred superman-in-the-telephone-booth frenzy.  She emerged from the whirlwind stripper routine completely naked.  Michelle leaped at him ferociously.  She pinned him against the wall as she impaled herself, pumping her hips vigorously in a sexual assault.

“Oh shit! Yes!” He cried out as she took every inch he had to give.

In the maelstrom of sensations, their psyche’s merged to become one, each knowing how to accommodate the other.  He pumped hard and fast, slamming home to her limit as she ground her hips with animal grunts and squeals.  It actually hurt, he was so powerful.  But it was the right kind of hurt.

They growled and grunted their way to an explosive climax, biting deep and hard simultaneously.  Their psychic bond synced them perfectly.  They knew where, when, and how to pleasure themselves, and they knew exactly when and where to bite.

Michelle kept at it, riding him upright with his back to the wall.  She sunk her claws into the sheetrock of the wall while he held her hips and pummeled her, his thrusts slamming all the way in. They both hit a series of multiple orgasms, the venom keeping him hard and virile throughout their sexual marathon.

“Oh.  Oui, encore!  Encore!”  She drove him mad with her demands for more.

They continued pounding and grinding, destroying the living room wall in their fervor.  When the post orgasmic exhaustion hit, by tacit agreement through their psychic bond, they released their bites and gave it a rest.  She collapsed in his arms, wrapped around him, still impaled to her core.  She didn't want to admit how wonderful it felt to have the unconditional love and attention of a powerful male vampire with his arms wrapped protectively around her.  She couldn't connect with humanity in this way.  Only with her own kind could it be so.  Why didn’t I do this decades ago?  It was easy to forget the horrors she faced beneath her master so many long lonely years ago while Aaron held her with such love and care.

He carried her to the bed and lay atop her without separating.

* * * *

It felt so damn good being inside her.  He wanted to stay there for the rest of the night.  As she looked into his eyes, he thought he saw a look of heady emotion, something reminiscent of the way he felt for her.  Michelle quickly masked her features with a dreamy smile of contentment.  She boosted his ego off the charts when she admitted, “It hasn't been this good in a very long time.”

She popped her hips, digging him in deeper, which he took as the signal to give it to her again.  His zeal renewed with her admission.  He pushed in harder and deeper, grinding down in to hit her limit.  Each thrust squeezed a sexy little noise from her lips, driving him crazy.

After another round of biting and simultaneous orgasms, he settled down to hold her tightly, spooned from behind with his flaccid sex against her perfectly rounded ass and his mouth up against her ear.  He could picture staying like this, with Michelle molded to his body, for eternity.  The only reason he need move was to make love to her over and over again, and then return to this very same embrace afterwards.  What a perfectly wonderful life, laying there in bed with Michelle, screwing like rabbits.  This was as good as it gets.

* * * *

CHAPTER 11

They lay there for a time in the wonderful magic afterglow of awesome sex, Michelle spooned up against Aaron's body.  They were a good fit, her anatomy molded to match his.  She hated to do it and almost didn't, but she needed to know.  She needed to be certain he was truly hers with no strings attached to his former life.  She interrupted their beautiful moment of peace.

“Mon chéri, I am waiting patiently to hear your story.  Tell me.”

They were so intimately connected, he knew when the limits of her patience had been reached.

He appreciated the irony of her statement and laughed out loud.  Michelle flipped around to face him with a gleam in her eye, holding his gaze, daring him to break his promise.  He felt obligated to keep his promise even though she’d extorted it from him at a moment of vulnerability.

“Okay … um ... My father died … six years ago.  It was probably the worst time of my life.”  A searing avalanche of pain accompanied his words, burning all the way through their psychic bond.  She started to shy away and shut him down.  No one should have to share that kind of pain, so intense, so personal.

* * * *

After a moment of shock and a couple quick gasps, she dived into his pain headfirst.  She reached out to him, wrapping her arms around his waist to hug him close.  She felt it was her responsibility to offer what meager comfort she could provide since she'd been the one to force him to relive the past for her benefit.

Comforted, he opened his mind to her as he spoke.  She could actually feel and experience his memories; far more depth of imagery and emotion than could ever be communicated by speech alone.  She flowed down into the pain-filled recesses of his mind, through time, to the memory of his father's funeral and an overwhelming sense of loss and grief.  The pain was still there, strong as ever, suffocating.  She felt her own throat constrict with it.  It was a pain she understood well, the loss of a father.  She couldn't help but think of her own father, in a time and place long removed from here.  Her own memory still carried its share of pain.  Perhaps it's something you never really get over.  You just learn to live with it.

The memories were most painful there at the wake, standing in front of his father's coffin.  Aaron didn't want to see the corpse in that shiny box, all painted up by a mortuary makeup artist who'd never known his father in life.  That wasn't his father lying there, but the image branded into his memory.  He couldn’t rid himself of it.  Aaron turned away quickly, preferring to look at the collage assembled by the entry to the chapel.  The collage held a much truer representation of his father, not that dead thing in a box.  He spent a good amount of time staring at the collage, trying to overwrite the painted corpse image.

Michelle immediately noticed the telltale signs of family resemblance.  Aaron had his father's smile and other small details like the shape of his jawline and set of his shoulders.  She recognized something in his father's face, a solemnity, a quiet strength that she'd seen glimpses of from time to time in Aaron's demeanor.  The kind of strength one doesn't see at first, a subtle quality.

Some of the pictures sparked corresponding memories of the times and places they were taken.  A picture of Aaron in his early teens sitting next to his father holding up a fish triggered the memory of his father's voice urging him on.  His father, Lucas Pilan, Luke, encouraged him, “Give her a fight, don't let up, keep the rod solid in your hand.  Pull back, steady … steady …. reel her in, slow and easy.”  Aaron was so excited and yet afraid to lose the fish.  He didn't even like fish, but he wanted this one for dad, who loved a good pan fried trout with beer batter.

There's another picture of his father in a hospital bed looking embarrassed but still smiling.  Aaron recalled how his dad maintained his good humor to the very end, even as the chemotherapy treatments and medications brought on recurring bouts of nausea, and he was so tired he slept through most of the day.  Though his body was frail, Luke's spirit was strong.  He’d smiled and laughed constantly, as if the pain and discomfort were merely a distraction.  At times his father would say, “I'm catching an early retirement out of this one … don't you worry, it's no big deal.  You can't keep a good man down.”  He'd spout off ridiculous things like this while bedridden, in extreme pain.  Aaron had often wondered if it was the pain meds talking, or his father trying to smooth it over, keeping up appearances for his family, perhaps lying to himself.

Aaron recalled his problems in school, how he was held back in the tenth grade to repeat the year because he spent so much time with his father in the hospital.  And then again, he missed an entire month of school after his father died.  Ironically it wasn't the cancer that killed his dad, but the complications of internal bleeding after removing the tumor in surgery.

Another photo in the collage is Aaron at about sixteen, just before his father's diagnosis of cancer.  He's with both parents at his birthday party; all three of them smiling with faces pressed together side by side and cheek to cheek.  Aaron's mother, Angela, was a slight woman of dark brown hair, so dark it's almost black, with sad brown eyes.  Michelle can see how he inherited something of Angela's cheek bones and the sad tilt of her eyes.  They were happy.  An average American family living day by day, blissfully unaware of how death would irrevocably change their lives, robbing Aaron of all his joy for years to come.

And then his mother changed in the blink of an eye.  It seemed that almost overnight his mother had disappeared, replaced with a complete stranger.  She began dating all different kinds of men her friends introduced her to.  She never warned Aaron of her intentions, she just did it.  The extent to which she had consulted Aaron about her desire to date and move on with her life had been an off-hand comment about how they both had to go on their lives and Luke wouldn't have wanted them to be lonely.  Before he knew it she was out on Friday or Saturday nights until two-three-four in the morning.  Sometimes she didn't bother coming home till the next day.  Angela's behavior immediately after his father's death was a horrible betrayal of everything he held sacred.

They grew distant quickly.  Aaron wasn't assertive enough to let her know how he felt.  Long accustomed to the quiet unobtrusive temperaments of both Aaron and his Father, Angela didn't bother to ask what Aaron thought.  Had she asked, it would've been purely courtesy.  Angela Pilan had been bowling over her boys for years.  She always found a way to get exactly what she wanted.  Luke wasn't the kind of man to set limits or argue with his wife.  Pilan's are long-suffering.  Luke had been happy just to have Angela in his life.  He taught Aaron to go with the flow when it came to the whims of his mother.

In going with the flow Aaron withdrew from Angela.  He found solace in his friends, Kyle and a couple other buddies.  His grand plans for college and career were shelved for the day to day life of pursuing girls and enjoying the teen social scene of parties, movies, and music.  It worked, kept his mind off things at home he'd rather not deal with.  Aaron stopped talking to his mother about anything he thought or felt, about anything at all.  She didn't seem to notice the breach.  Or perhaps she preferred it that way.  She never tried to reconnect with her son.  Angela pursued the singles lifestyle, and Aaron took care of himself, rarely requiring anything from her.

Angela was busy making up for lost time, meeting new people, making new friends, and jumping from boyfriend to boyfriend almost monthly.  During their family years, when Luke was still alive, Angela had maintained the habit of going to the local Catholic Church on Sundays.  After his death all pretenses were dropped.  He wondered that maybe he'd never truly known who his mother was all these years.  It was as if she'd been maintaining appearances for Luke's sake, and now the real Angela was showing her face for the first time.

As he spent more and more time hanging out with Kyle, making plans to get their own apartment, it seemed the life he'd once known with a mother and a father was something experienced in a dream.

The final episode between him and this woman Angela, this stranger he called mother, was the day he met Charles Miller.  Charles was an insurance salesman who hooked up with Angela three months prior.  Somewhere during these three months, in which Aaron hadn't known the man existed, Charles and Angela fell in love and decided to marry.

This day was crisp and clear in Aaron's mind, branded and labeled as the day he lost whatever remaining sliver of the mother Angela had once been to this stranger Charles Miller.  Charles showed up at the house.  It was the first time Aaron had ever seen him.  Aaron realized right away that his mother was serious about her relationship with Charles.

He gave it an honest effort to talk with Charles, to accept him into his life.  Aaron's limited conversations with the man ranged over sports and religion, subjects on which Aaron had little comment or interest.  Apparently Angela had been miraculously restored in her faith by the divine hand of Charles Miller, all the two of them ever did was preach Jesus and salvation.  Aaron couldn't run the opposite direction fast enough.  It was painfully obvious they had no common ground to converse or build a relationship.  As it turned out, it wasn't necessary for Aaron to welcome Charles into their home.

After meeting Charles and sharing a meal together as though they were now a family, this strange woman inhabiting his mother's body pulled Aaron aside to talk with him privately.  She told him how he was nineteen years old, and it was time he moved out to become an adult, and that she wanted to live her life with Charles and without the weirdness of another male adult in the household.  Aaron listened to her in a daze of shock, simply nodding at the proper moments to indicate understanding.  Understanding was the furthest thing from his mind on this day.  He didn't get it at all, where was his mother?  Was she invaded by body snatchers?  Had she become one of those pod people?  Who was this woman telling him it was time to leave the only home he'd ever known?  How could she toss him out on the street like the spring cleaning trash?

He didn't recall if he had spoken to Angela beyond his dumbstruck nods of acknowledgement, he was numbed with shock.  He packed his clothes and stuff and moved into Kyle's apartment that very evening.  When asked about it by Kyle and friends Aaron answered simply, “It's the right time”.

Until this very moment, lying in bed with Michelle's glorious naked body wrapped around him, Aaron never had a reason to look back on the past.  It wasn't necessary.

Delia never cared about Aaron's past, and Kyle had seemed to understand in a silent agreement that there was nothing to discuss regarding Aaron's mother.  Aaron and Angela's relationship degenerated to the bare bones minimum of contact.  He spoke to her on the required holidays as was the American Christian custom.  They exchanged gifts through the mail at Christmas and birthdays.  Beyond that neither one existed to the other.

Aaron kept on rolling forward, avoiding the need to think back and remember those bygone days when he'd once known what it was like to have a family.  Those memories were too painful and always sparked resentment towards his mother.  He buried them deep down, trying his best to forget.  There his memories stayed, buried in the riverbed of his life.  He never found cause to dig into the soil and expose the past.  It was easy for Aaron to fill the empty hours of his days with Kyle and Delia.  As long as he kept busy, he had no time to brood on the past.

He lived his life cheerfully ignorant of the rest of the world outside Kyle and Delia until the day the world put Michelle in his path.  Fate had gifted him (or cursed him) with this new turn of events.  Aaron lay in bed with the most beautiful woman in the world, bearing his soul through their mutual psychic bond, tears of blood streaming down his face from the remembrance of grief, pain and frustration he'd suppressed for years.

Michelle now knew everything about him, his past, his pain, his grief, his loneliness, and the simple little shoebox of a life he'd lived prior to meeting her.  She was his confessional, his priest, his savior, his own personal Jesus Christ, laying his demons to rest with her touch, presence, and silent acceptance.

When he was purged of his sadness, allowing the memories to drift away to return to the vault of things better forgotten, the two agreed through silent psychic communication this would never be spoken of again.  As dawn peeked over the horizon Aaron and Michelle slept like the dead in each other's embrace.  They looked happy, limbs tangled together, faces seemingly content.  Both vampires felt the satisfaction of problems resolved, demons conquered, and the comfort of a deeply rewarding connection, which neither one cared to admit to the other.

* * * *

CHAPTER 12

Talco pounded pavement for three nights straight, passing around the artist's rendering of the blond tramp to every pimp, prostitute, and hustler he could find.  Not one person recognized her.  No one had ever seen or heard of her before.  Talco knew she'd never worked these streets, at least not anywhere near 60th and Palmetto.

It was a risk for Talco to speak with most of these people.  Many of them were ex-cons.   It was against the rules of his probation to have any contact with felons.  It was completely absurd.  How should he know if someone was a felon?  Was he supposed to ask every person he met?  “Hello, my name's Talco, oh … by the way, are you a felon?  I was just wondering because I'm on probation.”

What an awesome way to make friends and influence people.  How was he ever gonna get anywhere in life saddled with such ridiculous rules to live by?  In most cases he could guess whether or not a person had been to prison before by simply looking at them, but out on the streets?  In the ghetto neighborhoods?  Talco suspected he could get his probation revoked simply for being out in these areas.  It looked way suspicious.  And it made him extremely nervous.

Under normal circumstances, Talco would never deal with his girls out on the street.  They always communicated via prepaid cellphones like Boost with the walkie-talkie feature.  The two-way walkie-talkie couldn't be tapped like a regular cellphone.  All the hustlers dabbling in street business used them.  Escorts and their dates don't find each other out on the street corners, it's foolish and suspicious. and a sure way to get tossed in jail.

The more time he spent on this pointless high risk activity, the more pissed off he became.  He was certain the blond tramp wasn't out walking these streets.  Girls didn't need to do that anymore, not with websites like craigslist.com.  So … why was he beating the streets looking for this puta like a retard?

After three consecutive nights of wasted time he gave it up.  He'd have to find some other way to placate Los Demonios.  Probably have to pay them off what they wanted.  Three nights blown and nothing to show for it.  The detectives certainly weren't giving him credit for his efforts without results.  This was exactly what he'd been afraid of.

He had a wife and newborn baby at home who needed him.  He definitely didn't need this shit.  When he came home at midnight, Evita was there waiting for him with a kiss and a smile, six month old Mateo held in the crook of her arm.  They were the best thing that ever happened to him.  He'd gained so much in so little time, but he stood to lose it all with this foolish business.

“What's wrong baby?  Que Paso?”  Evita smoothed away the tension from his forehead with her free hand, baby Mateo cooing quietly in her other arm.  She was so beautiful as a mother, she'd truly blossomed with Mateo's birth.  Talco couldn't imagine life without her and his son.  He knew if he went to prison again Evita might not be there by the time he got out.  There were only so many mistakes a girl would put up with.  She was a very attractive woman.  Her golden skin, spicy Colombian attitude, and beautiful hazel eyes would surely attract another man if Talco was locked up for too long.  He had to find a way out of this mess.  He had to stop chasing the easy money and go legit.  He had to get away from those bastard detectives.

He answered Evita as he embraced her, “Todo está bien mi amor.  I'm okay.  You know I love you?  Tu eres mi vida, mi corazón.”

She cooked his favorite dinner, fajitas Evita-style, with freshly prepared salsa and guacamole on the side.  Beyond being the most gorgeous Colombian woman he'd ever met, she was also a damn good cook.

Evita Rodriguez––formerly Evita Valenzuela, had come to New York on a visa paid for by Columbian cartelitos, her stomach filled with tiny little latex balloons of high purity cocaine.  It was a fairly common way to catch a paid vacation to New York for Columbians who otherwise didn't have a dime to their name.  She survived the ordeal without a single package bursting in her belly, collected her $5000 dollar payoff, and promptly disappeared into the streets of New York City.

