Blood Sacrifice, Sacrifice Tales

He felt disjointed, as though he observed, but still felt what happened.

Devon blinked, and when he opened his eyes, gazing past Lacey, he saw Adam's silhouette on the wall. With his cock buried deep inside Devon's ass, Adam leaned forward and pinched his nipples. Devon watched the shadow show of their bodies entangled and Adam fucking him. Adam's body was rigid with powerful muscles. The contours of his form appeared to Devon as a hammer pounding against some soft form, yielding to his superior strength.

Bending back to his neck, Lacey again pressed her lips to the punctures and drank. Her bite created an incessant throbbing between his legs. As she fed, he'd climax in unexpected moments, losing his seed on the sheets. As she drank more, Devon tasted a coppery sweetness in his mouth, and his tongue seemed on fire when he tried to place it against his teeth. A weakness welled up, robbing him of the energy to continue.

Returning his focus to Adam and the heat of Adam's thrusting in his ass, he moaned and writhed back. The night wore on, and everything blurred. In the beginning, Adam was there, fucking him, distracting Devon from the worst of the pain. A painful throbbing ran through every vein and artery. His dwindling blood required his heart to beat harder, and as it moved through, it felt like razor blades slashing him.

All at once, Devon realized Adam was absent. Devon thought Adam had abandoned him.

But Adam slept, exhausted, and Lacey drank more and more.

Devon's thoughts were like someone else's memories. It was usual for Devon to think these thoughts, but they were not his, but hers. They were foreign, frightening, sensual, and enticing. Devon fell asleep and dreamed of floating on a cloud of cum and blood.

Devon's mind slipped away, floating into a darkness surrounded by men and women. He lay under several men and women, laughing and talking, and drinking his cum and blood. They fed on him, taking more and more. He fed them himself willingly, and the men fucked his ass and his mouth, and women bit him everywhere they could put their fangs. He moaned, wanting the last of his blood to be drunk by Adam.

In a moment of clarity, Devon realized all the men were Adam, all the women, Lacey. Blackness engulfed him.

"We'll return after sunset," Lacey's voice purred into his ear.

When morning came, Devon slept near death. But there were no marks on his neck, for Lacey healed them to hide the cause of his illness.

The village doctor, Mark Evans, had a sinking despair when he examined Devon. The symptoms were all too familiar. The cause mightn't be clear, but he believed the predator had returned.

Devon's mother placed him in a sitting, half-reclining posture, propped up by pillows, for the doctor to examine him. The lad was entirely oblivious, and his face pasty pale. All the while, he breathed in raspy, faint gasps, and his eyes were dull and listless. On the sheets of his bed, small spatters of blood caught the doctor's eye. His naked body had dried sweat, and some dried whitish discharge.

"I don't understand the blood," he said.

"Well, that might be old, Doctor. What about the state of his body?"

"A dream," Evans said.

The mother didn't understand.

"The erotic kind, Mrs. Williams."

"Oh," she said blankly.

Doctor Evans couldn't shake the dread that the monster had returned. But fearing panic if his suspicions became public knowledge, Evans told no one.

Mrs. Ryan sat with the boy until midnight, watching over his sleep. Kissing his forehead, she gathered his covers about him and went to her own bed.

As soon as Mrs. Ryan shut the door, his eyes flung open, and he cast off his covers. Standing, Devon pulled the nightshirt off his shoulders, allowing it to sink to the floor and crumple around his feet.

Gazing at the French window, his heart in his throat, he waited for them.

As the sun rose from the sea, the light crept across the village. Men plodded to their jobs. The fishing ships cast off, making their way out to sea. Merchants counted out their drawers and opened their shops.

When Devon hadn't come to breakfast by nine, his mother checked on him. White as a sheet, he gazed at the ceiling. His bare chest rose slightly and fell. A heavy rattle from deep in his chest accompanied each sharp breath.

With her touching her breast, the other lifted to her head, and Mrs. Ryan shrieked.

But during the day, the young man's strength returned. That night, she left him at midnight, sleeping peacefully.

Each morning, he lay in his bed, feckless and near death. By nightfall, his strength returned. This pattern continued for a week. On the morning of the seventh day, he lay in his bed, dead, white as the surrounding sheets. With his dead eyes gazing, unseeing, his mother knew her son was no more.

