There’s a long pause, and then Cockula answers in a deep, almost grumpy rumble.
You must exercise your free will before I can claim you. You must choose to give yourself to me before the sun is gone.
Another long pause, and the next sentence makes me tremble in a way that almost brings me to a sickeningly dark orgasm right there in front of a bleeding mailbox.
But once you make your choice and give yourself to me, you belong to me. Yes, once you invite me into your mind, your body, your heart, your soul, then you are mine. Mine to keep. Mine to control. Mine and mine alone. All mine.
The last word echoes like it’s coming through the trees, from across the hills, up from the ground, down from the skies.
I glance down at the mailbox again, shaking my head as I swallow hard and feel the thirst in my throat, the hunger in my heart, the sense that I really am being pulled towards some kind of destiny, being called by fate, being offered a choice that’s mine to make but can never be taken back.
“The conflict between free will and destiny,” I mutter as I slowly pull open the mailbox gate like it’s a doorway to hell, like ghouls and goblins are gonna fly out with high-pitched squeals, dark wings flapping all over as they tee-hee and woo-hoo their way into my soul. “You get to make the choice to step through that door. But once you step past the threshold, there’s no going back to the old world. That’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it? Once Alice steps through the Looking Glass, there’s no stepping back into the straight world. Once you swallow the red pill and become woke to the dark reality of your cage, there’s no stepping back to the warm comfort of ignorance.”
So what am I supposed to do, I wonder as the mailbox gate slowly opens up like an ancient drawbridge coming down. What’s even in here?!
I met Saint Valentine once, you know, whispers Drachus in the background as the sun creeps into the shadowy insides of my red giftbox. Of course, that was before he was a saint.
I blink and then stare at what’s inside the mailbox as Drachus’s voice echoes inside my head. I barely even register what he’s saying, and then I look up and frown.
“Wait, what? You met Saint Valentine before he was a saint? What the hell are you talking about?”
It is no coincidence that our wedding day is set for the night of Saint Valentine’s Feast, Lady Daisy. From your memories I can see that this ancient feast has morphed into some sort of caricature where hopeful lovers give each other sugar-laden foodstuffs and red flowers. But it appears at least one of the original symbols of the tradition has been preserved. The heart. That is the essence of this old, deeply misunderstood feast. The heart, Lady Daisy. The essence of human life. The source of human blood. The source of that which gives the Vampyres their life-force. It is the oldest of gifts, one that has united lovers for eons. One that is a symbol of the union between Vampyre and human. Now accept your gift. Accept the thirst that you feel in your soul. And make the choice that will make you mine.
“OK, this isn’t happening,” I whisper as the mailbox is finally open all the way and I find myself staring at what I know is a human heart.
And it’s still beating.
Still pumping fresh blood.
Still alive.
I move my lips without making a sound, and that thirst rises up in me like I’m possessed. But I’m also repulsed by what I’m feeling, sickened by the sight of the impossible in vivid living color. Instantly I feel the truth of what Drachus said to me, about how I feel the thirst but cannot satisfy it. I can see my future in that disembodied heart that’s still beating like a little drum, bleating like a little lamb, calling out to me like a red demon of the night.
Dumbly I fumble for my phone as my brain somehow kicks in and whispers that enough is enough and you need to call 911 and end this madness. Tell them to send everyone. The cops, the FBI, the CIA. Every ambulance and emergency service in a fifty-mile radius. Blackhawk choppers, Humvee armored cars, and for sure a padded wagon to take me to a mattress-lined cell where I’ll be safe from my own mind, tied down in a straitjacket so I can’t do something drastic to myself or anyone else.
Somehow I manage to get my phone out from where I’ve got it stuffed into my freakin’ bra even though I know that’s not very good for your boobs. Then I’m tapping on the “Emergency Call” button on the lockscreen, muttering to myself as I feel the panic finally break through in all its glory, like my brain is finally taking charge and realizing that this situation is so far into the does-not-compute realm that it’s not even funny.
