by Sam Stone
‘Hi there,’ said a pretty brunette with a Farrah Fawcett smile.
She wore tight black satin trousers that looked like she was sewn into them.
‘Hi yourself. Can I get you a drink?’
That was the reason I frequented these noisy, animalistic places. The Game needed a constant supply of willing, naïve beauties. Despite the fact that sexuality had undergone a major overhaul, there was always an abundance of them. Money, power and mystery were the most compelling of combinations and I had them all. I had watched ‘real life’ from a distance, it wasn’t hard for me to feel part of the scene, because everyone else felt they were on the sidelines too. They were all pretenders, with their Dynasty shoulder pads and block shaped mobile phones.
As always, in the midst of so much raw humanity, I was hungry, starving, but for more than blood.
‘So what’s your name, gorgeous?’
‘I’m Bethany.’
‘Let’s dance.’
We swooped on the dance floor like two hunting falcons and I did my best impersonation of modern man. Bethany pumped her hips into my pelvis, and I swung her closer enjoying how she felt in my arms as I buried my head into her neck. A faint, unpleasant, odour rose from her skin. It smelt like bubonic plague. I backed away, holding her at arm’s length. Trying not to gag, because once I had tuned into the scent it was stronger and more defined. How had I missed this earlier? I looked more closely at the ever so slightly sunken eyes, the bluish tinge to the mouth. A wasting disease!
‘I have to go,’ I said backing away and as I turned I collided with Lucrezia.
She spun me round with ease, falling into the dance moves. I was too stunned to do anything other than mimic her moves.
‘There’s a lot of ... sickness ... in this room,’ she warned looking behind me at Bethany.
‘I know.’
Her arm circled my waist.
‘Let’s talk.’
I followed her, suspicious but curious, as she led me out of the heaving room through the heat and pulsating sex and pushed on a door marked ‘Private’. It opened and she pulled me in, her strength no less than my own.
‘I know the owner; we won’t be disturbed in here.’
We switched to Italian. I had barely spoken a word of it since leaving Italy a few centuries earlier. I had smoothed out all traces of ‘foreign’ from my voice but my native tongue fell naturally from my lips as the door closed behind us and the music diminished to a dim buzz until the door closed fully. The office was soundproofed.
‘Sit.’
I looked around the office. One wall was covered with a two way mirror looking out on the dance floor. The bodies gyrated like a silent movie through the glass. Lucrezia perched on the edge of the expensive oak desk and a heated vision floated through my mind unchecked. I imagined her laying there her legs apart as she urged on the huge bulk of the anonymous owner.
Behind the desk was a large executive chair in tan leather. In the arms, perspiration had worn small finger impressions into the hide. Fingerprints way too small for a man. Ah.
‘You own this place.’
She blinked. Looked at the chair.
‘Oh. Of course. How stupid to think you wouldn’t spot a tiny detail like that Gabriele, with your magnificent, magical eyes. I wouldn’t have missed it either. Yes. I own this night club. It’s one of my many investments, but I have a front man. No one knows it’s mine but him.’
‘Why have you brought me in here? Last time we talked you didn’t want to be part of my life.’
‘True. I don’t. I know you’ve been watching me on occasion. I thought you ought to know a few things ... for your own safety.’ She pushed away from the desk, walked around it and sat in the chair; her fingers pressed together as though in prayer.
‘Why bother, when you’ve never cared about my “safety” before?’
‘Also true but I do feel ... a little responsible.’ Her watery smile denied her words.
‘Mmm. What things do I need to know then? For my own safety,’ I replied sarcasm dripping like saliva from my fangs.
‘I’m a doctor in this lifetime.’
‘A doctor, just like that?’ I sneered.
‘No. Not ‘just like that’. It took seven years of medical school, and several in practice. I’m a consultant now, a blood specialist.’
‘How ironic.’
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘You’ve toughened up over the years.’ She leaned back, tilting the chair.
Silence.
