Vampire of My Dreams

by Hera St. Aubyn

  Suddenly serious, he said, “I hope so. Why do you think you became interested in writing about vampires?"

  The change of subject was jarring and she paused for a moment, trying to figure out where the conversation was going. “I don't remember ever not being interested in vampires. From my earliest childhood memory. I used to have dreams about a tall, handsome vampire who'd sweep into my bedroom and take me on marvelous adventures. I wrote about him in one form or another in all my books."

  "Yes. I recognize him. Those weren't dreams, Alana. That was me."

  This was getting ridiculous. Unquestionably, he was a crazed fan who'd read about her background online. She sat up, put her feet on the floor and started to rise from the couch. “I feel much better now and I really appreciate you taking up your valuable time to look after me, but I need to go. I'm only a couple of blocks from home, so I won't even need to call a cab. Thanks again, Mr. Grayson. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

  He chuckled and gently grabbed her wrist. “I've put you off now, haven't I? You're thinking I'm a madman or maybe an obsessed fan? Well, since you already think I'm insane, I guess I'll just press on and tell you the whole story. Then I'm going to make love to you."

  Her mouth fell open. She knew she definitely should run screaming from the room, but she was so strangely attracted to Winston. Even if he was a loon, something about his chemistry meshed with hers. It had been so long since she found anyone attractive. For some odd reason, she simply didn't want to leave. Despite everything, at that moment she wanted him to touch her. Wanted his body on hers. Wanted to feel his cock thrusting inside her. Warm juices flooded her underwear and her nipples hardened.

  He gazed at her intently, his blue eyes darkening. “Vampires can read thoughts, you know.” He angled toward her, pushing her back onto the couch with his forward motion. His warm, soft lips captured hers and his tongue slid into her mouth, exploring. He cupped her breast with his palm and she moaned, embarrassed to be so transparently needy. She broke the kiss and turned her head away.

  He whispered in her ear, “It is your need that allowed you to finally come to me. Don't wish it away, Alana."

  She closed her eyes, hoping she'd open them and find that this bizarre discussion had only been a bad dream. “I don't understand what's happening. Something must be wrong with me. I shouldn't be so attracted to someone I just met."

  "Ah, you needn't concern yourself about that. You met me long ago. You invited me to your room when you were a child. You've been in love with me most of your life."

  She opened her eyes, cocked her brows. “What? Could you possibly be more arrogant? I'm not in love with you. I'm a happily married woman."

  "You're not married, Alana. Your husband is dead. But our connection happened long before you met Stephen."

  Startled, she went cold with fear. “How ... how do you know about Stephen?” Then a horrible thought occurred to her, and she pushed Winston away and leaped up from the couch. “Did you have anything to do with Stephen being killed right in front of your house? Did you hurt him?” Could this gorgeous man really be a killer, and maybe a stalker, who has some twisted idea about being in love with her? Did he kill her husband? The idea took her breath away and filled her with a terrible sense of dread.

  He stood, gazing at her with soft, compassionate eyes, and shook his head. “I had nothing to do with harming Stephen.” His lips spread into a sweet smile. “You were a delightful, innocent child when we met. You had the most fertile imagination I'd ever encountered in all my five hundred years of existence. It was a pleasure sharing dreams and magical fantasies with you. I've been on the periphery of your life ever since. I was happy for you when you met and married Stephen. You deserved to be happy. You still deserve that."

  Without being aware of what she was doing, she'd been stepping backwards toward the fireplace.

  "Stop!” Winston demanded.

  Startled by his harsh tone, she froze, but slid her hand into the pocket of her cloak, fingering the dagger.

  He walked slowly toward her and pointed to the fireplace. He tugged her forward a few inches. “There's no screen covering the fire. Your cloak was close to the flame. You would've gotten burned, and I'm much too fond of you to allow that."