After Devon's death, Doctor Evans went to young Adam Williams's house. He requested the boy's body to be taken, in secret, to Lazarus Manor and cremated in the manner's furnace.

Once the mourners left the graveyard, an empty casket replaced Devon Ryan's. The doctor and Adam carried the smallish coffin to the manor. Mark Evans thanked Lacey Lazarus for her kindness, explained his fear, and offered his hand to her.

She placed her hand in his and pushed the desire to kiss her hand into the doctor's mind.

He bent to her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles as a desire burned inside him. Urges of dark, sensual longings surged. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes dilated, and his prick swelled.

Making a quick departure, muttered, angry, ashamed, and humiliated, knowing she saw his lust. No fool like an old fool, he thought, worrying about how he made such a fool of himself in front of the most ravishing beauty in the world? Why he'd never had those thoughts before mystified him.

His shame would consume him for days.

"We have to fetch our child his first meal," Lacey said. "He'll wake tomorrow night. Adam, prepare the freight wagon. We must travel through the night."

****

In many of the communities of Maine in the 1890s, electricity was a novelty that only the rich could afford. One such home was Blair House.

The town of Cutter was south of Lazarus by the Sea, twenty miles or so. It sat on the sea's edge, housing less than 500 souls. Humbert Evan Blair's mansion was outside the city, a mile or two north of Cutter.

Blair was a greedy man. One who made enemies up and down the coast of Maine. Notably, he'd been a bristle under the skin of Jason Anderson. Competing with him in the shipbuilding industry. His tactics were ruthless, and while Jason never held a grudge, his daughter did.

Blair House's grandeur rivaled that of Lazarus Manor. An L-shaped monstrosity with three towers. A spiked fence surrounded the grounds, each metal picket crowned with a spike. Atop the mansion, gothic gargoyles loomed. All the windows were stained glass and portrayed witches, werewolves, and dragons, casting a colorful glow inside the gloomy abode.

Humbert Blair descended from a long line of satin worshipers. Blair did his best to conceal his unholy union with the powers of darkness. Nevertheless, the man flaunted his association with evil spirits in the architecture of his home.

But such men must have protection. Both from supernatural and natural adversaries.

Eight burly bodyguards were always with him. His son and daughter lived as prisoners, as their father feared retribution from those he'd wronged. At night, two guards roamed the halls of the magnificent house, two about the grounds. Watching, waiting, and ready to kill anyone who dared to enter the property.

A fog rolled in from the sea, covering the grounds. One man walked along the seaward side, scanning the beach. The mist overtook him, and he gazed around, wondering where the stars and lights from the house had gone. A prickling of the hairs on his neck discomforted him.

As the guard walked, he heard a faint whispering. A murmuring soft, sweet, and seductive worked deep into his mind. A calling to his manhood, an invitation to sinful delights.

Turning around, he saw nothing but the thick mist enveloping him completely. Suddenly, something frigid scraped across his ear, and shivers ran down his spine. He returned to his rounds, shaking the invading dread as best he might.

"Don't you want to hold me?"

The words hung in the air, and he spun back toward the sound. A short distance from him, he saw a figure. It was a woman draped in white, with long, flowing hair almost glowing in the darkness. Her eyes, two unworldly red orbs, pierced through him, and he froze in place.

"Who are you?" he stuttered, his voice trembling.

The woman didn't respond. Instead, she glided toward him. Seemingly, her ethereal form floated above the ground. Taking a step back, anxiety seized his heart. Reaching for his face, she caressed his cheek and neck, deepening his fearful desire.

With a flick of her wrists, she snapped his neck. The man crumpled to the ground. His legs shook, and his fingers fluttered. The man's agony was wondrous but only lasted a moment, and all movement ceased. Dead eyes gazed at the woman.

On the west side of the property, another man walked beside the ornate iron fence. Picking up a stick, held the branch to the wall, letting it make a pleasant plinking as he walked.

In between each clinking, soft footsteps echoed; he wasn't alone. Dropping the stick, he spun around, drawing his gun, and there he saw three figures. A woman, almost ghostly in appearance, a tall, thin man, a smallish woman, or perhaps a second short man. The woman's beautiful face was pale, and her eyes were embers glowing in the darkness. The man tried to move his feet, but they wouldn't move. He tried to squeeze the trigger, but it wouldn't budge.

Fear paralyzed him.

The ghostly woman spoke, "Why don't you come here?" her eerie whisper sent shivers down the man's spine.