She was barely twenty years old when she met Talco and began selling her body to make ends meet.  They became close after several months of working together.  By the time Talco was prosecuted for aggravated assault, Evita had made her decision.  She was madly in love with her Puerto Rican pimp.  After she spent herself broke paying for his legal defense, Talco realized just how much she loved him.  Many girls say such things to their pimps, but rarely do they mean it.

By the time he started serving his sentence, he demanded that she get off the streets and marry him.  She did exactly as he wished, working a waitressing job at a local Denny's while he was locked up for an entire year.  She stuck by him, wrote letters every week and visited the prison every weekend.  She was his rock.  She paid off the worthless defense attorney's bill from her tips and overtime at the restaurant.  Evita hadn't worked the streets for over two years, and Talco was determined that she should never again sell her body to pay the rent.

Evita was an angel, a godsend.  How could he ever let her go?  The moment he was released from prison he made it his mission in life to give her a child.  The doctor told them the date of conception for Mateo was probably within the first week of his freedom.  This was the happiest he'd ever been, married to this gorgeous woman whose devotion had withstood every hardship imaginable, and a beautiful son to show for it.  If only he could keep it going, if only he could avoid ruining all their lives with his mistakes.

He thought of opening a restaurant; let the New Yorkers have a taste of his wife's fabulous cooking.  He'd even name it after her, Evitas.  When his son Mateo Rodriguez was born march 18th 2009, he had new inspiration, a new reason to make something positive of his life.  He began plotting and planning.

He figured it would take at least nine months of saving before he could afford to start up the restaurant.  He spent endless hours working with the Small Business Administration––SBA.  They had the business plans, financial plans, and guidance he needed to make it happen.  He worked up a menu, designed the graphics for the neon sign they would put up out front, and even calculated twelve month projections of the overhead and income.  He was ready to go.  The SBA provided some small loans for business startup, but Talco needed to have a certain amount of his own cash vested in the project.  That was the catch to the whole thing.  He needed more money.

By his estimates he had about two to three months left of running his little escort service to save up enough cash to start the restaurant.  But that was before the devil sent Oberman and Konowicz into his life to torment him.  All his grand plans screeched to a grinding halt when Los Demonios began taxing the life out of him, threatening everything he was trying to build.

* * * *

Evita sensed something was bothering her husband.  Talco, like most Puerto Ricans, wore his heart on his sleeve.  She suspected it had something to do with those two awful detectives who kept harassing him.  She knew it without Talco ever saying a word.  She loved him so much.  He'd given her the life she never could've had in Columbia.  She spent her days with her wonderful baby, her nights in the arms of the man she loved, and she was so close to gaining naturalized US citizenship.

They didn't need much money.  She wished Talco would settle for a little less.  She understood quite well what it meant to live in extreme poverty.  All she really needed was a roof over her head and food on the table.  She could be happy with so very little, as long as she had Talco and baby Mateo.  She understood what's most important in life is the people you care about.  Material concerns don't really bring happiness, people do.

Though she said it several times before, she tried again.  “Papi, I want you to stop.  You don't need the girls.  We don't need that much money.”

“I know baby, but we're so close.  We're almost ready to start the restaurant.”

“Papi, how many times do I have to tell you, I don't care about the money.  I want us to be happy.  If you quit working with the girls you can get rid of those detectives.  They can't threaten you if you're not doing anything illegal.  Don't you see how this is hurting us?”

“Hay corazón, you don't understand how probation works.  It doesn't matter if I'm doing anything illegal.  Los Demonios can lock me up con nada más que un acusación.  I gotta do what they want or I'm goin back to prison.  Ain't no judge or jury for me.  If the pigs start pointing fingers, I'll be revoked like that!”  He snapped his fingers in demonstration, “That's the way it is.”

“Please Papi, just quit it.  Do it for me … can't you do it for me?”

“Si querida.  If that's what you want, I'll quit.  Right now.  I'm done wit dis shit!”  He assured her vehemently, and he meant it.  “I’m gonna call all the girls and tell em they're on their own, Talco’s goin legit.  Next time the detectives call I’ll tell em to stick it where the sun don’t shine!”

* * * *

CHAPTER 13

Oberman and Konowicz stood outside the front door to Bemichis Restaurant with Trish Anstrom, a thirty-something single mom who worked nights as a waitress.

“I saw her pick him up off the ground, and take off running down the street carrying him.  It was the damnedest thing ever.  Yeah, like I said on the phone, I heard a noise like a gun shot, and by the time I got a chance to look out the door here, that's what I saw.  I think the police arrived a few minutes later.  I couldn't really see well, it was midnight and the lamp is over there.”  She pointed across the road to the streetlight, huffed another huge whiff off her cigarette and continued, “Like I mentioned on the phone, I hope it wasn't Aaron.  But he hasn't been to work since he left that night, and all this happened not ten minutes after he walked out the door.”  Finishing her cigarette, she reached into her pack for another one to light from the still glowing butt of the first one.

Konowicz addressed her, “So let me see if I got all the facts straight.  His name is Aaron Pilan, he's twenty-two years old, about five feet eleven inches, approximately one hundred seventy pounds with dark brown hair and eyes, lives in the Reisner Apartment Building over on 52nd street, about ten blocks down.  His cell phone is (561) 382-2279, but he doesn't answer calls or text messages, and the voicemail is full.  He was last seen leaving here at midnight August 26th, and somebody called asking for him, you think it was his roommate who hasn't seen him in days.  Is that correct Ms. Anstrom?”  She nodded yes repeatedly through the haze of cigarette smoke.

“Was there anything you could think of to add to this?  Have you ever seen the woman who you said, picked him up and ran off with him?  Did you recognize her?”  Konowicz pressed, still evidencing a slight nasal quality to his speech.

She finished her second cigarette, stomping it out in the planter, and again shook her head no.  “Like I said before, I wasn't even sure it was Aaron.”

Oberman showed Trish the artist's rendering of Michelle.  “Do you recognize this woman; was this the girl you saw that night?”  She frowned and replied, “Maybe, I couldn't see real well.  I really can't say for sure.”

“Do you have any pictures of Aaron that you can give us?”  She started shaking her head no to Oberman’s question, “Wait a minute.”  She turned and entered the restaurant motioning them to follow.

“Here, on the wall, a picture from a wedding party we did a couple months ago.  I'm sure Aaron's in it.”

“Yeah dats him alright.”  Oberman mumbled to Konowicz.

Konowicz turned to her abruptly.  “Thank you for your time Ms. Anstrom, you've been very helpful.”

“You'll let me know if you find out anything?  He's such a sweet boy.  I'm worried about him.”

“Sure thing, we'll be in touch.”  Konowicz’s toothy smile did not reach his eyes.

* * * *

In the evening, as their official workday came to a close, Oberman brought glad tidings to his partner, dropping a scrap of paper with a scrawled note on his desk.

“I got the address connected to that cell phone for the Pilan kid, he's in number 204 at the Reisner Apartments.  You got time to go pay a visit?”  Oberman smiled at Konowicz.  He could feel they were getting real close.

Konowicz replied with a nasal whine and his first genuine smile of the day, “Looks like we're doin some overtime.”

* * * *

“Hello, I'm Detective Oberman and this is Detective Konowicz, we're with the 124th precinct New York P.D.  We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind.  May we come in?”

Kyle was instantly on guard.  These two characters looked like they had real badges, but he smelled something malicious and sinister about them––apart from their body odor.  He didn't trust them enough to allow entry.

“Well, I'm not sure what this is all about.  Is there a problem?”  He didn't like the idea of these two getting inside the door.  They were pushy.  Oberman actually slid his foot in the door as they stood there staring down Kyle with their you-don't-want-to-mess-with-us looks.  He stared right back and let them continue speaking from the hallway.

“We're here to see Aaron Pilan, is he here now?  We need to talk with him.”

That caught him off guard.  Aaron was about as harmless and law-abiding as they came.  He couldn't imagine what these two might possibly want with Aaron.  He paused for a moment, and then decided to play along.

“No, actually he's not.  Um….I haven't seen him in days.  If he's in trouble I'd like to know about it, and how I can help.  He's a good friend.”  His instinctive reaction was to make sure they didn't catch Aaron by surprise.

“You know anything about his involvement with this woman?”  Oberman showed Kyle the artist's rendering of Michelle and pushed his bulk into the door a couple more inches.  Kyle held his ground, letting the door push up against his body as he tried to look casually at what was a pretty damn accurate drawing of Michelle.  He pretended not to notice how they watched him, or how they tried to force their way into his door.  They pretended they cared about his rights and privacy.  None of them were very good actors.

“No, I've never seen her before.  Can you tell me what this is all about?”  He knew if he gave up Michelle he'd be giving up Aaron, so he continued to stonewall.

“Look, we know he was with her a week ago.  We know he lives at this address.  We can't go into details because of the on-going investigation.  If you know something and you're not telling us it's only gonna hurt Aaron in the end.  If you want to help your friend you need to help us find him.”  Oberman played the standard authoritarian manipulation game.  Kyle knew there was very little these two creeps could do to help Aaron.  Cops like this rarely ever helped anyone but themselves.

“I've already told you I don't know anything.  I haven't seen him or heard from him in days.  His cell phone is disconnected.  I don't know what else I can do to help you.”  He put more pressure on the door, forcing Oberman to back up a couple inches.

Konowicz stepped toward Kyle menacingly, as if he would shove past Oberman and force his way through the door.  “Listen here buddy.  We're gonna find out everything eventually.  We'll find out all about you, your friends, and all the comings and goings here at your little bachelor pad.  I'm pretty sure we're gonna find somethin you won't like.  Maybe one of your buddies smokes weed, snorts a little blow, maybe someone's poppin somebody else's prescription pills.  It's a given.  You would do a lot more for yourself and your friends if you cooperate with us.”

“I don't do drugs, and I don't hang out with losers that do.”  He informed them calmly.  He waved his hand in dismissal of their bullshit, “You can threaten all you want, I don't know where Aaron is and there's nothing illegal happening at my apartment.”

Konowicz snapped back, losing his cool, “If I learn you've been lying to us, I'll book your ass for obstruction of justice so fast it'll make your head spin!  You'll sit in lock-up just long enough to lose your job and this shit-hole apartment you squat in!  Don't fuck with me you little punk!”

“I've said all I have to say.  I'm done with you, good day officers.”  He shoved the door in the detective’s faces.  He heard cursing and some back and forth whispering, and then they slipped a note under the door with an N.Y.P.D. business card.

Call me with any new information you get about Aaron Pilan and the woman.

Scott Konowicz

Kyle stood there for a moment, debating what to do about the situation.  Should he tell them about Michelle?  Should he call and leave an anonymous tip?  Should he just warn Aaron and stay out of it?  The detective's threats seemed to be nothing more than intimidation tactics, they didn't have anything on him, and he didn't know anything.  What you don't know can't hurt you … right?

Delia overheard parts of the conversation from where she was standing a few feet inside the door.  “What was that all about?”

“I'm not sure, but I think Aaron's in trouble and it's got something to do with Michelle.”

* * * *

“You have a voicemail from your friend Kyle, he wants you to call as soon as possible, is very important.”  Michelle handed Aaron her iPhone after dialing Kyle's number.

“Hey Kyle, its Aaron, got your message, what's goin on?”

Kyle explained what happened with the two detectives, and then told Aaron how he felt about them and their threats.  “Dude I’m freakin out!  They weren't messin around!  It seems pretty serious.  They were talking about abstraction of justice!  Like they were gonna arrest me!  I didn’t know anything, so I couldn’t tell them anything.  Is there something I should know?  What’s goin on?”

“I have no idea.  Seriously.” Shit Shit Shit!

“Really?  So … how's it goin with Michelle?”

Kyle had a suspicious tone to his voice.  Aaron wondered what he was thinking, what kind of assumptions he must be making by now.

“Ahhmm … She's great, we're good.  I’m telling you the truth Kyle.  I have no idea what those guys want.  Honestly, this is a total surprise.  But hey, thanks for blocking for me, I appreciate it.  I really owe you one.  Maybe I should get an attorney to call and find out what's up.”  Shit!  What the fuck do I do now?  What if they find us?

Aaron’s mind raced through possibilities, he didn't know what to say.  He felt like a fugitive in hiding every second that he lied to Kyle.  He didn't have a clue what to do if the detectives ever tracked him or Michelle down.

Kyle replied, “Okay man, cool, just be careful.  I'm telling you those guys are creepy as hell.  I had to take a couple shots of Patron to calm down after they left.  Oh … yeah … um … Delia's here.  She wants to talk to you for a minute.”

“Kyle, wait. I gotta go.  I don't have time for her right now.”

“Hi, Aaron, are you okay?  Those officers sounded serious.”

He wasn't prepared to deal with Delia.  He'd written her off as a thing of the past.

“Uh yeah, I'm fine. We're fine.”  He wanted off the phone so he could talk to Michelle.  He had a whopping crisis to avert, namely being hunted down by the police for assaulting an officer.  He hoped that by referring to both him and Michelle as being fine together, Delia might catch the subtle hint and leave him alone.

“Hey Aaron, um … I was hoping we could meet and talk.  I want to talk about … things between us.  Everything has happened so quickly.  I've been thinking about you, about us.”

“There's not much to say Delia, you broke up with me.  You wanted to see other people.  It wasn't what I wanted, but now everything's changed, I've changed.  I thought you wanted your freedom?”

She laughed nervously and stammered, “Well, yeah, but ... I understand that you're angry.  I would be too.  I want you to know that I think I was wrong.  I want to see you again.  It's hard to talk over the phone ... she's probably there with you right now … listening.  Can we talk in private?  Can you come see me tonight?  I'm here at the apartment.”  She sounded like she was starting to beg.  It was kinda creepy, she was never like this before.

Aaron cut her off.  “Delia, I'm not mad at you.  I was, but it's over now”

“I'm not asking you out on a date, okay.  I think we need a chance to talk, it's only been two weeks since we split up.  Please Aaron, I really need to see you.  I want to make it up to you.  It’s all my fault.  I’ll do anything you want …”

“Listen, this is a really bad time right now.  I've gotta get off the phone.  There's nothing to talk about Delia.  Michelle is really good to me.  I've moved on.  I'm sorry but I gotta go.  I'll call back maybe, in a couple days or somethin.  Take care, bye.”  He hung up on her.

* * * *

The sound of a dial tone rang in Delia’s ear.  Well fuck you too Aaron Pilan!

“Shit!”  He needs an intervention!  This Michelle has gotten to him.  Wonder if he knows the police are looking for her?  She works for an escort service and everyone knows they are just a bunch of prostitutes.  She's no good for him she's gonna get him arrested or worse.

She was certain she needed to take matters into her own hands to protect Aaron from Michelle.  Then he would remember all they had together.  Everything would be normal again, with Aaron living at Kyle's and spending all his free time with her.  She just had to get Michelle out of the picture and everything would return to normal.

* * * *

Kyle could see the wheels turning in Delia's head.  It wasn't difficult to figure out what had happened.  If Kyle had a sexy thing like Michelle in his life, he'd drop Delia like a bad habit.

Kyle imagined that devious little mind of hers cooking up a scheme to get her hands on Aaron again.  He'd told Aaron more than once that she was a selfish brat.  It took Michelle's influence to finally pull him from Delia's manipulations and mind games.  What was she up to now?  Was she bold enough to do something dangerous with those nasty detectives?

“Hey Delia, I know how you feel about this, it's all been so sudden with Aaron moving out, and you were real close for so long.  I hope you're not thinking of doing something stupid with those cops.  Don't mess with them Delia.  You call those detectives and you're playing with fire.  Besides you could get Aaron in trouble too, not just Michelle.  Let him live his life.  If he's making mistakes let him deal with it.  He's not yours to play with anymore.  You let him go and now he's gone.  You hear what I'm saying?  Don't get involved!”  Delia wouldn't look him in the eyes.

“Alright already!  I heard you.  You don't have to go into a fit about it.  I never said I was gonna do anything!  I can talk to him if I want to!  She doesn't own him!”

* * * *

“Is wise that you stay away from the girl, she is dangerous, very selfish.  I can see she will be a problème if you get involved with her again.”  Michelle looked Aaron directly in the eyes to see how he reacted to her advice.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”  Aaron asked her with a smirk.

“You know what I'm saying is the truth.  She's not right for you, is very difficult to have close relations with people.  They are not like us.”  She pursed her lips in admonishment as though she were above such petty jealousies.

“It’s true that I care for you.  We are bonded now and what affects you will affect me, but with this girl there is nothing to be jealous about.  She is an enfant terrible, like a spoiled child.  She is dangerous, she has an obsession with you.”

Aaron grinned at Michelle's admission.  “You are jealous,” he chuckled.  “Admit it, maybe a little?”

He kissed her on the lips stroking his hand through her hair.

