Blood Dreams

by Mlyn Hurn

  AnnaBelle heard the laughter around her and wondered what the joke had been? She had been focused on the professor’s handsome face, especially his sensual mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly easy for her to imagine those lips closing on her distended nipples and doing all kinds of delicious things!

  The next second, like a flash of lightning, AnnaBelle remembered her tortured dream from the restless sleep earlier that day. Now she had the explanation for why she felt exhausted despite ten hours of sleep. Closing her eyes, it was disturbingly easy to once again reconstruct the dream scenario.

  * * * * *

  Within her dream, she was in her bedroom in the Paris apartment. Her bedroom was the embodiment of romanticism. The huge, four-poster bed had been in her family for generations and was a nightmare according to the moving men, anyway.

  The wood was a deep, rich brown, and had elaborate carvings on the four posts, which matched the story told on the head and footboards. The carvings were of demons being slain at the foot of the bed, and continued with a resurrection-like scene at the head. The posts featured demons to be conquered and angels, knights in armor and even gargoyles to protect the sleeper within.

  To match the romantic bed, she had used white, whisper-thin tulle to create curtains that draped seductively into pools onto the floor, or could be pulled shut for the illusion of privacy. Roses and greenery added to the romantic tone of the room.

  That was the bed where AnnaBelle dreamed of a lover who joined her while she slept. He had descended from above her body, floating slowly down until he covered her body. His kisses had been sweet and intoxicating as he slowly pulled the covers down. Then as he undressed her, taking his time to peel the white lace gown off, his mouth trailed down her chin and between her full breasts. Her back bowed upwards to meet his lips, eagerly wanting to feel the drugging intoxication of him suckling her nipple.

  Her lover was already naked, and the heat from his body prevented her from shivering in the cool night air. A moment later, his mouth deserted her breast and traveled down her body, over her belly. Feeling his breath caress her bald womanly mound had her shivering in reaction. Her thighs had spread without a word passing his lips, and his fingers trailed over her smooth lips in the softest of caresses…

  AnnaBelle shifted uneasily in her seat inside the auditorium as she remembered that her faceless lover had dragged a pillow down and shoved it under her hips. A moment later, his breath danced across her flesh again in uneven puffs of warm air. In the dream, AnnaBelle recalled her scream rending the night silence as his tongue delved straight into her fleshy folds. Each stroke, lick and teasing flick had her hips bucking like a wild mare resisting the saddle. She had orgasmed in her sleep, which had not happened to her in years, and remembering it now in an auditorium full of people was unnerving.

  * * * * *

  Someone touched her arm and AnnaBelle jumped in her seat, gasping loudly. A bright flush flooded her cheeks as she turned to look at the young man beside her, who was smiling and obviously must have been her “nudger”.

  “Sorry, was I snoring?” she whispered quickly, hoping no one else had noticed.

  The young man shook his head, grinning. Before he could speak, AnnaBelle heard Professor Dampier’s voice.

  “I was asking for volunteers. Perhaps you would come up to the stage.”

  AnnaBelle looked at the stage and saw that he already had two volunteers, and shook her head. Iain smiled and motioned with his hand.

  “Let’s encourage her, everyone,” Iain suggested, clapping his hands together. “There’s no reason to be nervous, and I promise to play nice.”

  AnnaBelle cursed under her breath and gave in as most of the auditorium joined in. Looking up at him, there was nothing in his eyes that reassured her about his niceness. Standing up, she felt the dampness between her thighs. Obviously the dream was still potent enough to affect her waking hours as well. Wishing she were back in Paris, safe in her bed, she reluctantly started towards the stairs furthest from the podium. As she walked slowly, she consciously worked to calm her breathing and her nervous body. Reaching the top step, she heard the professor asking the eager young man next to her to join them as well.

  “Damn it all!” she muttered softly, crossing the stage slowly. “So much for Fauster’s low profile idea!”

