Girls Who Bite

by Delilah Devlin

  “So we want something smooth and fresh for the main course,” Astrid said thoughtfully as she scanned the thin crowd in the disco. It was barely midnight now, still early.

  The music throbbed out the passing seconds like heartbeats, and Julia felt her own pulse quicken in response to the collective pulse of youthful blood and hormones that soon filled the small bar. Within an hour, they had spotted him. And from that moment, it was easy.

  He was young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen at the most. He was far too sure of his own seductive potential. And he thought himself lucky, but deserving, to have caught the interest of the two foreign beauties who invited him back to their suite at one of the finest hotels in the city.

  Luca, as the young man called himself, was easy on the eyes and spoke just enough English to ease Astrid’s way. Julia was an avid linguist, and always had been, but Astrid spoke only two tongues. She still recalled the language of her birthplace and had later adopted English. In her chosen language, Astrid communicated quite well.

  “We’re going to have fun together, Luca. You know ‘fun’?”

  He assured her that he did. His grin widened as Julia’s clothes practically melted from her lithe body and Astrid took the opportunity to continue her teasing from earlier in the evening. Holding her lover from behind, Astrid fondled her breasts, knowing that the skin Luca was ogling still held a tantalizing flush from the first meal. Astrid slid one trim knee between Julia’s thighs to part them, exposing her pink folds to Luca’s lust-darkened gaze. There was no hair to obscure the view.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Astrid asked the boy. “And so are you. I want to watch the two of you together.”

  Luca shucked his clothes almost as quickly as Julia had. Both women were pleased to see that he was no more than reasonably furred.

  “You’re being unusually pushy,” whispered Julia, as they watched him undress.

  Astrid continued to stroke and tease, pressing fingertips down in a smooth, even stroke over her exposed clit.

  “What’s gotten into you this evening?”

  “Lust,” whispered her lover. “Pure and simple. Now get on the bed and let the beautiful boy eat your pussy. I plan to find it very entertaining.”

  “Are you going to join in?”

  “Oh, yes. Once I’m sufficiently entertained.”

  Julia smirked at the now-naked young man as she threw back the red and gold coverlet and climbed gracefully onto the bed. She knew the picture she presented, knew her own allure. Confident, amused, she lifted her hands to her breasts and rolled her nipples slowly between her thumbs and forefingers as she spread her legs. She knew enough Italian to tell him what she wanted.

  He knew enough English to grasp that the taller, blonde woman with the short black leather skirt and very tall black leather boots was the one calling the shots. He looked to Astrid for confirmation and waited for her curt nod before joining Julia on the high, wide bed and lowering his head to lap at her cunt.

  Astrid undressed slowly.

  Julia watched, almost as entranced by the visual teasing as by the surprisingly talented ministrations of the doomed young man between her thighs. The short jacket and tank top came off, revealing a burgundy silk bra that was more a confection of lace than a support garment, then the skirt, which Astrid removed with a slow shimmy and a smirk. She knew Julia liked the boots, so she obligingly left those on even as she removed the tantalizing lingerie.

  A clever flick of Luca’s tongue brought Julia’s attention back to him; she gasped and arched into his mouth, and smiled at the twin sounds of appreciation from the boy and the ancient woman joining them on the bed. Not ancient compared to Julia, of course. But after a few hundred years together, the difference seemed to matter less and less. Astrid was powerful and coming into her prime.

  “Is it good, my love?” Astrid asked, as if she knew the answer.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “As good as me?”

  Julia shook her head. “Nobody is as good as you.”

  “Luca, would you like her to fuck you?”

  The boy lifted his head, batting his dreamy eyes at them and nodding his agreement. His cock was stiff and red already. When Astrid playfully pushed him down onto his back the erection stood straight up like a pole, easily mounted, easily ridden.

  Julia groaned as she eased herself down onto him, impaling herself. Even the boy could see that his primary use now was as a sex toy. He didn’t seem to mind. He made no protest as Astrid lowered her head to Julia’s clit and held her hips nearly still while she sucked her lover until she came, shuddering around the convenient cock.

