by Wynn Wagner
I think that’s how the daylight hours went. When the sun comes up, vampires die. Even if we can’t see the sun, we are dead to the world. There are no windows in our bedroom, so the clock on the wall was my only clue when my daily death would come.
I would feed from Hamlet, taking as much blood as possible. Then I would have several hours of cuddling with both Hamlet and Oberon. I know Oberon went off to have sex with the humans, but he did that away from our bedroom. He would normally just invite a human to bed. If I wanted to join in the fun, great. If not, they just let me stay off to the side. It didn’t bother Oberon or me. During Hamlet’s turning, Oberon was a little more discreet than usual. He wanted me to concentrate on Hamlet, and I wasn’t very horny.
One night after the first feeding, I passed out from drinking so much blood. Menz shook me awake.
“We’re losing Hamlet,” he whispered. “It’s time.”
I felt Hamlet’s heart. It was beating, but barely. He was breathing, but barely. Hamlet was dying.
When Oberon had reached this point, it was a little different. I took one more feeding from Oberon, but I knew that would just be fatal to Hamlet. Maybe I had already taken too much.
Menz and Paco rolled Hamlet to his back. He was lying flat on the bed: no pillows, no covers, and no clothes.
He looked so vulnerable and dainty.
Menz opened Hamlet’s mouth as I broke the skin of my wrist and let my blood drip into Hamlet’s mouth. Nothing happened for almost half an hour. Hamlet was dying slowly. His heart was beating slowly, and he was breathing slowly. My blood just stayed in his mouth, filling it completely.
I was terrified that I had killed Hamlet, and I would never forgive myself for that. The room seemed to darken, like clouds had moved in front of a daytime sun. It was me focusing on Hamlet and blocking out everything else in the room. There was no sun, of course, because it was the middle of the night. The room would have been dark even at noon on a cloudless day.
Finally, I could see the blood in Hamlet’s mouth start going down. The turning was happening, but it was very slow. Hamlet was really tough on the inside. His effeminate exterior was just a charade.
I put a gash into my other wrist and filled his mouth up again, and it started going into Hamlet almost immediately. It was painfully slow, but it was happening.
We did this about ten or twelve times. Oberon had been my only other turning. As soon as the second mouthful of blood had been absorbed, Oberon went into attack mode. All new vampires do it, and Menz had to use all his strength to keep Oberon from killing me. Oberon felt hunger for blood that was stronger than anything he had ever felt as a human. I can’t really describe the feeling except to say the hunger is more intense than you can imagine.
When I was about to fill Hamlet’s mouth for the umpteenth time, he grabbed my wrist with an animal-like growl.
He tore into my wrist like a tiger. Oberon, Menz, and Paco were there. They knew it was coming, but Hamlet lulled everyone into a kind of trance because it took him so long to get to that point. Once he was there, Hamlet had a chunk of my arm in his mouth, and my blood was spewing all over the bed.
Menz and Paco got my wrist out of Hamlet’s mouth, and Oberon reached in to get the large piece of flesh.
Vampires heal. As soon as Oberon put the skin back onto my arm, I could feel it reattaching itself.
Hamlet was under control for a moment, but he needed blood. How was I going to give him blood without him tearing up my arms? I was the only vampire who could feed Hamlet, because I was really giving him back the blood that I had taken over the course of his turning.
He was so strong, so hungry. Menz and Paco held him down, and Oberon shepherded my arm into Hamlet’s new fangs. They forced him to drink without damaging his Maker. I was all in favor of not damaging the Maker, of course, because that was me.
When I turned Oberon, he drank so much that he almost killed me from lack of blood. I was passed out for two days. The vampires and the human servant, Tavin, made sure Hamlet didn’t do that.
We went through this kind of violent feeding for three or four nights in a row. When Hamlet was dead during daylight, he was restrained for my protection.
“WEIßT du… was… ich will… möchte?”
It was Hamlet, and he sounded drunk or dopey. He was awake enough to talk. Oberon said he needed something.
“What’s that?” I asked. Oberon was up, and he was removing Hamlet’s restraints for the night’s first feeding.
