She Comes

This short standalone story is inspired by a picture that I stumbled across online, by an artist called Nathalia Sullen.

*****

A beautiful and somewhat Gothic moonlit night.

A strong, handsome young man bound in a cage. Is he defeated or defiant?

A woman looking like a fantasy in a flowing red dress, which appears to grow out of the mist, approaches. Is she his savior, his mistress, or his doom?

I was daydreaming over this image for quite some time before I discovered it was actually a book cover, I have no idea if my story has any similarities because I deliberately have not read the book.

I decided to wait until after I had posted this story.

If you are interested you can easily find the story, but I felt it was a little rude to name drop a published author alongside my efforts. Especially as I haven't read her story yet (it's waiting on my e-reader).

However, the artist I feel, may be pleased to know that her work is inspiring the imagination of all sorts of random people. (And I am pretty random!)

Tess O'Meter - Amber.

This story contains dubious consent and violence.

-X

The man waited.

His limbs chilled and stiff, his wounded body aching.

Wrists chained behind him, he knelt in the tiny cage as threatening clouds gathered overhead.

A heartless full moon shone down upon his bowed head as he grieved.

Eyes closed; he mourned his brother who had been slain just two weeks before by the monster that he had not been able to kill.

He endured the pain in his trembling limbs as penance for his failure to end the horror. The unnatural being who had overpowered him at the nights end and imprisoned him here to await his fate.

The night had almost been over when he had become aware that he was being stalked.

He was naked to the waist, having used his clothing to tie a bandage around his thigh, ripped open when he lost his footing at the waterfall.

He had not minded the blood that soaked his trousers, or the numerous weeping scrapes on his arms and back.

They would help to attract his prey, for he was the hunter in the night.

He could not be weakened though, so had halted the flow of fresh blood and limped on through the ancient woods. In search of ancient evil.

Vampyre.

Even the word rolled terrible over his skin.

The thought of his brother's torn body caused renewed sickness in his heart and stomach.

He would have his revenge.

But as dawn threatened, the man realized that he was not alone in the woods.

No bird song. No rustle of small creatures. The trees were silent and waiting.

He was now the prey.

The man turned at the sense of movement behind him, and saw only the briefest flash of green, before his world went black.

He awoke, chained in the cage with the sun beating down upon him.

There was still an uneasy stillness surrounding him, and he knew that this was a place for darkness, despite the beauty and bright light.

He had walked into the woods to be found, to be seduced, and to turn that seduction to his advantage, but he had been found too close to morning, and so the expected conquest had become a capture.

His jaw ached where the blow had landed, and he wept as he knew he had little chance now to avenge his brother. He was food.

When night fell, she would come and empty her larder.

Now that night had fallen, he waited still, as his skin chilled and his hope failed, the tears now dried on his cheeks.

The wickedness would come and feast on his flesh and his sacrifice would be for nothing.

Heart in his mouth, the man watched through his lashes as the air began to stir, to take form.

Wisp-like ribbons of red whirled in the air.

Then the ribbons took on substance and began to reveal a shape.

Abruptly, she was there.

Wrapped in a red dress that seemed to flow both from and into the ground.

The white flesh of her breasts spilling over the bodice that embraced her hourglass figure.

Hair that would be golden if she were able to stand in the sunlight, spilled pale down her back.

She was a dream, a fantasy.

A nightmare.

He felt her lust as she approached. The scent of his blood flared her nostrils.

Her lips curved in pleasure as she admired his firm young body, held fast in the chains.

The heat and sweat of the smithy kept his body toned and strong.

Apart from a couple of small burns from his apprentice days, only the grazes from the forest marked his skin.

He knew he was considered a beautiful man.

Men and women of the village had told him so.

He had thought that would be to his advantage when he sought out this devil, but now the advantage was hers. As was his body.

The cage opened and she took his chin, raising his eyes to hers. He moaned as he felt himself harden.

What man could resist a vision such as this?

"Well, aren't you a tasty morsel," she murmured, her voice as soft and soothing as a caress.

"I looked for you, My Lady," he told her, his voice shaking, just a little.

She considered him, "And why would you look for one such as me?" she asked, curious.

"You slaughtered my brother," he accused, "two weeks hence."

In a flash she broke the chain and pulled him from the cage. Holding his face and neck as she raised him towards the bright moonlight.