  Chapter 3

  Iain waited until the four volunteers were lined up on the stage. He had switched to a portable microphone and began walking towards them, moving behind his four nervous assistants. Three of the four were eager and excited. It was the beautiful woman whose reluctance was much greater than what he normally expected at this point in the lecture. As he neared the blonde-haired woman, he inhaled deeply. His sense of smell was much greater than most, and he was sure he detected the womanly essence of arousal.

  Walking behind the woman, he noticed how her hair revealed the long nape of her neck. There were also several wisps of reddish golden curls peeping from beneath the curled edge of her blonde hair. Obviously, the woman was hiding something. Iain didn’t need his superior vampiric senses to know she was concealing more than just her hair color. He spoke softly, but loud enough for the auditorium to hear.

  “Relax! I promise I won’t bite!”

  The audience laughed loudly and his volunteers, or rather three of them, giggled nervously. This woman did not and as Iain came around to face her, he saw her chin lift pugnaciously and she met his gaze. The intent clear blue eyes struck Iain oddly, but he couldn’t say what he felt just then. Desire most definitely, but it was as if this woman had a secret, and it went much deeper than just her hair color. Secrets weren’t unusual, what was strange was that Iain hadn't been able to read her mind and discover what it was.

  Reading minds wasn’t something he advertised, but he was quite adept at this unusual skill. Oftentimes, in large rooms like this, he had to shut down that part of his brain so he could lecture without “interruption” from incoming thoughts. Moving to the other end of the line, he requested each of his volunteers to tell their first name.

  “No last names, please,” Iain added, knowing that each one would deliberately focus on their last name so as to not reveal it. He gestured for the first person to start.

  “Vespa,” the woman spoke clearly. She had a shock of short, white-blonde hair and was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. Her thoughts revealed her last name was Bernstein.

  Iain smiled and nodded, looking towards the second person, a young man. Dressed in a tight, white T-shirt and blue jeans, Iain guessed he was one of the usual jocks who attended his lectures looking for an easy course to take. The muscular young man grinned as he spoke his name. “Randy.” Unspoken, his last name was Stone. Iain covered his smile with a fake cough.

  The third person was the young man chosen last, who had once again dressed in full Goth costume for the class. “Tony,” he said with a grin, his eyes sliding over to the beautiful woman beside him.

  Iain stepped between the third volunteer and the woman occupying too much of his attention. Tony’s thoughts had revealed more than just his last name of Winston. Iain hoped the young man’s thoughts would not result in any physical responses that might embarrass him. “And you are?”

  “AnnaBelle.”

  Iain opened his senses and immediately received an influx of information. What he really needed to do was touch her, so he lightly reached out and brushed her arm. Another flood of information came into his stream of consciousness, but foremost were two words, Fauster and blue. He jerked back in surprise. It was not likely that the words were connected. In fact, he briefly thought that he had probably confused the thought in the jumble of incoming messages he had received.

  Whether those two words meant names or not, Iain knew he would have to worry about it all later. Moving back to his podium, he pulled out four cards. As he moved across the stage, he gave each of the volunteers a card. Standing beside AnnaBelle, Iain spoke clearly. “All right. You may look at the front of the card, but n
ot inside. In turn, I’d like each of you to read the name of the items that are listed on your card. AnnaBelle? Shall we begin with you?”

  Iain liked her name, he realized. It reminded him of times gone by—castles, manicured gardens and beautiful women in long, extravagant lace and silk gowns.

  AnnaBelle looked at the items listed on her card and her blood ran cold. Of course, this group of words didn’t mean anything. This was all just a lousy lecture and a silly game. “Illegal.” She spoke the word without any tonal change in her voice. Her eyes followed Iain as he moved back down the line of volunteers, listening as each person said one thing from their card. Tony was still grinning as he called out his phrase. “Mid-nineteenth century.”

  Randy shrugged as he said, “The Masquerade?”

  Vespa nodded and spoke loudly, “Fictional.”

  Iain spoke to the audience. “Each of these items describes one of the currently popular roles, or individuals, seen in today’s trendy and rapidly growing ‘fake’ vampire scene. All right, let’s have another one or phrase from each list please.”