“Ich möchte,” Hamlet said, “der Schwanz des Mårten in meinen Mund.”
“You’re supposed to be drinking Mårten’s blood, not giving him a blow job,” Oberon added as he held me back. He thought I was going to try to hit Hamlet. I mean, I had considered it after he attacked my arm. It was beginning to sound like a good plan.
“Ja, Blut,” Hamlet said like he was drunk, “aber aus seinem Schwanz.”
He wanted blood from my dick. Hey, we had Hamlet back again. That sounded like something Hamlet would want. “You little pervert,” I said.
“That’s between the two of you,” Oberon laughed, “but if you bite off his dick, you are going to die on that bed tonight.”
I was getting a hard-on, but I didn’t want anybody to know that. Hamlet was drunk from his turning.
“I will leave you two to whatever,” Oberon said.
“No,” I stopped him. “Don’t go anywhere. Hamlet isn’t going to—”
Hamlet reached out and grabbed me by the seat of my pants. He swung me around at vampire speed and had his mouth in my crotch. His fangs ripped through my pants and found their mark. Hamlet wanted blood from my dick and was prepared to take it by force.
Oberon just shook his head as he grabbed Hamlet’s head.
“I swear that if you damage his goods,” Oberon said, “I will kill you.”
Hamlet growled deeply.
“Yum,” he said after a minute of drinking. He pulled his face out of my pants and leaned back onto the bed. It was weird to see him smile, because he now had fangs. His face was dripping in blood, my blood.
Hamlet reached down and stroked his raging hard-on.
“Yum,” he repeated with a grin. Oberon walked to the door. He didn’t leave the bedroom, but he locked the door so we would have a little privacy.
Oberon jumped over the footboard at the base of the bed and was under Hamlet in a flash. My husband was to be a participant, not just an observer.
He spit into his hand and had his dick inside Hamlet before there was any time for discussion. Hamlet didn’t mind. He pulled me over to straddle his chest. It wasn’t a request but a demand. I don’t usually like being told what to do, but you only have your first vampire sex once. I let it slide. He pulled the torn remnants of my pants away. I basically had two pant legs and nothing else. Hamlet had torn off the rest of my clothing.
Rather than a blow job, I fucked Hamlet’s face.
“Ouch,” I warned him. He wasn’t used to having fangs. At one point, it hurt so much that I had to take myself out of his mouth. My dick healed quickly, as all vampire wounds do. Hamlet jacked me off while my lover plowed his ass. Hamlet’s hands worked my dick fast and furious. He wanted me to cum first.
Who was I to disagree?
I shot my wad into his mouth, which he drank greedily. Then he moved his mouth lower, and his fangs found their mark. His mouth was full of cum and blood, and he could barely swallow fast enough.
There was telltale wetness on my back, so Hamlet had cum. I knew when Oberon shot because I could feel his energy. A hundred years with the same man makes you understand his energy levels. Oberon rubbed Hamlet’s cum off my back. He must have swallowed it for dessert.
And that’s how Hamlet became a vampire.
He is not your run-of-the-mill Saturday-movie-date vampire. Hamlet is one of a kind. They threw the mold away before they made him. I’m fairly sure that there was never a turning quite like Hamlet’s.
After about half an hour, a
ll the body fluids on the bed were dry. There was blood and cum. The house staff would have quite a bit of work, cleaning up the mess. We got Hamlet to his feet. He could walk but was a little shaky. I asked Oberon if the shakiness could be because Hamlet was barefoot.
“Huh?”
“He usually wears heels,” I said.
Thwack. Hamlet slapped me.
It wouldn’t be the last time he slapped me.
“I have a new name for the estate,” I said.
Hamlet and Oberon looked at me.
“Lechmont Manor. Let’s call it Lechmont Manor.”
“Lechmont Manor?” Oberon asked. I just nodded.
Chapter 2
WHEN the three of us were finally ready, we popped up over the clouds. Within a few seconds we were descending over a wooded park next to a large gay bar in Munich.