‘Haven’t you ever thought of having an impact on the world, Gabriele? Haven’t you ever wanted to do something other than ... feed?’ she asked after a while, her eyes wore the glaze of the fanatic.
I didn’t answer. It would have been pointless. She was on a roll, so I let her talk.
‘I was bored. I wanted a challenge and academia holds so many interesting young male bodies. I kind of ... fell into medical school at first. I wanted to captivate a certain young student I’d seen around.’
I nodded. Stalking was something I had always understood.
‘Once in, I became fascinated with the idea of learning what makes the body tick. I wanted to understand myself. Study my own blood ...’
‘And of course, you couldn’t trust anyone else to do that.’
‘Precisely.’
I sat down in the chair opposite the desk; it was strategically lower than the manager’s chair.
‘There are some ways in which we can be hurt, Gabriele. That girl’s blood for example ... she has AIDS. It wouldn’t kill you, but it would make you sick. For a very long time.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve experimented on samples of my own blood. The vampiric blood is strong. It fights off all infections I’ve encountered, but it needs to be fed frequently with fresh blood. This is because our cells have a shorter life span than human cells.’
‘I don’t follow you. We’re immortal, aren’t we?’
‘I’ll keep it all in layman’s terms. Yes we are, but ... my theory on this is that our blood cells “burn out” due to our preternatural abilities. While our body rejuvenates and repairs itself, our blood corrodes or gets used up. Blood is living fuel to us. Any disease that attacks human blood can harm ours too. You see, AIDS is not nature’s “gay” disease at all, despite what the homophobic fanatics want to believe. I think, and this may sound crazy or even paranoid, that it is nature’s attempt to eradicate our kind from the planet.’
I was thoughtful. Lucrezia sat unnaturally still watching my face. I sat back in my chair imitating her poise.
‘Why would “nature” care about us? In a way we are just as much a plaque, pruning the population, even if it is only once a year.’
Her anger was a flare exploding in the sky.
‘Once a year? You stupid boy! How can you torture yourself like that?’
‘Are you telling me you feed more frequently?’
‘Haven’t you learnt anything over the past few years? Haven’t you learnt to just take a little? To leave them alive?’
My silence was my insolence.
‘You enjoy the hunt, that’s why,’ she stated. ‘Perhaps you even love the kill. You’ve more about you than I gave you credit for, Gabriele.’
Standing, she walked around to the front of the desk again, slipped off her platform sandals, and placed her small foot on my knee. Her toes slid down my thigh, reaching towards my groin.
‘Perhaps ... we could renew our association?’
I stiffened under her touch, her Shocking Pink toenails digging teasingly into my crotch. My blood quickened. The lust coursed through me in a sighing gush. Lucrezia’s breath caught in her throat, and she almost swooned in response to the powerful flood that surged from my fles
h. I caught her in my arms, finding and holding her lips. Her tongue searched my mouth, running lightly over the extended canines. My hand slid under the cloth of her skirt, trailing the beautiful smooth skin above her knee while she tugged at my shirt. I lifted her roughly and slammed her down onto the desk. She groaned with pleasure.
‘If I’d known it would be so sexy fucking another one of my kind I’d have done it sooner.’
Her hand reached down the waistband of my trousers with a fluid shrug. Her touch was raw electricity and my cock ached and throbbed in her grasp.
‘I did offer, but you weren’t interested.’ My tongue trailed along the curve of her jaw, dragged lower across the swell of her breast. She pushed my jacket off my shoulders and I allowed it, holding her one handed as each arm slid out of the expensive silk fabric.
‘I didn’t think it was done. None of the others seem to bother with each other.’ She threw back her head, her eyes reducing to fiery green slits.
I stopped.
‘Others?’
Tearing at her top she snapped the thin string tie that held it together above her breasts.
‘Surely you’ve seen them? No? I suppose you have never frequented the Goth bars? I always found them vaguely too easy.
I like to work on my conquests for a while first. However, I’ve used Goths in desperate need.’
