by R. C. Graham
He played there for long minutes, swiping his tongue over her sensitive skin, rolling her nipples in his lips, biting gently at them. Diane’s passion rose, and rose, and rose. Her body twitched, shimmied at his teasing. Her vaginal lips engorged and her panties grew wet with her fluids. She kicked off her shoes as he was unbuttoning her jeans. He pulled her lower garments down and she stepped from them. She was naked now, ready now.
He stood and disrobed. Diane waited with heated expectancy. The sight of his body raised her warmth with the knowledge he would soon be pressed against her.
Taking her hand once more he led her to the bed, knelt on it. He placed her in his lap, hip to hip, chest to chest, intimately. His hands and mouth roved again. Diane did the same. She loved the feel of him, the soft of him, the hard of him. All these sensations made her groan, made her sweat. Her hips started to pump driven by ancient behavior. She sank into the bliss of her love.
His right hand moved over her stomach. Downwards and his fingers stroked her clit. Diane hissed, jerked into it. The feeling was so gorgeous. She could feel the precursors of climax shake her.
Fingers now playing over her lips, he soaked them in her lubrication. Her undead lover turned his palm towards her. The tips spread her open and thrust inside, filling her wanting emptiness.
Diane keened a sweet noise and her hips started jerking. “Yes, chérie,” she panted, “yes. How you fill me. How you love me. Please, please.”
He pumped harder. Her lust flared and slackened at the same beat, each pulse a little more ecstatic than the last. Diane clamped tight on his fingers, dug her nails into him. She exploded with a “Now!”
She thrashed, hissed, twitched, moaned. Her orgasm smashed into her awareness, burying it under sheer carnal pleasure. She was wandering in a hot mist of bliss.
Vaguely, she became aware of his mouth at her throat. The next instant his teeth penetrated and her delight overwhelmed her. Diane floated away, her only perception was joy.
A joy that shrank. Its borders pulled in, darkness replacing it. Diane didn’t care, wrapped in ecstasy as she was. She just watched, felt the blackness compress her. Smaller, smaller, and she was gone.
Undeath
Her awareness came back in a blood red haze. Her mouth held a taste of liquid. She knew what it was, knew that she needed it. Her whole body, her whole existence, was desperately hungry for it.
Diane’s eyes snapped open and she sat up from the prone position she was in. She was on the floor, lying on a large plastic sheet. Snarling, she looked for something to feed on.
She felt as much as saw an object flying towards her. When Diane snatched it out of the air she found it was a soft, clear container, and she knew instantly what the red fluid in it was.
Without hesitation she ripped the neck off, tilted her head back and poured the contents into her mouth. Diane was too famished to be fastidious and much of the liquid sluiced down her bone white skin. The taste wasn’t quite right, stale almost, but Diane gulped it down. She needed this.
She was finished in seconds, began wiping her body clean with her hands, licked away the scarlet coating her fingers.
There came that sense of something in the air and another container landed in her hands. Again she ripped the top loose and drank the contents down. She was more careful this time. The edge was off her hunger and she wasted less.
Another container came. Diane sank her fangs in it, sucked out delicious redness it held. The taste was still not quite right, but she reveled in it as she had once enjoyed the finest chocolate.
There was another bag, and another. Yet more after that. She drained them all.
In a precipitous instant, that howling hunger vanished and her reason returned. Diane stared at her blood stained hands, became aware of what she was sitting in. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. There was no vocalization for what she felt.
She was in his arms then. “There, cher, there. The first is the worst. Yours wasn’t so bad. When I was made, there was no way to store blood. So my maker had people ready. I fed on two of them to their deaths.”
Diane held hard to him, the anchor she needed. Without him she would be lost, lost to what she had become.
He stood and produced a towel. Pulling her to her feet he ran it over her mopping up the mess of her first meal.
“Shower, love,” he told her while leading her towards it. “You’ll feel much better after you’re clean.”
After starting the water running, warm, he placed both of them in the cubicle. His hands gently soaped her, caressed her. Diane’s fear receded at that. She discovered she had other pleasures, simpler pleasures, happy pleasures. Free of the effluvia left by what she now was, she felt free of its drives. It seemed she hadn’t lost much after all.
They dried each other with fluffy towels, exchanging soft kisses the while. When done they embraced again, happy with this intimate moment. Diane felt an extra happiness knowing this was just the first of an eternity of nights.
“Georges?” she asked then. “I feel something. Something odd. I feel like I’m fading.” What she was experiencing was disturbingly similar to the moments before she changed.
“Dawn’s coming, love. We must sleep.”
He led her to the bed. They lay down, her back spooned up into his chest. He stroked her, comforted her.
Diane smiled, closed her eyes. Almost none of her earlier confusion and terror was felt. She simply felt like a woman who was loved.
The instant the sun came up, she slept.
Beginning
Diane Patterson came awake. The sun was down and she was free. Free to hunt, free to feed. Free to terrorize and free to kill. She was overjoyed at the prospect of it.
