Poetry & Blood Ch. 14

Poetry & Blood Chapter 14: Weak

By Trixie Adara

Edited By ALewdEditor

*****

Laura

Tonight was the night.

Laura lounged in her bedroom, alternating between futile attempts to read and frustrating attempts to write. She wanted to be productive, to have something to distract her, but it was all in vain. Somewhere outside the manor, Claire and Emma were bringing an end to the reign of Angelica in this house. Somewhere, they were doing bloody work, ensuring the safety of Laura's plans from revenge.

Even Marcilla's poems did nothing to distract Laura. She had commanded Abby to copy them down slowly for her, though most of them were rooted in her mind. She thought that reminding herself why this was happening, why she was doing all this, would perhaps give her the strength, conviction, or distraction. It failed on that part.

The poems simply reminded her of a Marcilla who was lost to the years, never to be resurrected. That was her goal at first. She hoped that if she enraged Camille, if she trapped her into a corner, the huntress would emerge and feed again. She hoped she would hear that Angelica disappeared quietly, not even good enough for the dungeons. She could imagine Camille leaning down on Angelica, drinking from her throat while the bitchy blonde thrashed and begged. She smiled, imagining the bones crunching as Camille pressed down on her, making her nothing but a human raisin. At the very least, she hoped Emma could take her down to the dungeons again to visit Angelica, bound to a wall and used as an eternal snack for Camille as punishment.

But no. Camille was too weak for that. She was strong enough to bury Marcilla, but too weak to take care of one rogue maid. There was a fleeting hope that Laura could push Camille, could find something to really force Marcilla to come out to play, but that hope was getting thinner and weaker each day. It felt naive to hope that there was any monster behind the mistress of the manor. There was the beaurocrat, the failed writer, the lonely spinster, but there was no monster.

Distracting herself was a key strategy in fighting off the remorse nagging at her. She had sent Emma to do something the poor vampire hated. Emma hated drinking blood from the source, let alone drinking until someone died. It was a necessary cruelty for Laura to force that upon her friend. No one would be as untraceable as Emma, and Angelica absolutely could not be allowed to sit out in the world, unsupervised, and plot revenge. She was a dangerous and persistent enemy. She could not be convinced to silence, so she must be forced.

Besides, perhaps news of the death would come back to Camille. Anything to piss off the lazy vampire was an option worth considering at this point. Camille had become too comfortable, too complacent, with her life. Taking control of the workers in the house, making the feedback of her writing more critical, removing Angelica. These were all attempts to stir Camille into ... something. Anything. She wouldn't mind if she found Camille crying in a corner or smashing things in a rage or giving into baser or more addictive cravings. It didn't matter as long as she did something, anything.

It was a common understanding of writing that to develop a character, you must put them through hell. No one changes without being forced, without suffering. Laura wanted to develop Camille's character, to summon back the glorious being she once was. If that meant she had to bring hell to the manor, so be it.

There was a knock on the door. Laura put down the book of Marcilla's copied poetry and sat up, waiting for the signal. There was nothing.

"Who is it?" she asked. Her heart rammed against her chest. What if it was Camille?

The door handle turned slowly. Laura looked around the room. Was there anything incriminating? Anything that would let Camille know what they were up when her back was turned? There was a stack of papers on her desk, but they weren't Camille's writing. There was no trace of Emma in the room.

There, on the bathroom door, was one of Abby's scarves. Laura bolted towards it as quietly as she could, grabbed the scarf, and threw it into the bathroom. Hopefully that would be enough.

When she turned back around, it wasn't Camille at the door. It was Emma, but unlike Laura had ever seen her before. The thin silver-haired girl was covered and matted with thick and sticky crimson. Her pale skin was marked with it along her hands and forearms. Her white nightgown looked as though the edges had been dipped in a puddle of blood, and a splatter of it went across her gown like a sash. Worst of all was her face. Her mouth and lips were inhumanely red, so dark they were almost purple, and the red covered her chin, dribbled down to her neck, and continued on, darting between her breasts.

But it was more than blood. Emma had a look in her eye that Laura had never seen. She'd seen Emma hungry before. She'd seen the predatory glint in her eyes when she smelled or spotted blood. She'd fed Emma too many times to not recognize it. But this wasn't hunger. This was anger. Emma looked lucid, like she was whenever Laura put her under her power. There was none of the dainty frailty or strange poetry in her body language. Emma looked vicious, as a true nightmare should.

