Lesbian Vampire Ch. 06 - That Which Haunts You

Lucy’s jaw dropped in shock. Rhea felt like she was drowning.

“You call me ‘Darling,’’’ said Rhea, “And you liked watching what it did to me.”

Lucy ran her hands over Rhea’s breasts. Her nipples were deep brown like husks of the vanilla beans. Lucy’s hands were warm and the sensation reverberated through Rhea’s spine and clit. Their kiss was becoming familiar, their mouths now shaping to the other with a natural ease. Rhea rolled her hips, still straddling the vampire. Lucy wrapped her arms around Rhea and pulled her to the bed.

Lucy took her hand. “We can’t get carried away.” She spoke regretfully, like someone with a splinter underneath their fingernail.

“But what if I die?” Rhea whispered.

“Please, darling.” said Lucy

Rhea pulled Lucy back into a kiss. She ran her hand through Lucy’s hair, as much as the dense curl would allow. She felt Lucy’s fingers work their way under the waistband of her cotton joggers and helped work them off her body. Lucy’s fingertips then skimmed Rhea’s breast. The soft moan of longing that followed sounded so alien she was not sure it came from her.

Lucy ran her hand between Rhea’s legs and cupped Rhea’s sex and massaged it gently. Her fingers slipped inside to warm, wet arousal. Rhea felt tendrils of pleasure marked by a whisper of tension-- her tenderest flesh now vulnerable to a once-human creature taken by blood and night.

Lucy kissed her and, with her fingertip, gently circled Rhea’s clit. The sensation voided Rhea’s lungs. “I’m really close,” she whispered, low and tight. Her climax slowly washed over her and the world fell away. Her thoughts ceased and she heard her own voice crying out.

Rhea brought a hand to her forehead as she struggled to smooth her breath. Lucy pierced the skin of her own arm and fed Rhea a few drops of blood that dissolved in her mouth. The two of them laid there for a while, intertwined. She looked into Lucy’s eyes and touched her face warmly.

Rhea sat up, resolute, and said, “I should go.”

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Rhea maneuvered Lucy’s car through the canyon and up into the hills. It was a clear night and the lights of the city stretched all the way to the coast. She shifted in her seat. Lucy wanted her to bring one of the Bowie knives. Rhea worried it would be more cumbersome than it was worth and, if Braga saw it, would make him more hostile.

Lucy insisted they could conceal it. The knife’s leather holster had a loop for a belt; Lucy attached the holster so it sat horizontally across Rhea’s low back and Rhea was able to cover it with a loose top and jacket. The blade wasn’t too heavy and lay flat against her. Ahead she saw a long line of cars parked along the narrow two-lane road. She checked the map on her phone-- this was it. She parked and got out of the car.

There was a high, dense hedge of bougainvillea and a dark green bush Rhea couldn’t identify. The very top of the house peeked over the top of the hedge. From the street it looked boxy in shape and entirely white. The hedge was so dense Rhea couldn’t see the entrance. She decided to follow the line of cars. The pathway was illuminated by small spotlights embedded in the ground. At the center of the hedge she found a narrow archway, its iron gate held open by a heavy chain.

She walked through the archway and found a steep staircase to the front door. She climbed the slabs of white concrete embedded in the hillside. There was no open space in front of the house; every square inch of the yard was densely packed with sharp-pointed succulents and wide leaf trees. The house, as Rhea thought, was a white box-like structure except for an elaborate facade that surrounded the front door carved out of sand-colored stone.

When she reached the front door at the top of the stairs, a doorman on his phone sprang to his feet. “Name?” he asked, and she answered. He glanced over a clipboard and waved her in.

The foyer was dark and she heard a full-throated groan from the corner. A vampire held a woman against the wall. The trousers of his fine suit hung low around his waist and the loose buckle of his belt made a metallic slapping sound against the stone with each thrust. The woman’s legs were wrapped around him. The silk skirt of her dress clung gently to the wall.

She cried out. The vampire reared back and bared his fangs. Rhea froze. The woman gripped his hair. “Wait til I come,” she rasped. He grunted and the rhythm of his thrusts continued unbroken. The woman met Rhea’s eyes and smiled.

Rhea scurried into the interior of the home. Across a couch lay a nude man, arms bound over his head. Fat teardrops of blood oozed from tooth punctures across his chest. A vampire with long dark hair that covered her bare chest sat astride him. Her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure; she bared her fangs and growled with each roll of her hips.

