Dining at the Devil's Backbone

He stood in the doorway. "You might. I hope you do. I think."

And he was gone.

*~~*

The night was clear and cold. A quarter moon hung high in the dark sky. Traffic moved freely on the interstate, but I shunted myself off onto the old highway that was the main route through these mountains decades ago. I turned onto the secondary road that would lead to the tertiary road that I believed would take me to my destination.

I sat hunched over the steering wheel, my heart thumping in anticipation and trepidation. My grip turning my knuckles white, willing myself to stay calm. My skirt bunched under my thighs and my feet aching in the high heels I'd shoved them into. My phone sat silent in my purse; I had no need for GPS. Only the increasing hum of desire and need directed me.

I was certain I'd find him. As soon as I'd slid into the driver's seat, the ache I'd been living with for a month eased. With each mile up the road it subsided and a lustful yearning rose in its place. I had missed him terribly. I had dreamt of his gray and crimson eyes, his scent of cherry blossoms and decay, the low rumble of his voice, and the soft caress of his teeth.

As my car wound up the mountain road I second guessed my costume. I wasn't going to a party; my meeting could be the end of me. Would be the end of my current life, one way or the other. But I'd had such romantic notions while I passed the time until this night. In a burst of youthful irreverence, I'd decided to dress as a bride. I found a second hand lace wedding dress, and cut the satin lining off as short as the denim mini skirt I'd worn the year previous. I cut out a panel of the lace in front, almost as short as the lining, exposing my legs, and pinned it into my hair like a veil. I put on white stockings, blue underwear and bra, and got these silly heels.

I probably looked ridiculous. I mostly didn't care. But there were moments when I wondered what his reaction would be. I wondered if my attire would dissuade him from doing what I still wanted. I wondered if he would think me too immature to understand what I asked of him. What I expected.

The sensation of connection to him grew stronger, and I found myself pressing the accelerator, speeding, actually driving recklessly on this narrow mountain road. I forced myself to slow down, to calm down, lest I make some fatal mistake. The urge to get to him grew. I crested the mountain and saw down in the valley an incongruous patch of dense fog. I saw the illumination from a sign. I sighed in relief, my destination in sight.

As I pulled into the same spot between the abandoned gas pumps, my heart was beating wildly. I shook and sweated, and not just from the illness that stole through my blood. I turned off the car, waiting for my pulse and my breathing to slow, steadying myself. I could feel him, as surely as I felt him outside my door. I waited, longer, for him to arrive, to tap on the window. I sat, shivering, trembling in need, and so aware of the cool air moving over my skin.

I picked up his nightstick, which had ridden on the passenger seat. I climbed out of the car. I looked around, walking all around my car, venturing into the fog as far as I dared. My breath caught in my throat, and with every step, my knees felt weaker. I stumbled back to my vehicle, and sat on the hood, sliding up to perch my heels on the grill.

My silly short skirt rode up my thighs, and the long section of lace draped over the hood like a train. I fidgeted with the lace in my hair, clutching his truncheon under my arm. I settled in to wait, peering into the mist, ears perked for any sound of an engine, or footsteps, or his breathing. I knew I was in the right place. I couldn't have forced myself to move. But I was afraid that he wouldn't come to me.

I fixed my gaze into the middle distance, looking through the fog as best I could, out over the rolling ridges that I'd seen in the morning a year ago. A year that had transformed my life, transformed my understanding of the possibilities of life. I breathed deeply, stilling my racing heart and trembling limbs. The fog in front of me swirled and he stepped into my line of sight.

I gasped at the sight of him. His beauty overwhelmed me; his scent pummeled me; his eyes captured me. I sat frozen, mute, blind to anything but his face and his form. He stared at me for a long moment, and I experienced the sensation of his gaze sliding over me. I shifted, as though to stand and move toward him, but he closed the distance in two heartbeats, wrapping his long fingers around the back of my head, and bending to kiss me.

Our lips met and it was as though no time had passed at all. The familiarity of his touch and his taste coursed through me, lighting my nerve endings, compelling me to mold myself to him. I encircled his waist with my legs, his shoulders with my hands and pulled him into my body. His prick engorged, instantly, and my pussy flooded. I unzipped his pants and he stepped back long enough to slide my panties down and off my legs.

Even that short separation stung, and I heard myself whimper until he stood against me again. He fitted his cock into me, pulled my spine straight and we kissed. Time stopped. Gravity stopped. The earth ceased spinning. The whole of his history poured into me, and the whole of mine poured into him. I scraped my tongue on his fang, wishing to bleed into him. He tilted his head, denying me that.

"Wait," I heard him say, deep in the center of my heart. "Just wait."

I moaned into him, and he moved his hips minutely. I broke into a million pieces, and reformed around him a thousand times. I dissolved into him; he breathed me in and exhaled me. I lost myself in the pleasure that almost became unbearable. I realized I was sobbing and crying out in ecstasy at the same time. Just when I was out of strength to hold on to him, I dimly felt him thrusting, and then the joy of his climax inside me.