Laura, for the first time, thought of Marcilla when she looked at her lover. She thought of the destruction she had fantasized about, that she had prayed for, that she had worked so hard to bring about. But she didn't whimper with need. She didn't fall to her knees. She didn't quiver with lust. Laura panicked at the sight of a true predator, someone that wanted to kill her, not just enjoy her.

"Emma?" she whispered.

Emma said nothing. She closed the door behind her, smearing the door handle with blood.

"Where's Claire?"

Emma said nothing, stalking towards her prey.

"Did you do it?" asked Laura. She pointed to the Emma's nightgown. "Is that Claire's or Angelica's?" Her voice cracked. "Both?"

Emma lifted one hand and wrapped it tightly around Laura's throat. Laura didn't fight her. She knew Emma was stronger and faster. If she made any sudden movements, it would set her off. She had to tread lightly, to carefully handle the moment. She was afraid, and Emma probably could sense that, but she didn't need to act afraid.

Emma raised her hand, lifting Laura off the floor and sliding her up the bathroom door behind her. Laura's feet dangled and the pressure around her neck tightened. She felt the blood trapped in her face. She felt it pound against her cheeks, against her eyes, but she didn't scream. She didn't flail.

"What are you doing?" she managed to say.

"I should have killed you the first night," said Emma. Her voice was strong, deeper than usual. "I should have snapped your neck and walked away."

"You're a prisoner," choked Laura. "I'm trying to save you."

Emma roared something and let go of Laura's neck, dropping her to the ground. She paced back and forth as Laura tried to catch her breath, her body struck with pain and relief simultaneously.

"Is Claire okay?" asked Laura again.

"She's fine," snapped Emma. "Scared but fine."

"And Angelica?"

Emma turned back to Laura and charged at her. She punched at the door above Laura's head and tore a hole through it. Laura shriveled before the vampire as Emma loomed over her.

"Whose blood do you think this is?" hissed the vampire.

"I don't know." Laura tried to stay calm. She needed to de-escalate the situation. She thought about using her powers to soothe Emma, but if she failed that may only set her off again. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. What happened?"

Emma squinted her eyes, staring deep into Laura. Laura wondered briefly if she should look away, feigning penintence, or if she should maintain eye contact. That was a sign of aggression among alpha's right? Would Emma see it as defiant or respectful to hold her gaze?

Slowly, Emma stood and walked away from Laura, pacing the room again. "It went as planned. She didn't put up much of a fight. Her body is in the river. She's gone."

"Are you sure?" asked Laura. "Did you make -"

Emma bolted back to Laura, picking up the small woman and slamming her against the door behind her. "Yes, I'm sure," she hissed. "I felt the life drain out of her body. I saw her eyes go cold and still. I drank until there was nothing but air in her veins."

Laura shivered at the thought.

"Okay," she said, spreading her arms as though to calm Emma. "I was just checking. I'm sorry." It seemed to work, and Emma slowly let go of Laura, putting her back against the door.

"You have no idea what you've asked me to do," she whispered. "You have no idea what the cost is."

"But it ..." Laura hesitated. Emma was daring her to press, to try to convince her that the world was a better place without Angelica in it, but she couldn't. "You seem stronger, clearer. Why?"

Emma said nothing. She moved Laura out of her way, opened the splintered door, and went into the bathroom. She ran the sink, letting it steam, and started to do her best to wash the blood off her hands.

"I don't know," said Emma. The anger, the danger, was gone from her voice. "My mother said her pregnancy with me was damaged because of the vampirism, that it affected my mind. Perhaps the blood corrects that for a time."

As Laura relaxed, her curiosity starting to get the better of her. "But you've had blood before."

"Not this much," said Emma.

Emma continued to scrub. Her whole body was focused on the task. The bathroom filled with steam, and Laura was sure the water would burn someone else's skin, but Emma didn't stop her determined scrubbing, as though removing the blood could undo the deed.

"If you ..." Laura tried to stop herself, but she had too many questions. Any bit of information about Emma, about making Emma stronger, could help her take down Camille. "If you hunted regularly, you would always be like this?"