Rhea heard laughter and followed. In a shadowy alcove, a vampire wearing a strap-on fucked a woman from behind. The vampire’s pale blonde hair was closely cropped and their hard face hidden by the dark. The vampire gathered a fist of the woman’s hair and pulled her upward. Behind the couch hung a painting of a field at springtime. Then she saw a man with his hands shackled over his head. A vampire whipped him and giggled shrilly.

The only one who noticed her so far was the bored human guard. She hoped that meant tonight was just a party and nothing more. She followed the laughter to a room filled with vampires and humans in various stages of carnality. The writhing bodies and flesh made it impossible to tell how many at a glance. A woman on a nearby couch, rested on her elbows and knees, groaned loudly. She reached one hand behind her and gripped the hair of a vampire whose face was buried in her ass.

The vampire pulled back and Rhea saw it was Kyle.

The vampire waved when he saw her. He stood and sauntered over fully nude, save for a long black devil-tail that trailed behind him, attached to what Rhea assumed was a butt plug inside him.

“I didn’t know it was a costume party,” said Rhea.

“Oh, ha,” said Kyle, with a glance behind him. “Tonight’s my turn. Anyway--”

He leaned in towards Rhea and his half-erect member bobbed with the motion like his overteased dome of hair that somehow retained its shape. “I don’t know what Lucy told you, but this guy is really dangerous.” He made a small gesture with his chin towards a vampire seated on a small couch at the other end of the room. Rhea glanced surreptitiously but the vampire already watched her.

“Braga,” Kyle whispered. “Don’t use any of your witch power on him unless he tries to kill you. Or he will definitely try to kill you. Good luck.”

He patted her arm and spun back to the woman behind him.

Rhea looked over at Braga. He still watched her, open and at ease, his body angled towards a woman beside him. She wore a white dress with a demi-cape lined in red silk, the same shade as the bottoms of her white stilettos. She looked at Rhea with a cruel smile. Definitely human and a witch; Rhea could feel it from across the room.

Rhea walked towards them as steadily as she was able. She whispered to Sweetwater, for protection, for guidance, for anything they could give. Braga raised a thick salt-and pepper brow that matched his neatly trimmed goatee when she reached him. He had a warm smile that pushed the rounds of his cheeks up and left half-crescents of his eyes.

An easy smile, thought Rhea. Disarming. She struggled to keep her face still, her fine muscles mirroring his face of their own volition. Any notions about a suave European vampire evaporated. Braga looked plain. He was handsome, but not markedly so. His clothing was neat but not noteworthy, especially next to the woman in white. He seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t place and yet wholly unremarkable.

A sudden memory emerged. Before initiating, she dated a woman who insisted on watching a certain sitcom every week and said Rhea’s distaste was condescending. Rhea wasn’t trying to be a snob-- the actor who played the dad just creeped her out. The other actors, who played his wife and children, hit their beats in rhythm with the heard-but-not-seen audience.

But there was something different about the father.

The show had made a big to-do about casting an acclaimed theater actor. The actor’s expansive presence, transcendent onstage, was insufficiently restrained to fit television. It gave him an alien quality. Something about Braga’s warmth reminded her of the actor. As if someone, though charismatic, was making a calculated effort.

“Kyle told me you’re Mr. Braga,” said Rhea.

The woman pressed her red-painted lips together and looked away, in a half-hearted effort to conceal a smile. “Braga is fine, my friend,” he said. His voice was lightly tinted by an accent and he radiated power. That passive mist-magick that she first felt with Lucy she now felt from Braga. It was harsh, like smoky whiskey, fresh jalapeno, and lemon juice.

It burned, but in a way that made her want more.

“I’ve come to you for help,” said Rhea, “information, specifically.”

Braga nodded and was silent.

“A witch has been murdered,” she continued, “and her spirit is trapped and tortured. I think the killer used magick they found in a book they bought from you.”

“I sell many books,” said Braga.

Rhea swallowed. “These were hidden in a monastery, written by a witch pretending to be a priest. Lost, until the death of the last descendant of an aristocrat.”

“Ahh,” said Braga. His voice was so deep Rhea felt it vibrate in her chest. He looked towards the woman in white, who gave a nod of recognition. “And you want me to tell you who I sold it to?” asked Braga.

“That would be nice, yes, but I didn’t get my hopes up,” answered Rhea.

A slow smile crept over Braga’s face. “Stories of you, the necromancer, and your extraordinary ability have reached us even in my castle on top of a mountain. Vampires are like clay in your hands.”