“Wrong choice, Lady Daisy,” comes his voice, and I stare at the phone, wondering if Count Cockula is now the 911 operator. That would make about as much sense as anything else, right?
But the call hasn’t gone through yet (because I’m so far out in the fucking boonies . . .), and slowly I look up when I realize his voice is coming from behind me.
Not inside my head.
Not inside my hallucination.
Not inside my madness.
But from right behind me.
And then I turn and watch in silent shock as Drachus explodes onto the scene, bursting out of those shadowy trees like a vision of pure darkness bathed in sunlight.
Sunlight that hits his skin like bullets, burns his back like fire, sends wisps of smoke up from his glistening thighs and naked buttocks as he races towards me.
And when he grabs my phone and crushes it like an egg, tossing the shards of broken glass and plastic over his shoulder, I swoon and sway.
I’m gonna faint, I think almost matter-of-factly, with total calmness, like I’m absolutely justified in fainting after making it through the madness that began with a horde of bats freaking out after seeing my boobies yesterday.
Through the corner of my eye I see that throbbing heart in my mailbox, that Valentine’s Day gift that my naked neighbor insists is a Wedding Day gift.
“Why is it still pumping?” I ask, like that’s the most pressing question and not the fact that a naked vampire whose skin is burning in the sun just crushed my iPhone and is now holding me in his arms.
Wait, what?
Holding me in his arms?
Suddenly I’m aware of his touch, and it’s like I’ve been struck by lightning, touched by magic, claimed by a creature with eyes of green fire, hair of black velvet, and a cock the size of my headache.
“Wrong choice, Lady Daisy,” he whispers to me even as I watch the smooth skin on his cheeks burn in the sun. “Now I will have to make the choice for you. For both of us.”
And as I finally let go of reality and go limp in his arms, I feel him lift me off my feet and race across the burning ground, leap over the old fence like a freakin’ deer, and crash into the thick undergrowth beyond.
4
DRACHUS
Wrong choice.
Wrong.
Choice.
I pull on my long beard as I gaze upon the gently slumbering Lady Daisy. She looks like a princess and a goddess all in one, and I stare with neither self-consciousness nor shame at her strong hourglass shape, the bold swell of her bosom, her wide hips that will birth our half-breed children for centuries, again and again, one after another, scattering my seed far and wide, planting our roots all over the Earth for evermore.
“I should have waited,” I mutter, reaching out a long finger but stopping just short of touching her. I do not trust myself to stop if I touch her smooth skin. And I cannot claim her until she makes her choice, accepts her fate, surrenders to her destiny.
Surrenders to me.
Daisy moans just as I clench my fist and pull my hand away before I touch her, before I take her, before I let three centuries of need explode in a fury of lust.
“Where am I?” she mutters, fluttering her eyelids. It takes her a moment, but then she gasps and her big brown eyes snap into supreme focus when she sees me. “Ohmygod, you’re rea
l. You’re fucking real!”
I smile and shake my head, my long hair hanging so low it tickles her thighs and makes her giggle. She reaches down and pulls her skirt past her knees, and I blink as I wonder if she thinks I violated her privacy, invaded her body while she slumbered, took what was mine before she made the choice to give herself to me.
But then my smile fades and a chill goes through me when I realize that something has changed.
I should not have wondered what she was thinking.
I should know what she’s thinking!
I should see what she’s thinking!
I recoil in shock, wondering if that brief exposure to the sun robbed me of my power, weakened me in a way I’ve never been weakened, made me vulnerable to something I’ve never experienced in millennia of walking the Earth as a powerful Vampyre Elder.
“That’s some wicked sunburn, Count Chocula,” she whispers up at me, and I gasp when I feel her touch my cheek without a moment’s hesitation. “You know they make these clothes that have SPF now, right? Do you even wear clothes? Why don’t you wear clothes? Ohmygod, I’m babbling. I’m totally delirious. But I can see you clearly. I’m thinking clearly. Wait. No, I’m not. Ohmygod, I think I’m gonna freak out.”
