A sob broke from her, and she bit down on her lip to contain the sound. The capillaries of her soft flesh broke, causing a deep reddening of the skin.
Hugo stirred, pulling his arm back up and rolling to his side.
Baby, please wake up.
Bree chewed on the inside of her cheek. The pain centered her, kept her focused, kept the tears at bay.
Hugo woke and looked up from his quiet resting place. Sunlight drifted through the curtains, softening the light as it fell across his face. To Bree, his dark skin was suddenly devoid of pigment, his eyes blank, his hair limp and slicked back with sweat against his head.
Rita’s words rang in her mind: If he starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin becomes white, you can’t let it go too far.
Smoothly, Hugo stood, his gaze fixed on his wife’s mouth with desire, the fire behind his flat eyes inhuman with its need. Bree, in her desperation, only saw that he was awake and walking toward her with strength she mistook for health.
As for Hugo, the weight holding him down lifted, and he felt almost buoyant, excitement showing in his gait.
She smiled at him brightly, releasing her hold on herself and reaching for him, needing him to be the one to hold her together. His mouth twisted into something resembling a smile, but his lips curled back with a soft, animal-like growl.
Hugo pulled his wife into his arms and inhaled deeply, immediately recognizing the scent of his salvation. His lips roughly met hers, and he searched her mouth with his tongue, seeking the flavor that would return him to life.
Bree clung to him, pulling him in closer, digging into him with her nails. She breathed deeply and her excitement enhanced the provocative scent that had awoken him from his slumber. She lost herself in their kiss, sucking on him and letting her need take over. She didn’t notice when his kiss became more about his teeth than her lips, or when his hands gripped her ass so tightly she could not have gotten away if she tried. Perhaps she didn’t notice because she didn’t want to get away. She didn’t want him to stop his assault.
If he stopped, he might disappear again. This moment was real and tangible.
Hugo’s teeth sunk deeply into Bree’s lower lip, his incisor striking the very spot she had bitten earlier. The tip was sharp and sunk easily into her flesh.
She gasped as he sucked on the wound, drawing blood to the surface. His hold on her tightened, a vice grip around her waist. One hand locked behind her head so she could not get away. He would have her and take what his biology demanded.
Hugo pulled back and looked at her with eyes of life and fire, then released her and shook his head as if trying to break a spell.
“Hugo....” She reached up and took his face in her hands. Whatever just happened between them had restored his strength. Whatever he needed, she would give it to him willingly.
“Hugo....” she said again, pulling him down to her lips. He resisted until she bit down on her lip harder, re-opening the wound he had caused.
They made frantic, desperate love on the living room floor. Fear, relief and passion blended together, bringing them to a new high. Hugo made love to her body while he suckled her lip.
Bree felt complete with him inside her. They moved together easily; like the tide against the dunes, their bodies danced to the familiar rhythm of love. Today, though, Hugo’s hunger for her body consume him, and he crashed his need into her with a strength he hadn’t possessed before.
Bree screamed and lifted her body up to him, her legs pulling him closer as her hands gripped his back. She moaned and her world condensed, closing in on her until all that existed were their bodies together. As she drew closer to her final exaltation, Hugo pulled away from her swollen and bruised mouth.
With a scream of his own, a banshee cry that ricocheted through the house, he sunk his teeth into the meat of her shoulder.
***
Deprivation is a skill monks and nuns, the aesthetics of ancient mystic religions, have all known. Deprivation of that which you crave makes you pure. Refusing to give in to an evil need is a pious act. However, evil is like water: it seeps into the cracks until it overflows from within.
The flavor fills his mouth, softly bitter juices spreading out from the taste buds. He groans as the bitterness causes his mouth to water, and at the familiar feeling of the sides of his tongue tingling with delight. Denying his need for this longing is dangerous, as his body begins to change in response to the lack of his essential nourishment. He waits too long every time, hating himself for what he is and what he has allowed to happen, but in this moment, all his guilt is abandoned. He feels only joy throughout body and soul as he consumes the tender meat.
