Dream a Little Dream of Ch. 04

Note: This is my first post in the erotic horror category, but I feel it belongs here. Previous chapters can be found in the Sci-Fi & Fantasy category if new readers feel so inclined to check them out. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

'Why would she do that?' the question spiraled round Marenda's mind unrelentingly. The witch knew the answer, but refused to accept it. The big beautiful green bitch was dead by her hand and she hated herself for it. Should she have let the orc kill Austos? No, but... But, what? Marenda did her best not to scream into the undersized glass of wine she held.

The vampire sat in a filthy tavern, waiting for an opportunity to take her mind off dead Ghoen. The tavern was one of a handful in a small village sitting on a trade road that skirted along the edge of one of the planet's great swamps. As a result, the inn was humid and sticky; a light sheen covering almost everything and making it look like even the walls were sweating. Several large blood sucking insects had made it inside the building, but all kept clear of Marenda. Almost all animals had an innate instinct to steer clear of the undead. Not sentient animals though. No, they could not get enough of flirting with their own frail mortality. Fucking idiots. Fucking dead Ghoen.

Marenda raised her glass to take a dainty sip of the overly sweet liquid. She wanted to swig, however she had an illusion to maintain. A couple of tables over, a small number of men huddled around their beers muttering and occasionally casting furtive looks her way. In almost any other drinking establishment she could have expected one or more of them to come over and preposition her or call her over to sit on their lap. Not here though.

The witch had done enough research on this planet to know where 'here' was. A few days travel from here lay one of the huge 'free cities'; a place where one could go to flee war, prejudice or their own messes. Most people who journeyed to a free city therefore had nowhere else to go or anyone to care for their fate. 'Here' was a place where the criminal element could find easy victims. The men at the table looked at her not with lust, but with pity. They could keep it, Marenda would rather have their delicious acrid foamy beer.

Not that she could easily get drunk, despite her small size. And nor should she try; she had enough difficulty maintaining her inhibitions as was. It was practically her full time job. That was why she was here, she wanted to hurt someone; to let off some of her demonic steam into the face of someone who deserved it. Someone not like poor dead Ghoen.

It should not be difficult; she was a petite, young looking girl with long pale blonde hair. If she had brought a large flashing sign with the word 'bait' and an arrow pointing at her on it, she could still probably expect some predator to ignore their better judgement and still target her.

Besides the men with their tasty beer, the tavern was sparsely populated. In the corners, hooded figures wheezed business and banditry propositions at each other. With her enhanced hearing she could make out most of what they said, however none of it interested her. A lone patron slumped snoring at the bar, ignored by all.

The landlord who had taken Marenda's money for a room and meal, sporadically cast appraising looks at her as if she were just an object, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was in cahoots with the criminal element that frequented his dive. The single tavern wench instead shot the witch disgusted looks when she thought she was not looking. That just left the men with the beer, locals she guessed; cowed into silence, yet lured in by the low prices advertised outside the building. All in all she had no allies here, but she neither needed nor wanted any.

The vampire had tried that. On arriving on this backwater medieval mud-ball she had found a plot worth foiling. Good company in the form of Ghoen with her dourness and honesty. And a young man whose mind was as pure as spring water and just as cleansing to splash around in. It had all gone to hell of course, despite her best intentions. Marenda had fucked it up somehow and now she wanted to fuck someone else up in an attempt to forget about it.

Unfortunately patience was not a quality of the vampire's and with great annoyance she realized she had finished her third glass of wine. She was meant to be portraying a beleaguered, poor peasant girl, so splashing more coins on drink might raise suspicions, however she was already growing twitchy and having something in her hands and mouth helped her preserve her calm. She had been in the inn for over two hours now to the point where a more respectable pub might be taking last orders.

She tried flagging the maid, but was blatantly ignored, so the vampire got up and headed over to the bar, making a show of stumbling as if she were drunk, "I'd like another, please," she slurred at the landlord.