You could hear the dance music. I don’t like the thump-thump that you get in bars lately. It doesn’t take much skill to go thump-thump. There aren’t many musicians left.
The real creativity is in the disc jockey, and the one on duty tonight was a pro. He could take completely different songs and make them morph into each other in ways I thought were amazing. If I had his computer skills, I still couldn’t do the artistry he pulled off effortlessly.
I guess a hundred years will make anyone jaded. I’ve heard musical styles come and go. All the styles that are popular right now are…. They don’t sound like music to me. You can have them, but I appreciate the mastery of a disc jockey.
The three of us walked around the building to the door. We always try to land out of sight because we don’t want to scare anybody. What a sight: me in leather, Oberon in black Gothic, Hamlet in pastel doilies and glitter. Oberon and I walked arm in arm. Hamlet glided.
I mean, he literally glided. A few vampires can float. Hamlet, Oberon, and I can all levitate. That goes against the odds, because flying is a little unusual. Only about twenty percent of us can fly.
Hamlet is oh-so-graceful. He wanted to make an entrance. He always wanted to make an entrance. I was completely embarrassed, but I wanted to be there to dance with Oberon.
Hamlet is great. He’s funny, and he’s really handy to have nearby in a fight. He and I are useless as a pair in bed because we like the same thing. He wouldn’t know how to be a top, and I don’t want to be a top unless it is absolutely necessary. With Oberon around, it is never necessary. My husband is all top. I don’t think he’s ever let a dick inside his butt in a hundred years. If he has, he certainly never told me about it. On the few occasions I really wanted to top, I had to find a willing bottom from among the blood donors. There were plenty who wanted my dick in their ass, so that was never a problem. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother getting out of bed when I could drink blood and fuck all night without moving.
Oh, right: dancing.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hamlet was off somewhere. I’m sure he made a beeline for some macho stud. Oberon and I moved to the dance floor. We would order something to drink later.
Yes, vampires can drink alcohol. We get drunk, too, if we don’t watch it. Our bodies get rid of the alcohol quickly, so the inebriation never lasts more than a few minutes. We were there for the dance floor. The booze was just so the owner could stay in business and keep the dance floor open.
Thump. Thump.
Have I told you what I think of modern music? The people cutting tracks wouldn’t know an eighth note if it hit them over the head. They have as much creativity as a box of nails.
I do like the way Oberon looks when he dances. He starts off looking sultry, almost a frown. Sulking. I see his head start to move side to side, and his body follows in ways I can’t pretend to understand. Just being next to him on a dance floor makes me look stupid. Like I care. My man is enjoying himself, and he is happy that I am there too.
His blue eyes stand out against his black hair and clothes.
After he had all the music inside him, he reached out and grabbed my arm. He pulled me tight as we moved on the floor.
“Move” isn’t the right term here. Oberon dances. I’ve learned to levitate about a centimeter (a half inch or so) in the air, and he puts me exactly where he wants me.
Yeah, okay. I’m the scrappy-looking blond who looks like he’d rather be fighting (which is true, by the way), but I’m the follower on the dance floor, and I’m the bottom in bed.
That’s me. So sue me, or get over it.
If we were human, we’d be sweating. There were about a million other guys bouncing up and down. Thump. Thump.
Vampires don’t sweat. Point for us.
After an hour or so, Oberon was ready for booze. I sank back down to the dance floor, and we worked our way through the crowd to the bar. They served bourbon. That and rum are my two drinks, but bar rum is usually so bad it needs a mixer. Vampires and mixers don’t play well together. Give me booze: no splash of anything, no ice.
Oberon goes for gin. I hate gin, and I’m sure I’ll get a smell or two off his breath before the night is over. It makes him happy, so I’m happy. More or less. Thump. Thump.
I SPOTTED Hamlet on the dance floor. He had his arms over his head, and his body was almost liquid side-to-side. He was happy. Beats me if he was dancing with anyone. The dance floor was so crowded that I couldn’t see. Hamlet is good either way. He can dance by himself or with somebody (male or female).