“You are right, as usual.  She is silly, and immature, and there is nothing for you to be jealous about.  You know you own my ass anyway.  Besides, she could never pull off that stunt you did up against the wall the other night!  That was insane!  After that performance how could Delia compare?”  He enjoyed teasing her.  He was gaining confidence in this new life.

“Aaron … do you still have feelings for this girl?”

Michelle felt sick in the stomach at his non-chalant comment about her, owning his ass.  “I hate the thought I take away your choices.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I do not wish to “own your ass” as you say so crude.”

“Aww, Michelle, ma belle.”  He smiled as he ran his fingers over her jawline.  “No, no, no.  Really I don't think of Delia for even a minute.  You're the only one who gets my attention.  You're the one I want.  Is that what you want to hear?”

“Mmm … Oui.”  She smiled as he played with her.

“So what about the real issue?  The police.”  Aaron gave her the raised eyebrow.

“They are just as silly and stupid as the girl, but very dangerous.  If they become a problème, we will deal with them or move on.  I am not a murderer, but I have no problème with taking out the trash when it starts to stink up my personal space!”

* * * *

Detective Grayson walked up to Konowicz's desk and slapped down a sticky note, “Got a message for you.  It came in while you were on the other line.  Says, The girl you are looking for with blond hair and green eyes works with Ez Escort services and her name is Michelle.  I got the phone number to Ez from her too, but she didn't say her name.  Wanted to remain anonymous.”  He looked at Konowicz's face and realized who the blond was that the message referred to.

“Oh Shit!  Is that the prize fighter who knocked you on your ass the other day!  Ha! ... That's fuckin priceless.  When you catch up with her tell her I said thanks!”  Grayson slapped Konowicz on the shoulder laughing at him, causing his sore nose to throb from the jolt.

* * * *

CHAPTER 14

“My, my, my, C'est magnifique, don’t you look nice!  I like this shirt on you, the blue looks good.  I think is your best color.”  Michelle turned Aaron in a circle as she checked him out for his big date.

“Yeah, I do look pretty damn good don’t I?  I’m dead sexy!”  He spanked his ass in the mirror to Michelle’s grin.  His new eight hundred dollar outfit made a distinct impression.  He never realized how much the clothes can make the man.  Michelle had a sharp eye for fashion, and a deep pocketbook.

“Thank you so much, I never could’ve bought this on my dime.” He smiled as she ran her hands over the ass of his $400 black slacks.

Michelle had a seemingly endless supply of money.  She was constantly shopping for expensive designer clothes for the both of them.  She paid all the taxi rides, and who knows how much her apartment cost.  He never bothered to ask about money.  He didn't have the first clue about her finances beyond the fact that she made good money on her dates.

He stared at her sideways in the mirror as she smiled back.  Who is this woman that I’m in love with? He didn't even know how old she truly was, or so much as her full name.  The woman was a mystery, but that's the way she liked it.

Michelle broke him out of his silent reverie with her speech on vampire etiquette.  “Mon petit chou.  Remember the rules.  Feed no more than sixty seconds.  No multiple orgasm––you risk the addiction.  Release her after the first climax, not a moment longer.  Avoid the sex.  Is a very bad idea.  Your control is not good right now.”

“Yes Massa.  Aye’s a good slave Massa, don't beat me!”  He pinched her ass as he teased.

“I want you to save your energy for later tonight.  I have something planned.  Some more tricks for you.  We will need your stamina!”

He envisioned the many things she had taught him in the bedroom.  He recalled wild passionate sex for hours and hours on end.  He shivered in anticipation, adjusting his pants as he caught a semi just thinking about her.

* * * *

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Callahan, my name is Aaron, how are you this evening?”  He met his date at the Double Tree Inn in the lounge.  The music hadn't begun yet and the quiet unpopulated ambience was peaceful and romantic.

She hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek, a little too familiar to be completely cordial.  She replied with an inviting expression.  “Fantastic now that you're here honey.  Aren't you the sexiest thing I've seen in years.  Look at you!”  She held his hand as she stepped back in appreciation of his physical assets.

Aaron read her mind.  She was fascinating.  His first official date as an escort.  He dug in deeper and deeper, trying to get a sense of her entire being in addition to her current thoughts, which were mostly occupied with fantasies of sex with him.  He read clearly several key ingredients of who she was today.  She’d been married for twenty years to a jet-set corporate CEO.  The asshole preferred sex with his secretaries and assistants to her.  Of course, it hadn't always been that way.  Her husband developed the habit over the years, gradually growing distant.  She'd thought of divorcing him many times over, but it was the kids that kept her from doing it.  This wonderful forty plus mother of three lived daily with emotional and sexual neglect, much the same as him, well, until a week ago.

He sympathized with her instantly.  He couldn't fault her for hiring an escort.  And why exactly was she interested in him?  Discretion.  She could afford expensive eye candy that guaranteed discretion and allowed her to enjoy life's simple pleasures of sexual fulfillment with a hard body half her age.  It wasn't love, but it would have to do.

He realized immediately he was gonna break his promise to Michelle.  He couldn't refuse this woman the very thing she needed most, Michelle's warnings be damned.  He vowed to maintain control and give her what she was paying for.

She planned to spend the evening at the hotel.  Dinner, cocktails, dancing, and then they would retire to the room.  At five hundred an hour, she intended to pay cash for four hours.  The escort service had already charged their fee in advance.  His cash would be his to keep.

The dinner went smoothly with small talk about her family and business interests.  She drifted into politics, flying completely over his head.  He mostly just listened to her.  She was a truly remarkable woman, and he had grown to genuinely like her.

They danced for a time, slow and intimate, stealing kisses here and there.  When her hands began to roam below his waistline, he suggested they head up to the room.  He felt it was important to make this a special night for her.  She seemed so wonderful, only wishing to be loved.  He was willing to risk losing control to give her the special evening she was paying for.

Upstairs she warmed to him, “Call me Rosalie, Mrs. Callahan is so formal, feels like I'm talking to one of my son's friend's.  I'm going to get changed into something more comfortable.  I'll be back in a moment.”

She exited the bathroom a moment later wearing a red see-through negligee with a matching sheer G-string.  Rosalie wasted no time at all.  She kissed him deeply while her hands worked fast and efficient helping him undress.  She had a definite plan for the night's activities and followed it without hesitation or embarrassment.

Rosalie looked him up and down with a smile blooming across her face as he stood before her naked.  He enjoyed seeing himself from her perspective as she ogled his body.  She loved his trim abs – not folding over his belt like Mr. Callahan’s.  And his firm pecs, they didn’t need one of those compression t-shirts to hide the man-boobs look.  When her attention settled on his cock she licked her lips. The woman couldn’t wait to get him in her mouth.  He was the best date she'd ever had through the agency.

If he could perform like the stud she imagined, she'd definitely be coming back for a second date.  After a few seconds of appreciation and wild imaginings, she put her hands to work caressing him skillfully, bringing him to full arousal.

As she pushed him back onto the bed, she climbed over him and said, “I love fellatio; it's a specialty of mine.  I can't resist wrapping my lips around something so beautiful.”  With that she went down on him.  She took the top position working him voraciously.  He lay back and let her do as she pleased.  She toyed with him licking up and down his length, teasing, and then concentrating intense suction on the very tip.  He moaned and couldn’t help but fist his hand in her hair and lift his hips as she tugged on the head of his cock.  She pulled away, teeth and tongue and lips scraping past his most sensitive flesh to come up for air with a smile on her face.

“I can do this all night long honey.”

Then she went right back at it, a muffled vibrating groan massaging him as she went all the way down, craning her neck to accommodate his full length.

He read her desire to receive the same treatment she gave him.  Never leaving her mouth, he pivoted into position, his face buried between her legs as Michelle taught him.  He took his time.  His fingers toyed with her entry and stroked her inner thighs.  Pulling her panties aside, he bared her flesh to his taste.

Rosalie worked his whole length frantically, sliding up and down, in and out, faster and faster. He entered her with his fingers while suckling and nibbling at her folds.  Their intensity reached fever pitch when she peaked, screaming her release into his erection, clamping down on him forcefully.  The vibrations and fierceness of her reaction brought him to climax.  He poured himself deep into her throat, his hand trapping the back of her head tightly.  She wanted to be crammed down on his cock, she wanted to swallow it.  It was something her husband had done so often, she grew to like it rough that way.  Rosalie really did enjoy fellatio, she suspected it was the primary reason her husband married her.

After a moment's reprieve, both of them catching their breath, he shifted position to roll them over while Rosalie continued to work him by hand back to full readiness.  He fought with control.  He wanted so badly to pin her down and screw her till she begged him to stop.  He wanted to bite her over and over and over.  Michelle wasn't kidding.  It was very difficult to manage sex and feeding together.  He could feel the need rearing its ugly head, like another personality taking over, a beast, a predator that wanted to use and abuse poor little Rosalie Callahan, heedless of her frailty.  He had begun to regret this decision.  He feared what harm he might do to this wonderful woman.

Then she slipped a condom on him and opened her legs wide in invitation.  All control slipped, the beast took over, pure need and desire and lust and hunger, an undeniable driving hunger that wiped away all reasoning capacity.

He impaled Rosalie fast and hard, sinking in all the way to her limit in one swift thrust.  He kept on going, a wicked tight grip on her luscious hips, he pounded and pounded and pummeled her flesh as she screamed and writhed in the throes of the wildest sex she'd ever known.  He abused her silken flesh with the abandon of super human strength.  As he pounded on her, burying himself all the way with his climax, he remembered his foolish plans.  Rosalie screamed at the top of her lungs as he bit down into her neck and drank deeply, consuming her blood, ecstasy, and passion all together in a magical blend.

When he regained a little sanity, he assessed the damage.  Rosalie lay below him quivering and writhing with her breath coming in hoarse pants, an animalish sound.  Searching through her mind, he was relieved to find that he hadn't hurt her.

Rosalie had experienced cataclysmic sex without acquiring the dreaded addiction to his venom's erotic endorphin release.  He judged his experiment a success, ignoring the fact that he'd been lucky not to have killed her.

He dressed after cleaning himself up in the restroom and returned to check on Rosalie.  She was still breathing heavily, but had regained some semblance of normalcy.  Her body continued to vibrate and twitch with sensory overload and her eyes were dilated and glazed, drunk with the pleasure of their coupling.  He watched her for a few moments as she caught her breath.

“OH … MY … GOD!  I'm … I … I don't know how you did that, but it's the most amazing sex I've ever had in my entire life.  Whatever you got honey, they should be bottling and selling it for billions.  I'd get up to see you on your way, but I'm not moving from this bed tonight.  I wouldn't be able to stand up even if there was a fire.”

He felt damn proud of himself right at that moment.

“I'm pleased to be at your service.  I had hoped to give you a special evening.  You're a good woman.  You deserve a few special moments in your life.  Whoever is neglecting you isn't worthy of your time and attention.”

“I've known that for years honey, but we can't always get what we want.  Tonight you've done that for me.  You've given me more than I ever expected and it was just what I needed.  Would you hand me my purse please.”  She pulled out three thousand dollars in fifties and handed it to him while he kissed her goodbye.

When he noticed how much money she shoved at him he said, “This is way too much!”  He felt guilty taking money from her when she had already provided both her body and her precious life's blood.

“Baby, what you got is priceless.  I would gladly pay more.  You're worth every penny and then some.”  She smiled at him sweetly.

“I hope to see you again.  Would that be possible in a couple weeks?”  In her mind she was debating whether or not she could handle another session with him without a stroke or a heart attack.  The boy had fucked her senseless.

“Yes, I would like that very much.  You know how to make the arrangements.  Until then, take care, and get some rest.”  He blew her a kiss and walked out the door.

He knew he needed his strength for what Michelle had planned, so he fed twice more on the dance floor on his way out of the hotel.  Aaron's spirits were soaring, riding high on blood and sex as he hailed a taxi cab for the ride home to Michelle.

* * * *

CHAPTER 15

In the taxi on the way home, He contemplated the wonder of this new life.  To live without need for the trappings of civilization, food, and drink.  To be free of the disease of greed driving every moment and motivation.  To have power over all you encounter, both physical superiority and the power to live without want.  The only need that could not be ignored was that of the blood, easily remedied in an instant.

Money, houses, cars, consumerism, what need was there for any of these things?  People gave him anything he asked for.  Anything he needed or desired was his for the taking.  What did he really need?  Shelter, clothing, blood, nothing more and nothing he could not take or borrow at any moment.  What did he desire?  Blood and the sensual contact that naturally followed.  It was his right, his due, and it could not be withheld.

Was existence free of hardship and privation any way to live?  Where was the need for things and money that had once propelled him out the door to work every day, the need for approval and love driving him to chase Delia so fruitlessly?  What was life without need?  Could it be said that he really lived at all if he was no longer burdened with these afflictions, these discomforts experienced by the less fortunate?

In truth his existence wasn't entirely carefree.  His autonomy ended where Michelle's began.  Being her slave, her servant, was the great misfortune that defined his life, giving wonderful flavor to all his moments of freedom and triumph.  Yet he wasn't bitter.  He loved her for all that she was, mistakes and attitudes included.  All things considered, being Michelle's slave was the most fulfilling and enjoyable life he'd ever known.

Aaron entered the apartment bouncing with anticipation, his mind filled with fantasies of what Michelle might have in store for him.  He felt comfortable and secure knowing this was his home and he shared it with a magnificent woman whom he loved deeply.

Michelle wasn't in the same pleasant home coming mindset.  Something was very wrong, but he couldn't be certain what.  Her mind had closed off and he read only an icy cold blank wall coming from her.  It was the first time in days she closed down like this.

“You look very happy tonight, very satisfied.  I hope you didn't ruin your appetite.  I have somesing special for you, my special little boy.”  Michelle patted him on the cheek with a gleam in her eye and a tightlipped grin.

He grinned back at her sheepishly, thinking of the energy he'd expended during those gratuitous moments with Rosalie.  He thought he was still spry enough to handle whatever she had in store for him.  His appetite for Michelle was strong as ever.  Michelle watched him closely.  He thought he saw something in her eyes, a burning ember sparking into flame.

She turned and marched into the bedroom speaking over her shoulder, “Come take off your clothes, we have only two hours till sunrise!”  This was not a request, it was an order.

They came to bed nude, sliding under the covers side by side.  A remote coldness permeated Michelle's every move.  Even her skin seemed cooler to the touch.  Their connection was devoid of any warmth or mutual affection.  His hackles rose.  What should have been sensual and arousing now seemed menacing.  She gave him a feeling of wariness, as though she'd pounce at any moment.

“Is there something wrong?  Are you angry with me?”

She slid her hands over his chest and reached down between his legs to feel him.  Her hand came up.  She ran her fingers under her nose, catching the scent.

“What have you done to anger me?”  Michelle had a strange look on her face.

“Well … I did have a little bit of fun with my date …”

He braced himself for the onslaught, expecting her to tear into him with a scathing lecture, but instead she asked calmly, “Just a little fun?”

He nodded his head, thoroughly confused.  Michelle flashed her eyes, a brief glimpse of animosity bleeding through her privacy wall, but she quickly clamped down her iron control.

In a cold quiet voice barely above a whisper, she asked-compelled, “Did you hurt the woman?”

He tried to issue a straightforward denial, but what came out of his mouth was, “Maybe a little bit …”

As soon as he spoke two vivid images flashed to his mind's eye, transmitted directly to Michelle.  The first was of his fully engorged cock in his hand as he stood in the shower cleaning up after his date.  There was a pinkish-red taint of blood rinsing down the drain.  He had made Rosalie bleed from her womb.  The second image was of Rosalie laying on her back quivering and moaning, distinct hand-grip marks visible on both her thighs.  He hadn't really been cognizant of the damage he did to Rosalie until Michelle forcibly extracted the truth from the recesses of his mind.

Michelle had that gleam, a wild look, like she was about to take a chunk out of his hide.  She didn't.  What she did was reach between his legs to grab ahold of his cock.

“I will be on top this time, lay back and enjoy the ride!”  This was spoken in a virtual hiss.  His instincts screamed of impending danger, stripping him of any arousal.  He was completely flaccid.

“Give me your full erection now!”  Michelle growled as though ordering soldiers to stand at attention.  She had never used her authority to impose her will in their intimacy.  This was a first.  He knew a threshold had been crossed.  Michelle was rewriting the boundaries of their relationship and he was sure to be on the losing side of the fence.  Upon her spoken command his penis reacted of its own accord, growing to full tilt readiness without any sexual arousal whatsoever.  This must be what it feels like to be raped.

Michelle gradually worked him, first licking and sucking slowly, sensually.  Then she sped up her ministrations until the intensity reached super human speed and force.  She shifted position straddling his face with her thighs to place her most intimate flesh in his mouth, and began grinding herself back and forth across his lips and teeth.  His natural reaction of arousal spiraled up.  The wonderful sensations of Michelle's highly skilled attentions could not be denied.  All previous apprehensions were forgotten in the heat of the moment.