Today’s sacrifice overwhelms him. He moans with joy as the combination of muscle and fat commingle in each bite. Times like this, he understands the sensual nature of his desire; the flavor intoxicates him, and his humanity slips further away with each small bite. This is not the chewy, rubber-like cartilage of an ear, or the bony, almost-meatless fare of a finger or toe. No, this is the flesh of the gods, the essence of life.
The rice on his plate absorbs the sweet juice and, as he finishes the meat, he makes sure to eat every grain, soaking up every last drop of the aphrodisiac juice. Still, the scent fills his nose; it is pungent in the air. Instincts rule as his hunger reminds him of this inescapable need. The erotic connection between food and lust intermingle and confuse as he lifts his eyes.
***
Bree looked at herself in the mirror for the last time. They were leaving the home they’d built without a word to friends, neighbors or family. She pulled her hair over her shoulder, covering the tender crescent of flesh on the side of her head where her ear had once been.
Soon, it would be impossible to hide these small absences. Soon, he would need much more than a simple ear.
In the living room, Hugo sat alone with an old box of matches and a gasoline can. His eyes leveled on the two still figures before him: a man and a woman, each with hunks of flesh missing from their bodies. He recited a prayer he remembered from his youth, meant to be said at meals to recognize the sacrifice of the animals who’d died so that they might eat: Oliwni Gia Mziwi Mili.
He stood uneasily, not yet adjusted to his new height, as Bree entered the dark room. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness so completely that he saw her angelic face, the sweetness of her lips, and the devotion in her gaze.
“Nizwia.” He found himself reverting to his native tongue more and more often these days.
He held out his hand to her and continued, “N’nossokawikw.”
Her smile was radiant. She didn’t understand the words he spoke, but she recognized the tones of love. All her concern and doubt evaporated when his eyes met hers, and his hand waited patiently. His love never wavered; they could overcome anything together.
When she walked to his side, he leaned down and kissed her, his lips soft and full, his recent weakness forgotten. Now that he’d fed, it should hold him for quite some time, perhaps long enough for them to start over and make a new life together. His skin had lost some of its pigment, but tonight he looked flushed and healthy.
They would go somewhere they couldn’t be found, where no one would question the changes in him or the slight limp in her walk.
They would leave everything behind, sacrificing life and normalcy for love.
Together, they lit the fire that would consume their lives. These bodies would replace them in death, their sacrifice necessary. They would just disappear, a simple and easy exit.
Hugo moved like a ghost, drifting though the house with an ease and elegance he’d never possessed before his illness. Now he was buoyant with peace and acceptance. No matter what, it would be them together against the evils both within and without.
They walked hand in hand out into the darkness, the flames of all they left behind licking at their feet. Smiling, they slipped away into nothingness.
***
“Nizwia,” he growls, his voice no longer soft
and melodic.
“Yes, my love?”
“Mili gagwi...N’gadopi.” His head hangs limply from his shoulders. The days are passing quickly, and the time between each feasting is shortening.
“I give you everything.”
“You give me too much.” He chokes on the words.
“Nothing is too much—nothing for you, love.”
She lay on the bed wearing nothing but the sheet he’d draped over her. She reaches for him with her left hand but pulls back at his wince—the two fingers there are the last that remain. With a sigh, she drops her arm and looks away.
Outside, wind whips through the desert, picking up speed and ferocity with nothing strong enough to resist its power.
“Maybe I should just go,” he says, not wanting to have this conversation, knowing how the idea of him with anyone else hurts her.
Yet she is dying in pieces before his eyes.
“No.” She sits up, looking deep into him. “I am yours. I am what you need.”
“Nizwia, it’s become too much, too often. I’m so hungry.”
Instead of answering, she pulls the sheet away from her body. Her breasts bear the marks of his lust, but her skin shines brightly in the dark room. Her hair is short now, her long neck flowing gracefully down to her milky shoulders.
