Last Sunset

She waited impatiently for the sun to set, because until it did he would not come to her. He might arrive a minute after, but never a minute before, or the minute of the sunset. Even though she knew he could not, knew why he could not, it did nothing to curb her impatience and served only to heighten her anticipation. Especially for this evening.

Her last sunset.

She shivered slightly, from fear, anticipation--desire. Tonight would be the night that he took her, in every way possible. He had promised. And Jack had yet to break a promise. Come the dawn, she would be changed, she would be one with Jack.

But before that was the night. And Jack had promised her a night to remember.

She sat in front of her mirror, turning her head first to the left, then to the right, wondering which side he would prefer to drink from. She was vain enough, and still human enough, to want Jack's marks to show as little as possible. Enough to make people stop and wonder, but not enough to cause either of them extreme undue interest. Her hair slid across her shoulders, liquid fire across the pale perfection of her skin. She was proud of her skin, its color, its smoothness--what one enamored man called breathing silk.

Her skin was the first thing Jack had noticed about her, he'd said one evening as they sipped wine and listened to a local jazz band. His finger trailing over her hand, just his finger, had made her nerves jump and tingle, and even though she'd sworn that she'd hidden her reaction, he smiled, slowly, as if he'd felt those nerves jump. He didn't mention it, only shifted the conversation smoothly into another area of interest.

Her blue eyes shone like gems in the pale oval of her face, that fire bright hair framing her high cheekbones, the generous shape of her mouth. She debated pulling her hair up and back, to leave the long line of her neck exposed. In the end, she left it down, a hint at virginity. Not that she was a virgin--not for years. But tonight would be like losing that virginity again.

He had promised.

Looking at the clock now, noting the time, she hurried through her makeup, a brush here, a dab there. Only enough to enhance that overly dramatic beauty. Standing, she examined herself in the mirror, twisting and turning, examining, looking for any slight imperfections. How she was tonight would be the way she was for eternity, so any blemishes, any bruises, would remain. She'd been overly careful the last two weeks, fretting over every bump, every brush against any surface. Her obsession had paid off, for her skin was without any visible marks. And except for the marks he would put on her tonight, so it would remain for eternity.

Satisfied at her appearance, she turned back to the bed, the outfit she'd searched for, labored over, spent precious pennies on. It had been almost impossible to decide what to wear on this night of nights, and then even more impossible to find. The only thing that had made her search easier had been the simple fact that tonight, her last night of her old life, was that it was Halloween. You could find almost anything in the stores before Halloween. Especially if that store was in New Orleans.

The red chemise slid over her skin, silk over silk, lending a faint cast of pink to her skin. It was difficult to lace up the leather corset, but she twisted and contorted her arms until she managed to do so, pulling the laces so tight that it was a struggle to breathe. Her skirt, if one could call a scrap of material barely covering her ass a skirt, was leather as well, and felt as soft on her skin as air. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on fishnet stockings, their itchiness a sharp contrast to the rest of her outfit. Finally, she pulled on her black leather boots, the ones that rose to her knees, laced up and four inches in height.

Standing again, she smoothed her skirt down, walking towards the mirror, admiring her reflection. This, her final night as human, would be her most fantastic night.

Jack had promised.

********

She knew the moment the sun set. She felt it in her bones. A split second later, there was a knocking on her door. Though she wanted to run to answer it, she forced herself to walk. He would know how anxious she was either way, but at least she would have the satisfaction of being outwardly composed. Pausing before opening the door, she drew a deep breath, held it for a moment before exhaling. Wetting her lips, she opened the door.

"You kept me waiting, ma cour sang. One would almost think that you were not anxious for the night to begin." A smile turned the corners of his full lips up, but only slightly. She had never seen Jack smile fully, only those little lips quirks. When she had asked once if he ever smiled, he'd answered that he did so one night a year. Halloween.

Tonight, she would see Jack smile. Tonight, she would see all of Jack.

Lowering her eyes, she stepped forward until the long line of their bodies was almost touching. Almost, but not quite. Jack had reprimanded her once for being too forward. Once had been enough. After three months, she knew where Jack's limits were, and not to push them. Until he allowed it, her hands were to be kept to herself.