  She looked down at the bottom of her cloak and her shoulders sagged. She had been within igniting distance. If she didn't get her wits about her, she could wind up dead like Stephen. Or held hostage by a vampire-fan maniac.

  Winston chuckled and drew her attention again. He was standing very close. So close she could slide her hands down his chest—or somewhere.

  "I'm not a vampire-fan maniac, although I freely admit to being a vampire romance fan. Some of those books have been the inspiration for my most adventurous—and most amorous—exploits.” He smiled his glorious smile. “And vice versa."

  He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing his erection against her stomach. “I know you are attracted to me, as I am to you. Why not let your desires dictate your actions instead of your fear?"

  She hesitated a couple of seconds, allowing herself to be distracted by her body's reaction to the evidence of his obvious arousal, then pushed away, “You know nothing about me—or my fear. I insist that you let me leave. Now.” She turned and headed for the front door.

  "I saw the men who killed Stephen,” he said, softly.

  His words stopped her dead in her tracks. All the blood drained from her head. Her legs refused to hold her, and her knees gave way. For the second time in one night, Winston swooped in and gathered her in his arms before she fell.

  With unusual speed, he carried her over to the couch again, arranged her comfortably and adjusted the pillows behind her head. He stood looking down at her, his silky hair shining in the soft light.

  She stared at him, eyes wide, fear and anger warring inside her. Sitting up, she shrieked, “What do you mean, you saw them? You saw them because you were with them? You really did kill Stephen? And you're going to kill me now, too?” Surely he was crazy.

  He compressed his lips into a firm line for a few seconds before speaking. “Of course not. Let me get you some wine, or perhaps water, then I'll tell you everything. I shouldn't have blurted it out in that thoughtless way. I do apologize."

  She watched him glide through the room and enter a door which, judging by the sounds she heard, must have led to the kitchen. He came back only a moment later carrying a bottle of wine, a pitcher of water and a crystal goblet on a tray, which he set on a nearby table.

  Pointing to the tray, he asked, smiling, “Which do you prefer?"

  She glared at him, rising to her feet. Moving to stand in front of him, she spoke with exaggerated calmness, “I don't want any of your damn wine or anything else. I want you to tell me what you meant by saying you saw the men who killed Stephen. If you really did, why didn't you go to the police? Why didn't you help? Why didn't you stop them?"

  "I would have stopped them, had I arrived in time."

  "Were you there, on the street? I don't remember seeing you."

  "No, I'd just returned from many months abroad, and was going through the main level of the house, removing the sheets from the furniture, when I heard a commotion outside. I went to the window, and saw you, bent over someone's body, screaming and crying. I didn't realize immediately it was your husband, Stephen. The three men took off running down the street. When you left to get help, I came out to see what I could do for the injured man. He was seconds away from death—his heartbeat faint. I knew he wouldn't be alive by the time you returned with assistance. When I realized it was your husband, and that he was going to die, I told him—in his mind—that I would take some of his blood so I could carry his essence and his memories. It was the least I could do for you. He thanked me. He was a fine man."

  She backed away from Winston, her horrified eyes wide and her mouth open. Fisting her hands at her sides, she yelled, “That's a ridiculous story. You're just repeating things you've read
in vampire books. How could you make up such a terrible thing, when you've seen how painful my husband's death was for me? You heartless bastard!"

  He reclaimed the distance between them and grasped her upper arms, pulling her close, lifting her to her toes, making escape impossible. “I am far from heartless, when it comes to you. I will finish the story and you will listen. After I drank some of Stephen's blood..."

  She flailed at him, struggling wildly in a futile attempt to get away, then began to sob. “Please stop. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making up these horrible things?"

  He gathered her against his chest, and held firm—one hand on the side of her head, forcing her cheek against the silk of his shirt—the other curled around her waist. As her crying subsided, she became aware that something seemed—off. She concentrated for a few seconds and noticed she could feel her own heart beating, but she couldn't hear or feel his. Closing her eyes, she really listened, trying to detect a rhythm in his chest that she could use to debunk his fantasy about being a vampire, but there was nothing. She opened her eyes as he began speaking again, the resonance of his voice vibrating through the bones of her face.