At the point he reached his peak and could no longer resist his climax, Michelle struck like a viper, driving her mouth down to seal against the base of his engorged sex to the ultimate deep throat position.  With this move she buried her razor sharp fangs deep into his pubic flesh, sinking in to the bone, sucking down his blood and climax all together.

Aaron's peak, pain, shock, and venom saturated loins, caused the most excruciatingly intense orgasm he'd ever known.  Without conscious thought, his vampiric instincts reacted sinking his fangs into Michelle's intimate folds, digging down through both inner and outer labia to hit home at her pelvic bone.  He gave as good as he got, blasting Michelle with the same intensity of climax twisted by pain, shock and the amplified sexual effects of his venom flooding through her tender vaginal flesh.

Both Aaron and Michelle's psychic barriers protecting their mutual privacy shattered in the storm of sensations and pain.  Mind altering waves of ecstasy, agony, and multiple orgasms assaulted them.  Each experienced the other's roller coaster of peaks simultaneously with their own.  The cycle of climax, crash, and repeated climax continued over and over again.  The lovers remained locked together, spasming and grinding, consuming each other's blood and sex until their physical limits of endurance were reached and surpassed.  Sometime near sunrise they passed into oblivion, still locked in each other's parasitic embrace.

Both awoke at sunset, faces buried in each other’s groins.  Michelle arose first and silently prepared a scorching hot bath.  They looked like hell––blood and sex encrusted faces and thighs, with identically haunted somber expressions.  Aaron sat in the oversized Jacuzzi across from Michelle.  They silently soaked, neither one making eye contact with the other.  He didn't know what had happened.  His world traversed from one extreme of happiness to the other extreme of pain, humiliation, and depravity.

When he finished bathing and moved to leave the tub, Michelle broke the silence.  “What did you do to that woman last night?  I know you had sex with her and I know you hurt her.”  She had a murderous snarl on her face.  Her mind was blocked up solid.

He answered her simply, “Yes … I had sex with Rosalie.”

Michelle reached out lightning fast with a whip-snap move to grab hold of his scrotum, her claws piercing through flesh, drawing blood in demonstration of her severity.

“Show me your memories of what you did to her!”

The door to his mental vault dissolved.  Their connection opened wide to access his memories, or anything else she might want to know.  His mind instantly replayed the entire date with Rosalie leading up to his return home, and then followed by the bizarre sexual encounter with Michelle, transmitting all of it to her via their psychic bond.  Michelle experienced all his thoughts, feelings, emotions, and sensations as though she lived through these moments inside his body along with him.

“Enough! I don’t need to see anymore!”  She yelled, turning away from him as if trying to avert her eyes from what she'd witnessed.  She released her painful grip on his genitals and his blood turned the bath water pink.  Her face looked stricken.

He leaned towards her and whispered, “You're fuckin nuts.”

He climbed out of the bath and dressed without once looking or speaking to Michelle. He never noticed the tears of blood silently running down her face.

She had stripped him of all protections, absolute zero privacy.  To him it felt like standing naked out in Times Square, all his dirty little secrets laid bare.  Psychic rape.

It was the most demeaning thing she ever could've done, apart from ordering him to kill himself.  He settled into heavy depression with the knowledge that he meant nothing to Michelle.  Nothing more than a possession.  A servant to be punished when he misbehaves.

Shattered, smashed, damaged beyond recognition.  Michelle demolished all hope that her affections were genuine.  He was nothing but her slave, her property, who had disobeyed and needed to be reprimanded.  He felt like a dog pissing on the floor, forced to have his nose rubbed in it to learn a lesson.

“Come, we must feed now.”  Michelle spoke in terse tones.  She wouldn't look him in the eyes.  Her face was tight-lipped and severe as he stood by the door waiting for her.

“Yes master.”  He wasn't teasing or smiling.  Cruising through the night streets in the taxi, his depression began to take on a new color of resentment.  Why should he be treated like this?  Was this all because he disobeyed her directive or was there something else?  Is this how it would be with her for years to come?  Being punished for virtually nothing?  He deeply resented her abuse of power.

He began to hate Michelle for turning an act of affectionate lovemaking into a sadistic punishment.  The kindness and mutual care that once permeated their relationship disappeared.  Michelle reached out to hold his hand as she had so many times before, but the gesture no longer felt like the loving caress he'd imagined it to be.  It felt like a leash.

* * * *

CHAPTER 16

He arose without a word to Michelle.  He had slept on the floor in silent protest.  She remained in bed.  She didn't say a word when he left, exiting by the fire escape.

He had to get out, just go, walk, somewhere, anywhere away from her.  Every second of every minute, every waking moment she was there.  In his thoughts, in his face, the smell of her saturated every corner of the apartment.  He couldn't get rid of her scent.  It was on his clothes, on his skin, in his blood.  Now you are blood of my blood.  She owned him, he was marked.  He couldn't go anywhere or do anything without her being there, holding his fucking hand.

He marched down the alley way, hoping to burn off some steam, put a little distance between them.  His temper flared to the point that he burned to lash out in violence.  Every word and gesture from her the night before seemed to have a double meaning mocking him and his subservience to her.

This need for violence and confrontation was something wholly new to him.  He'd never before felt such fury and frustration.  It was a raging passionate fire threatening to overtake all reason.  He had to get some distance and cool off before he ended up going after Michelle.  He had no illusions about how that would turn out.  She'd kill him.

He began jogging down the alley moving through the back streets.  He stayed to the dark recesses of the city, purposely avoiding people.  Oblivious, he passed into one of the seedier areas of New York.  This was a place he would never normally walk, especially not in the darkness of night.  The new and improved Aaron was unconcerned.  He felt absolutely no fear of anyone––apart from Michelle.  She'd been telling the truth when she spoke in her condescending tone, “they are like cattle.”

He tried to stop dwelling on the negative, but his mind continued to find things to make him angry, worsening his mood.  His problem stemmed from one inescapable source:  Michelle.  No matter how far he walked she was still there at the edge of his mind, connected, waiting, judging him unjustly.

After some introspection he recognized what the true problem was.  Her power over him governed not only his physical body, but his soul as well.  No matter that she treated him like a dog to be punished, he still loved her.  His heart wouldn't listen to reason.  He needed to be near her like he needed air to breathe.

Deep in his soul search, meandering aimlessly through the night, he landed himself in the middle of a group of thugs.  They were big, black, tattooed, and not the least bit happy to see him in their neighborhood.  They were looking forward to some entertainment at his expense.

By the time he came to his senses was surrounded by five black gang members who looked like they spent more time in jail than out.  Their pants hung low at the waist, boxer shorts exposed in the classic “sag” of the urban gangster.  He could read their immediate interest in him.  They assumed he was easy prey wtih cash, credit cards or something of value.

The one on his right in a NY Jets hat yelled loudly to his companions, “Dis mousy ass bitch must be lost.”  He turned to Aaron up in his face, pointing at him.  “Hey powder, don't you know where da fuck you at?”

He was in an inner city ghetto, one of those places he’d artfully avoided all his life. Shit.  There were heaps of trash on the ground, buildings with broken and boarded up windows, and isolated pockets of gangsters hanging out in the shadowy corners.  Liquor stores lined either side of the street.  Not a white person in sight.  The Projects.

“Shit!”  Aaron cursed under his breath as they closed in around him, cutting off all paths to escape.

The guy directly in front of him in a black hoodie was the biggest of the lot, three hundred fifty pounds of muscle and bad attitude.  He stepped towards Aaron with a wicked scowl that left no doubt of his intentions.  The gorilla growled down on him from his six foot six height, “What you got in your pockets bitch?”  Aaron suspected the guy had never been denied such a request before.  He had the air of one who always took what he wanted, when he wanted, from whoever he wanted.

Aaron stepped back, “Hey, I don't want any problems!”

The guy to the left in a NY Giants coat grabbed Aaron by his arm, “You are the problem!”

Aaron reacted instinctively, snapping his arm out to break the hold.  He connected hard against his chest with a crack-crunch sound.  The man's entire body was shoved backwards several feet, and he landed on his butt wheezing in pain.  The excessive force of his whip-like reaction surprised him as much as it did the guy he hit.

“Git dat mothafucka!” yelled the guy with French braided hair.  Aaron's aggressive response triggered a free-for-all.

Upon hearing the call to attack, an adrenaline surge punched through Aaron.  A wildly exhilarating sense of power, a limitless strength and energy filled him.  He easily evaded several blows meant for him, his movements much faster than theirs by magnitudes.  He now understood what Michelle meant when she had stated so eloquently, “they will be like turtles.”

As they closed in on him, he had no space left to dodge their strikes, and two of them grabbed at his arms.  His frustration mounted as he was hit in the head from behind.  His desire to strike out and smash these frail meatsacks caught hold, and he roared in rage whipping in a full circle.  He momentarily broke their holds, and pulled two of them completely off balance, sending them flying out to tumble across the ground.

He instinctively sensed the others coming back at him from several directions for another attack.  He spun again, and lashed out with his fists in wild haymaker swings, connecting with three of them in a split second.  His blows seemed to have an exaggerated effect.  Each thug was sent tumbling backwards, one flipping end over end through the air.  They were rag dolls he could toss around with no real effort.

The two remaining thugs who escaped his spin move came in from the front and right simultaneously.  The man to his right reached him first.  With an open handed shove he sent him flying back through the air, landing sprawled on his back, skull cracking on the asphalt beneath him.  He isn't getting up any time soon.

He stared in fascination at the powerful effect of a simple one-handed push.  As he gawked, the man in front of him dropped low, hitting Aaron squarely in a wrestler's tackle.  His attention snapped to as he was hit in the waist, headed for the takedown.  He instinctively knew how to counter the momentum by twisting with his legs splayed out wide for balance.  He flung the attacker out to his side with an instantaneous pivot and shoved hard with both hands.

His maneuver spun them around completely, his attacker's momentum flowing past and out the other direction.  The thug went flying through the air to land on the pavement face first with a crunchy thud.  Aaron stood solidly on his feet facing the opposite direction.  He had spun a hundred eighty degrees with the graceful redirect.

All five men were down on the pavement hurting.  His instinct was to fight to the death, crushing their feeble bodies, slicing them to bits and pieces as he drank them dry.  He could taste their blood, fear, and adrenaline.  They smelled like fresh food.

He shook his head in attempt to break the powerful bloodlust desire surging through his body.  His fangs were fully extended, mouth filled with venom, ready to feast upon their flesh.  He could kill them right now, in a few seconds, drain them of liters of blood.  He’d be gone before one of the punk-ass thugs at the liquor store across the street could finish calling 911.  It was sooo tempting.  And it would be sooo easy, no one would ever know it was him.  No one could identify him in this dark setting.  The bystanders were too far away to see anything but a white guy dressed in jeans and dark shirt.  They couldn't even see his face.  It was the perfect moment for a couple quick kills.

He fought with himself, an internal battle of wills with an urge so powerful he could barely contain it.  He growled and snarled, looking back and forth at these slug-like slow moving cattle, struggling with the compulsion to rend and tear flesh.  He finally made the snap decision.  He redirected his energy into flight, racing back down the alley he emerged from earlier.  He was in such a hurry to escape before he killed someone that he knocked down the man in his path who'd just regained his feet.  As he hit the unfortunate thug, bowling him over, he heard the crackle-snap of bones breaking.  The man was nothing more than limp flesh against Aaron's charging force.  They had been no match for him.  The outcome was determined before the confrontation ever began.

He sped down the streets heading in the direction of home.  His powerful bloodlust burned, calling him to smash and tear and rend flesh.  He began seeking out new prey.  Several heartbeats thumped nearby, ripe for tapping.  He sensed all that wonderful juicy goodness just begging to be slurped down.  Reason reasserted in his mind, and he realized what he was doing as he snuck up on a man and woman crouched in the alley with their smoking crack pipe.  He barely stopped himself at the last moment, running off down the alley in the other direction.

Though he wanted to go home, get off the streets for a few minutes, away from the food stench of people, he couldn't return home to Michelle with all this tension singing through his body.  He stopped in the alley two blocks from home seeking a target for his aggression.  The only thing available that wouldn't result in death and mutilation was a steel dumpster sitting against the concrete wall of the alley.

He glanced around to verify there were no witnesses.  Having finally found an outlet for his aggression, he funneled it all into that ugly squatting steel dumpster.  He hit it full bore, holding nothing back.  He smashed it over and over with his fists, screaming in rage, frustration, and unfulfilled hunger.  Each strike left behind a crumpled mess of indentations.  As he collapsed the front side of the dumpster, he moved to the left, smashing inward with a barrage of hook punches on each side of the ninety degree corner until it was so misshapen, it no longer resembled a rectangle.  The lid popped up at a twisted angle, never again to fit down on the mangled receptacle.  The front and side of the dumpster collapsed inward like a crushed beer can.  The irreparable condition of the dumpster testified to the intensity of his frustration.  The poor dumpster absorbed Aaron's crushing force far better than those unfortunate gang members.

His knuckles were abraded and raw, sliced open, but the damage knitted itself back together right before his eyes.  He stared in creeped-out fascination as his knuckles healed up to little pink welts in a matter of minutes.  Within a few more minutes the flesh had completely rejoined over the cuts evidencing only a slight raw spot.  The miracle of vampiric regeneration captured his attention long enough to calm him down.  He regained some badly needed serenity.  He was ready to go home and spend another night beneath the yoke of his master.

His dumpster workout session had mostly satisfied the desire to lash out at something.  He no longer felt the overwhelming need for violence.  The incident proved a nice little distraction.  His new concern was that Michelle might learn of his misadventures in the street, causing another point of contention between them.  He focused on slowing down his breathing and closed his mind securely within the vault prior to entering the apartment.

He knew she sensed his tension, but wasn't aware of the new source for it.  She attempted to make an opening, hoping to bring a change in their coldness towards each other.  “Are you ready to talk about this problème?”

He clammed up, not wanting to betray his actions to her inadvertently, but a sliver of emotion slipped through the vault door, irritation.  Bullshit, she knew exactly what was wrong … her.  Despite this spike of emotion he answered her coldly, “I'm fine, everything is fine ... Are we going to feed soon?”

All he wanted was to change the subject and direct them to the night's activities.  He was hungry for blood.  The sooner they fed the better.

He monitored her thoughts closely as Michelle considered pressuring him to draw out the unspoken issues between them.  She was concerned that he seemed a little too edgy, volatile.  She decided it best to let it go for now and nodded saying, “We are going to another night club.  You will need to change.  I will be ready in a few minutes.”

He didn't respond.  He changed quickly and stood at the door waiting unobtrusively.  Beyond the need to feed, he had no excitement or anticipation for their outing.  It was just another evening of living tethered to his master.

* * * *

CHAPTER 17

All was cold and sterile on the home front, nothing to say and nothing to do but go along to get along.  After three nights like this, Michelle had reached the limit of her patience for Aaron's brooding silence.  She attempted to engage him in conversation but he blocked her, refusing to speak unless asked a direct question.  His mind remained closed off, not a hint of his thoughts.  Only the slightest taint slipped past the barrier once in a while.  These small glimpses of his thoughts never contained anything positive.  He was going sour fast.  Something needed to change soon before they reached an impasse where she might be forced to take action.  She might have to kill him.

She learned more from his aura than from their psychic bond, it was streaked with bold colors of anger and resentment.  She'd never seen this side of him before.  His cold negativity saturated everything.  Their time together was mechanical, holding no elements of friendliness.  They went through the motions of meeting their basic feeding impulse then returned to Michelle's apartment in silence.

* * * *

Aaron felt like a dumb animal who still loves its master regardless of whatever abuse it must endure.  No matter how angry he was, he still loved Michelle.  This made him even angrier.  He felt like tearing something apart with his bare hands in frustration.  The sad truth:  He ached to be near her.  But what good would it do to behave like an affectionate sop when dealing with a mercenary who uses sex as punishment?  And so he bottled it up.  Anger, resentment, love, lust, desire, it was becoming quite a toxic blend.

* * * *

Michelle briefly considered ending it now.  She'd done it before.  It wasn't impossible to kill a vampire.  Maybe difficult, but not impossible.  With her authority of compulsion she held the advantage despite his superior strength and speed.  It would be quick, painless.  He wouldn't suffer.  Perhaps that was the humane thing to do.  He obviously wasn't happy living under her domination.  He looked like he was ready to take her head off at any moment.  Maybe it was wise to strike first before he decided to turn on her.

He sat at the kitchen table in front of her laptop, his attention absorbed by the internet.  She flexed her razor sharp claws and reached for him.  He had his back turned, his beautiful shirtless torso exposed to her attack.  She could do it so quick he'd never even see it coming.  She envisioned the move in her mind's eye, marshaling her nerve to do it.  Then he sensed her there right behind him, his breathing quickened, his heart rate elevated.  His aura bled through with colors of anxiety, angst, frustration, lust, and there it was, faint but still recognizable, love.  He was fighting with the fact that he still loved her despite the things she'd done to him.  His internal battle slipped past the crack in his mental vault.  It was confirmed what she saw in his aura.  He loved her, and resented the fact.  And he was hurting.