He struggled but his wrists were still secure, and he could only hang in her effortless embrace and gasp for air.

Just as he thought he would pass out, she dropped him, and he crashed with a cry, sprawled on the ground.

"Ah, yes," she agreed, "Now I see the resemblance. Your brother was strong, and very handsome. I played with him for hours."

She rolled him onto his back, his hands trapped behind him, and lifting her skirts, she straddled him.

He was weak and wracked with pain from hours in the cage and could not resist her.

"Hours of pleasure and pain," she purred, as she dragged her claw-like nails from his shoulders, down his chest, his stomach and over his hips.

Eight lines of fire followed her hands and he yelled hoarsely as his blood began to flow from the narrow cuts.

Light-heartedly she laughed and began to play with the blood.

Gathering some on her fingers, before licking it off.

His stomach rolled in revulsion and terror as he watched his life force being sucked from her fingers.

"Why did you come here?" he sobbed, "Why did you come to this place?"

She smiled at him, almost sadly.

"I had to leave my home across the mountains," she said.

"Too many men came with," she shivered with her own private horror, "machines and noise. They call it progress."

She ran her hands, gently now, up his torso. Smearing his blood.

"Great paths through the forest and horseless carriages," she continued.

His eyes widened, "I have heard stories, but it cannot be true."

"Oh, it's true," he assured him, "So I came across the mountains, and found a new home. Your brother was my first."

Her eyes held his, "You came to kill me. To avenge your brother?"

"Yes."

She laughed again and bending to his stomach, began to lap at his blood like a cat.

He moaned and writhed as her quick, wet tongue moved over his body, but despite himself, he hardened more.

He could feel the heat of her, rocking against him through his clothing.

Her breasts were now brushing soft against his chest as she licked her way up his body.

Then he screamed as his hair was fisted, his head pulled back, and she sank her teeth into his vulnerable neck.

His treacherous body betrayed him as he thrust against her, his cock hardening in a forbidden, corrupt desire.

The desperate need to be used raced through his body, even as his strength was torn from him by the cool lips sucking and licking at his ripped skin.

With a feral growl the Vampyre tore his remaining clothing away and left him naked, his cock straining towards her.

He sobbed desperately in fear as she ran her fingers up and down his throbbing shaft and across his balls.

Leaving shallow scratches, and a thin oozing line of blood as she terrorized him.

He begged incoherently as she took him in her mouth, the scrape of her teeth like a threat, or a promise of delicious pain to come.

The pleasure from her hot mouth and wet tongue overwhelmed his senses, and soon he was moaning and grunting and thrusting into her throat.

He watched in awe as she pulled down the laces of her corset slightly and bared her breasts to him. Touching herself and drawing wounds in her own flesh, which seeped only slightly before healing almost instantly.

He groaned as she lifted her skirts further so he could see her glistening readiness. Then she lowered onto him.

Claiming him with a sigh of pleasure as she was filled.

Then, with her eyes glowing with dark promise, she started to ride him and dragged them both into the wildness and depravity of the night.

He thought he could see a faint flush of arousal in her pale cheeks, when she closed her eyes and trembled to orgasm above him, as he flooded into her.

When her eyes opened, they glowed green in the dark.

She gently stroked his cheek, and unable to prevent himself he turned his head into her hand.

Her lips, still stained and salty from his blood, whispered across his, and he fretted beneath her with need.

She trailed damp, open mouthed kisses down his chest. Her tongue circling his right nipple, as he cried out, hardening again against her wet heat.

Teasing her way across his strong body to his left nipple she aroused him there as well, until he was panting.

Then the night rang with his agonized scream, as her fangs pierced through the centre of his nipple and deep into his chest.

It was a scream of dark desire. A scream of abandonment as his need to do anything but die in her arms fled from him.

"Please," he cried.

She smiled against his blood-soaked chest, "Please spare you? I will not."

"No," he managed, "please, My Lady."

She raised her head, a smear of his blood across her chin, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Please kill you quickly? I will not."

"No, My Lady," he sobbed.

"Then what?" she demanded.

"Please let me worship you," he begged.

"Please let me give you pleasure before my strength fails me."

She watched him cautiously, "You think to escape," she decided, and hissed.