Emma glared at her. Laura flinched, but the silver-haired vampire didn't attack. She held Laura still with her eyes, then turned and continued to clean herself. "It isn't worth the cost."

"But -"

"That's what you don't understand. None of this is worth the cost." Emma turned off the water and turned to face Laura. "The youth, the immortality, the strength, the power. None of it is worth having to feel a human body go limp in your arms, to be someone who stalks the night ripping stories from the anthology of creation. That's a murderer's business. There's no real beauty in destruction, and that is all a vampire is capable of."

"And Camille's way is more humane?"

"More humane than death. Though the most humane thing she does is refuse to turn another. Stopping the spread of the disease is the one true kindness she is capable of."

"But think of all the good you could do with a lifetime of -"

"It's not worth this," yelled Emma. She grabbed the front of her nightgown and pulled highlighting the scarlet sash of Angelica's blood across her chest. She looked down at it and grimaced. In a blur, she ripped off the nightgown and threw it into the shower.

Laura gasped. Emma was naked but for the blood on her body. She looked stronger than Laura had seen. Before she was waifish and almost gaunt. Now, she looked lithe and dangerous. Muscle rippled under her skin even as she breathed.

"But doesn't it feel good?" whispered Laura, her eyes drinking in Emma's body.

Laura had gotten too comfortable. She'd forgotten the state Emma was in, and more importantly, she'd forgotten the difference between Emma starved and Emma well-fed. The vampire let out a hiss and charged Laura. She picked her up and carried Laura to her bed. Then, like a professional wrestler, she slammed Laura down on the soft bed.

"What do you know?" she hissed as she climbed on top of Laura. "What cost have you paid?"

Laura tried to speak, but Emma clamped her hands around Laura's throat. "No. Enough from you," said Emma. "You want everyone to work for you while you sit in this safe room and spin your tales, your lies." Emma kept Laura's throat clamped and still as she reached for the industrial strength handcuffs they used to keep Emma pinned to the bed. "But what cost do you pay?" asked Emma as she attached the cuffs to Laura's wrists and then to the bed. "What cost does Laura pay while she sends Claire and Emma and Abby out to do her bidding?"

Emma let go of Laura's throat to bind her feet to the bed. Laura gasped for breath, but each thin line of air burned her bruised esophagus. She tried to feel her neck, to see what damage had been done, but her hands were immobilized. She looked down in time to see Emma finish immobilizing her legs at the opposite corners of the bed.

"Are you willing to pay the cost of your plans?"

"Are -" Laura coughed as the words stabbed her throat. The coughing made things worse.

"Water?" asked Emma, but there was no kindness in her voice.

Laura nodded, desperate for some relief, as Emma went into the bathroom. She returned with a cup of water. Laura lifted her head to drink it, but Emma casually dumped the contents of the cup across Laura's lips. Barely any got down her throat.

"Oops," said Emma.

The little bit of water was enough to let Laura speak. "Are you going to sire me?"

Emma laughed. "Is that what you think this is? A gift? No." Emma reached down and ripped the clothing from Laura's trapped body before she sat on the bed, straddling Laura's stomach. "But you want to know what it costs for me to feel strong. Let me show you."

Without warning or seduction or play or care, Emma bent down over Laura's body and bit her neck. Laura shrieked, and a hand quickly clamped down over mouth. At first, the pain was white and cold. It was sharp and merciless. It was the first second of a cut or stab that lingered for too long, stretching into a minute and past. But as Emma began to suck, to drink, the pain melted into something red and wet. Laura could feel the heat at the wound. The skin around it tingled. Her neck and shoulder burned as all the body's attention was drawn to that one spot.

Then the cold returned. Laura's feet and hands went numb first. She thought perhaps the straps were too tight, that the blood couldn't reach her extremities, but then the cold crept along her wrists and ankles, up her calves and forearms. Her fingers started to tingle and then went numb. Her palms quickly followed as her feet mirrored her hands. It became harder to breath, and her heart rammed against her ribcage, throwing itself against flesh and bone to be free of the quickly dying husk.