  Vespa went first this time as directed by Iain. “Supernatural being.”

  Randy, still looking lost, said the second item on his list. “The Internet.”

  Tony added his quickly, “Aristocratic and good manners.”

  AnnaBelle felt Iain’s eyes turn to her. Slowly, reluctantly she eventually spoke her item. “Bloody job.”

  Iain turned away from her and looked back at the audience before he went on. AnnaBelle purposefully tuned out what he was saying, marshalling her senses and consciousness to focus on perception of the air around her. She knew that something or someone here tonight was strong. From the moment she had entered, every hair on her body was standing on end. A powerful force was here tonight, and it had not been here last night. Tonight, she would take as many photos as possible. It might be possible that one of the true masters was present in the auditorium. She could see that one of them might consider it humorous to attend a lecture decrying his existence.

  AnnaBelle was grateful when they were allowed to return to their seats after the audience had guessed that the three types of fake vampires were Goth, role-players and Ricean, based on Anne Rice’s novels. No one, though, had guessed AnnaBelle’s, and she was very glad when Iain let the four of them be seated since it was taking longer than planned. The rest of the lecture passed quickly. After grabbing her purse, AnnaBelle almost raced to exit the auditorium before the crowd. Outside, she jumped into her vehicle, preparing to snap the whole roll of film tonight.

  The camera clicked and whirled quickly, trying to catch as many of her fellow students as possible. Consciously, AnnaBelle reserved the last two negatives for Professor Dampier. She would stay up and watch her uncle develop all the photos tonight. Suddenly, her hair stood on end once again.

  Turning her head, AnnaBelle saw that Iain was standing with a couple of Goth-looking students. Lifting the camera, she prepared to take the pictures. Snapping the first frame, she quickly zoomed in for a close-up. Looking through the lens, her focus was on the attractive professor. Behind him she was sure she saw another person and quickly she moved her finger, capturing the moment.

  Lowering the camera, AnnaBelle started the engine. Deciding to exit the parking lot via the opposite direction tonight, she spent most of the drive back to the apartment telling herself the change was not so she could avoid passing the object of her…No! AnnaBelle realized that she had shouted the word in her brain. She had almost called Iain the object of her fantasy. If she admitted that, then it was just a small step to acknowledging her desire for him. Talk about a stupid and completely useless emotion! Using a stern voice, her conscience told her to forget this man. It could only be a dead-end relationship, and her life was in Paris.

  * * * * *

  AnnaBelle’s plans to develop the film fell apart as she fell asleep on the sofa after she ate the food her uncle prepared for her. At some point during the night, she made her way to her bed. Once again, her sleep was restless. The dream of the previous night returned over and over through the night. When she finally woke up, she disgustedly discovered it was nearly time for the lecture and she’d once again slept through most of the day.

  Staggering out of the bedroom, she made her way to the kitchen in the loft that comprised her uncle’s living space. It was an old building, in one of the seamier sides of the city. No one else lived in the building that she knew of, but her uncle seemed to use the other two floors for something. She remembered him commenting about his “workshop” at some point in their conversations.

  In the kitchen, AnnaBelle made a cup of the herbal tea she had brought with her from home. Moving over to the rickety kitchen table, she saw the note taped to it. The writing was scrawled and partially illegible. But after a few readings, she figured out that he had started to develop the film, but ran out of photo paper. On his way back, he had run into friends who wanted to go out for drinks. He was going to invite her, but decided to let her sleep. There were two more rolls of film by the camera, and he’d be waiting up for her.

  All the while she was dressing she couldn’t shake the same uneasy feeling she’d had last night in the auditorium. Every little noise spooked her. She was jumpy, jittery and couldn’t explain, or shake off, the unusual and disturbing feelings bombarding her senses—all seven of them!