It occurred to her that she was now the cruel master, throwing her weight around and abusing her power over him.  She remembered being in the same position, enslaved by a sadist.  And what was the difference?  She had turned sex into a torturous form of punishment.  What made her any better than her former master?

She realized she was the one to blame for the situation between them.  She was the one who needed to make the effort to repair the breach.  It was her responsibility.  She owed him an apology.

But what if he remained cold and aloof?  Had she created a monster?  Was it too late already?  What if she'd led him too far down the path of cruelty?

She wanted the old Aaron back.  The one who looked at her with such adoration, not the cold resentful bastard he'd become.  She enjoyed him in her life.  They were good together.  The few nights they spent in her bed were fantastic, the most invigorating moments of the past five decades.  She decided to take the initiative to break through to him.

“We need to talk about what happened the other night.”  She stepped around to face him, looking directly into his eyes.  “Things cannot remain as they are between us.”

He didn't answer.  He continued giving her the silent treatment.  His emotions boiled behind the door to his mental vault.

* * * *

Part of his problem was the extreme sexual frustration of being so close to her without intimacy.  He’d slept on the floor of her bedroom for two days in a row.  If it were possible he would have slept on the couch, but her bedroom was the only place in the apartment a hundred percent sealed against the daylight.  Lying in her room, knowing she was there but so distant, was an especially agonizing form of torture.  He wanted to hurt her, love her, fuck her every which way and leave her, all at the same time.

Instead he did nothing.  He didn't have a clue how to talk to her without blowing up in her face.

“I fear that I have made a mess of the situation, and I must explain something.”  She paused considering her words carefully.

“My experience with the male vampire has been very disturbing.  My former master was extremely violent with no control over his passions.  When he turned me, the night I became a vampire, he did horrible things to me.  When my body was completely broken and I bled almost to death, only then did he feed me his blood.  I soon learned this behavior was normal for him.  He abused the frail women all the time.  He said this is the vampire's way because our passions consume all reason.  He claimed this is worse with the males.  They are always mixing sex, blood and violence.  It was a very long time before I realized he was simply justifying his monstrous behavior.”

He felt disgusted and compassionate with her confession.  He wanted to reach out to her, but did not.  The hurt and resentment hung between them like a wall.

He broke his silence, “You believed I would behave this way with Rosalie?  Yes, I suppose you did, considering what happened with Lisa.”  He still felt ashamed about what he'd done to the stripper and his guilt weighed upon him.  And then there was Rosalie, who he'd also hurt inadvertently.  He began to see the danger he posed to women, how Michelle might view his indiscretions.

“What happened with Lisa was nothing compared to what I have seen, what I experienced through my master.”  She reached out to him, caressing his face and hair, trying to impart some affection.

“I assumed you did something terrible to Rosalie.  I never imagined you could have the caution and compassion you showed her.  I felt your thoughts and experiences with her.  You tried very hard to stay in control.”  She stepped closer to him, looking him in the eyes while she continued touching him.  He finally stood up and faced her.

“What you did was beautiful.  In a way she loves you for this gift you give her.  I must apologize to you.”

She hadn't come to shove it in his face like he expected.  She was asking forgiveness.  The dam of emotion started to break, resentment, anger, and hopelessness leaking out.  “What difference does it make?  You can force me to do whatever you want whenever you feel like it.  Why does it matter what I think?”

“It matters to me.”  She opened her own mental privacy block to let him feel the truth of her words.

His rancor overflowed, pouring all over her.  He laughed bitterly, “I shouldn't really complain, the sex was awesome, a bit painful, but still phenomenal.”  It was a nasty sarcastic remark, but she let it slide off, reaching to get past the negativity, trying to find the other side of his emotions.  Michelle stepped up to full body contact nuzzling his neck.  She was cheating again, using the power of his attraction for her to wash away all the spite and resentment.

She whispered in his ear brushing her lips across his skin, “Yes, it was wonderful.  Yet I hurt you.  I fear I have done something you will never forgive.  The way I treated you was horrible.  The only excuse I have is that I was very angry.  I wanted to punish you, to abuse you.  And I did.  I assumed you abused Rosalie.”  Her body language was undoing three days of loneliness and frustration.  The physical power she held over him with her touch was so complete that she didn't even need to speak, but she continued with her apology anyway.

“I understand how you feel, but I must beg your forgiveness.  I promised I would not use my authority to mistreat you, and I broke this promise.”  Michelle began kissing his neck and stroking his back and shoulders and chest.

She was cheating hardcore, it was impossible to remain angry with her when she poured on the affection.  It all drained away at her fingertips.  Second by second, he lost each and every reason he held for being angry.  All that remained was love and forgiveness.  He could never deny her forgiveness.  He couldn't think of much else when she did this to him.  It was a secret weapon for which he had no defense.  Her seduction was irresistible

“You promise you're not gonna do that again?  You promise you won't judge me based on assumption?  You promise not to abuse your power?”  He tried to hold her at arm's length to give her a serious look.  She snaked back into his arms whispering in his ear, flicking her tongue in and out in promise of things to come.

“I promise.  I am forgiven?  You still love me?”  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, thighs wide open in invitation, and it felt heavenly.  He could never deny her anything when she did this to him.  “Now we can have make-up sex.  Oui?  I will let you be on top this time.”

He couldn't help but grin like an idiot.  “Yes, Michelle, I still love you.  I've always loved you, but you knew that already.”  As they reunited together with the pent up passions of three nights of abstinence, it didn't escape his notice that Michelle never once mentioned how she felt about him.

* * * *

In bed together, after several rounds of lovingly affectionate sex and mutual biting, Michelle still had something more to confess.

“There is another reason that I was worried about sending you out into the night without my guidance.”  She paused and caressed his back and thighs, collecting her thoughts, “There is another problème I encountered when I was awakened to this life and my control was not very good.”  She hesitated, not sure whether or not to continue.  This was something she had never spoken of before, and it had happened so very long ago.  He cupped her breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb and kissed her on the nose.

He encouraged, “Please go on, I'd like to hear more.”  She nodded and kissed him on the lips while caressing his chest.  A very effective distraction.

“You know this word Feral?  You know what it means?”

“I think so.  It has something to do with a wild animal?”

“Oui is like that.  This can happen to us.  We are truly predators with instincts to hunt and kill, vicious killers.  When we lose our reason, when we are consumed in strong emotion, it is possible to become feral.  Is like a mindless wild animal hunting on instinct that will attack anyone who comes near.”  Michelle paused.

He waited for her to continue.  Suddenly her confession seemed very important.  He had never considered the ramifications of what she described.  But it was all too easy to imagine how it might happen.  He had felt a certain wildness lurking there inside him recently.  It scared him to think such a thing was possible or that this might have happened to the wonderful creature cuddling with him.

“In France at the end of the war, WWII, something very traumatic happened to me, and for a time I was lost.  I roamed the countryside like a wild animal hunting at night and hiding in basements or holes in the ground by daylight.  I don’t recall this time very clearly.  Is like remembering a dream.  I know this can happen to you … if it happened to me.”  She drew circles on his chest with her fingertips, avoiding direct eye contact.  He sensed her embarrassment at knowing she had lived like an animal, from admitting this for the first time ever.

He remained silent contemplating what she said.  This meant she must be over eighty years old!  He couldn't fathom this beautiful woman caressing his body roaming the fields of France in the middle of the war.  Michelle had never told him anything about her life before they met.  He was fascinated to learn more.  “Please go on.”

“There was a man who found me.  Lucky I did not kill him.  I think I was wounded and unconscious, or else I would have attacked him.  The time I spent with him, maybe it was several weeks.  In this time I regained my sanity and returned to civilization after he died.  His story is very sad.  He died because of me.”  She paused in solemnity, a powerful sense of regret and loss still there after all those years.  She continued, “Someday I will tell you more, but not now.”

She looked him in the eyes with her chin on his chest, fingertips stroking his shoulders.

She finally got around to the point, “When you came home after your date and I smelled the blood and sex all over you, it brought back memories of this wild life I lived for a time in France.  This made me very angry.  Because of my assumptions, I wanted to hurt you, as I said before.  Also, I was angry with myself.  Thinking I let you go out without guidance, without an anchor to keep control of the predatory instinct.  I felt it was my fault you hurt Rosalie.”

She paused for a second, considering, then continued, “I was wrong.  You did not hurt her, not really.  You have very good control.  You cared about this woman.”  Michelle looked like she was about to cry.

Her vulnerability was arousing, that and her constant stroking up and down his body while she spoke.  He rolled her over pinning her beneath him, and teased her wet entry with his erection, holding her gaze.  “You are so damn sexy when you take the blame for me.  I'm gonna show you some of that wild animal you're so worried about.”

Michelle's eyes popped open wide with a gasp as he buried himself all the way to her core and bit down hard on her neck.

“Ohhh … Aaron … that is soooo wonderful, give it to me you animal!”

* * * *

CHAPTER 18

She lay in bed gazing at his sleeping figure.  She usually awoke just before sunset, whereas he slept until the sun erased itself completely from the horizon.  This allowed her a few moments of solitude to reflect on her new life with this surprisingly wonderful young man.

She so enjoyed watching him sleep.  He was truly an enigma to her in so many ways.  He was nothing like her former master; virtually every aspect a polar opposite.  Where her master had been selfish, sadistic, controlling, manipulative, and vain, Aaron was self-effacing, affectionate, reasonable, and lacked any true vanity.  She had known from their first meeting and the coloration of his aura that these mild-mannered traits were inherent to his soul.  She never imagined they would carry over with his transformation.  She had known he was smitten with her, and she thought it quite noble, his attempt to defend her honor at the hands of the crude detectives.

She supposed his noble intentions contributed to her decision to take his life into her hands.  It would have been so much simpler to walk away, leave him bleeding on the concrete.  But she knew the odds of surviving such a devastating injury were slim to none.  People were so fragile, so easy to kill.

She felt a measure of guilt for his fate.  She could easily have disarmed the cop, but she wasn't concerned for anyone else.  She had been taking care of number one, and he was a casualty of her callousness.  She had hurt others before in a similar manner, and it still weighed on her conscience to this day.  She decided in this one instance she could save a life, instead of allowing death to claim another unfortunate soul.  Bringing Aaron into her life, giving him her blood and all that came with it, was a form of atonement for certain wrongs committed in her past.

She now understood she couldn't judge him based on her previous experiences with her former master.  He simply did not fit her notions of what a male vampire's demeanor and conduct should normally be.  He had been so quick to forgive, and held no residual animosity towards her for the vicious abuse she subjected him to.  This was baffling.  Why would he forgive her so easily and release all his resentment as though it had never been?  The only explanation she could fathom was love.  Despite her horrid behavior, he loved her, without reservation.  That must be the answer, nothing else made sense.

It had been worth the risk.  Aaron was worth the risk.  He was so much more than she ever expected him to be.  He filled so many diverse roles in her life.  She couldn't imagine living without him.  He filled a place in her heart she had never realized was vacant.  It was unnerving how strongly she felt for this beautiful boy, her lover, her confidant, her companion.  To see him now contrasted against his memory in her mind's eye was like looking at two completely different people.  His transformation was magical, like a simple caterpillar that emerges from the cocoon a magnificent butterfly.  A thing to marvel at in awe of its beauty and majesty.

She didn't like to admit to herself that she might be falling in love with him.  It was a very inconvenient emotion in the tenuous relationship they had.  She couldn't afford to let her feelings override her good sense.  But it was too late.  She was already hooked on him.

Never was this more apparent to her than when she relived his memories of his evening with Rosalie.  What he did for the woman was not insignificant.  He never really hurt Rosalie.  But he did give her a very good time, and managed to make her feel loved by a complete stranger.  His compassion was amazing.  But that wasn't what had shocked Michelle most.  It was his thoughts and emotions upon returning to her apartment that made the strongest impression.  How he felt about her and then her reaction to him, and the events leading up to their horrid lovemaking.  It was these moments that twisted Michelle's heart into a tight knot of pain.

She experienced his contentment and anticipation of coming home to her.  It was a simple and carefree joy, and then she sliced through it, cutting him to the bone at his most vulnerable, crushing his joy under the heel of her rancor.  The hurt she visited upon him came back to her tenfold, sending spikes of pain through her heart.  Michelle knew this to be the heartache of love.  She could no longer deny it or pretend ignorance.  She had fallen in love with her slave.

* * * *

“E-Z escort service, how may I help you?”

“Yeah … ah ... a friend of mine recommended your agency, said you could arrange an evening with a certain girl.”

“Yes of course, was there a particular girl you had in mind?”

“Yeah … I met her once … she's really unique … a blond with green eyes … her name's Michelle … you know the girl I'm talking about?”

“Oh yes sir, she's very special indeed, would you like to schedule a date with her?”

“Yeah, I'm thinking I'd like to see her real soon, tonight would be good.”

“Yes sir, I'm sorry to inform you she won't be available until tomorrow night at 11:00 p.m.  Would you like to schedule her then?”

“Tomorrow, uh … okay, that'll have to do I guess.”

“Certainly, the agency's fee for scheduling with Michelle is one hundred dollars.  We can take your credit/debit card over the phone or you can use the payment link in our website, which would you prefer?”

“A hundred dollars eh?  What's included with that?”

“The Agency's scheduling fee is one hundred, Michelle's fee is separate.  You will need to bring cash for her.  She doesn't accept any other form of payment.  Her typical fee is one thousand dollars an hour with a standard two hour minimum, paid in advance.”

“Whew!  That's pretty steep!  That's … damn!”

“I understand sir, as you have met Michelle, you know how very special she is, and there's no one like her.  Would you prefer to schedule with another girl whose rates are more affordable?  I can e-mail you a list with pictures.  We have quite a selection to choose from.  They are all special in their own way, and quite beautiful, I can assure you.”

“No, um … that's okay … I'll go ahead and schedule for tomorrow with Michelle.  Let's make it the Ramada on Lincoln Boulevard, room three hundred twenty-two, you know where that is?”

“Yes sir, no problem.  I see it now on Google maps.  We'll make sure she has the proper directions.  Do you have your credit or debit card available to lock in your reservation?”

* * * *

Talco was in the middle of changing Mateo's diaper, working as fast as possible to avoid the water weenie effect that happened with uncanny timing––usually as soon as the diaper came off.  He learned after being sprayed several times that the trick was to cover the baby with the new diaper or a towel, anything absorbent.  He'd been making good progress when his cell phone buzzed and he used a few precious seconds to retrieve it to see who was calling.

“Los pinche Demonios!”  Talco cursed when he saw Konowicz's number on the screen of his cell phone.  At this precise moment, Mateo squealed in laughter, kicked off the towel and shot a stream of lukewarm piss with impeccable aim right at Talco's face.  He had read somewhere that urine was a sterilized fluid, but this knowledge didn't help to lessen his revulsion.

Talco felt a creepy sensation tickle down his spine.  It was an omen, a portent of bad things to come.  And sure enough, Konowicz had left a voicemail directing him to be prepared for Friday night at 10:00 p.m.  Prepared for what?  What the hell were they up to now?  Talco knew deep down in his gut intuition, whatever they had planned, it would certainly mean trouble for him.  He debated whether or not to call them back.  He'd promised Evita not to deal with them anymore, but that was easier said than done.

* * * *

“Damn girl … you are smokin in that dress!”  Aaron licked his lips and contemplated dragging Michelle back into bed to have his way with her.

“My god, I can barely keep my hands off you!  I feel sorry for the sucker who's meeting you tonight.  The poor guy never had a chance!”

Michelle wore another variation of the skimpy black cocktail dress that looked so provocative it was probably illegal in certain jurisdictions.  He pinned her to the wall stroking her inner thighs working his fingers inside her thong underwear.

“Ah … Ohhh … Aaron … you will make us both late, you must stop.  We both have … We have to go now … Ahh … I'm going … I'm going to get you good tonight for this.  Unghh … ahoof … OH … OH … don’t stop now … don’t stop!  OHHH!  Merde!”

She came in his hand as he stroked her wildly.  She slumped weakly against him for a moment then stood.  “You naughty, naughty, boy.”  She wagged her finger playfully at him.  “Now I must change.”

He watched her smile disappear as the door closed to the bedroom.

She was in and out of the bedroom quickly, hoping to catch Aaron before he left, but he was already gone.  On a whim, she had decided to admit she'd fallen in love.  She wanted to see the look on his face, to feel his joy at her declaration.  Oh well, it would have to wait.  They certainly had plenty of time; they would be together for many years to come.

Walking out, Michelle hailed a taxi.  “The Ramada Inn, s’il vous plait.  1620 Lincoln Boulevard.”

* * * *

CHAPTER 19

“Hello Aaron.  It's me Charlene.  You remember me, from Bemichis?  I hope you don't think it's strange, meeting like this.”

He stood there silently shocked.