Normally, he made her wait. But not tonight.

"Touch me, ma cour sang. We will not stand on ceremony tonight, not this momentous night." The smile that had never spread to his lips shone through his dark blue eyes, hypnotizing her as easily as the first night she'd met him. His fingers trailed lightly up and down her bare arm, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

Eagerly, she rose up on her toes to press her lips to his, the chill in his shooting through every fiber of her body. That was one of the things she would miss, when she was changed. The difference in their body temperatures, his so cold it always made her seem on fire. And tonight, when she was already so eager she could feel the wetness on her thighs, her senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree already, the mere act of sliding her tongue into his mouth, running it around his razor sharp canines, was enough to trigger a small orgasm.

He swallowed her breathy gasps easily, holding her up against him with one fine-boned hand pressed into the small of her back. When the tremors had stilled, and she had gone almost boneless in his half-embrace, he lifted his head from hers, turning until his mouth pressed against her ear.

"Oh, the fun we shall have tonight, ma cour sang. Oh, the fun."

**********

Fun for him, perhaps. For her, torture. He allowed her only two drinks. "A clear head will make it that much more memorable, ma cour sang." After hours of dancing to the pulsing music at one club, then another, then another, her skin was slick with sweat, flushed. Her nipples were almost painfully tight, and she could feel her juices on her thighs, knew that they glistened in the colored, flashing lights.

His hands rested lightly on her hips, guiding her movements. Sometimes he would pull her back against him, letting her feel his hardness against her ass. Or he would push her forward, her skirt sliding up dangerously high, as one or two fingers teased her naked pussy. Still other times he would hold her away from him, no further than a few inches, his hands gliding up from her hips to cup her breasts, molding the silk to her sweat covered torso.

Fun, for him. Torture for her.

When they stepped outside after midnight, she was sure that at last he would lead her back to his town home, at last he would fulfill his promise. But instead he turned them the opposite direction, led them back up Bourbon Street. Her eyes widened, but she held her tongue when he led them into one of the sleazier strip clubs. It was packed, as every place they had been that night had been, and it was a moment before a table could be found for them.

The waitress, dressed unimaginatively as a debauched nun, was late in making her way to them. "Drinks?"

"Water, for both of us."

The waitress looked up from her notepad, a frown creasing her heavy makeup. "Drinks. One alcoholic drink, minimum."

Jack placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. "Water, for both of us."

The waitress was quick in returning with their water, placing two glasses with a smattering of ice and a splash of water on the table. She moved on to the next table without another glance at them. For long moments, they watched the dancers, one after the other. Until one stepped on the stage, a woman almost a complete opposite of herself.

The dancer moved with a sense of grace almost as fluid as Jack's, something one would not expect in such a place. Her clothes fell to the stage with the same grace, until she twirled and gyrated in only a g-string. Her cocoa colored skin gleamed in the lights, her blonde hair a shock of color against it.

When Jack murmured in her ear, she jolted back to the present, unnerved at how wholly she'd been absorbed by the woman on stage. Jack had to repeat himself a second time for her to know what he said. "We will have a private dance with her, yes?"

Her eyes widened, her lips parted. Before she could absorb the thought, the dancer was stepping down, and Jack was lifting a hand, beckoning her over. After a brief conversation, Jack pulled her to her feet, following the dancer towards the back of the room, and a line of doors. Opening one, the three entered the room, the shutting door blocking out most of the noise from the main room.

The dancer briefly explained the rules, turning to make a music selection. Jack pushed her down into the chair in the center of the room, taking a seat against the wall. Before she could protest, music oozed from the stereo, slow and thick, heating her blood before the other woman even moved in her direction.

All that grace and beauty was more stunning up close, sliding over her skin, rubbing against her body. On a moan, she tipped her head back, her eyes closing, the sensations overwhelming her already swamped system. Turning her head, she opened her eyes to look at Jack, to see his reaction. The hunger that had been carefully hidden all night blazed out of his eyes now, seeming to illuminate his snow-white skin, his jet-black hair.