  Nor did young Luca complain when Astrid straddled his lower belly, her back to his face, and embraced Julia as she sought her own pleasure. Julia moved again, hips and fingers and mouth, satisfying Astrid and the boy at the same time.

  Astrid was cool and pale, even in the heat of her orgasm. Julia felt the muscles of the younger woman’s cunt tighten and spasm around her fingers, but the beautiful face in front of her never darkened with the familiar flush of passion.

  She wondered if she was beginning to wear that same white, hungry gleam. She wondered if the young man straining beneath them—coming at last with a moaned word she didn’t recognize—would notice or care.

  He certainly didn’t seem bothered much when his new friends rolled off him, tumbling to the bed in a postcoital kiss. Luca rolled toward them, watching in clear approval, his youthful penis already twitching back into readiness at the sight.

  There was a moment when Julia forgot him, forgot everything but the slide and catch of Astrid’s body over hers and the melting together of lips and souls. She was so beautiful, her icy Viking goddess, and still proving daily the merit of Julia’s decision to change her. Her only child, her only real lover in all this time.

  “Maybe we should keep this one for a little while, as a pet,” Astrid suggested. The language she spoke now was her first, not her best. Guttural, with a cadence that did not lend itself to sensuality. But it had become their language for secrets. Julia smiled at the discordance of hearing those harsh tones in bed.

  “As a cow? You don’t even like him, love.” Julia pulled her creation closer and kissed her slowly, letting her tongue linger before speaking again. “Besides, he’s a boy. I know how you feel about boys.”

  Astrid laughed. “This particular one’s been very well behaved, though, I must admit.”

  Julia smiled over at the boy in question, who was still watching them with his head propped on one elbow. He wore a delightfully confused expression as he tried to follow their suddenly incomprehensible conversation. For the first time, he looked as though a hint of doubt or uncertainty had crept into his mind. Not fear yet, but she could see what fear would look like on his face. It would be brief. Even at their cruelest, they were never completely lacking in compassion.

  Besides, frightened meals tended to struggle too much, and it made for a lot of cleanup. A few moments of terror, however, acted as a delicious spice. They both liked the taste of fear, the high note of adrenaline.

  The women moved as if they had one mind, conducting a final loving assault on their companion. Astrid kissed his mouth, a leisurely exploration, while Julia worked her way down his firm young body to tease his cock back to full firmness—because that too would add to the taste.

  She continued, barely touching with her lips, tongue, breath. He reached for her head to encourage her, but Astrid took his hands and moved them back up next to his head on the pillow, giving her partner time to work at her own pace.

  Astrid might seem to be in charge, but Julia always took the first bite.

  She drew it out, as she sometimes liked to do. Teasing herself until her own pulse points felt as though they throbbed in sympathy with the blood she could sense beneath the skin of her meal. Not quite a smell, not quite a flavor, but a plain and certain knowledge of what it would taste like when the teeth finally broke through the skin and hit the source. A vei
n, delicate, the elemental qualities of the blood coming to the fore. Or an artery, rich and heady and often a mess, a bloody feast for all the heightened senses.

  It was time now. Julia stopped the licking, the scraping, and pressed her teeth firmly and smoothly into the flesh of the boy’s upper thigh, holding him steady when he tried to jerk away. Astrid kept his mouth covered with her own, kept his hands pinned down with a strength no woman should possess. No man, either.

  After the first few seconds, Julia knew Astrid would mesmerize the boy into an unearthly calm and he would no longer need to be restrained. But for the first bites, the meal would be lucid and terrified.

  Perfect. He was perfect. The slight tension at the surface just before the skin broke, then the slide of sharp bone into the meat and the burst of essential fluid. Hot, his blood was hot in Julia’s mouth, and it thawed the deep chill inside her as thoroughly as a bonfire in winter warms the hands of a vagrant. Just as delicious, just as fleeting. She didn’t suck, but let the ebb and flow of his heartbeat direct the blood into her mouth.