He pulled himself out of me and dressed. I collapsed onto his shoulder. He leaned into me, holding me up, cradling me even though he was standing and I sat on the car's hood. I looked up at him and saw him find the pulse in my neck. I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him like a life preserver. He traced a line down my cheek, my neck, and across my shoulder with his long fingers. I wished I was naked, wished I was completely exposed, so he could touch all of me at once.

He shifted on his feet, taking my hand in his and lightly kissing my knuckles.

Finally he looked in my eyes. "You still want me to make you. To change you into what I am," he said it frankly, as a fact.

"Yes," I said.

He snarled, baring his fangs, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck, wrenching my head sideways to show him my neck. My pulse raced, throbbing, and instead of pulling away I pushed myself toward him.

His grip relaxed, his grimace softened. "You still don't understand what you're asking, really. But. I promised. You found me, and I promised." He paused, for a dozen of my heartbeats, holding me still. "You found me. And. God help me, I don't want to lose you."

I smiled, reaching out to touch his mouth, brushing a thumb along his lips.

"Vlad," I said, "God has nothing to do with this."

He looked at me, looked into me, truly saw me in a way no one had before. Then he smiled, nodded, and bent down. His fangs sank into my neck, deeper than ever before. He squeezed me to him, holding me in an iron embrace. He sucked, and drank, and soon I floated away, buoyed by the cascade of orgasms that his every movement induced. Soon after that, I felt myself fading. I relaxed in his arms, at peace with every decision I'd made since the November morning I'd driven away from this spot.

He continued to drink me, and I felt pain. I felt the emotional pain of every bad choice I'd made, every harsh word spoken to me, every insult I'd said, every broken promise. It surged up through me and out into him. He continued to drink, and every happy memory seeped out of me and into him. He continued to drink, and I felt nothing. My senses shut down, and my body ceased to exist except for the two spots where his teeth pierced my neck.

I was gone.

Then there was a hot salty drop on my lip. I licked it, instinctively. Another drop, warm and metallic. I opened my mouth, suddenly craving more. My eyes flew open and at first nothing made sense. Something hard at my back, some presence between my legs, someone hovering over me. Another drop, directly on my tongue, and my hands snapped around the arm in front of me.

I clamped my mouth onto the wrist that was offered. My eyes might have been open but I couldn't see anything. I pressed the limb to my mouth, my tongue finding the open wound, and sucking desperately. I felt hands in my hair, smelled something familiar. Cherry blossoms. Smoke. A forest floor. Roses. The taste in my mouth was ambrosial, thick, sweet, salt and iron.

My eyes began to focus, and I registered his face. He smiled broadly, leaning down on one elbow while I drank him. Suddenly I was sated and I let go of his arm. He helped me sit upright, and I looked around with new eyes. The moonlit night was brighter. The fog remained, but hid nothing. I heard rumbling, rattling thumps all around me.

When I looked at him, I saw into him, his physical beauty remained, but now I saw his sorrow and his age. He looked at me with a question.

"No," I answered before he spoke. "No. I don't regret it. Yes. I feel wonderful. Thank you."

I leaned over to kiss him, and the sensation was different, not as primal, not as urgent, but deeper somehow.

"It's too late for regrets now, Vivian," he said. "You have forever, now."

I slid off the hood of the car, taking his hand and hugging him to me.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"Aren't you hungry?" he responded.

Suddenly I realized I was starving. I realized I could smell someone coming down the road, could smell an aroma that made me salivate. I heard a rapid beat and realized it was the person's heart, sounding like a bass drum over the rumble of the car's engine.

I heard Vlad's voice in my head, "This is what you are now, Vivian. Now we hunt."

*~~*

That was a year ago. Vlad was right and he was wrong. I do see him differently. I think better of him, love him more deeply, now that I know him truly. Now that my romantic notions have been stripped away. He taught me what I need to survive, and he taught me a new way to live.

He was right that I didn't understand what I was asking. That I had a child's notion of what this life might be. That I'd assumed my life mostly wouldn't change. I'd get a night shift job somewhere, but still be able to hang out with my few friends, still live in the same little apartment with my cat.

My cat ran away as soon as I walked into the apartment. The noise and smell of all the humans in the complex was overwhelming, painful and grating. I moved into Vlad's house, which is high on a ridge surrounded by forest. It's safer for us there. I have a night shift job in a virtual call center that I do from home, where I won't be tempted by the epicurean delights of human blood.

When we hunt, we're careful. We venture far from home. It's messy and exhilarating; it's dangerous and an aphrodisiac.

He was wrong in one respect. I remember everything from my former life. I remember with a clarity that my humanity denied me. I remember the heartache, the strife and struggle, the humor and friendships, and love. But it doesn't touch me. I don't mourn the loss of my old life. I doubt anyone mourns me.

And now it's Halloween again, our anniversary. Vlad and I are waiting, in a patch of fog on the back side of a mountain ridge. We're celebrating, out for a good meal at a diner that was called the Devil's Backbone.