  "After I drank some of Stephen's blood, I gave him a mental command that he would feel no pain, and that he could drift off into a peaceful sleep. Which he did. After his soul left his body, I turned my attention to the cretins who'd killed him. Their scent was easy to follow. They stank of fear and alcohol. I found them under a bridge by the docks, celebrating their good fortune, congratulating each other for a job well done. Of course, my arrival was a complete surprise. An unpleasant one. I was tempted to make a spectacle of them, but thought it better if they just disappeared. I used my powers to bend them to my will, drank enough blood from each of them to ensure they'd die, then wrapped them together with some rusty chain I found nearby. I almost forgot that human bodies tend to float, so I secured the chain to a heavy steel girder from the bridge reconstruction project, and dumped the lot of them into the water.

  "I had intended to comfort you, and to tell you what I'd done, but when I returned, the entire area was saturated with police cars and medical personnel. Since I was covered with blood, I thought it wise not to involve myself at that point. Shortly thereafter, I had an ... unexpected visitor ... and was forced to leave. I only recently resolved the situation and returned."

  He grasped her upper arms again, and stepped back, holding her at arm's length so she could look into his amazing eyes. “The men who killed Stephen are dead. You needn't fear they'll harm you. I won't ever let anyone harm you."

  His story had been so outrageous that she stood silent, unable to craft a response. If he ever got out of the insane asylum, he'd make a fine fiction writer, himself.

  Anger flowed across his features and he shook her, hard enough to startle her before releasing his grip. He eased back a few inches. “I'll not be going to an insane asylum, thank you very much. You were a stubborn child, and now you're a stubborn woman. Well, have it your way, then.” As she watched, his canines extended down beyond his other teeth, their points glistening dangerously in the light. He ran his tongue over the tips. “I suppose you think these are part of my costume? That I just happened to have fake teeth embedded in my gums for the sole purpose of theatrics?"

  She stared at his mouth for a few seconds, then reached up and placed a fingertip on one of the strange teeth. She jiggled it as if testing for a loose tooth, then dropped her hand to her side. “Make it go back up again while I watch."

  He seemed surprised by her request—or she supposed by her sudden calm—but he did as she asked. The teeth slid effortlessly back into his gums, lining up naturally with the others.

  He stepped closer, intense eyes locked on hers. “What now? Shall I levitate? Transform into fog? Take control of your mind, have my way with you, then drink your blood?"

  She stared up at him, expression serious. She'd just experienced a sense of déjà vu so powerful it was as if she'd transported herself back in time. “None of those demonstrations will be necessary. You used to tell me I was a stubborn child when I was small, didn't you? When you said those words, I remembered refusing to go to sleep until you told me one more story.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “You're telling the truth, aren't you?” She walked over to a nearby chair and flopped into it, silent, watching the flames dancing in the fireplace.

  He knelt in front of her, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “I always indulged your desire for one more story. I found you impossible to resist. I still do. I watched you grow into a beautiful woman, but it never occurred to me that I'd have the opportunity to share another portion of your life. As sad as the circumstances are, I'm grateful you've come to me."

  She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. “You were very kind to me. You're right about my being in love with you. I certainly was. You were my mysterious dark prince who would one day kiss me and take me away to your castle. You are the one who told me about vampires. I remember. I was crushed when you stopped coming."

  "It was time. You needed to be with those of your own ... species ... and your own age. I was never far away. I saw that horrible little boy with the pox on his face try to kiss you in front of my house. I almost intervened, but I'd promised myself I'd let you have your own experiences."

  "Pox?” Alana laughed. “Oh, you mean the pimples! Yes, he was quite afflicted. I never knew you lived here. You never said."