  Soon she was whimpering, flexing her hips down into the mattress in a futile attempt to ease the rush of renewed arousal that made her pussy and clit throb in time with that pulse. Against her cheek she could feel the boy’s cock, still hard, and just as wanting for stimulation as she was. She considered shifting her position, taking him into her mouth and biting him there as he squirmed and tried to thrust. Tempting. But she didn’t like the taste of blood and ejaculate together.

  “We should put him back where we found him when we’re through,” Astrid murmured. She had opted for a shallow bite on the meal’s shoulder, avoiding major arteries and the always delectable jugular. She sucked at the raw holes, licking the blood from her lips before she continued. “Take his memory, leave just enough to make him ashamed. Wondering, always. If we’re being devils, it would be so much crueler than killing him.”

  Julia lifted her head a few inches, eyes sleepy with desire as she contemplated her lover over the straining body of the young man. “You’ve come so far. I remember when you wouldn’t have had the control to consider such a thing.”

  Astrid laughed and licked at the wounds on Luca’s shoulder, closing the punctures. His head lolled to the side. He was near the end, now. Julia bent to heal his thigh as well, knowing they could drain him no further if they meant to leave him alive.

  “Did you get enough?” Julia asked as the skin began to seal itself.

  “If we hunt again tomorrow night.”

  It was pitifully easy to walk the drowsy Italian back out of the hotel. They didn’t even have to hide it. He just seemed drunk, and they were still euphoric themselves from their hit of rich young blood. A beautiful, giggling, tipsy threesome they appeared to be, heading back out for another round of dancing.

  They left him in an empty street near the bar where they’d acquired him, and he started shuffling away as soon as they let him go. The trip back to the hotel was much faster without the added burden.

  It was still full dark when Julia slipped between the cool hotel sheets. She watched Astrid undress slowly for the second time that night, although this time the disrobing was more practical than seductive in nature.

  The boots came off. But she didn’t come to bed immediately. Instead, she stood at the window for long minutes, staring at the sparkling city lights until Julia finally felt compelled to break the silence.

  “Why tonight? Why like this, my love? I’m not complaining, mind you. Only it was…unexpected. Different.”

  Astrid smiled, turning away from the view and drawing the heavy curtain with a sustained yawn. “It’s early. And it’s been a long night. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Julia could have left it at that; left it unanswered. But after hundreds of years, she knew it was better not to go to bed with questions like this one hanging in the air.

  “Astrid, why?”

  With a sigh, Astrid joined her on the bed, climbing up her body and pulling the bedclothes up after her to cocoon them in darkness and warmth. “You looked so beautiful up there in the sunset, you know. Up on the dome of the basilica. There was just enough gold left in the sky to make your hair look like an autumn day in the forest.”

  “I miss autumn days the most, I think,” Julia mused. She combed her fingers through Astrid’s tousled blonde locks, enjoying the play of the soft strands over her skin. It was growing harder to fight the pull of sleep.

  “You were beautiful,” Astrid said again, tightening her grip. “And I don’t ever want you to decide that you’d like to see the view from up there in the sunrise instead. I don’t care how many pretty Italian boys it takes.”

  It was as if a valve had been turned somewhere deep in Julia’s body, in her soul—Oh, is that all?—and she sighed as the tension she hadn’t been fully aware of released itself. “Silly thing. Did I really seem suicidal?”

  Astrid hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. “You seem very thoughtful lately.”

  “It will pass,” Julia assured her wryly. “Even without an influx of fine young Italian cock.”

  “But you won’t be complaining if I insist, will you?”

  Even though she couldn’t see Astrid’s face, buried as it was in the hollow between her breasts, Julia could feel the soft huff of her laughter.

  “Hardly,” she admitted. “But no cows. I don’t want the responsibility just now.”

  “No cows,” Astrid agreed.

  “You’re enough for me, you know.”

  “Even after all this time?”