“I caught your pictures the other day in the weekly e-mail from Ez Escorts and I knew I just had to see you.  I hope you don't mind.”  Charlene had hugged him in greeting, but now was wringing her hands, looking a bit nervous.  Obviously the tables had turned.  She was no longer in a position to assault his derrière with her former confidence.

He was surprised to say the least, but not in a bad way.  Though he'd never given any serious thought to having sex with her, he actually liked Charlene.

“I've always thought it would be fun to get more thoroughly acquainted.  I'm glad we got a chance to meet casually away from Bemichis.  It would've been inappropriate to see each other like this if I was still working there.”  Bemichis repeated warnings about fraternizing with customers still rang clearly in his mind, etched into permanent memory.

“So … what did you have in mind for this evening?”  He asked.

“I thought we could skip all the bullshit and head on up to the room …”  He followed Charlene's imagination as it raced through sequences of hot passionate sex involving champagne, strawberries, and him naked in the Jacuzzi.  He plucked the ideas from her mind and suggested the very thing she fantasized about, finishing her sentence for her.

“Strawberries, champagne and a hot bath?”

His suggestion rendered her speechless.  She gazed into his eyes, giddy with the happiness of a child on Christmas day.  He held her securely in his embrace as they made their way to the elevator.

In the hotel room he ordered room service while Charlene settled on a top forties music channel and watched with more than a little anticipation.  Her face was flush as she envisioned his hands rubbing her body down in a sensual massage.  It seemed like a good idea.  He slid on the bed behind her, his legs straddling her hips, and began rubbing her shoulders and back.  She tensed up for a moment and then relaxed warming to his touch.

He took time to appreciate Charlene's beauty as he began undoing her bra for better access.  She had creamy white skin with auburn hair reaching down to the center of her back.  Her body was curvy in all the right places with generous hips and breasts.  A hint of extra weight around the middle, but still quite attractive.  She didn't need to pay for dates.  She could pick up men anytime she wanted.  Her problem was she preferred a young boy toy who could match her voracious sexual appetite.  Charlene also had two teen-age boys at home.  Not a situation conductive to finding and keeping a good man.

Charlene's mind drifted to the places she wanted his touch, her nipples and the nape of her neck.  Her mind created the road map for her sensual massage.  He followed her vivid imagination and began working her full breasts, tweaking her nipples while nipping at her neck and ear lobes with light kisses.  Her arousal ramped up quickly, each touch wetting her with anticipation.

She wanted his fingers down inside, rubbing and dipping into her moist ready folds.  He followed her lead reaching his hand to pull up her dress, baring her thighs.  His palm caressed her shaved pubic flesh while curling his middle finger into her wetness.  She grasped his hand directing his movements, grinding her hips.  She worked herself to a frenzy with his fingers deep in her wet center.  Charlene bucked and moaned.  “Unh … Unh … Ooooohh … Yes!”  A sunburst of her pleasure exploded in his mind as she wetted his hand with her climax.

She finished right on time.  Room service knocked at the door to announce the arrival of the champagne and strawberries.  He tended to the cart, setting it up by the bath.  Charlene caught her breath and then ran the bath, undressing without ceremony.  She wasn't modest.  Her body was well proportioned and she had no fear of displaying it.

The tub was a one piece fiberglass unit with air jets, a Jacuzzi just large enough for the two of them.  Charlene entered the tub and proceeded to down a glass of champagne.  She invited in a seductive whisper.  “Come on in, the water's warm and ready.”

He looked at her with an inward smile.  Un huh.  And the water’s not the only thing hot and ready.  He could see her arm moving as she worked herself beneath the bubbles.

As he undressed he read her desire to taste him fully.  He accommodated her standing at the edge of the tub with his erect cock beckoning to her.  Charlene tossed back her remaining champagne and leaned forward and swallowed him whole.  She pumped his base while sucking hard and fast.  She knew what she was doing.  She slid up and down his cock, moving her hand along its length as she suckled on the very tip.  She got down on it, alternating from full-on deep throat to intense tongue, lips, and teeth action on the sensitive head of his cock.  In no time at all he lost control.  He shot straight into her suction as she milked him dry, working out every last drop she could squeeze.  He gripped her hair shoving all the way back down her throat with his climax.

After letting Charlene catch her breath, he climbed into the tub facing her.  She wiped her mouth off and went to work on another glass of champagne.  She attempted to get him to join her, but instead he fed her strawberries while she knocked back two more glasses of Dom Pérignon.

Charlene was drunk as a skunk and having a blast.  He read her desire to ride him face to face as she reached out to take him in hand.  She worked him back to full tilt readiness and in one smooth move expertly mounted him, impaling herself all the way down.  Her legs positioned to each side.  She ground downward rotating her hips back and forth, holding the side of the tub with one hand while stroking the bud of her sex with the other.

His preternatural strength allowed him to pound and grind forcefully with an iron grip on her generous thighs.  His powerful thrusts combined with her skilled masturbation brought her to the edge very quickly.

Charlene reached her peak in a couple minutes, crying out her pleasure.  He chose this moment to strike, burying himself in her neck while she humped him for all she was worth.  He drank deeply, causing the familiar domino effect of multiple cascading orgasms.  Charlene screamed and cried with the force of her repeated climaxes.  He came deep inside her and released his bite on her neck.  Charlene's body had become liquid flesh, vibrating and quivering, unable to support herself.  She was heaving and gasping, making weird grunt noises, crying.  It had been one hell of an intense ride for the middle-aged mother of two.  He stood up in the bath with her still in his arms.  She was too drunk and dazed to take notice of his uncommon strength.

He carried her from the bath, laid her on the bed and slowly extracted himself from between her legs.  He dreaded what he might find.  Much to his relief she wasn't bleeding.  He didn't know how common it was that women might bleed from a good hard pounding, but he definitely didn't want to make a habit of it.  He tucked her into bed and kissed her tenderly.  Her exhaustion and intoxication dragged her down into unconsciousness.  She smiled up at him with her venom-alcohol glazed eyes and slurred, “This is the best date I've ever had!  Where were you twenty years ago?”

In my mother's belly.

She passed out dead asleep with a slobbering half smile pasted on her face.  He dressed and headed out the door.  It was a good thing Charlene arranged for a thousand dollar payment for her two hour date through the agency's merchant account with her credit card.  He’d been paid in full before he ever showed up.  He wouldn't have been able to rouse Charlene from her slumber to collect.  He felt a fleeting twinge of guilt for having shorted her on the time, but she got her money's worth.  No harm no foul.

* * * *

CHAPTER 20

Michelle made a stop at the mall to browse for some beauty products and found a couple pairs of sheer G-strings she purchased for her next adventure with Aaron ––scheduled for about 3 hours from now.  She caught another taxi arriving at the Ramada Inn at exactly eleven o'clock, right on time.

As she knocked on the door to Room 322, she hoped this wouldn't be another disgusting politician.  How nice it would be to spend her evening meeting someone enjoyable for a change.  The man who answered the door seemed out of place.  He didn't fit the profile of the aging wealthy clients she usually dealt with.  His young, fit, Latin looks and accent were too attractive.  Why would he pay a thousand dollars an hour for a couple hours of fun when he could pick-up most women in a night club?  He carried himself with assurance and confidence; he was not the type who needed to pay for a woman's attentions.

He introduced himself as “Talco”.  Her finely honed instincts sensed something wrong.  He didn't follow her into the room.  Instead he closed the door locking it behind him, and remained where he stood.  She stretched her senses trying to smell, taste, hear, or feel what it was that had put her on the defense.  She heard two heartbeats and respirations in a nearby room, but nothing she could put her finger on as the source of her anxiety.

She turned around to study Talco.  His aura exhibited the coloration of nervousness and anticipation––a fairly normal set of emotions for clients awaiting a prostitute.  She noticed he had a hint of something else, like the caged aggression of a boxer preparing to enter the ring.  He seemed to be guarding the door.  By the time she realized that's exactly what he was doing, it was too late.

Suddenly the side door leading to the adjoining room slammed open, and the two detectives who she'd confronted two weeks earlier marched into the room.  The look of recognition and satisfaction on their faces spoke volumes.

She turned whip-fast towards Talco and the door, but he was prepared for her with a Taser in hand.  She surveyed the room for another possible exit and noticed both cops also had Tasers drawn and held in ready position.

She studied the unwholesome lust for violence and vengeance displayed in the detective's auras.  They lacked any of the benevolence found in decent law enforcement officials.  This was not an arrest related to police business.  This was premeditated murder.

As she considered her options she realized she was no longer alone in the world to face such dangers.  She reached out to Aaron down through the channel of their psychic bond beaming a powerful directive, COME NOW!  I NEED YOU! I'M TRAPPED!

With the knowledge that Aaron was on his way, she debated against waiting for him or taking extreme action alone.  She preferred not to give the police a chance to do anything preemptive.  She needed to do something to buy time for Aaron to arrive.  She would take her chances and fight her way out.

She leaped at Talco, gaining speed and force to take him out.  Luck was with him.  His Taser fired into her chest at the last second, instantly dropping her to the floor.  She'd never been tased before.  It was a new lesson in pain.  She hit the carpet jerking in extreme agony, all her nerve endings firing.  Her muscles seized up tight as 50,000 volts screamed through her nervous system.  Talco kept the Taser engaged non-stop until Konowicz yelled, “Enough!  She's toast already!”

Immobile on the floor, but still conscious, she caught a quick breath, and slammed up into Talco, throwing him across the room to smash against the wall.  She was three feet from the door when Oberman and Konowicz hit her simultaneously in the back with both Tasers.

They held the juice to her while Talco recovered and joined them for the combined effect of three different electric charges hitting her in unison.  The white hot pain of electric shock became so intense she passed out.

* * * *

Aaron stood on the roof of the apartment building he called home, looking out over the city, breathing in the aromatic night air.  He recalled that first night, when Michelle forced him to jump.  He'd resisted her at every step, but the changes she brought to his life couldn't be undone.  He wouldn't have it any other way, for better or worse he was committed to making this work out between them.  That's when it hit him.

A jolt of intense feeling of NEED from Michelle smacked his psyche, knocking him to the ground with its power.  He heard her scream as though she were standing next to him.  His being was possessed with the overpowering compulsion to reach Michelle NOW.  She was about twenty miles away on the 3rd floor of a hotel.

He was up and running in an instant, rapid fire.  He hit the edge of the building and jumped with every last ounce of strength, flying across to the other building.  He hit the ground running and kept on going, leaping from roof top to roof top until he reached a building extending ten stories above his level.  Without pause he turned, barreling towards the main street, flowing in the direction of the hotel.  He leapt down from the roof to a lower corner store and then down onto the street level.

His mind raced through scenarios, imagining what could be wrong, galvanized with fear for her wellbeing.  With his mind opened wide to their bond he felt the blinding agony of excruciating electric shock.  He staggered, going down on all fours in a haze of pain.  He was dizzy, nauseous, it was too much for him.  He couldn't help her and share her pain at the same time.  He had to reel his mind back away from Michelle, closing down their psychic bond connection.

With a clear head and a renewed sense of urgency, he jumped up and raced down the street picking up speed, leaping across intersections, careening off moving vehicles.  He vaulted off parked cars and dodged left and right as he negotiated the obstacles in the streets and sidewalks.  In his urgency he moved through the streets heedless of who might witness him and remark upon such super human displays of speed.

* * * *

Michelle awoke to throbbing waves of pain lashing across her entire body.  Every limb, all her fingers and toes, every single hair on her head, every molecule in her body radiated waves of nauseating pain.  She heard cursing in Brooklyn accents interspersed with Talco's exclamations in a mixture of Spanish and English, then the click-snap of Taser cartridges reloaded.  It was time to drag her sorry ass off the floor and do something.

She suddenly spun on the ground kicking out in all directions.  She was lucky enough to catch Konowicz in the knee, knocking him down.  With a target acquired, she kicked out again, hard in his groin.  She scrambled up and over his body to grasp his weapon.  As she turned toward Oberman, Taser in hand, the fat bastard fired three shots point blank piercing her right shoulder, and throwing her against the wall where she slumped to the floor.

In shock and disbelief she lay there, bleeding out all her precious blood onto the hotel room carpet.  She was closer to death than she'd been in decades.  She reached out to Aaron with a desperate psychic cry, screaming with all her consciousness to save her life.  She passed out seconds later from the combined effects of blood loss and trauma.

* * * *

Vertigo punched him viciously.  He stumbled to a halt, falling in a tumble across the sidewalk as the psychic backlash hit him with a tsunami of Michelle's desperation tearing through his mind.  The force of her desperate need delved deep into his psyche unhinging logic and reason.  A primeval consciousness took over Aaron's mind and a massive adrenaline high slammed him into extreme overdrive.

He screamed into the night, a blood curdling sound of bottomless rage.  He rocketed down the street, a blur of movement.  The unchained predator knew instinctively there were too many obstacles on the street, too many people with their complications.  He leaped to the side of the nearest building, bounding upward to catch the lip of the brick at each window, defying gravity and gaining momentum.  Reaching the top in seconds, he leaped across to the next building's roof, soaring from building to building, a streak of black lightning across the skyline.  The predator preferred the high ground for strategic hunting advantage and a better view of the target.

The predator reached the Ramada Inn within moments.  He sailed through the window of an unoccupied 3rd floor room.  He landed in the center of the room, flowing with his momentum.  He smashed through the door into the hallway, barreling towards room 322.

* * * *

CHAPTER 21

By the pricking of my thumbs,
something wicked this way comes.

––Shakespeare's Macbeth

Talco knew a mess when he saw one.  “I'm fuckin outta here! I don't know what kinda drugs dat bitch is on and I don't care.  I'm not getting dragged into a homicide investigation.  You're on your own!”  Stepping into the hallway, he came face to face with a demon from hell sent to collect his due.  He had waited a moment too long to make his exit, and now he had to pay his pound of flesh.  It was time to answer for his sins.  The last conscious thought echoing through Talco's mind was the beginnings of the Our Father prayer.  He never made it past who art in heaven….

* * * *

The predator read Talco's shock and anxiety at having witnessed Michelle's execution.  He could see the gruesome image in Talco’s mind as he made the grave mistake of stepping directly into the predator's path.  He plowed right through the man, hitting Talco with a crushing blow to his chest, slamming him into the wall at the end of the hallway.  He broke five ribs, ruptured his spleen and kidney, punctured his lungs, and rendered him unconscious all in one move.

As he tore the door off the hinges to room 322, the predator read the detective's minds revealing their premeditated attack on Michelle.  Their scheme had unraveled fast.  They were forced to shoot her here in the hotel instead of disposing of her in the back alley as planned.

The detectives must die.  There would be none of the mercy given to Talco.  Moving in slow motion, they telegraphed their intent to draw down on him with their firearms.  He moved wicked fast, smashing Oberman in the chest.  Oberman sailed through the air backward, shattering the sliding glass door, flying over the balcony and into the parking lot below.  It happened so fast that to the unaided human eye it seemed the predator teleported into position where Oberman was standing.

Konowicz barely registered that Oberman was hit, flying through the air, before the predator stood in his exact position as though filling the vacuum.  The predator swiped the flesh from Konowicz's trachea with a sweeping arc of his claws carving like a hot knife through butter.

The predator latched onto the gaping wound, guzzling down Konowicz's life blood as it sprayed and gushed from his body.  He drank his fill, engorging himself till there was no fluid remaining to consume.  He flung the limp lifeless sack of flesh to the ground and retrieved Michelle's blood-soaked body cradling her to him.

He had dispatched all three of them in under five seconds flat, threats neutralized.  The stench of blood was overpowering, calling him to feed.  All that adrenaline, all that bottomless rage and power, and now what?  He burned to kill, to rend and tear flesh, to crush bones, to devour the cattle herding in the streets below.  He could smell, hear, and taste their idle flesh there at the edge of his senses as they went about their meaningless pursuits.  It would be all too easy.  No one could stop him from feasting upon their bloated fattened bodies.

Another instinct begged his attention.  His master lay in his arms helpless, dying, he could smell and sense her impending death.  She needed sanctuary.  She had been wounded to the very limits of her miraculous healing capacity and perhaps beyond.  Holding Michelle tightly in his arms, he fled to seek a refuge against the coming daylight.

* * * *

Michelle's basest survival instincts brought her awake to the smell of blood.  Her body's primal need for precious life giving blood to regenerate and heal overwhelmed any conscious thought process.  She sensed the blood and flesh holding her cradled in his arms, and tore into him with ravenous hunger.  The flesh fought against her, it was too strong, too powerful, denying her the blood that was so badly needed.  She instinctively knew he could be subdued and forced to submit via the psychic bond between them.  In her overwhelming need, without cognizance of her actions, Michelle commanded him, “Be Still!”

She drank deeply from his torn jugular vein.