He leered down the opening in her traveller's robe, "House wine for the lady. Remember the price?"

"Sure I do," she gave him a cross eyed scowl, before reticently handing him a sum of coins.

He poured and handed her the alcohol, not even bothering to hide the contempt on his face at the stupid unsuspecting drunk girl in front of him. Marenda had to stop herself from ripping off his ear and feeding it to him just to see the surprise and horror on his face that the girl in front of him was in fact a monster. Yet she did not, she was playing a role and the role was her lifeline to her self-control, the role was everything.

She even enjoyed the acting. The vampire had inherited that from her human host who had been an enthusiastic stage actor with a possible future until another vampire had taken it from her and planted Marenda inside her however many hundreds of years ago. When a new vampire is made, the host's personality (or soul if you want to be poetical) is destroyed, however some memories linger on. In better and more sentimental moods, the witch might allow herself to think that she was somehow honouring the wishes of her shell by seeking out opportunities for role play and taking such relish in it.

Just across from her, the snoozing patron suddenly jerked awake to gaze at her with bleary eyes. Flashing a hint of panic, Marenda quickly looked away, grabbed her wine with both hands and scurried back to her table, making sure to knock a couple of chairs as she went. Just before she fell back into her chair, two tall hooded men entered the tavern, all purpose and surety. As she slumped down she scoped them with her peripheral vision, being too shy to look directly at them.

They headed straight for the proprietor and the witch had the distinct impression that they were trying not to look directly at her as she was to them. The background conversation lulled for only a moment at their arrival, were they important? From their clothes and the scent of quality soap on them, they were certainly wealthy. If she were to ignore their obvious high profile and the danger that would entail, were these the victims she was looking for? Marenda was so focused on them that she barely noticed that the drunk at the bar had followed her over.

He scraped the chair nearest her noisily across the stone floor before sitting upon it, "Hey. Bitch. You didn't introduce yourself. That's rude."

She was so annoyed at herself for missing his approach that she had plenty of time to swallow her initial response. As she stared at him with wide eyes, she took stock of him. He was not faking his inebriation, his clothes were well worn and suffused with his sweat. He had not washed in over a week and looked over a decade older than he actually was. Eyes bloodshot and full or hate and lust. She knew he was a rapist before he made his intentions clear.

"You know where you are, whore?" he growled, "This is where stupid little runaways like you disappear."

The vampire did her best to tremble and not to yawn when he reached under the table to squeeze her thigh. Rapists were rubbish: the majority being damaged individuals acting on carnal urges and an inflated sense of self-worth. There was not much sport in breaking someone already broken. Marenda was not very good at feeling empathy towards people she did not know personally, however she recognized the fact that this moron had the potential to leave his own victims in worse states than he himself was. Tearing him apart would not be as satisfying as she would like, but it would make the surrounding area marginally less shitty than it already was, so that was worth something.

"So listen good. No-one here will give a shit if you scream, but I've got a fucking headache, so you better keep your whore mouth shut, get it?" she nodded so he went on, "Now we're going to go for a little walk and you're going to do everything I tell you or I'll cut your throat open and-"

The drunk stopped dead when a hand landed on his shoulder and a rich smoky voice asked, "Is this man bothering you?"

This had to be a set up.

The witch looked up at her 'saviour', one of the three new men, hood now back revealing a clean shave, shoulder length dark blonde hair and deep amber eyes to match. To say he was handsome would be an understatement and Marenda had to reinforce her dumb look to stop an appraising eyebrow from rising.

Recovering his meagre composure the rapist pulled the hand off and grumbled, "Fuck off, ponce. Find your own honeypot."

In an unsurprising display of speed and strength the blonde pulled the drunk up and out of his seat, banging the table and knocking over her wine, before spinning him round so that they were face to face, "That's no way to talk to a lady."

With that he shoved the rapist away who stumbled but did not fall. He glowered at the tall man hunk and for a long moment looked like he might attack, yet he ultimately decided against it and spat on the floor, "Cunt's ugly anyway," he left as quickly as he could without running.