  “Of course. After any amount of time.” She had said it before. And Julia knew she would have to say it again every so often. Every few decades or centuries, Astrid needed that reassurance. But she was worth it, always. “I could have found a lovely boy to turn. I didn’t. I chose you. Only you.”

  Astrid nodded, her hair brushing against Julia’s chest in a way that felt more sensual now than sexual. The sun was almost up. It was nearly time to sleep whether they wanted to or not. And then wake when the sun slipped down again and take up the hunt once more. Again and again, forever and ever.

  Julia yawned and thought of the metal roof of the basilica. It had still held the heat of the day when she perched there in the early evening. How chilly and damp it would be in the morning, slick with dew. How the rising sun’s heat might, at first, feel like a blessing to bones that had been cold so long, chilled so thoroughly. She loved Astrid, who was now in the absolute stillness of sleep. And Astrid was still blood-warm against her body. But she knew that she would wake cold, her limbs entwined with Astrid’s equally cold ones, and that knowledge took its toll over the years. All knowledge did.

  “The equator,” she murmured, nudging her companion just hard enough to rouse her. “What do you think about going somewhere along the equator next? Africa, perhaps, or the south of Asia?”

  “Wherever you like, love,” Astrid mumbled before falling back to sleep.

  The equator. Where it would be warm, even hot, for most of the year. Julia drifted into slumber dreaming of night in the jungle. It made for vastly better sleep than her previous night’s dream of the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica in the fatal light of morning.

  DARK ANGEL

  Paisley Smith

  Berlin, 1934

  Evangelina Vogel’s gaze connected with the dark-haired woman’s again. She inhaled. Decidedly striking, the woman sidled through the smoky cabaret clad in a man’s tuxedo.

  The woman flashed a knowing, ruby-lipped smile and Evangelina’s breath caught.

  “Let’s go.” Her husband, Rudolf, gave her a sharp tug on the arm.

  “Go? Why?”

  “You think I don’t know you’re looking at her?” Rudolf whispered hotly, cutting his gaze at the woman.

  Evangelina didn’t have a chance to reply. Instead, she stumbled along as Rudolf squeezed her arm and ushered her through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.

  The raucous music dropped to a dull thump as
he shoved her out the door and into a nearby alley.

  “How dare you disgrace me?”

  “Disgrace you?” She snorted and fingered the Nazi party pin he wore on the lapel of his black suit. “You’ve done a good enough job of disgracing yourself.”

  Rudolf’s mouth twitched menacingly. Without warning, he shoved her so hard she skidded on her hands and knees across the cobblestones. Pain seared her palms and one shin, but she had no time to consider that. She scrambled to regain her footing.

  His silhouette loomed in the glare of the cabaret lights. Something else glinted in the darkness. A pistol?

  A shot reverberated through the alley, echoing in her ears. Before she could register what had happened, a hard, brute force slammed into her chest. He’d shot her! Shocked, she dropped, covering the bleeding wound with her hand.

  Her gaze flew to Rudolf’s. Trembling, he gaped. “Look what you made me do!”

  Evangelina summoned the stamina to glare at him. Determination welled inside her that his last memory of her would not be of her cowering and whimpering. He gulped, and then he turned and ran.

  Once he was gone, she curled into a ball on the cold, damp cobblestones. Every breath sent sharp pains stabbing through her chest.

  Her senses flickered and the sounds from the cabaret seemed suddenly faraway. Evangelina knew she was dying. She didn’t care. Her life—all twenty-two years of it—had been a struggle. She’d been described as different from other girls, a tomboy. She’ll grow out of it, they said.

  But she hadn’t. Marriage had not cured her.

  Unless dying was the cure.

  “You’re dying.”

  Evangelina tried to regain her senses but nothing existed except a soft, soothing voice. Yes, she was dying. She’d always thought she would welcome death. Peace. Nothingness. But not now. Not facing it straight on. Sudden terror of the unknown gripped her.

  “Do you want to live or die?” a breathy female voice whispered through the night air.

  Evangelina’s head swam.