Her eyes twitched open. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who she was. Diane looked frantically around, searching for clues, anchors to draw her from the strange place she found herself.
The pair of arms held loosely around her torso pulled her tight to the body pressed against her back. “Shh, mon amour,” came a voice. “You’re here. The first waking is always confusing.”
Diane felt herself fill with loving warmth. She knew where she was now. With the man she loved.
Not a man! came the thought then. Then all the memories from the previous night rushed back. “God,” she moaned, “what have I done?” A dreadful bewilderment colored her voice.
He rolled her to face him. For the third time she saw him without his mask. His face was that beautiful, inhuman monster she had first glimpsed almost two years ago.
To her surprise he didn’t frighten her. Instead she became aware that she looked the same way. She could feel the different shape of her features, the fangs in her mouth. That frightened her. She struggled in his grip, meaning to run, hide from herself.
He held her tight. “No, my love, watch.”
Wide eyed, she did.
The next instant, the man she remembered was there, his blue eyes loving and warm. Diane’s terror calmed as her love rose to meet his.
“You try,” he directed. “Recall what you looked like when human. Push that memory to your face.”
She did so, and she knew at once her own features had changed. No one who had known her before would be able to tell what she now was.
It was then Diane noted the lack of color in her lover’s skin, bone white. She glanced at her arm to find she was the same shade. No human was colored so. She looked at him with concern painted across her face.
Then his skin flushed, changed hue until he was merely pale.
“Feel your power, Diane,” he told her, “the blood in your stomach. Concentrate, take a small piece of it, spread it around your body.”
Diane did as he asked, and it was how he described. She took it, moved it. When she held up her arm she saw that her attempt at camouflage had worked.
“See, cher?” He smiled. “You have choices. You need not be a monster. You’re free to do as you want, not as it wishes.
“A
nd the most important thing hasn’t changed. I still love you.”
Joy burst in Diane’s soul at that. That was a true statement, she could see it, and she still loved him. Without thought, her head darted forward and she kissed him, to show him how she felt. He answered with equal fervor.
It was then Diane noticed something odd. She could feel where his hands touched, feel the emotions he raised, but her body didn’t reflect this. Neither her nipples nor her clit became engorged. Her skin didn’t slick with sweat to respond to the heat that filled her. Her vagina didn’t release the lubricants needed to aid penetration. In fact, she didn’t feel the need to be penetrated at all.
Now the discovery struck her. She was dead. Her body couldn’t respond. She had passed beyond it.
She broke their kiss with a frightened gasp. Diane looked into her lover’s eyes and knew her face held the shock she felt.
“Shh, cher,” he responded. “It doesn’t matter. You still exist, still feel, still love. People such as us have a different consummation. Let me show you.”
He sat up, cross legged. Lifting her up, he set her in his lap, her legs gripping his hips. He played again. Mouth working, lips nibbling, hands fondling, he played again at her sensitive spots. He cupped one of her ass cheeks to pull her close, rubbed her cleft against the skin of his stomach.
Diane felt it. He was right. Her body didn’t matter, its state didn’t matter. She still had all the emotions of the living and that was the significant fact. Kissing him hard once more, she returned his gestures, worked to make him feel as good as she did.
He pulled away. His hand wrapped around her left wrist and he bought it to his mouth. At the same time he raised his arm to her.
Diane knew what to do, what he offered. Without thought she grabbed his limb, extended her fangs and sank them into his flesh. At the same instant, he started to feed from her.
An ecstasy as great as any she had known exploded in Diane. The blood she drank was full, full of the man she loved. She could taste his intellect, his learning, his courage, his restraint, his warm emotions, his love for her. Laced through it was his darkness, his hunger, his rage, his cold malevolence, his tenebrous joy. It was delicious beyond anything Diane had ever imagined. She wanted to drink until there was nothing left.
A voice drifted through her carnal haze. It spoke a name. She cared not at all. The word made no sense to her, was of no interest.
The voice spoke more forcefully, demanding her attention. She knew it was her name that was called. Her awareness returned to answer that call. What the voice said now made sense. “Diane, you’ll destroy me. And yourself.”
Her will took hold of her hunger and slammed it into the recesses of her mind. The thirst snarled there, and waited for the next time it came out. Diane knew it would come back. She’d never be free of it.
With another effort of will, Diane pulled her head away from his wrist and leaned back. His eyes caught hers and she saw he was proud of her. She smiled, knowing how much he thought of her, believed in her.
“You see, my love?” he said. “You’ll always have a choice. You’ll always be strong enough for that.”
They embraced again. Diane snuggled into him. Her mind was a swirl of emotions and she held tight to her anchor, her maker, her lover. She felt her love for him and his for her. She felt the expectancy of a new and very different world waiting for her. Finally she felt the being she had become in all its malignant delights and baneful wants. All this filled her with such a bitter joy she wanted to cry.
But she knew she’d never cry again.
Table of Contents
Setting Out
As they’ve all been for the last ten months, it’s been a good night.