I raise my left eyebrow and sit back on my powerful haunches as I watch Lady Daisy talk up a storm. Her energy is infectious, and my cock is stiff as a post, thick like a tree-trunk, standing straight up in the air as my heavy balls tighten. Bloody hell, dusk cannot come soon enough.
I groan under my breath as I feel my need rise up like a serpent from the dark ocean, and I have to clench my fists again and swallow hard just to push back the urge to take her right now, to say to hell with ritual and tradition, to take what’s mine, claim what is promised, fulfill the prophecy and fill her with my seed, own her with my need.
“OK, I guess I’m not gonna freak out. Which is weird, because if any situation justifies freaking the fuck out, this is it. I mean, I just saw a disembodied human heart merrily pumping away in my mailbox. Then a naked vampire with a cock the size of an oak-tree comes bounding out of the woods, his flesh sizzling like steak in the sun.” Daisy swallows hard, and I can tell she needs to talk so she doesn’t pass out again. It’s her way. That is good, because I am not much of a talker. Also, three hundred years of being buried in a stone coffin takes away most conversation opportunities.
I grunt and glance at my shoulders and upper arms. “I will heal. I am a little dehydrated after my dormancy. Little matter. We will both hunt and feed after the wedding ritual is complete.”
“Oh, right,” Daisy says, her pitch rising as she nods with an earnestness that makes me smile. I can see that she is fighting herself to come to terms with the situation she is in right now. Only now do I consider that perhaps it is indeed a little much to take for a human. To a being with eons of knowledge about the flow of fate, the tides of destiny, the cycles of the universe, all of this is reasonably straightforward. But yes, to a human it might take a moment or two of reflection.
I whip my head around and glance up at one of the outlets to the maze of tunnels leading up to the forest floor. My vision is supremely sensitive to sunlight, and even though it is dark as sin in my subterranean hole, I can calculate the position of the sun even from the infinitesimally small wavelengths of blue light that bounce off the tunnel walls.
“We still have some time before sundown,” I say. “Enough time for you to make your choice and complete the prophecy. If you have questions, then now is the time to ask them, Lady Daisy.”
Those beautiful brown eyes of hers go even wider, and then she bursts into laughter, covering her face in the sweetest of ways, rolling about on the floor like a little animal at play. I want to take her in my arms once more, shower her with kisses, complete the ritual without delay, timing be damned. But I know the consequences of going against nature, violating the eternal laws that cannot be violated. I bow to no man, no beast, no creature of magic, no monster of hell. But I must bow to her until the sun goes down. I must wait until she chooses me with the free-will that is her birthright as a human.
“Questions?” she says, giggling and rubbing her cheeks until they glow red like fresh apples. Like fresh blood. “Questions?! Fuck yeah, I have questions, you overgrown bat!”
“Your constant use of filth is offensive to my cultured ears,” I say with a disapproving frown as I sit back on my muscular buttocks and cross my arms over my broad chest. “Our union will spawn a new race of Vampyre, Lady Daisy. We will be tasked with birthing and raising hundreds of children, perhaps thousands.” I look up to the left and exhale slowly before nodding firmly and looking back at her. “Yes. Thousands.”
She snorts and blinks and snorts again. “OK, so I don’t even know where to begin with you, Chocs. First of all, I actually don’t drop the f-bomb that often unless it’s warranted.” She looks around at the cavern walls, even though she cannot possibly see much more than what is illuminated by the green glow from my iridescent eyes. “And I think it’s totally fucking warranted right now. I mean, where am I, anyway? A . . . a cave?”
“It is my lair,” I say stoically, my frown cutting deeper as I feel a strange sense of self-consciousness, like perhaps I should have cleaned or dusted before bringing Lady Daisy down here. “I apologize for the shabby state. It has not been cleaned for three hundred years. A little more than three hundred years, actually. Let us see . . . the Great Slaughter began in—”
“It’s his lair,” she mutters, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Of course. How silly of me. Bats. Vampire. Underground lair. Great Slaughter. Thousands of babies popped out from my ready womb. It all makes sense now.”