"Apologies," the man span the recently departed chair around so that he straddled rather than sat on it, "Alas the roads are full of unsavouries these days. Did he harm you?"

This had to be a fucking set up.

Marenda did her best slack jawed 'handsome man saved me from the monsters' look before quietly saying, "No."

He flashed her a broad smile, "That's good to hear. My name is Winstad, it's my pleasure to meet you."

She made her pale cheeks blush with the substantial amount of blood left in her from Austos and Ghoen. She was a type of blood sucker that, as she advanced in age, could go long periods of time without feeding. And although she could last a few months before feeling hungry again, tonight she was certain she would be supping on this Winstad.

"Marenda," she said, shyly looking away from his eyes. With the amount she travelled, an alias was less important, but also potentially dangerous if called by one when her lucidity slipped.

"That's an unusual name. Though it suits you. 'Mare', like an elegant and beautiful show horse," he brushed a long strand of her hair behind her ear.

'More like you worst night -fill in the blank-' she thought. So assuming this was indeed a setup, what did that make this man? Was it a mostly innocent trick to get a girl's attention? An overblown heroic gesture designed to make a girl grateful and willing was the usual prelude to sex in most situations, yet she doubted Winstad would ever need to use such tactics to catch a girl's eye. Adding the locale made such a technique much less likely to be innocent.

As far as the witch knew, no technology existed here that would allow organ or blood harvesting. Orcs, with their blood magic, might be able to accomplish something similar, however this man was human. In all likelihood he was a slaver and this was his routine for gaining his victim's trust.

"Oh! Your drink. I must have knocked it in the scuffle. You must allow me to get you a new one."

"No it's ok, you don't have to," the witch simpered.

"Please, I insist. It is the least I can do for the pleasure of your company," he was already out of the chair before she could fake another protest, "I'll be right back."

The vampire would have watched his ass as he departed, but it was still covered by his travelling cloak. Winstad gestured the barkeep as he re-joined his companion, however the maid was already there to snatch the order and fawn over him. Marenda snorted; did the wench know she was flirting with a slaver? It seemed likely that she would know the operations of her clientele, so either she was too stupid to consider that she was little more than a product to him or she was too stupid to look past the pretty face.

Winstad took the drink, along with one for himself and headed back. Marenda had to admit she was impressed when she failed to notice him slipping a drug into her beverage. It had to be there of course and she wondered whether or not the maid had put it in behind the bar or if his sleight of hand was just that good.

Keeping her fingers shaking she accepted the wine with a, "Thank you."

"Not at all. From where do you hail, Marenda?" he asked sweetly.

The vampire responded with a location as far away as could be believable and engaged him in his information gathering barely disguised as small talk. As soon as the wine was under her nose she could smell the poison. She was still not familiar enough with this world to divine its potency, make-up or effects, but she could make a pretty good guess. She took a delicate sip before Winstad could become suspicious.

The drug hit her system almost before it had made the full journey down her throat. Her vision swam and she rocked backwards on her chair. She made a quick grab for the table edge, spilling some of the wine in the movement, in order to regain her balance. Holy fuck, that stuff was strong. The witch let her body react naturally to the toxin, instead shoring up her mental defences. Surely a drug this forceful had to be created by the alchemically talented orcs of this planet.

That was bad as it meant that it was probably magically bolstered and would take her undead constitution longer to counteract the effects, "Shit," she slurred.

"Are you alright?"

Winstad actually looked and sounded sincere and before she could stop herself she began to laugh. His eyes widened a little at that and Marenda realized that it was with genuine surprise. Another quick swig of the wine told her that it was supposed to act as a depressant, not a stimulant. She was fucking this up. That made her cackle even harder.

"Shit! Sorry, sorry. Please continue," she slapped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to dam the giggles.

"Marenda? Perhaps you've had enough wine."

"I'm ok. I'm ok. Nobody panic!" she squeaked.