He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare at the familiar scent of her desire. The scar on her right shoulder seems to pulse, calling out to him. He needs her body and soul, and it is a constant surprise that she needs to give it to him.
Their lips come together and he feels the heat between their bodies ignite with familiar passion.
“I love you,” she sighs, running her fingers over his scalp.
He lowers his lips to hers again, pulling her to him. Slowly they kiss, and his hands gently roam her body. It is always dangerous for them to make love when his hunger rises this close to the surface, as his need for her and his need for sustenance war inside him. His humanity battles the demon slowly consuming him.
She begins removing his ill-fitted clothing, needing to feel his skin against hers. Frustrated, he stands up and removes his shirt and pants swiftly, desperate to feel her close to him, to be inside of her—to have her inside of him.
He lies down next to her, stretching his long limbs out past the capacity of the bed. He never sleeps on it anymore, the hard floor being more to his new body’s liking. His long, bony fingers reach out to her, and she moans at the whisper across her flesh. The skin on his hands is calloused and rough, but they are his, and so she loves them, just as she loves his now-pale skin and his lean physique.
“Nizwia... N’gadopi,” he coos into her neck, and runs his tongue along the scar tissue that was once her ear.
She shivers and leans into him, reaching around his body with her leg, hoping to pull him to her. As she extends what remains of her calf over him, she stretches the delicately healing skin further than it can go, and the scab separates, leaking the scent of fresh blood into the air.
The sudden onslaught of passion overwhelms him. His erection throbs and his mouth salivates, his body desperate for her in every way. He resists and pulls away, needing fresh air to clear his mind.
She arches against him, connecting their bodies, and brings her mouth to his, kissing him, drawing him into her. She caresses his dry tongue with hers, losing herself in the memory of who they were.
“My love,” he moans, before submitting to her desire. The taste of her mouth, the scent of her arousal intermingled with blood, and the feeling of her skin against his body, is more than he can bear. He rolls on top of her and smoothly enters her. The warmth of her inner walls envelopes him, pulling him further into insanity’s bliss.
He moves against her quickly, harder then their usual lovemaking, and she wails in joy. He is always so gentle with her, as if she were a fragile thing, but tonight he is lost—her skin, her nerves, her very being, radiate with his love. They ride the wave of their passion, building to an impossible crest.
Her blood seeps onto the mattress.
The maddening smell speaks to him, mocks him, pulls at his soul. He is hungry. He is starving. Inside of her, he can feel her heart pulsing to the rhythm of their bodies, and his breath syncs with hers. When she closes her eyes and rolls her head back, the scar on her shoulder gleams in the dim light.
His humanity crumbles, leaving only need. With a final, brutal thrust, he releases himself into her.
Her scream of ecstasy soon becomes a shriek as he sinks his teeth deeply into her shoulder. The old wound welcomes him like a lover lost at sea finally come home. She writhes beneath him, trying to pull away, but his strength and instincts easily restrain her.
The flesh of her shoulder pulls away easily, and the rattling screams of the woman he loves do not phase him as he tears at her body. Each piece of her he consumed over the years, since his change began, had driven him further into hell while keeping him bound to earth. Yet now, as he ravishes her inside and out, his deepest passions rejoice.
Still lodged deeply within her, he pulls away and looks down at the creature lying beneath him. Her body trembles as he cocks his head and smiles, blood dripping from his lips.
“Olegwasi,” he growls before continuing his feast.
About the Author
Award-winning author of multi-cultural and transgressive literature, Pavarti K Tyler is an artist, wife, mother and number cruncher. She graduated Smith College in 1999 with a degree in Theatre. After graduation, she moved to New York, where she worked as a Dramaturge, Assistant Director and Production Manager on productions both on and off Broadway. Later, Pavarti went to work in the finance industry at several international law firms. She now lives with her husband, two daughters and one very large, very terrible dog. She keeps busy working with fabulous authors as the Director of Marketing at Novel Publicity and penning her next genre bending novel.