* * * *

Michelle awoke in an abandoned building with her arms and legs wrapped around Aaron intimately, he lie beneath her on his back.  Her face was buried in his neck.  They were both covered in icky-sticky caked blood.  She could not recall any details beyond the gunshots fired in the hotel room.  Her thirst was intense but she fought the urge to bite him.  She was unsure of his condition.  Upon further inspection she saw that his clothing was ragged and hung in tattered shreds.  He looked as though he'd been to hell and back again, like he'd fought off a pack of wild animals.  Much the worse for it.

She was very sore, her chest, ribs, shoulder, collar bone, neck, back, basically her whole upper body ached and throbbed in pain.  Her clothes looked like Aaron’s––shredded.  She must’ve fought someone with a blade.  Her gunshot wounds were mostly healed.  The scabs flaked loose to reveal the pinkish marks of freshly healed skin beneath the caked blood.  And there were marks revealing recent wounds of some other kind.  She couldn't recall having fought with anyone besides the detectives, no one with a blade that would do this kind of damage.  A thought came to her then, but she dismissed it immediately.  He would never attack her.

With the intensity of her hunger, her senses magnified to encompass the surrounding area and streets outside.  She could smell the ripe bodily stench of unwashed vagrants.  She arose and fed ungracefully from the two squatters living in the upper levels of the abandoned building.  They were both dazed and stupefied from the raw force of her animalistic feeding.  She left them where they lie, still alive, and returned to Aaron.

The sun had dropped below the horizon an hour ago, and Aaron did not rise.  She felt vulnerable out in the city.  She was unsure of the final outcome with the police last night.  She scooped Aaron to her and carried him home.  It took an hour to reach her apartment as she moved steadily and cautiously through the alleyways, taking great care to avoid being seen in their blood drenched alarming appearance.

She toweled Aaron off then bathed herself and waited for him to arise.  By ten p.m., three hours after sunset, Michelle was panic-stricken over Aaron.  She decided to feed him her blood.  She could think of nothing else to help him.  She cut her wrist and placed it to his mouth.  He didn't move, didn't react like he should have.  She rubbed it around on his lips and nose, smearing it all over, tempting him to feed.

At the point where she thought for sure something was seriously wrong, he reacted, clamping his hands around her arm to sink his fangs in deep.  It was a violent chomp.  His jaw locked down with painful force, digging his canines in all the way to the bone.  The wonderful side effects of his venom helped to offset the pain of his violent response.  As usual, his venom packed a wallop, heating her erogenous zones and bringing her to a toe curling orgasm.  She warmed to it, panting hard and fast as he brought her to a peak and kept on going.  When she had climaxed twice and began to feel lightheaded from blood loss, she commanded him to STOP.  It took her a moment to catch her breath.  Her head was spinning from the intense experience.

Michelle lay atop his naked body on the bed looking into his eyes, searching for a sign that he was in there somewhere.  He appeared cognizant.  He seemed aware of her as he held her gaze.

“Aaron can you understand me ... Talk to me please.” She desperately needed to hear his voice.

* * * *

Aaron's throat was raw and sore and bone dry with thirst.  He could barely speak in a hoarse croaked reply.  “Unghh … my throat really hurts.  You bit me pretty good last night.  You were in really bad shape.  How are you?”

“Mon dieu, I was so worried.  You were so still.  I was afraid . . .”

She smiled a huge fang-filled grin and hugged him close, kissing him full on the lips.  “I am fine.  Really.  My dress is completely ruined, and my shoulder still hurts, but the wounds are mostly healed.” She smiled at him with embarrassment, rubbing her shoulder, moving her arm in a circular motion.

“Aaron … what happened to the policemen?”  She pulled her blond curls behind her ear and shifted her legs as she straddled him sitting up halfway.

“I'm not really sure, it's kinda fuzzy, like a dream. It might be easier to show you.”  He opened his mind wide to their psychic bond and recalled all the events of the night before.  Michelle relived with him the harrowing race through the streets to make his way to the hotel.  He was so damn powerful and moved so fast it was disorienting.  She went along for the ride through his attack on the detectives, reveling in their slaughter and the wondrous sensation of draining every last drop of Konowicz's blood.

She flew through the night with Aaron as he raced across the rooftops, her own body in his arms, seeking a refuge.  In the basement of the abandoned building she tasted her own blood as Aaron licked her wounds to help cleanse and stop the bleeding.  And then she lived through the most vicious fight she'd ever been in, a fight for his life against a crazed half-dead vampire driven insane with the need for blood.  Aaron was winning the battle.  Clawing, scraping, gouging, at the lunatic beast in his arms trying to get at his throat.  Then she used her power of compulsion to hold him still while she tore out his jugular vein and gorged herself on his blood.  She was there with him as he passed into unconsciousness from blood loss and the trauma of her unrestrained assault.  She could feel how he felt, how he sensed his own death was near, but was unable to save himself for the power that she held over him.

Michelle cried out, collapsing onto Aaron's chest sobbing as tears of blood streamed down her face.  “Ah, la vache! Oh Aaron, please forgive me, I was not aware, I didn't know what I was doing!”

She buried her face in his chest unable to look him in the eyes and sobbed from the unwanted memories of all the horror and trauma she put him through.  He held her, stroked her hair and shushed her, offering comfort for her misery.

“I would never hurt you like that on purpose.”  Her eyes pled for understanding.

But she could no longer deny the truth.  She had tried to kill him, and it wasn't the first time.  She had done it before when she attacked him in the middle of their lovemaking.  It was the luck of the draw and the genetics of his powerful vampire physique that allowed him to survive.  But he wasn't angry with her.  Despite all that she had done, he forgave her.  She never had to ask forgiveness.  It had already been given.  He loved her too much to stay angry.

It poured out without thought.  She blurted it out, unable to hold back the powerful well of emotion, “I love you Aaron.  I need you.  I need you to love me.  Say it … tell me how much you love me.”  She clung to him in desperation.

“I love you Michelle, and I would give you my life if you asked for it.”  It was true.  She need not fight for his blood.  He'd have given it to her willingly.  All she had to do was ask.

She kissed him with a need so powerful and all-consuming it was unbearable.  He kissed her back, holding her tightly as he rolled her over, pinning her beneath him with an unbreakable grip.  He stopped his frantic kissing only long enough to sink his fangs into her neck with love and passion as he entered her slowly, gradually filing her womb with his engorged cock.  Being in love was the biggest turn-on he'd ever known.  Buried deep inside her, he released his bite and looked her in the eyes, “Say it again!”

She was trapped beneath him, her robe wide open exposing her breasts, her arms pinned above her head.  She was impaled to the core, gasping in surprise.  He had her trapped.  She couldn't move unless he allowed it.  With tears of blood in her eyes she cried. “Aaron, I beg you, please forgive me! I'm sorry I hurt you!”

“No you silly woman, tell me again that you love me! I want to hear you say it over and over!”

He thrust into her moist heat faster and faster frantically making love to her as she cried out repeatedly, “I love you! I love you!”

He pounded her relentlessly, going at it with a vigor that shouldn't exist in a man who had almost died less than 16 hours ago.

“Je t'aime Aaron!  Mon amour pour toi est éternel!”

She drove him mad with her guttural cries of eternal love.  They tumbled and rolled over and over, off the bed, across the floor, up against the wall, atop the dresser, smashing the vanity mirror.  Like animals they grunted and growled their way to an explosive peak.  “Ahhh plus! plus! plus!”  She cried out for more.

They orgasmed together, biting over and over, and eventually collapsing on the floor in a heap of twisted limbs.

She stroked him all over his arms and shoulders purring into his ear.  “I will always love you Aaron.  I want you so much.  Je te veux tellement.”

Her proclamation of eternal love filled him with indescribable joy.  Her mind was wide open to their bond, her love pouring over him like a wondrous fountain of light.  He had attained nirvana.  His universe aligned perfectly with the knowledge that their love was mutual.

A great weight that he hadn't realized existed was lifted from his shoulders.  He felt invincible.  The whole world was his for the taking, as long as she remained at his side.

* * * *

Michelle meditated upon her new life with its confusion of contradictory feelings.  She hadn't experienced such turmoil of emotion since many years ago in France, a lifetime ago.  She felt terrified at the uninhibited violence Aaron displayed at the hotel.  She felt more than a little intimidated by the phenomenal physical superiority he demonstrated in those adrenaline soaked adventures flying through the city at incredible velocity.  It had been like entering the mind and body of a wild animal on rampage, but with the added boost of preternatural strength.

Michelle had never imagined how powerful the unchained beast lurking inside Aaron truly was.  He could have taken on an army of soldiers.  He could definitely take her.

In spite of her shocked emotions she felt a wellspring of love and ecstatic joy.  He was alive after all he had been through.  His humanity and purity of spirit was untainted by those horrid experiences.  Michelle felt an indescribable happiness at having the miracle of Aaron in her life.  She feared she didn't deserve such a blessing.  His only care upon waking from the massacre of the night before was for her wellbeing.  He didn't even fault her for trying to kill him––and damn near succeeding.

For the first time in many many years Michelle felt secure and safe.  She was no longer alone in this cold harsh world; she had a mate, a companion, a protector, a vicious warrior to fight her battles.  She truly loved him for all that he was, and more importantly, all that he wasn't.  The aching loneliness of her solitary nightlife had been replaced with a radiant and wonderful existence.  He supplied her life a vital missing ingredient, that “Je ne sais quoi”, an indescribable something special, a “Raison d' être”, a reason for being.

* * * *

CHAPTER 22

As the nights flowed past without incident following the massacre at the Ramada Inn, Aaron learned of a new presence co-existing within his psyche, an aggressive violent personality he dubbed the predator.  The predator was always there just below the surface, watching and waiting.  Aaron knew this was the entity that had possessed his faculties, his mind and body, during the attack on the detectives.  He recognized that this creature lurking within was simply a much baser primitive part of his own mind.

The predator was always watching the people Aaron encountered, watching their thoughts, their intentions, and their movements, like a semi-conscious surveillance system keeping tabs on every detail of his waking life.  The predator made constant assessments out the corner of Aaron's eyes, checking the exits, watching his back, keeping vigil for any potential threats to his person.

The predator seemed to have its own set of emotions apart from Aaron's.  It had a baser, more primitive reaction to people, places, things, involving urges to fight, defend, attack, feed, or to simply enjoy the pleasure of moving at fantastic speeds through the night air, a beast rejoicing in its agility and prowess.

At times the predator drifted a little closer to the surface of his mind, pushing its aggressive agenda over the top of Aaron's thought processes.  This was rare, but almost predictable.  It was always precipitated by some situation where the predator perceived a threat.  At first Aaron didn't even realize these baser urges of aggression were not truly his own.

In these moments where his control over the beast slipped, it sometimes acted of its own will, enslaving Aaron's body to its desires.  In one instance it almost killed someone.  It happened while running an errand for Michelle.  She sent Aaron to the corner store a couple blocks down the street.  As he walked along minding his own business, a hapless bum came out of the alleyway.  He probably intended to ask for spare change or whatever.  The predator recognized a potential threat.  Before Aaron knew what happened, the predator leaped forward, seizing his motor skills.  He lashed out at the vagrant with a back hand, knocking the poor guy sprawling across the concrete sidewalk.

He was in complete shock and awe at what he'd done.  The vagrant cursed and spit at him in a toothless garble, “Ga dern sumbitch, leavemee lone! I ain't touch you, don't go messin wit me ya crazy bastard!”

He stood there gawking at the filthy old geezer like an idiot.  The man picked himself up and limped off, cursing the whole way.  Since that incident he realized he'd have to maintain a vigil of his own to keep a close eye on the predator's reactions and urges, keep it from bleeding over into his life.

The predator knew otherwise.  It knew there would always be those incidents.  Call them moments of need, when its influence and quick aggressive action would be necessary, warranted, and appreciated––like a caged lion that knows it will escape eventually, and waits patiently for the instant the gatekeeper leaves the door unlatched.

* * * *

Michelle noticed the change in Aaron immediately.  He was now a man in every sense of the word.  There was a rock solid powerful presence beneath every movement and expression.  His carriage, stance, demeanor, walk, everything about him spoke of power, the kind of inner strength that comes with being self-assured of the ability to manage any situation.

Without words to acknowledge the event, their relationship had completely morphed overnight.  He became her equal.  There was no more of the motherly mentorship role.  Aaron's judgment, instincts, capabilities, and maturity were unquestionable.  She had nothing left to teach that he hadn't learned that night.

She was loathe to use her authority of compulsion for any reason other than a dire life-threatening emergency.  It seemed an offensive act to degrade this powerful graceful creature with a compulsive command.

Like a person who owns a wild animal, a big cat, to taunt the beast with cruel treatment is to risk loss of life and limb.  She didn’t wish to arouse Aaron's wrath with petty or unmerited commands of compulsion.  He was a force to be reckoned with, not manipulated.  To this extent she actually feared him.  Without the reassurance of his love, without his constant affection, she’d be looking over her shoulder for a stab in the back.

She understood, probably better than Aaron did, exactly how vicious and dangerous a male vampire could be.  She had no desire to evoke this dark side lurking within.  He was normally the perfect vision of comportment and civility, and she liked to keep it that way.

Their relationship functioned on a new paradigm of mutual love and respect.  But she was no longer his master, not if she valued her life.  Her days of ordering Aaron around were finished.

* * * *

MEDICAL EXAMINER RULES N.Y.P.D. DETECTIVES DEATHS A DOUBLE HOMICIDE

The death of fifty-two year old detective Conner Oberman with the 124th precinct N.Y.P.D., has been ruled a homicide, the medical examiner's office said Monday.  Detective Oberman was found face down in the south side parking lot of the Ramada Inn on Lincoln Blvd. at 11:55 p.m. Friday evening by police officials responding to reports of multiple gunshots fired.  Investigators determined that Oberman fell to his death from the third floor balcony of room 322.

In a related homicide, Oberman's partner, forty-nine year old Detective Sean Konowicz with the 124th precinct N.Y.P.D., was pronounced dead at the scene in room 322 of the same hotel. Detective Konowicz's autopsy states, “… massive trauma to the trachea …” with a “… significant contributing factor of external hemorrhage as the cause of death”, according to the news release from the medical examiner's office.  When asked if the detectives were on official police business when the murders took place, Police Chief Schueller declined to comment stating, “The investigation is ongoing and the N.Y.P.D. homicide detectives are following all potential leads.”  There have been no suspects identified as of yet and no new developments in the investigation beyond the medical examiner's reports.

CHAPTER 23

“Hey Aaron what have you been doing with yourself lately?  It seems like forever since we hung out.”  Kyle hadn't spoken to him in over a week, not since he called to warn him about the detectives.

“Oh hey.  Kyle, it's good to hear from you.  I'm doing great, fantastic actually.  I've been keeping really busy.  Michelle's got me running here, there, and everywhere.”  Aaron snorted at the inside joke.

“I'll bet.  You gotta do whatever it takes to keep a girl like Michelle happy!” Kyle was obviously still smitten with Michelle, but then who wasn't?  Everyone she came into contact with fell under her spell immediately.  She collected admirers like other women collect shoes.

“You betcha.  I make sure to do everything I can to keep my baby happy. You wouldn't want to see what she's like when she's angry.  That's something to avoid at all costs.” Aaron paused and then redirected, “How about you? What's new? Find a new roommate yet?”

“No man, I guess I'm just a sentimental fool.  I can't bring myself to put anyone else in your room.  It wouldn't be the same.”  Kyle spoke as though reciting a Shakespearean tragedy.

“Stop it Kyle, you're gonna make me cry!” Aaron pleaded with him, mimicking his tragic tone.  He suspected the truth was that Kyle simply couldn't find another chump to foot the bill for half the rent and utilities.

“Hey man, don't get all weepy on me, you know I can't handle it.  Really, I called to invite you and Michelle to a little party I'm having this Friday.  Since you can't seem to find the time to come see your best friend I decided to throw a party.  Seemed like a good excuse to get you to show up.”

“Ohhh reeaaallly, and should I assume this invitation comes with the requirement that I bring a twenty-four pack?”

Kyle snickered, “You know me far too well.  It's like you can read my mind or somethin.  It's kinda startin to creep me out dude!”

“I tell you what Kyle, I'll make you a deal.  I'll show up with a twenty-four pack and my fabulously gorgeous girlfriend, ready to party, on one condition … You gotta make sure Delia's there.”

“You got it man.  She woulda been here anyway.  You know that.”  Kyle paused as if he was reluctant to say what was on his mind.  “I gotta say, Michelle has Delia beat hands down in all categories.  It's like no contest.  Honestly, I don't know what would interest you in Delia anymore.”

“Definitely, Michelle is awesome, no doubt about it.  But hey … don't say anything to Delia about this, okay?  I want to surprise her.  Got it?”

“Sure, no problem, catch you Friday, around ten.  You take care.  Tell Michelle I sad Hi.” Kyle hung up the phone.

Aaron turned to Michelle with a wicked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “Hey baby, we're goin to a party Friday night!  Delia's gonna be there.  Make sure you let her know how much we appreciate everything she's done for us!”