It was really weird being actually intoxicated. Her already acute senses were being ramped up even higher making the muttered conversations too loud and the flickering lanterns too bright. Winstad's face span around and his amber eyes shone like beacons. The wine still smelled too sweet and awful; she decided she had to have more. Before she could bring it to her lips however, he stayed her hand with his own and that was a whole new world of warmth and texture.

"Marenda," the blonde said in command, "We should get you to your room."

Still chuckling, she was up and halfway across the floor before she ascertained that she had just been compelled. She stopped in her tracks and the man bumped into her from behind, "I... but..." she rapidly searched her own mind for her will.

In the same tone, Winstad said, "Marenda. Take me to your room."

The vampire laughed again, performed an off balance pirouette before announcing, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," not caring whether or not she was using the quote in correct context.

****

Winstad had no idea what that had been about, but he had the girl on her bed and barely conscious so all was right with the world again. If she stopped giggling he would feel even better.

"Crazy bitch," he sighed.

That elicited another peal of laughter from her and he felt his fists involuntarily clench in response. He would have to have words with their supplier about the apparent fault with this latest bottle of tranquiliser. Though getting on the bad side of an orc alchemist was generally a bad idea, Winstad and his employers held the position of power and could blacklist the peddler for reaches.

"Wheee," said Marenda, stretching out her arms and wiggling her fingers in his face.

He reached past and slapped her hard on her cheek, hoping the pain would shut her up. Thankfully it did at least for a moment, yet he spotted a flash of anger behind her dulled eyes. The surprise wilfulness might devalue her on the auction block and Winstad made a mental note to remind his informants to get him a list of the next buyers as soon as possible. Though they were less common, some clients derived some enjoyment from breaking in their new property and if he was very clever he might even be able to turn the negative into a positive.

Of course there were issues that would lower her selling price regardless. The girl's face was pretty and unblemished and Winstad hoped that she had not angered the wrong man and ruined another part of herself. He fished a knife from his cloak; time to find out.

"No... please! Please don't hurt me," the girl trembled in fear.

That was good, fear he could work with, "Then do not give me a reason to."

"You're not really a nice man at all."

This time it was Winstad's turn to laugh, "My sweet, that entirely depends on yourself. Now hold still."

With that he began to carefully rip off her clothes. She no longer had need of any personal effects and he sorely doubted she had anything worth pawning off; they rarely did.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"To save you," he replied, squinting in concentration.

"What?"

"You were heading to a free city, correct?" he continued without waiting for or wanting a response, "you would find only death or destitution there. Through your ignorance you would damn yourself to a short and grisly fate. Hm, nice tits. A little small, but nice."

She tried to cover them, but he knocked her arm away and gave her another slap for her troubles, "I said, 'don't move'."

To his disappointment, she was not sobbing yet. It made everything so much smoother if they broke a little before he needed to transport them. There was still time however, and he hoped this one was not a virgin so he could sample her before selling her. Winstad did answer to others and if it came back that he had deflowered the product, he had no doubt that he would be dead within a month.

He squeezed one of Marenda's breasts to discover it had a gratifying firmness to it. He was having difficulty guessing her age, but feeling from her tits brought more credence that she was as young as she looked. He gave the thick pink nipple atop a harsh pinch, but the gasp he drew from her sounded too much like pleasure for his liking. So he twisted it as hard as he dared. Winstad was practiced, so he knew how far he could go without causing permanent harm, however, as he wrenched, she arched and squirmed.

Was she actually enjoying this? He slipped a hand beneath her breeches to find enough exudations to fill a decent sized marsh. This Marenda was continuing to surprise him and he did not like surprises. Perhaps she was a closeted freak? He knew of girls who got off on being abused, but had never snared one himself. The idea of a woman enjoying the harm he inflicted upon her made him feel a bit ill. He slid a finger into her to confirm that she was not a virgin. At least he had the opportunity to fuck some fear into her.

"Marenda," he compelled her, "Tell me: are you enjoying this?"