Diane and I rise with the setting of the sun. We bathe together, a ritual that binds us, reminds us of what we feel. After that we dress, chatting. We rarely run out of things to talk about. When we do the silence is warm and full, not empty, begging to be filled with words. Her French is now as good as my English. We’re at the point where we change languages in mid-paragraph. It gives our conversations a delightful shading and rhythm.
Then we go to the large loft we’ve rented. We’ve set it up as a training ground. Diane needs to become accustomed to the physical abilities of our kind. As with humans, the more an ability is used the more potent it is.
Diane can now lift more dead weight than any human save the most dedicated weightlifters and she could knock three seconds off the world record in the 100 meter dash, assuming they held it at night. I’ve also devised exercises for balance and agility. Both those traits of hers are now impressive, even for people such as us.
Other tests are designed to use these traits at less than their maximum. If they are used to the full in public it can be very dangerous to us. The first few times she used the heavy bag she punched a hole in it. It’s been months since we’ve had to replace it. Her control is now fine tuned.
She still hasn’t manifested some of the more outré physical powers. She can’t form claws, create a veil of shadows or sink into the earth yet. I don’t know when they’ll appear, but they’re handy skills, not necessary ones. Her empathic abilities are coming along well, but she can’t yet directly affect a person’s mind.
Diane can use the power that lets her move at a speed far beyond any living thing. It takes a great deal of concentration, and blood. I make sure to have some available when I test her, to make sure the monster doesn’t take control through hunger. Still, my accomplished lady can press the timing buttons I’ve set up in each corner of the loft in under three seconds.
I’ve also been training her in hand-to-hand combat. I’m hardly an expert but conflict has often been a part of my existence. It will be for Diane as well so I help her with the skills she’ll most likely need. She is a very good pupil and a rather nasty infighter. I’ve had to heal more than a few broken bones. I hurt her less often, but those occasions allow her to practice repairing herself.
We exercise for an hour and then proceed about our night. As we wander the streets of Paris the two of us watch the humans as they go about their lives. Buskers, street artists, tourists, natives, all give the my love and I something to observe and enjoy. We stop in a jazz club to listen to a band visiting from America. They’re very good and the quiet joy of their music enriches us.
We also find our evening meal there, a lovely young lady from Rome. I let Diane lead the seduction, an exercise in using her empathic powers. She has a natural skill at it. We end up in our prey’s hotel room. Pleasuring her to the brink of madness, we feed at the moment of her climax.
As we feed frequently, Diane and I don’t take much. When done we leave the woman sated, happy and weak. It will be a very pleasant memory for her.
I’ve made sure the two of us hunt together. This early in her existence it’s too easy for the monster to slip her control. Bitter experience taught me this fact. I don’t want her to carry the burden of someone’s death. Also, bodies can raise questions so I stay close to make sure the monster in her remains contained.
Now we’re sitting on a bench at the bank of the Seine, relaxed, full, watching the water flow past us. As always, we’re snuggled together, enjoying the presence of the person we love.
However I sense a tenseness in her. I recall she’s often had a pensive look on her face over the last month. I don’t inquire, she’ll tell me her thoughts when she’s ready.
Which is now.
“Georges?” she asks. Her arms draw me tighter as she does.
“Oui, cheri?”
“I want to go home.”
This isn’t good, I think.
“I’m not sure that’s wise, love,” is what I say out loud.
Diane squeezes me tightly. “I know. But I feel the need. I want to see where I grew up, visit friends and family. I want to see them, remember who I was. I, I feel me fading, Georges. Who I used to be doesn’t seem quite real anymore. That scares me. I’ve never worried about losing touch
before. Maybe if I can make who I was more real I won’t be scared anymore.”
For a moment I prepare arguments to turn her from her goal. Then, as always, I find I can’t refuse her. She means too much to me.
“All right, cher,” I assent, placing a soft peck on her forehead. “We’ll go see Marcel tomorrow.”
Diane smiles brightly, sits up and gives me a loving kiss. After a minute she pulls away. Her eyebrows rise in curiosity. “Who’s Marcel?”
“My travel agent.”
Table of Contents
First Hunt
The door to The Lavender Pit opened and a cool night breeze wafted inside. The puff of wind bought a woman with it.
She paused at the top of a short flight of steps and looked around the dark club. Her eyes didn’t squint to penetrate the dim light.
What she saw was a room balanced in size between small enough to be intimate and large enough to be capacious. The bar was just a few steps away and parallel to the right wall. There were two servers, a willowy blonde and a full figured brunette, working behind it. They filled their orders from a large selection of liquors lined up on several sets of shelves on the wall behind them and beer taps protruding the bar. Ten stools, all but two occupied, sat in front of the mahogany wood counter. The left hand wall had a shelf waist high running along it with another row of stools. A small dance area had a few women on it writhing to a techno beat.
Every patron of the bar was female. Their ages ranged from barely old enough to drink to those who might be grandmothers. Their appearances covered an even wider range, some dressed and coifed almost mannishly, some very feminine with most somewhere in between. Many of them were paired, holding hands or snuggling close. There were a fair number of singles as well.