Laura tried to writhe. She tried to turn her body, to urge Emma off of her, but her limbs were bound tight. Emma was too strong. There was no hope of getting a sound out, as the steel strengthened fingers of the vampire dug into Laura's skin, bruising around her nose and mouth. Laura's vision blurred as the edges of her sight melted into a fuzzy black. The room darkened and spun. Laura's stomach did flips and turns. She felt like the bed was tilting away from her, falling towards the far window and the only thing keeping her on was the straps and Emma. She felt herself falling, the world getting darker, herself getting lighter, everything slipping between her fingers, everything falling, as darkness took her.

Then a searing white ripped her from her grave. Laura's eyes shot open to the ceiling and the cruel and hard face of Emma. Her soft features had sharpened themselves into weapons. Laura screamed, her mouth free again, but Emma quickly clamped back down on it. The vampire leaned forward, shifting her weight from Laura's lap to her stomach, her chest, making it impossible to breathe. Laura felt the blood coming out of her neck, the thick lines darting down her shoulder and back. She tried to say something, anything, to get Emma to stop and let her go, to give her life, but she couldn't speak. She tried pleading with her eyes, showing her own desperation and fear, but Emma stared down with contempt, her mouth and chin glistening with new blood.

"Is this what you want?" she hissed.

Laura shook her head as best she could.

"Oh really?"

Emma leaned back and groped Laura's pussy. The shameless aggression was almost painful to Laura as her former lover treated her like a piece of meat. Emma sat back up and raised her hand, it was wet.

"Looks like you love it." Emma leaned down. Laura winced, thinking she would bite the other side of her neck, but the vampire whispered in her ear, "Looks like you get off on it."

Emma pulled back her hand off of Laura's mouth. When Laura tried to speak, she shoved her wet hand into Laura's mouth and began to pump in and out, fucking Laura with her own perverted juices.

"Don't talk," said Emma. "That's the problem, everyone lets you talk too much." Emma smiled cruelly. "But meat doesn't talk, does it? Meat is for eating." Emma paused as a new thought came to her. "Or, if meat is very very lucky, meat is for fucking."

Emma leaned back in and whispered into Laura's ear. "I'm going to free your mouth. If you scream, I promise I will kill you. I'll tell Camille what you've done, and she'll help me kill everyone that's ever heard of you. Is that clear?"

Laura nodded. The tingling in her hands and feet had spread to her forearms and calves, but a new coldness was in the depths of her stomach. It was the realization that this may be her last night on earth, that Emma may be true to her word. She may have the strength and presence of mind after drinking Laura to do exactly as she promised. Laura felt the pain of no longer flirting with death, but burning through it.

I'm dying, she thought to herself. This is dying.

Emma pulled her hand out of Laura's mouth and slid down Laura's body. She put herself between Laura's spread legs and hovered in front of her pussy.

"I wonder what it would be like to die and cum at the same time," mused the vampire. "To be so alive and so dead all at once. You'd like to know that, wouldn't you?"

Laura did nothing. A month ago, she would have said yes. She would have begged Emma or Marcilla for a beautiful and erotic death. She didn't know why she was wet. She didn't know what twisted pleasure she was feeling in this moment. All she knew was the fear and the creeping cold taking over her skin.

"Maybe it's not the pain," said Emma. "Maybe it's the control." She looked up and smiled at Laura. "Do you need a strong woman telling you what to do?"

Laura looked down at the beautiful silver-haired woman between her legs. Did she want her? Absolutely. But her eyes couldn't escape the glistening red on Emma's lips and chin. Did she want that? A monster?

"You like me like this, don't you."

Laura hesitated, but slowly nodded. She liked that she didn't have to babysit Emma or translate her words. She liked that if she directed Emma's attention and focus, she could have a partner, someone strong and clever and cruel to help her take down Camille. She could have someone equal to her in this house full of pretenders and puppets. Did she like Emma like this? Absolutely.

Emma began to casually tease the outside of Laura's pussy with her fingers, absentmindedly gliding her fingertips over Laura's wet lips. "I thought so," she whispered. "Would you have me kill every night so I could be this way for you?"

Laura nodded.

"I can't keep sneaking out and hunting. Camille would notice. Perhaps I'll start within the house." Emma slipped her fingers into Laura's pussy. Laura moaned. She was losing feeling in her legs and arms as blood oozed out of her neck, but she could still feel the heat and pleasure from her pussy. "Any suggestions?" she asked, and giggled.