I let go of her suddenly and she fell back into the desk with a hard crack.
‘Ow! You’re pretty rough ... No wonder your humans can’t survive it.’
‘There are others?’
‘Of course. Where the hell do you think I came from?’ She reached for me. ‘Look, this is probably a shock, but I’ll tell you about them later. Come here.’ Her hand caught and held my shirt, pulling me closer.
‘Get away from me.’
I pushed away from her reaching hands and the thin silk tore under her grasp.
‘Look, Gabriele. They don’t like anyone on their patch, but they tolerate me on occasion.’
‘Where?’ My voice sounded hollow in my ears.
‘Scattered all over. But there aren’t that many, you know how surprised I was when you ...’
‘How many?’
‘Maybe five or six. The mother’s a bit of a bitch about reproduction. We’re all supposed to “check” our food.’
I began to straighten my clothes. I was a fool. A stupid, illiterate fool. What had I thought would come of this union? I knew Lucrezia. She would use me for her satisfaction once again only to throw me aside later.
‘Who made you?’ I asked. ‘Who turned you, Lucrezia? And who is “the Mother”?’
‘What does it matter?’ Lying back on the desk she spread her legs, pulling up her skirt to reveal bare flesh. ‘This is what you want, Gabriele. You visualised it as you entered the room, didn’t you?’
I closed my eyes; backed away, even though it made more sense to stay and find out all I could. I was repulsed by her. I wanted nothing more to do with her lies, her deceit; her sex. I tugged open the door and the heat and noise from the dance floor poured in like the lava from an erupting volcano.
I fell through the crowd, barged past the diseased Bethany, and exploded from the disco, running full pelt down the road with the noise from the club still ringing in my ears.
Chapter 23
The doorman stares with dismay at Lilly’s long blonde hair and too normal make-up, before casting his disdainful expression in my direction. He has ‘LOVE’ and ‘HATE’ tattooed on his knuckles. He tugs at the cuffs of his shirt, jerks his neck and blocks our entrance, while letting in a motley group of black clad, Marilyn Manson look-alikes - it’s hard to distinguish male from female.
‘Not Goth, no entry.’ He looks awkward and wrong in his black tuxedo.
‘We’re not poor imitations, we’re the real thing,’ Lilly says smiling; the long points of her fangs are so visible that I gasp with excitement.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’ The bouncer nods, stepping back. ‘First door on the left ...’
I realise I’ve been holding my breath as my lungs begin to ache and I take a shuddering wheeze to ease the pressure. Lilly grabs my arm as the smell of salt and iron fills the air and we halt, overcome by the aroma.
‘Blood.’
‘Yes,’ I agree.
She surges forward. I hold her arm; make her walk in a controlled and dignified way. She stumbles, pulling against me for a while before our paces match and we walk slower. The door ahead opens as though of its own volition just as we reach it.
‘Biter or donor?’ asks another bouncer, this one younger and less rough in appearance, seems to suit his stark black outfit despite his eyebrow and lip piercing.
‘Biter,’ I confirm.
‘Good, we’ve more donors in tonight.’
We walk through a dark cavern that leads to a small reception room. The room is dimly lit and stark. The midnight ceiling is low, almost touching my head. Black and purple walls suffocate the meagre lighting but my eyes adjust instantly to the gloom and I see small alcoves line the walls glowing with the light from a single candle standing in the tarnished candelabras that hang from above. Each holds renaissance-style chairs covered with thick dark purple fabric and a table with a black lace cloth draped over it. Cliché. I gulp back a patronising smile. I feel like an experienced pornographer visiting a back alley adult sex shop.
‘You’re new here.’
A small, pale girl stands before us. She is wearing a long Wicca black dress and her hair shines blue-black in the candlelight. She holds out an antique silver tray that is covered with glistening, raw razor blades.
‘We never re-use or recycle.’ Smiling she shows her fake fangs. ‘There’s a yellow plastic bin in each alcove. You ditch them in there when you’ve finished.’