“I was hoping,” Rhea continued, “you would tell me what you know about them.”

“What would I, a vampire, know of witch magick?” said Braga, incredulous. With a dramatic flourish of his wrist, he rested his neatly manicured fingers on his chest.

“Anything you can tell me would be helpful,” she said.

Braga stood. The room dropped to complete silence in an instant. “Helpful. Hmm,” said Braga. He walked slowly, his hands grasped behind his back. “I would love to help you,” said Braga.

Rhea paused, still watching him as he walked. “Thank you,” she said cautiously.

“And why not?” he asked. He paused and turned towards her, his face a pointed question. “We are, after all, kin of sorts. Family.”

Rhea’s nerves crawled with dread.

“Family helps each other. When they’re in need,” said Braga. Rhea raised her chin and said nothing.

“I want to know about that skincare operation,” Braga said. He placed his hands on his hips.

“What do you want to know?” asked Rhea.

“Everything,” said Braga.

After a few moments of silence she answered, “It’s a small operation. We make enough to be self-sufficient. If it gets too big, it’ll attract attention.”

“Very clever,” mused Braga. “But not what I expected to hear. From family.”

“What do you want?” asked Rhea.

Braga smiled, “I like that, about witches. Straight to the point. Vampires,” he gestured around him, “get distracted-- blood and fucking, of course. But also power. And reputation, which is just power by another name. And we have lots of time for theatrics.”

Rhea raised a brow.

“I want a portion of all product you produce,” said Braga. “And a portion of the proceeds.”

“You want our product, for free. And we pay you for the privilege?” Rhea asked

Braga smiled. “20%.”

Rhea recoiled. “My apologies, Braga,” she said. “I don’t have the power you think I do. The business belongs to the coven and we make decisions as a group.”

“That sounds inefficient,” said Braga.

It was--excruciatingly so. But she wouldn’t entertain his prodding. “The magick killed a vampire as well as multiple humans,” she said, loud enough for the room to hear. There were quiet murmurs all around; Rhea heard a faint voice say ‘so it is true.’

“A vampire was poisoned to death, for the first time in history as far as I know. It’s something that could end us all.” said Rhea.

Braga’s warm smile did not waver. “So I’ve heard,” he said. “A serious threat indeed. Unless you’re the one in control. Then that magick no threat to you at all.” Rhea looked back at the woman in white. She sat poised and looked at Rhea with another cruel smile.

He continued his slow amble around Rhea. “Besides, vampires face many threats these days. What’s one more?” he intoned wistfully. “Witches now control our feed.”

Rhea struggled not to roll her eyes. “With respect,” said Rhea, “no vampire has died from the magick of the serum. It was created to reduce the amount of humans killed during a feed. But vampires continue to murder humans all the time. Even with the serum.”

“But the serum lacks style,” said Braga. The warm honey of his voice felt edged with hot pepper. “I thought necromancers had respect for tradition.”

“Even with the serum,” Rhea said, “there is no tamer, docile vampire.”

Braga pointed at Rhea. “No one wants the Gift anymore,” his voice rising. He looked out at the throng. “You can’t take selfies.”

Lucy called to Rhea across the link created by blood: get out.

Stay if you must, said Sweetwater. But I can’t protect you.

“So one must adapt to changing times,” he said, his voice even and sweet. “And the old ways say power must ferment. But what if you could seize a lifetime of power in an instant?” Braga grabbed the arm of the nude woman with Kyle. She screamed and struggled against him. Kyle raised a confused brow.

“How to stay relevant in a world of constant change?” mused Braga. He dragged the woman with him; she struggled against his grip. The room grew tense as the nude woman tried to steady her breath. He turned to Rhea. “Necromancy wasn’t always the scourge of vampires. I saw it rise and infect my world with obedience.”

Rhea swallowed hard and said nothing.

“She could save you, you know,” Braga told the nude woman. He squeezed the woman’s arm and she whimpered. “It might take a little more effort than she’s used to, but I’m no match for her power.”

Braga’s warm voice spiked to a sudden holler, “Will you just stand there and watch her get eaten alive?” The woman screamed and Kyle slipped close to Braga.

“Braga,” he whispered. “We have kind of a tradition here about, uh, not harming hookers.” He looked over at Rhea. “Sorry, sex workers.”