One couple at the bar was visiting from Houston, which is in Texas, in the USA. I was born in Texas. I had to remember not to tell them that I was born before their grandparents were born, but it was nice to hear a Texas twang. I don’t hear that dialect often. They told me that Texas has become full of hate-mongering bigots, sort of like what happened in Germany in the 1930s and 1940s. That’s a shame. Home isn’t what it was when I was a kid, enlisting in the Navy for the Great War. That was the war “to end all wars,” which it failed to do, of course. Europe has gone through a Second World War since then. There was bloodshed in Yugoslavia and Hungary and Vietnam and Afghanistan and Iraq.
Humans keep insisting on killing each other. Vampires are supposed to be killing humans, but we’ve gone out of our way not to do that since the 1500s. Our blood donors are all volunteers. Vampires have turned out to be the civilized part of earth. Go figure. Thump. Thump.
It was good and sad to get caught up on Texas. I’m glad not to be there because I’d be really tempted to teach some of the hate-mongers a few lessons on getting along with others. I always get into trouble with the vampire authorities when I let anger take charge.
HAMLET walked up. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he looked quiet. When Hamlet isn’t bubbly, it is a sign of trouble.
“What’s wrong?” Oberon asked.
“I went out back with this guy,” Hamlet said. “It was supposed to be for a quickie in the park. No harm. But the guy turned out to be some kind of skinhead.”
Hamlet ordered a Scotch on the rocks. On the rocks… he is such a nelly.
“As soon as we’re in the woods, he pulls a knife on me.”
Okay, that is always a mistake around Hamlet. He is completely comfortable being a dizzy-sissy frilly queen. He absolutely loves it. If you pull a weapon, you learn that Hamlet’s swish is only skin-deep. Underneath the frills is the body of a predator. You may have heard the expression, “I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.” The thing is that Hamlet can actually do just that. Hamlet can rip whatever he wants to rip out of your body. And he can do it with lightning speed. I think if Hamlet slowed down his fights, he wouldn’t need to fight so much. He never savors a fight, and he doesn’t do it for the blood. Sure, he feeds when he draws the blood of a bad guy, but that isn’t the reason for the fight. He just likes beating the crap out of bullies and thugs.
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“What do you think happened?” Oberon said.
“I dropped part of the asshole into the Tegernsee tied to a rock,” Hamlet said matter-of-factly.
>
“In the lake?” Oberon commented.
“Yes. We went hiking there, remember?” I said. “What about the other half?”
“Huh?” Hamlet said, getting tipsy from his third round of Scotch in about five minutes. “Oh, I just dropped his head in the forest.”
“You’re a mess, dear,” Oberon said.
“I know. I know. I’m fucking angry. Look at that….” Hamlet held out his left hand. He had broken a nail. All I could do was close my eyes and shake my head.
My new friends from Houston were worried about Hamlet. His clothes were ripped, and he had obviously been in a fight.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Hamlet?” I said. “Oh, sure. One of the locals wanted to do some queer-bashing.”
“He looks hurt. Does he need a hospital?”
“Naw, it’s just his clothes,” I said. “Trust me, the hoodlum got the worse end of the deal. I’m fairly sure of that.”
“Your friend doesn’t look like much of a fighter.”
“Book-by-the-cover, man,” I said. “Don’t be fooled. When it comes to fighting, Hamlet is what goes ‘bump in the night’.”
The couple wanted to exchange phone numbers. Cell phone numbers. I remember a time when the only cells we talked about were in a prison.
Times change. Thump. Thump.
Hey, did I tell you what I really think of modern so-called music?
Chapter 3
“MÅRTEN?” came a voice inside my head as I read in the library of Menz’s manor house. It was a woman.
“Hello, your majesty.” It was Queen Cécile, the five-thousand-year-old head of all the vampires in Europe.
“I need you and Hamlet, if you don’t mind,” she said calmly. It wasn’t a demand, but she was such a powerful vampire that she never really had to sound threatening. The queen wasn’t the type to bark orders; it wouldn’t fit her personality. She merely made a statement that she needed both of us.