Copyright © 2009 by George LaCas – All Rights Reserved
I confess that, as I held her warm throbbing lifeblood-filled body in my arms, this panting animal she was that—in my fevered obsessed mind, at any rate—dominated my reality like a massive marble statue of a goddess … I confess I couldn’t decide.
Not in the sense that my decision was a rational one, a carefully-reasoned one. There was no planning, but as my mouth opened, as my canines unsheathed like something out of a horror-show, four fangs brought forth from a foundation of aching, needful gums, I knew I had to decide what to do about Juliana.
Should I make her a vampire? and saddle her endless days with a curse, the ultimate addiction, the age-old taboo? the drinking of human blood? Should I make of her mortal human beauty … a horrid huntress?
Or should I drink her dry, slake my vicious thirst and drop her cold dead meat at my feet, to shrivel and shrink and desiccate away, even the bones turning to dirt and dust, before the corpse could even begin to stink?
In the end, I flipped a coin. Metaphorically speaking. Or did I listen to whatever human nonsense it was that she whispered, something like:
“I only wish we could live forever, Alex, both of us, live forever in just this moment.”
Whether she actually said that or not, who can say? Imagine your every move being dictated not by one fully erect penis or clitoris, but by four of them. I speak now of my teeth, the ones that unsheath themselves when I am about to feed. As do all such teeth for all vampires. Imagine the fate of another being dictated by such nodes of lust, for my teeth are the nodes, the nerve plexes, of my vampire nature. Imagine your every sensory organ made suddenly irrelevant, dark and blurred, and having instead four lusting teeth come to the fore of your reality, while the overpowering scent of hot human blood, hot healthy woman’s blood still teasingly within its skin, wafts up in your face like the odor of a rare steak to a starving man, straining against his chains.
And then imagine those chains being broken.
I took her. I drew her down, enfolded her in my arms—which she could never escape even if she had tried, which of course she did not—exposed the warm fragrant mobile fruit of her throat and plunged all four of my fangs through her skin. I could have bitten off her head had I chosen to. Perhaps, for a moment, her body tensed against mine, which was like stone, cold stone, a terrible evil statue … perhaps some tiny futile part of her quailed against the hideous immortality she’d just come up against.
I drank. I sucked her down, and though she’d dropped her arms and beat briefly against my biceps with the effectiveness of a hummingbird, a tiny moth, soon her hands came up again, and by the time I called forth my own power of restraint—newly nourished, at least—she’d placed her hands on my face, on the back of my head, to draw me in closer, to encourage my suckling, like a woman made shameless by privacy and passion will grasp her lover’s head and draw him forcefully closer to the mucous and musk of her sex. How she shuddered when I retracted my teeth from her carotid artery, as though she would rather I’d stayed and suckled there forever.
Time enough for Juliana to taste what forever was really like. And taste it she would. Because I knew that, within minutes, her full powers would come over her and there remain, till the end of days, I dressed with hurried economy of movement and, like a fleeting gray shadow in evening’s mirror, I flitted and fled from there.
We’d be meeting soon enough. My only hope now is to postpone that meeting, until Juliana’s rage has cooled. Until, perhaps, she’s gained a measure of perspective, which is as close as our kind can come to what humans call forgiveness.
TO BE CONTINUED …