The man tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and words wouldn't form. He couldn't utter a word. The woman inched closer, and her icy breath crossed his neck.

"You belong to me," she said, sinking her fangs deep into his neck.

For a moment, with a quick single beat of his heart, he wondered who she was. Soon, so quickly, I couldn't remember how he lay naked, her on top of him, riding him. He belonged to her. What a wonderful thing to belong to such an exquisite woman. She held all the power. He understood he had none.

The tall man sucked the wounds she'd opened on his neck. The softer, smaller fellow dung fangs deep into the tender flesh of his shoulder, feeding on him. After some time, he didn't know how long, minutes, hours, or mere heartbeats, the threesome left him. The trio disappeared into the mist and headed toward the house. Gasping for air, yearning for them to return to him, he lay there, stunned.

The inside of the house was silent save for the incessant ticking of the grandfather's clock. Two guards cautiously moved through the halls, their shadows dancing on the walls in the eastern and northern wings of the house. The east wing ran north to south, with trees growing near the walls. The northern wing ran east to west.

The guard in the northern wing descended from the fourth floor to the third. As he reached the last step, sudden drowsiness overwhelmed him. He sank to the stairs and sat there, trying to clear his head, shake the torpidity, and return to his task.

Pulling his pocket watch, gazed at the face and red one-thirty. What the hell? He'd be relieved in thirty minutes. Returning the timepiece to his pocket, the guard reached up to the grotesque figure atop the banister. He grabbed the rail behind the carving and pulled himself upward.

His hand slipped from the railing, falling back into a sitting position. The man slumbered.

On the ground floor of the eastern wing, the other man stood for a moment outside his master's bedroom. He continued to the daughter's room, listened, and took two steps when a weariness took him. Falling to the floor, he slept.

In his room, Humbert Evan Blair slept as though he were dead. No tortuous or pleasant dreams pestered him. He drew in a breath, deep, long, and exhaled similarly. His guards dreamed of a sensual woman wrapping her sensuous arms around them, fulfilling their wildest desires.

His son, Evan, lay in a fitful sleep, chased by dogs or wolves. Running, running, the beasts nipping at his heels, trying to escape their snatching jaws.

While his daughter, Martha, gazed out the window, long fingers scratched the glass. Suddenly, she became fully awake and sat up, with a horrible sense of panic and dread filling the surrounding emptiness. The window swung open into the room.

"Come in," Marth said. "I think I've been waiting for you."

Stepping back, Martha, mesmerized, hungry for something, moved back into the room a few steps. Putting a hand on one of her breasts, she squeezed herself. Her mind calmed, but her body blossomed with gooseflesh. Her chest heaved as her breathing turned heavy.

The blood rushed through her veins, warmth radiated between her legs, and desire controlled her.

Outside, the fog swirled about, drifted into the room, and whirled like a mini tornado. Two embers of red glowed in the center of the storm. Burning into her, boring down inside, warm wetness gathered between her legs.

The room was dark. The only light was the two sparking red globes.

The tower of mist turned into a twinkly form. The pleasing and feminine shape turned solid and stepped from the vanishing smoke.

Casting off the covers and shedding her nightgown, Martha lay back on the pillow. Turning her face and exposing her snowy white neck. Arching her back, the young woman tugged the sheets, thrusting her hips upward, writhing on the bed. Martha waited impatiently for her new lover. Anxious, desiring what was coming.

Lacey Anderson moved to the woman, removing her clothing as she glided through the room. The two women explored each other's bodies openly, easily, and quickly, yielding to each other's appetites. They made love like they had been with one another a thousand times.

Soft murmurs of delight accompanied their examinations. Fingers pressed here, pushed in there, lips kissed lips, breasts, bellies, and lower areas. They merged into the oneness of purpose. Climax preceded culmination. Over and over, the couple gave and took from each other until Martha's strength waned.

Then Lacey kissed her neck, licked, and tasted the soft, supple flesh, and the veins swelled with blood. Lacey racked her teeth over Martha's skin, paused, and thrust her fangs deep into Martha. She fed, drank freely, and bliss transported Martha into rapture.

At long last, Lacey broke from her kiss and licked the blood from her lips. Lacey scratched across a vein on her left breast. She held Martha's head and forced Martha's mouth into the bleeding wound.

"Drink in a new life, my child."