Knowing what the sight of her with another woman, a complete stranger, did to Jack, he of the iron control, tipped her over the edge again. Another moan, longer, deeper, fell from her lips, her hips moving restlessly in her chair. In response, the dancer dipper her head, crushing their lips together, sucking her tongue into her mouth. For long moments, their tongues twined, until the dancer pulled away, as out of breath as she was.

"Come, ma cour sang. I think it is past time I fulfilled my promise to you."

********

They managed to shut the doors before giving into the lust that had been barely contained all night. Little whimpers echoed in the marble foyer as Jack ripped the corset from her, her chemise and skirt quickly following. Kneeling in front of her, he ran his hands up her legs, still clad in leather and fishnets, pushing her roughly against the wall, spreading her thighs.

Leaning forward, he buried his nose in her pussy, breathing deeply. "Such an intoxicating scent, ma cour sang. And your taste...." Flicking his tongue against her clit briefly, he licked up and down her slit, once, twice, before spreading her wide and devouring her. Her head beat lightly against the wall, one hand gripping his hair, pulling him tightly against her. Her other hand kneaded her breasts, first one, than the other, pulling and pinching at her nipples.

She lost count of her orgasms, only knowing that it was becoming increasingly harder to breathe, her pulse racing faster and faster, her nerves screaming. When at last he moved back, mere inches, she was almost grateful--she only needed a moment, a moment to breathe. After a moment she would be ready for him to take her, as he'd promised.

The pinch in her upper thigh didn't register at first--a nerve twinge, her addled mind thought. And then the twinge became an ache, then a fiery pain. Gasping, she opened her eyes, her head lolling to stare down at Jack, his mouth locked to her thigh. Weakly, she struggled, the hand that had been pulling him closer moments before now trying to push him away. She felt more than heard his laugh against her skin, and tried to push harder, fear beginning to swim through her.

The harder she fought, the faster her blood ran, and the weaker she felt. The darkness overtook her faster than any orgasm of the night.

********

She woke in the dark, her head pounding, her mouth dry. Wetting her lips, she whispered, "Jack." At the silence, she called again, louder, "Jack. Jack."

"I am here, ma cour sang. Please do not stress yourself. It will be over soon."

Weakly, she tried to sit up, only to find herself tied to the bed. "I don't understand, Jack. You promised we would be together."

"And we will, we will. Your blood will nourish me, and the taste of your juices will be one of my fondest memories." She felt a cold hand brush her hair back from her sweaty forehead, and whimpered, this time in fear. Her senses slowly returning, she felt the slow slide of fluid down her wrist.

"This isn't what I want, Jack. Stop, please, please, stop."

"Ah, but I cannot, ma cour sang. But do not fret. As I said, it will be over soon." There was a rustle in the dark, and a brush of cold lips across her forehead. "I never break my promises."

********

Jack closed the door, counting his blessings that soundproofing had been among the improvements he'd put into his home over the years. Next to electricity and running water, it was his most valuable improvement, giving him added peace of mind.

Normally he wouldn't mind the screams coming from the next room, but he found himself almost regretting the necessary loss of this one, and chose instead to drown the few sounds that made it through with the music of Nickelback, one of the few modern bands he could tolerate.

It took many, many hours to drain the blood completely from a body, even when he'd drank more than a bit from her earlier. The majority would be put up, mixed with red wine, as had been his custom for centuries. But this night, this one night a year, he would drink a glass--maybe two, as she'd been so delicious--of straight blood, savoring the flavor, the richness, rolling it around his mouth. He was limited to one night, for it was so much harder for people to simply vanish in this day and age, and the police were so much more efficient.

Perhaps he'd put a bottle up, in his special inventory. A special reminder of this night, this woman he'd taken.

For Jack always kept his promises.

**************

Note: Some may be familiar with the story of Jack, while others may not. Jack is the English version of Jacques, and the most infamous Jacques of New Orleans was--or is--Jacques St. Germaine. Occupying the house on the corner of Royal and Ursalines, St. Germaine reportedly left the city after attacking a prostitute he'd hired for the evening. When police searched his apartment, they found an extensive wine collection, fortified with blood. Stories of St. Germaine have continued to occur, and have been documented in such books as Journey into Darkness: New Orleans Ghosts, Voodoo and Vampires. Whether such a story as above is possible...well, one can only guess.