“Oui mon chéri, I will make sure she knows exactly how I feel!”

* * * *

Talco felt like he truly had a guardian angel.  Someone up above had taken pity on him.  He’d been delivered from the hands of the demon who came to drag Oberman and Konowicz to hell.  Sure he had some broken ribs, and a surgery on his punctured lung, but he was alive and well, relatively speaking.  Sitting in his hospital bed, he read the newspaper daily, looking for any mention of the detectives.  He saw the articles, which said very little, but it was more than enough.

He knew the score with the detectives.  He knew how very close he came to sharing their fate.  He knew it was divine intervention that woke him from unconsciousness in the hotel hallway and steered him down the stairwell to life and freedom.  His escape from the Ramada Inn was nothing short of a religious experience.

The police didn't have a clue he had been there.  There were no witnesses who survived.  What could a witness testify to anyway?  Would a judge and jury listen to tales of demonic entities sent to collect the damned, dragging their souls down into the abyss?  There was no way to explain to the faithless what occurred that night.

He swore to bury the memory.  None would ever hear his tale.  He'd keep this event close to his chest and upon it build a foundation for a new life free of corruption.  He would be a good father, a good husband, a good member of the church and community.

His deal with the devil had been broken, his life spared.  He would not waste this opportunity to remake himself in the eyes of God and all those he loved.

* * * *

“Hey Aaron, my man, my savior, what would I do without you––and your beer?” Kyle gave him a hi-five.  “Ah Michelle, mon amour, you're looking lovely as ever.”  Kyle made eyes at Michelle, taking her hand as though he would kiss it.  She swatted him away and smiled demurely, in character with her girl-next-door persona, assumed and discarded at the flick of a switch.

Michelle did indeed look lovely in her skin tight black jeans and skimpy red top with lots of open back and cleavage.

Delia could not stop staring at them, both of them.  They acted like she didn't exist.

As the party raged on, Aaron and Michelle worked the room, enjoying the carefree light hearted atmosphere of the young immature party goers.  Delia was completely ignored, but she maintained her relentless stare at Aaron.  She was consumed with jealousy and obsessed with Aaron, desperately waiting for an opening to talk with him.

When Delia realized Aaron wouldn't give her a moment's notice she sent Amber as ambassador to arrange a meeting in the bedroom.  He read Amber’s attraction to him and her embarrassment at being there on Delia's behalf.  Aaron patiently listened to Amber plead Delia's case.  He surprised her with a wide open grin, “Yeah, let's do it.”

Aaron flashed a winning smile in Delia's direction.  It was the first time she had his attention all night.  His effect on her with one look was devastating.  He drew her into the room putting his arm around her in a casual embrace as he closed the door behind them.  Delia's pulse pounded, he made her wet between the legs with nothing more than a smile.  She felt like something exciting was about to happen.  She couldn't understand what had come over her.  He never drove her hormones crazy before.  No man had ever affected her this way.

He pulled away from Delia stepping further into the bedroom.  The separation was almost painful.  She yearned to touch him, to reach her hands up under his shirt.  She broke into a sweat with fantasies of all the delightfully naughty things she wanted him to do.

He stood there looking at her.  Gradually his face turned to a scowl, eyes cold as ice.  Delia began to fear he had discovered she called the police to report Michelle.  She feared his disapproval and rejection.  Her mind raced through lies, misdirection and excuses she could use to skirt the issue, preparing for a reproach.

He read her mind as Delia unwittingly confessed to the betrayal that led to the massacre at the Ramada Inn and his and Michelle's near-death-experiences.  Delia had just condemned herself.  The judge, jury, and executioner stood right behind her, silently reading all that Aaron had discovered through their intimate psychic bond.  He transmitted Delia's thoughts directly to Michelle.

Sensing something was seriously wrong, Delia began speaking nervously, “I have done a lot of thinking lately, and I realize I was wrong about splitting up.  You know we belong together.”  She smiled warmly with an air of correctness and expectation, not a hint of innocence or apology.

Aaron walked toward Delia as though he would embrace her again, but kept on walking right past her.  As she turned to grab ahold of him, he walked into Michelle's embrace, kissing her lovingly.  Michelle had slipped into the room silently after them, and stood directly behind Delia the entire time.

“Delia and I have something to discuss, would you give us a moment please?”

He nodded and quickly exited the room closing the door behind him.  Delia tried to follow Aaron out, moving past Michelle towards the door.  Michelle snatched her up off her feet one handed, spinning her around and pinning her back to the door, face to face.  She had Delia by the throat nailed securely against the door with her feet dangling in the air.  Delia squirmed frantically, trying somehow to free herself from the iron claws that dug into her throat like a bear trap.

Michelle's mouth opened inhumanly wide, a python preparing to swallow its prey whole.  She hissed in Delia's face bearing her fangs.  Delia froze, immobilized by terror at the face of a predatory beast inches away from her.  Michelle leaned forward and bit, her razor sharp fangs piercing through shirt and bra, sinking into the soft fatty tissue of Delia’s right breast.  Delia's terror peaked and her bowels released.  Urine ran down her legs to pool on the floor beneath her.  She felt the rising of her gorge, but couldn't vomit as her esophagus was constricted by Michelle's wicked hold on her throat.  She swallowed it back down in order to breath.

Michelle released Delia's breast, licking the blood off her lips, holding Delia's terrified gaze with murderous intensity.  Delia was deathly pale and shaking with a mewling sound.  It was the only noise that could escape her constricted wind pipe.

Michelle decided it was time to stop playing around and get serious.  She reached her free hand up Delia's skirt tearing off her cotton underwear.  Delia squealed at the brush of Michelle's sharp claws across her intimate folds.

Michelle licked her finger tips suggestively, as Delia shook her head back and forth whining, “No, no, nooooooo”, Michelle stuck her hand all the way up into the tender flesh of Delia's entry, forcing her to accommodate her whole fist.  Delia grunted hard as her entire body was pushed upward with the strength of Michelle's thrust.  When her entire hand squeezed all the way in reaching the limit, Michelle tweaked her claws into the flesh around Delia's cervix drawing blood.

Delia reached a new plateau of terror and humiliation, her mind fractured as she realized the horrid mutilation of her body that was about to occur.  She cried, bawling like a child from the terrible pain of Michelle's violation.

Michelle looked at her sideways, debating whether she should just do it, or give the girl a chance.  She opted for the latter, “I will cut out your uterus and ovaries.  Then I will feed them to you.  If you still live, I will drain your body of every last ounce of blood.  Do you doubt me?”

With tears streaming down her face Delia whimpered, “No”.  Michelle eased back the tension on Delia's throat to better hear her speak.  After several gasping breaths, she begged for her life sobbing, “I don't wanna die.  Please don't kill me.  I'll leave New York.  I'll never come back.  You'll never see me again I promise.  Please have mercy, I don't wanna die like this.  I'll do anything you want, anything!”

Michelle pulled her hand partway out of Delia's bruised flesh and stroked her sensitive clit intimately with her thumb.  Delia bucked and squealed as Michelle tweaked and caressed her buttons in a playful mix of masturbation and pain.

Delia continued begging for her life and freedom. “Please … Oh God … Please … anything you want … just please, let me go …”

Michelle spoke low and cold, barely above a whisper, “You will leave the state with your life and your body intact and never return.  You will remember every day of your miserable life that you live by my mercy, you can still bear children because of my mercy.”  Michelle paused, Delia nodded frantically in agreement.

Michelle continued, “Know that if I ever see you, hear of you, or find that you intruded on my life with Aaron in any way, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.  When I find you, I will make good on my threats, severing the flesh from your womb!  This fate I would also visit on your children and all those you love!  Have I made this perfectly clear?  Would you like a further demonstration?”

Delia shook her head vigorously, “No please, no more, I'll leave tonight. Now!  You'll never see me again, I swear it!  Please, please let me go!”  She sobbed and groveled with the spark of hope that she could survive this night without being mutilated and scarred for life.  Michelle released her and she collapsed to the floor lying in her own urine.  Delia bawled like a child, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

* * * *

As Aaron and Michelle said their goodbyes Kyle caught Aaron and pulled him aside, “Hey, do you have to take off so soon?  Delia's gone already, she was real upset.  I don't think she'll be back tonight.”

Aaron smiled warmly.  “I don't think Delia will return, but I've gotta get going.  Michelle and I have some other plans.”

Kyle nodded in reluctant acceptance, “Hey, did you hear what happened to those two cops that were here looking for you?” Aaron shook his head no.

“Yeah, it's fuckin crazy.  They were found dead at a hotel.  One guy shoved off the balcony and the other one was torn apart like hamburger.  It's been all over the news.  You haven't heard about it?”

Aaron grinned, “Yeah, there are some real animals out there.  It's pretty dangerous to be a cop these days.”  Aaron pegged Kyle with a direct stare.  Kyle stared back apprehensively.

Aaron read his mind as Kyle briefly entertained the idea that the unfortunate fate of the detectives had something to do with Aaron and Michelle.  Kyle couldn't envision either of them as vicious murderers.  They were fun, attractive and charming.  There was no way they could have been involved in such a massacre.  No way possible.  Kyle dismissed the thought and clapped Aaron on the back snickering in a tone of mutual conspiracy.

“Well I guess the good news is you don't have to worry about those assholes bothering you anymore.”

Aaron and Michelle gave him identical gleaming white predatory smiles as they departed slipping out the door into the New York nightlife.

* * * *

Two days later:

“I think we have worn out our welcome here in New York.  I don’t like the problème with the police, is a very high profile investigation.  Now is a good time to travel.  Since you have nothing to hold you here, I think we should go.”  Michelle paused, then continued, “Have you ever been to Europe:  Paris, London, Rome?”

He shrugged, and then thought of something, “No, I haven't really been anywhere.  You know what Kyle and I had planned to do?  We were gonna do a vacation in Vegas, never made it there … I'd still like to go.”

Michelle kissed him, “Ooohhh … I love Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps, is perfect for vampires don’t you think?”

* * * *

The End

* * * *

Coming Soon, November 2012:

The Nightlife:  Las Vegas   by Travis Luedke

December 2012:

The Nightlife:  Paris   by Travis Luedke

The Nightlife BLOODSLAVE   by Travis Luedke

May 2013:

The Nightlife:  London   by Travis Luedke

Connect with Travis Luedke:  http://www.twluedke.com/

Travis Luedke is a husband, father, and author of Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary Fantasy, Young Adult Fiction, and Sci-fi.  He is currently catching a third degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, and loving every minute of it.  His recent works include “The Shepherd” and “The Nightlife: New York”, the first in a very long series of Nightlife novels.

Continue reading for an excerpt of his new Young Adult novel “The Shepherd”.

The Shepherd

A Young Adult Novel by TW Luedke

Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords.com, and Sony Kobo September 2012

Skate punks, a kleptomaniac vampire, clairvoyant visions and reincarnation.

A teen is stalked by a young vampire girl who believes he is her dead fiancé reincarnated.  They become tangled in an obsessive relationship with violent consequences.

16 year old skater Mike Evans has issues.  His alcoholic father's unemployed and he's stuck living in a white-trash trailer park after the foreclosure of their family home.  The last two years have sucked royally, one disappointment after another, and to top it all off, he's plagued by clairvoyant visions of strange-grisly events that have an annoying tendency to come true.  Mike loses his best friend, ex-girlfriend acts like he's a leper, and his only remaining friend Anita wants to get in his pants––he's clueless on that one.  Since his mother died at birth and his father doesn't give a damn, Mike's on his own.

Mike's fortunes begin to change after helping a 13 year old girl named Nadia who's the victim of a hit and run on the highway.  A bond is forged between them through an intense night of ministering to her injuries.  He suspects Nadia is homeless and an unusual relationship develops as she sneaks into his room nightly for a place to stay.

Mike starts living a double life, daylight hours at school with his new girlfriend, skating, working part-time, and then his nights spent with Nadia.  She's a secret friend, keeping him company all night, listening to his problems when no one else will.  Strangeness abounds as they develop a codependency crossing all the boundaries of friendship.  Nadia is not your average little girl and she's obsessed with Mike.  He suspects things, but ignores the obvious signs of danger.

The situation comes to a head as Mike struggles to avert a new vision of gruesome death.  He can no longer ignore the evidence leading to the undeniable conclusion that his secret friend is much more than what she appears to be.

Prologue

Thursday September 9th 2010, 9:15 p.m.

Justin Shelby felt pretty damn good, he was heavily faded on 40 milligrams of Oxycontin stolen from his mother's prescription in the medicine cabinet.  His good judgment, questionable even in sobriety, was that much further impaired with intoxication.  Being goaded on by his friend Thomas Schroeder (Tommy), one of the wrestling elite of Moses Lake High School, Justin was inspired to new heights of idiocy, climbing atop the outdoor playcenter at McDonalds.

Justin typically spent his free time skating through downtown Moses Lake and the skatepark across from the Aquatic Center, harassing the bathing suit clad girls, enticing them into conversation and who knows what else.  Like most skaters, Justin was thin, toned, and moderately athletic with a strong sense of balance and equilibrium forged by endless hours of skateboarding.  Climbing up the side of the playcenter wasn't really any more dangerous than the myriad skate stunts he and his friends attempted while recording videos for posting to YouTube.

Justin quickly reached the apex of the playcenter, standing exalted atop an airplane shaped plastic toy.  A seven year old kid gawked up at him from the inside.  Tommy encouraged Justin's antics with loud catcalls, laughing at every step of the way.  Justin proclaimed his status as king of the hill, arms held up high above him, in flagrant violation of the rules posted by sign at the entry gate (rule #3:  no climbing outside the play center, rule #4:  no children over the age of 14 allowed).

“Yeah bitches, hell yeah!”  Justin yelled and hooted at the top of his lungs.

His antics were observed by another, one Michael Evans (Mike), who once was so close with Justin that they referred to one another as BFFs––Best Friends Forever.  Their close friendship had suffered as of late since Justin began hangin with Tommy, who hated Mike, and in turn, was hated by Mike as well.  Parked in the McDonalds drive-thru awaiting his dollar cheeseburger, Mike leaned out the window of his 1987 Geo Tracker for a better view of Justin bellowing like an inebriated idiot.  Mike shook his head in awe of the supreme stupidity on display, laughing at Justin––not with him––wondering what could have brought on this latest spell of insanity.  Then Mike noticed Tommy Schroeder's up turned face and wicked grin, and the why and how of it became obvious.

Justin was putting on a show for his new buddy.  Tommy was one of the coolest, most popular, and wealthiest kids in the 10th grade.  He also happened to be one of the worst arrogant pricks in the entire school.  Justin's induction into the cool crowd via friendship with Tommy was quite recent, he was still in the something-to-prove phase, being extra obnoxious at times … like right now.

Unable to resist, Mike called out to Justin, “Hey ass munch, get down before you break your neck!”

Justin's head whipped around to the sound of Mike's voice, causing his body to sway with the movement.  He spotted Mike and a nasty smirk bloomed across his face.  In a moment of sublime inspiration Justin dropped his pants to moon Mike with a show of lily white butt cheeks.  In raucous laughter, Tommy called out to Mike, “How about a double McAss burger Mikey?”

The girl delivering Mike's cheeseburger had her hand over her mouth to cover her braces as she giggled and snarfed at the sight of Justin's naked rump shaking back and forth while he taunted Mike, “It’s a full moon out tonight Mikey, hope you enjoy the view!”

Mike got in the last dig yelling, “That'll make a killer Facebook video!”, as he held up his cell phone/digital camcorder to record Justin.

Justin looked back over his shoulder in surprise, attempting to pull up his pants at the same time.  The knee-jerk reaction caused him to lose his delicate balance atop the cupola apex of the plastic airplane, and he fell onto his right-side hip, sliding down off the playcenter.  Justin let go his pants, hands splayed out wide across the airplane seeking something to grab to slow his fall.  There was nothing to catch but smooth plastic.

Justin slid inexorably down the side of the playcenter, pants and underwear still down around his thighs.  He tried rolling over onto his belly to get positioned for a feet-first landing.  The maneuver would've worked if not for the fence positioned so close to the playcenter.  The bright yellow powder-coated aluminum fence that aided his climb to the top now blocked his landing on the way down.

Justin's momentum came to an abrupt halt as he hit the top of the fence ass first.  He emitted a blood curdling shrill scream of agony as the two inch long three quarter inch diameter aluminum tubing extended above the top crossbeam of the fence impaled him where the sun don't shine.  He was pegged right in the holiest of holies, two inches of aluminum post going in through the out door.

Mike saved the twenty five second video clip of Justin's playcenter adventure on his Motorola cell phone and promptly emailed it to a group of friends in his contacts list, mostly skaters who knew both him and Justin.  Within fifteen minutes the video clip networked its way to over 100 students at Moses Lake High School and had been posted to dozens of people's Facebook profiles.

* * * *

Table of Contents

Copyright

KINDLE EDITION

The Nightlife Series:

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

The Shepherd:Excerpt