‘Of course.’ I return her over-zealous smile as I reach out and take a blade. Lilly takes one, but remains silent.
‘Obviously, it’s a donors’ market. They like you, they give,’ the Wicca girl continues. ‘I’m a donor. I swing both ways.’ Her eyes sweep us. ‘I like you - both.’
My skin prickles as I feel Lilly look at me.
‘That would suit us. My friend is hungrier than I am. Where?’
‘Follow me.’
Our new donor leads us farther into the room past the Goths who are kissing and more in the corner of the room. She raises a black curtain to reveal a door. She quickly dips under it, pushing open the other entrance and I move to follow. Lilly grabs my arm as I reach out to the curtain.
‘I don’t swing both ways.’
‘It’s not sex, its food.’
‘Funny, you seem to like fucking yours.’
‘Not anymore.’ I shake my head and look deeply into her green pools of anxiety.
She’s stiff, unmoving. Still I pull her into my arms. Her lips are ruby in the artificial twilight. I kiss her softly but she doesn’t react. She is terrified, though of what I am unsure.
‘Get off,’ she replies finally, but there is no fight in her.
Her mouth opens, responding despite herself and I kiss her long and deep until we are both breathless.
‘I promise,’ I say, reluctantly pulling back, ‘no sex. Just blood. I wouldn’t like it if you were ...’
She blinks, surprised.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. But I definitely don’t want you with a male donor. It could so easily turn sexual.’
Her eyes nod her acceptance.
‘Okay. Let’s go. I’m famished.’
The curtain rises and our ‘donor’ stares out at us through watery yellow eyes.
‘Problem?’
I shake my head.
Behind the curtain is a door leading into a small room. It is sparse inside with only a three-q
uarter four poster bed, a chair and an antique bureau.
‘What’s your name?’ Lilly asks as she looks around the room.
‘They call me Serena.’
‘I think we need something to get us in the mood,’ I suggest.
Serena smiles knowingly, closing the door against the black of the outside curtain. She rams home a well-oiled bolt, that barely squeaks. Then she moves over to the bureau, opens it and pulls out a tray holding a decanter filled with a ruby red liquid and some crystal glasses. She pours slowly. It sounds like blood dripping from a major artery; I wonder how long she has cultivated this skill to achieve just the right amount of trickle. She holds out a glass. I take mine and sniff the contents. Mmmm ... wine with a trace of blood. Nothing else hidden within.
‘It smells like you,’ I tell Serena.
She pulls back the long drooping sleeve of her dress and I see the tiny bandage covering her wrist. Her lower arm bears the healed and healing scars of previous donations.
‘My own brand. This is my regular room.’
So. Serena is not merely a willing patron; she will require some recompense for her contribution.
‘How much?’ I ask.
‘I’m not cheap, but I come with a guarantee.’
Slowly she turns again to open her bureau. Inside the top drawer she pulls out a piece of paper. A certificate.
‘I’m clean. No, syph, AIDS, hepatitis. I offer peace of mind, unlike the freebies in the alcoves. So a hundred for a small donation.’
Lilly is shocked.
‘You’re a prostitute?’
‘Oh, puhhlease! What I’m selling is far rarer than sex. Though I’m not averse to it, if the mood is right; I offer blood, discretion and no nasty surprises.’
‘You are exactly what we want,’ I tell her as I raise the glass to my lips and sip at the wine. ‘Yes. You’ll do nicely. Taste it, Lilly.’
Lilly swigs, deliberately unladylike, but I refuse to let her bait me. The rush from the blood hits her and her pupils dilate immediately. Her expression becomes glazed and she throws back the contents of the glass. She sways on her feet for a moment, before her eyes refocus, landing on Serena. The face of the seductress replaces the familiar soft lines of my beauty as she moves in with feral determination on the unsuspecting Serena. I block her, pushing back the pride that threatens to develop my ego to obscene proportions; I would love to watch her take this girl how she wants, but - would Lilly recover from the horror of it?