  "I gave you a suggestion the last time we were together that you'd forget me. Well, actually it was half-hearted. I allowed you to remember everything I'd told you about vampires, but I let you think it was a dream. It would appear the dreams have served you well."

  Alana dropped her hands from his face and sat back in the chair. “I'm blown away by everything that's happened tonight. My childhood imaginary vampire—who now appears to be real—resurfaces, tells me he drank my husband's blood as he was dying and has his memories of me...” She lowered her eyes and felt heat rise on her cheeks, thinking about all the memories Winston might have access to. She and Stephen used to enjoy unbridled sexual exploration. Lifting her gaze to his face again, she found him smiling.

  "Yes, Stephen was a lucky man. Those are my favorites."

  Clearing her throat, she continued talking, “And he killed the men who murdered Stephen. Then he rescues me from some kind of episode out in front of his house ... wait a minute.” She sat up again, lifting his chin with her finger, gazing into his blue depths. “You did that. Whatever it was out there in front of your house—that public orgasm I had—it was your doing, wasn't it?"

  He laughed, taking her hand in his. “I apologize. I couldn't help myself. I thought it was the perfect way to catch your attention, and then to introduce myself."

  "But how did you do it? I felt hands on me. Fingers ... er ... I felt fingers. But nobody was there. You weren't there."

  "Mind sex is a poor substitute for the real thing, but it's amazingly effective, wouldn't you agree?"

  "You mean that intense experience was all in my mind?"

  "Not totally. I used my ability to move faster than your eyes could see to do a bit of caressing, here and there. I hope my efforts proved satisfactory?” He laughed again.

  She frowned, then shook her head. “I should be upset. I should be stomping out the front door, never to set eyes on you again, but all I feel is exhausted. You've given me the first sense of peace I've had in four years, and I don't know how to sort out all the feelings I'm having.” She looked at him, really seeing him for the first time. Looking past his perfect exterior to find the man within. “Thank you."

  He stood, reached down a hand to take hers, then pulled her up from the chair. Sliding his fingers through her long hair, he bent toward her, his eyes locked on hers. “Do you remember what I said earlier about what I'd do once I completed the story?"

  Holding his gaze, she whispered, “Yes. I remember."

  He touched his lips to hers. She moaned and took his face in
her hands, deepening the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against his firm chest, his erection a bulging presence along her stomach. He ran his tongue over her lower lip, then slid it into the warmth of her mouth, gently forcing her lips open. She offered her tongue in return, sharing a sensuous dance with his in the moist heat.

  "Come.” He lifted her into his arms and strode through the room, down a hallway, to a set of double doors at the end. As they approached the doors, the passage sprang open, beckoning the couple inside. Flames burst forth from every candle in the room, creating long shadows and soft light. She raised a brow.

  He smiled. “Just a bit of vampire magic. You have to let me show off a little. You always loved it when you were a child."

  "I'm not a child now. I'm a woman. A woman who requires a completely different kind of showing off."

  His voice rumbled low in his throat. “Your wish is my command."

  He released her feet, letting her find her balance, as he removed the cloak she'd worn all evening and threw it over a chair in the far corner. She shivered. Noticing, he turned his gaze to the cold fireplace and the wood burst into flames.

  "I'll soon provide all the heat you desire.” He took a couple of steps back and scanned her body. Appropriately enough, she'd worn her “vampire dress” for the shop's party. It was a copy of one of Elvira, Mistress of the Night's, low-cut, body-hugging costumes, and she usually added her black velvet cape to cover the abundant flesh that pillowed out the top of the bodice. She looked down self-consciously, hoping her breasts hadn't escaped completely. Judging by the look on his face, either they had, or he wished they would.

  He stepped close, running his hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples through the soft material. She sighed, her knees loose. Meeting her eyes, he pulled the straps of the dress down over her shoulders and made a growling sound as the material pooled around her feet, leaving her completely naked.

  He stepped away, sliding his eyes slowly up and down her frame. “Your body is magnificent."