Follow her at www.PavartiKTyler.com
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What’s Next from Pavarti K. Tyler?
SUGAR & SALT
(A Sugar House Novella)
Watch for this tale of Erotica, the first installment of the Sugar House Novellas, coming December 2, 2013 from Evolved Publishing.
~~~~~
After over a decade working in the sex industry, Janice Cane retains no illusions about the nature of relationships. Everyone lies and everyone wants something. Still, a part of her longs for a connection.
Speed dating becomes her addiction, a place to find a man for the night when she needs a quick fix, and her last hope that true love may still be waiting around the next corner. When a mysterious man entices both her intellect and her lust, she becomes entangled in an affair more complicated than she’d expected.
Enter the world of the Sugar House. Here you’ll meet the illustrious Madam Janice Cane and her brood of men and women who will fulfill your every fantasy. But can they find a way to fulfill their own?
TWO MOONS OF SERA
Watch for this romantic Sci-Fi/Fantasy adventure, newly revised from its original serial form, coming December 2, 2013 from Evolved Publishing.
~~~~~
In a world where water and earth teem with life, Serafay is an anomaly. The result of genetic experiments on her mother’s water-borne line, Serafay will have to face the very people responsible for her mother’s torture to discover who she really is. But is she the only one?
~~~~~
Praise for Two Moons of Sera:
“Through a beautiful narrative that flows with the same nimble ease as the Sualwet characters. Powerful messages about war, cultural and racial differences that will sear the readers mind with the mighty fire of the A’aihea. The reader will enjoy the journey full of love and hatred. The complexity of the characters surprise, frustrate and give hope. The Erlander display much of what is wrong and what is right with the fabric of our own society today especially through aspects of war and prejudice.” – Maria Catalina Egan “M.C.V. E
gan,”Author of “The Bridge of Deaths”
“The author has created a story that is so much more than just what is contained in the narrative. Books should not only serve to enchant and excite … but they should leave an impression. This book is a winner on all fronts.” - Gaele Hince, of I Am Indeed
More from Pavarti K. Tyler
WHITE CHALK
by Pavarti K. Tyler
This Coming-of-Age Literary Fiction piece explores the darkly emotional path chosen by one teenage girl. For more information on this book, please visit the Evolved Publishing website.
~~~~~
Chelle isn’t a typical thirteen-year-old girl—she doesn’t laugh with friends, play sports, or hang out at the mall after school. Instead, she navigates a world well beyond her years.
Life in Dawson, ND spins on as she pleads for someone to save her, to return her to the simple childhood of unicorns on her bedroom wall and stories on her father’s knee.
When Troy Christiansen walks into her life, Chelle is desperate to believe his arrival will be her salvation—so much so, she forgets to save herself.
After experiencing a tragedy at school, her world begins to crack, causing a deeper scar in her already fragile psyche. Follow Chelle’s twisted tale of modern adolescence, as she travels down the rabbit hole into a reality none of us wants to admit actually exists.
~~~~~
Praise for White Chalk:
“Shocking, driving, compelling, riveting: these words describe my raw reaction to Tyler’s latest novel. The characters are real and believable. The first-person narrative is bare, unadorned; it provides an unobscured and clearly focused view of the heroine’s journey through her personal hell. As I read, snippets of my own children’s comments about school came back to me with greater impact. Could that student they mentioned have been going through this? Could my own children have had similar feelings in their own circumstances? My children are fine, but I’m still discomfited by the thought of “what if.” A writer’s intent is obviously being realized when it forces you to consider the uncomfortable possibilities of these scenarios happening to your own children. Tyler’s ability to describe in words the feelings of an adolescent is tremendous and very insightful. Some many moments just spot on. Kudos to Tyler for the tremendous effort, the research, and the ability to evoke in me such feelings of anguish at the novel’s end!” – Robert DiGiacomo
Consumed by Love - A Short Story Page 2