Martha sucked the blood in her mouth, thirsty for the richness of her mistress. The sweetness of essence filled Martha's mouth. Greedily, she drank. With each sip, she lost more of herself to her Lacey. The sweetness of her blood flooded Martha's mouth.

Erstwhile downstairs, Adam and Devon drank from the guard slumped in a stupor on the staircase. Soon, Adam had all he could take, withdrawing from the man. He watched as Devon sucked the life from the man.

Light clouds covered the skyline, and the sunrise danced in gold, pink, vermillion, and purple shades. When the sun climbed from the water, the light fell through the windows in the house. A guard sat on the staircase, pale as death. The guards on the ground were dead. Their replacements never made their way to the property.

They found those men dead in their homes. As were the ones who should have shown up for the day shift. Their necks bore marks, small insignificant scars, that held dark meanings to those who understood them.

They fetched the town doctor to the estate.

The doctor moved closer to the bed, observing the side of Martha's neck with two minor wounds. The fresh scars looked unimportant, separated by a small distance, perhaps from the tip of his forefinger to the large knuckle. All the blood on the bedsheets must have come from these two insignificant scratches or bug bites.

"This is terrible. We must give the girl blood immediately," Doctor Manly said.

Why did Doctor Manly think these marks were so deadly? Humbert wondered.

"These injuries look trifling. But, I earnestly assure you, Mr. Blair, they aren't."

"They are nothing more than mosquito or spider bites," Humbert Blair said.

"No, they have bled too much."

"There's hardly any blood on the sheets."

"And yet, her veins are all but empty. Your daughter's heart struggles to move what blood there is through her body. Without a transfusion, she'll die before sunset." Doctor Manly said.

"I'll give her mine," Evan said, rolling his sleeve.

"Mine as well," old man Blair said.

Pricking the girl's finger, the doctor put a few drops on a glass slide, followed by a few more on a second slide. Taking one slide, he pricked the old man's finger, letting a drop of his blood mix with the girl's.

"Your blood will work."

He followed the same procedure with Evan, frowning as he shook his head. "No, your blood would kill her. Sit here, Mr. Blair, and I'll get started. Evan, go to town, round up a few young men and women from there, and bring them here. Perhaps we can find one or two more willing and whose blood will work."

Evan found only two willing and only one with blood that would work. The poor girl's body held only enough blood to keep her alive. However, she seemed to improve toward nightfall and asked her father to kiss her.

Her father kissed her and departed to discuss things with Doctor Manly.

"Evan, my sweet brother, give me a kiss. Let me feel your warm lips on mine and kiss your neck."

Kissing his sister with a quick, passionless peck, he withdrew from her. She clutched his head, pulled him close, licked and kissed his neck, and dragged her teeth over the tender flesh. Again, he attempted to move away, but she held him to her with incredible strength. At last, her efforts paid off, and she scratched his neck with one of her teeth.

She lapped up a few drops of blood before he broke free.

"That hurt," Evan said.

"Sorry." She licked the blood from her lips and fell back onto the bed. In a matter of moments, she fell into a deep slumber.

"This night is important. She mustn't be left alone during the night. I'll return in the morning."

"Why?"

"It may return to finish her," the doctor said.

"What?"

"The beasts."

As darkness fell, the doctor left.

After a bit, Evan's eyes grew heavy, and he nodded into stupefaction. The young man saw nothing and heard nothing. At about ten o'clock, his father came into the room.

"Evan, you're asleep?"

Evan darted to his feet and looked around.

"No."

"Yes, you were, boy. Think of your sister. Run to the kitchen and make some strong coffee for us."

"Father, you can go get some sleep. I'll watch her until three a.m. and come get you."

"No, we are unprotected here. It'll take days for the new men to arrive from Banger. We aren't leaving her alone. Nor are we leaving each other alone."

"Surely the Doctor is wrong."

"No, that old bastard from Lazarus by the Sea is still out yonder, somewhere."

"I don't believe in Vampires," Evan Blair said.

"I didn't. But the doctor was persuasive. Go make the coffee and bring the pot with you. I'll light a fire in the room's stove to warm the coffee. We'll open the window and let the sea breeze cool the room."

The sky over the sea turned to silvery thread. This light, at first, was long and thin, then formed a hump above the horizon. After a bit, the moon rose over the ocean. The ocean wasn't as black as it had been. Deep, dark green waves crashed on the beach.