"I cannot fight you," his voice broke.

"Please let me have one last time inside a woman," he begged now, "please let me give you this gift before you end me."

"No one has ever offered this before," she told him, "why would you?"

"I'm already dead," he said, breathless from pain and desire, "and you are beautiful. Please let me live one last time."

She considered the damaged, but beautiful and humanly strong body beneath her.

He was no threat to her, but so pretty.

Her hunger for pleasure stirred again.

Rocking against him again and kissing him deeply, she reached behind him, and with a twist of her fingers, snapped the chains binding his wrists.

"Ahhh," he cried as his shoulders protested at their sudden freedom.

The Vampyre ripped open her own gown, which spread beneath her like a bed.

Her hair fanned across the soft material, cherry red, stained darker in large patches with his blood.

With a grunt of pain, he rolled himself over her and took her lips. His hands molding her breasts and teasing her nipples.

She sighed with unexpected pleasure and thrust up against him.

"Inside me," she demanded, "fuck me and I shall end your pain."

He moved against her, awkward in his agony.

"One moment, My Lady, please just let me," leaning heavily on his left forearm, he reached with his right hand to his back and lower, "I want you to feel me," he gasped.

Delighted, she briefly covered his hand with hers, as his fingers explored his own hole.

"I see you are no innocent; you know how to bring yourself pleasure," she giggled.

"Let me bring you pleasure," he gasped, as his fingers pricked against a needle-sharp point, immediately drawing blood.

Even as he winced, his hips were pierced by the deadly nails of his captor, and she hissed in pleasure as she drew him back into her and drew in the scent of fresh flowing blood.

Rapidly hardening, he began to thrust into her again, even as sobbing in pain, he ruthlessly thrust his fingers deep into his own body.

Following the line of blood-soaked wood as his fingers searched for the grip that he had carved into the smooth oak.

With the last of his strength, he raised himself on his left arm, pumping hard into the beautiful temptress below him.

She smiled, reveling in in his thrusts, her hands running over her own breasts before reaching up and scoring yet more wounds into his flesh with her nails.

The look of cat-like satisfaction in her glowing green eyes, changed to shock as he revealed the stake and, using both hands to grip the slippery, soiled weapon, allowed his body to fall. His weight pressing the stake between his chest and hers.

His breath stopped as his throat was crushed as if in a vice. An instant, as the feral green eyes flared in disbelief and agony, then he was falling against the earth, the stake trapped beneath him.

Surrounded by red mists that floated around him, and seemed to breathe and gather for a moment, before fading to nothing.

He was alone on the ground, gasping for breath, as his life blood and the last of his seed soaked into the earth.

Alone, he rolled with a groan of agony onto his side and gazed up at the uncaring moon.

He thought of the young woman that he had left behind. She who had chosen, for appearances sake between two brothers for a husband, and had not chosen him.

The woman who had owned them both, and even once betrothed, had not limited herself in her bed and had continued to worship and be worshipped by both.

They had wept together for his brother, and she had greased and impaled him on his weapon of destruction. He could not insert it without her help.

The pain had nearly beaten him, but she had held him. Taken him in her mouth and swallowed his final pure orgasm before he left for his own willing desecration.

He floated on pain and weakness and dreamed of her dark hair, and her whispered words.

"Avenge him for us both, but know that if you do not return, I will never marry. Know also that I am with child."

His heart had lifted with joy, as he kissed her, "Do you know, it is my brother's child?"

She had smiled, "It matters not, and I do not know. You are each a part of each other, and a part of each of you now lives in me."

He had taken strength from her words, and ignoring the pain deep inside his body, which was nothing compared to the grief that he felt for his brother, he had walked into the woods towards his fate and revenge.

Slowly, painfully, he now pushed to his knees.

Naked, he crawled to a small tree and pulled himself to his feet, uncaring at the rasping screams that were wrenched from his battered throat.

He swayed, bruised and bleeding and looked again at the moon.

Could he live? Did he have the strength to make it back to his village, be a husband and father?

A howl swept through the night. His hair stood on end, even on his scalp as the sound seemed to echo all around him.

Twisting through the trees, sounding both near and far, as it shivered across his vulnerable skin with primeval dread.

Wolves.

Broken, bleeding and beaten, but not yet ended, he walked into the dark trees.