Rhea held in an irritated exhale. She hoped Kyle might put an end to all of Braga’s posturing. Confusion was already rippling through the crowd. It was considered bad form among vampires everywhere to put sex workers in danger. They were, after all, a pool of humans known for open minds and shut mouths. And vampires were consumed with image and reputation.

“Anyway,” continued Kyle, “we all have problems if one of them turns up dead.” Braga squeezed the woman tighter and she groaned in pain.

“It’s gauche,” Kyle implored.

Braga released the nude woman and she collapsed to her knees. She tried to swallow the sounds of her sobs. Kyle looked out to the crowd. With a sharp gesture he pointed downward. A human man muscled his way forward. His body looked like a bulky inverted v with bulbous muscles. His hair was cut neatly to his head. He approached the woman.

“C’mon,” he said and tried to pull her upward.

Braga lunged and seized him by the arm. The nude woman collapsed again then sprang to her feet. She ran towards the crowd and pushed through as fast as she could. Braga held the man and shouted “If not the harlots, then how about the man who procured them?” he yelled. As the man struggled, his pant leg rode up, revealing a gun strapped to his calf.

“I’m a cop, asshole,” yelled the man, enraged.

Braga held him firm and continued, “It used to be enough to just take someone’s life power by taking their blood. Not anymore.”

“Kyle,” the man screamed, “fucking do something, man.”

Kyle grimaced. “Braga, I didn’t want to deal with a body tonight,” he said, irritated. Braga looked at him, then back to Rhea without response. She heard Kyle mutter, “Where’s my phone?”

“Kyle!” the man shrieked.

Braga spun the man to face him. Their faces were a few scant millimeters apart. Braga looked deep into the man’s eye. “Hand me your gun, then kneel on the ground.”

The man obeyed. The woman in white stood and walked towards them. The rich red satin lining of her cape swayed with each step.

“Hands behind your head,’ Braga added. The man’s thick arms reached up and bent at the elbow as he placed his palms at the back of his head. The woman in white knelt beside him and held a white box. She opened the box and took out a hypodermic syringe filled with a dark green liquid. She pulled the cap away. She guided the kneeling man’s arm down and squeezed his bicep. With one smooth movement she jabbed him. The plunger of the syringe slowly pushed the green liquid into his arm.

The woman in white looked into the man’s eyes. She began to murmur a language Rhea did not recognize.

Braga turned toward the crowd, retracing the lazy half-arc he walked around Rhea. “You see,” said Braga, “the witch behind me is powerful. Very powerful indeed. If I wanted to harm her--”

There was a tense pause.

“I wouldn’t be able to attack,” he said.

He cocked the gun and spun around at a dumbfounding speed. In the scant milliseconds it took to level his arm, Rhea willed him to point the gun upward.

The gun fired into the ceiling and the bullet embedded itself in a wooden beam. Rhea made him fire the gun until there was a quiet click-click-click. He laughed and dropped the gun to the ground as soon as she released his wrist. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at Rhea and lunged forward with searing speed. Her magick shot forth to meet him on instinct alone. And in the next instant he stumbled backwards, gripping his head with a guttural scream.

Rhea let him suffer a bit with the hope it would tire him out before she called her magick back. His pain lifted instantly. Rhea’s hands radiated with a tingling sensation-- the reverberation of Braga’s power when her magick collided with his. Braga was the most powerful vampire she had ever met. Rhea knew she couldn’t go toe-to-toe much longer without a serious drain on her energy.

“I am no match for the witch,” he acknowledged to the crowd. “But tonight, my friends, you’ll see— not anymore.” He smoothed his hair and straightened his clothes. “What would you do,” yelled Braga, “if I could promise you limitless power? Magick, by nature, is elusive. The witch might work for decades and harvest only small morsels of power. The vampire makes a covenant with the Gift. Power in exchange for blood and sunlight.” He watched Rhea, his eyes never breaking from hers. The crinkles in the corner of his eyes gave his face a joyfulness that clashed with the cruel smile across his lips.

“No more,” said Braga with a satisfied laugh. “Witness a means to harvest power in an instant.”

Braga stood before the kneeling man. He raised his arms and took a deep inhale. His eyes squeezed shut. The woman in white continued to whisper.

The kneeling man started to seize. He made garbled noises as his body snapped and shuddered wildly. Blood poured from his eyes. Braga groaned. The man now convulsed on the floor and made a choking noise so awful tears welled in Rhea’s eyes. Braga’s hands, still stretched overhead, clenched into fists. The man on the floor slowed his spastic movements then became motionless.

Extinguished.