“Good,” I say with a smile. “I am glad you have come to terms with the situation. For a moment there I was not certain you—”
“OK, you need to fucking pick up on sarcasm, Chocs,” she snaps. “When I said it all makes sense, what I meant was that it totally does not make sense! How the fuck can it make sense?!”
I raise my other eyebrow and breathe deep. “A hundred years ago I would have taken the head off a human who dared interrupt me, who dared mock me, who dared—”
“I thought you were asleep a hundred years ago, Chocs,” she says, interrupting me yet again as my rage builds until the room glows green from the fire in my eyes.
“Well, yes, I was,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on my rump and pulling on my long beard. “I mean approximately. In the past, I mean. When I was awake and at the peak of my powers.”
“So you’re not at your peak of power right now then?” she says, looking up at me with a sparkle in her eye. I can see that she is trying desperately not to glance down at my peaked manhood, and her luscious lips are quivering like she’s fighting to hold back a smile.
I feel my own smile bubbling up from my heart that feels giddy and light in a way I did not believe was possible for a creature born into darkness, bred into darkness, owned by darkness. And then my smile breaks along with hers, and suddenly we are both laughing like children, the sound of our mirth echoing off the dark walls like music.
“You will feel the peak of my power when the sun sets,” I growl as I lick my lips and then flash a deadly grin that makes her gasp. “I will penetrate you above and below, from front and behind, take your blood and your virginity, give you eternal life along with my seed.”
Her eyes go wide again and she blinks and looks away. “Um, before I dissect all those lunatic-level statements, I should probably break the news to you that I’m actually not a virgin. Sorry, Chocs. Wrong girl, I guess. Oops.” She lets out a little laugh, but it is not the same kind of laugh that we shared a moment ago. She reveals something in that nervous little laugh.
She reveals everything in that nervous little laugh.
I hold my gaze and do not bat an eyelid. “I care not for the details. When I claim you, your past will not matter. Your h
istory will be erased and replaced with the history of the Vampyre race.” Then I pause and narrow my eyes, and suddenly I get a flash of insight, like there was a crack in her veneer, like she let down her guard and let me see into her again—see just enough to know the truth.
She is a virgin.
She just does not know it.
I exhale slowly and try to dig deeper into her memories—or the memories she thinks are real. But she has put up that barrier again, clamped down the gates driven by her intelligence and reason, stuffed her subconscious back into the depths of her psyche as she fights to maintain her sanity in the situation.
I wince and swallow hard, holding back a growl as my frustration grows. This situation is a first for me too. Indeed, in my youth I frolicked with fairies and fae, plundered princesses and priestesses, violated Vampyre vixens from dusk till dawn.
But I never put my seed in a woman.
Never threw away my destiny for a moment of pleasure.
“But now I am tempted to do just that even though I am so close to the destiny that has taken a thousand years to arrive,” I mutter under my breath as I take in the sight of my curvy queen, my fated bride, my Valentine’s Day gift.
I blink as I remember that it is indeed the Feast of Saint Valentine, and now I think back to that brief conversation we had about the history of this day and how it has turned into a travesty, been reduced to a caricature, a mockery of what was once a special day in history—the history of both humans and Vampyres.
“Did you know that the Feast of Valentine is the one day celebrated by both humans and Vampyres?” I say, turning my attention back to her pretty face and away from the outline of her thick thighs beneath which I can smell her scent already, almost taste her sex. I know she is ready. Her body is ready, at least. Her mind and willpower is a different story, though. Damn these humans. They are so disconnected from the forces of nature, the currents of fate, the truth of the universe that breaking through a woman’s will is a matter of more than brute force. It takes a power of a different kind. An effort that I am not used to putting forth to get what I want.
Vampire's Curvy Valentine Page 3