  Chapter 4

  AnnaBelle reached the auditorium early, which didn’t surprise her considering the speed she had driven. Starting down the aisle, she was aware of small groups of people, some seated and others still standing, talking softly. Halfway down the aisle, the feelings she had been fighting earlier overwhelmed her in a rush of sensations. Stopping abruptly, her human senses and her extraordinary senses, shifted into hyper drive mode. Voices, which were whispering, suddenly seemed louder, while faint odors of perfume, aftershave and sweat assailed her scent glands.

  Turning slowly, striving to not draw attention to herself, she looked around the auditorium, giving each group of people she had skimmed over moments earlier a much longer and closer look. Tonight she had skipped the disguise her uncle had been insisting on. Instead, she looked more like she did most days in Paris, going about her “day” job. Her hair hung loose to her waist, brushing back and forth over the plain, man-style Oxford shirt. Washed out blue jeans and thick-soled athletic sneakers completed the casual outfit. On one level she had argued that this way, it was unlikely that anyone would equate her with the woman on stage last night.

  “Oh my God!”

  AnnaBelle fell back a step upon completing her visual tour of the auditorium and found Professor Dampier standing right in front of her. His unexpected and silent approach unnerved her, and her hand lifted to press over her heart. Her brain was shouting at her that something was wrong! Her normal perceptiveness would never have allowed anyone to come so close to her without setting off alarm bells within her body.

  Iain smiled. “Forgive me.” He even inclined his head in an old-world and courtly gesture. “I didn’t mean to alarm or scare you.”

  AnnaBelle was confused by the feelings of relief rushing through her nervous system as she looked at her professor, as she was frequently starting to think of him possessively. The relief came because she knew the professor was “safe” and definitely not a vampire. It would have been a serious concern if she’d turned and discovered that a vampire had gotten so close to her without her innate alarm system forewarning her.

  For some unknown reason, AnnaBelle lifted her hand and touched his forearm. As the warmth of his flesh crept through his shirt to her skin, her hand actually curled around his arm, feeling the strong muscle beneath. One part of her brain told her to step away from the man, and above all, to stop touching him!

  She didn’t though. Her behavior was completely abnormal as her fingers curled slightly and AnnaBelle actually squeezed the muscular forearm beneath a plain white shirt, remarkably like hers. One level of her consciousness opened its figurative
mouth in surprise as AnnaBelle spoke.

  “No, really, forgive me. If you hadn't spoken, I would have plowed right into you.”

  Iain smiled. “Having you plow into me would have some advantages as well.”

  AnnaBelle couldn’t control the heated blush, which suddenly stained her cheeks. She couldn’t deny the desire to feel this man’s body pressed up against her as well. It didn’t seem to matter that she was acting foolish and girlish and completely out of her normal character. She grinned back at him.

  “I was hoping you might join me for coffee or a drink after the lecture tonight. The campus has a coffee shop open late, and there is a popular bar just a block off campus.”

  AnnaBelle nodded her head in agreement before her brain seemed to realize she had commitments and was technically here on business. Fighting back the inner voice, AnnaBelle nodded again. “I’d like that. Shall I wait just outside the door for you?”

  Iain agreed. “Sounds like a plan! I see someone I need to speak to before the lecture, if you want to find a seat.”

  AnnaBelle grinned and almost skipped to her front row seat. Once seated, it took several minutes for her brain to take over again from the giddy schoolgirl that seemed to have possessed her all of a sudden. Staring straight ahead, she could hear her mother and father’s voices playing over and over in her head.

  Camilla Blue would tell her with a worried frown, “You know nothing about him, AnnaBelle.”

  Her father, Byron, would remind her of her own misgivings. “If you are questioning your own senses and perceptions, daughter, that is when you should back up and take another look around.”

  Their arguments were all well and good, if she were looking for a vampire. But that wasn’t what was on her mind right now. While it might seem coarse, she felt the strongest urges and desires for the attractive, blond professor. And her instincts were functioning fine, in her opinion. So far she had identified ten real vampires in the auditorium over the previous two nights and probably fifty or more mortal vampires, Goths and a small number of role-playing vampires.