To Search in the Shadows

"That's all there is, really. My mother died two years ago and left me some money. I've been living off that and pursuing my dream ever since." She smiled at him. "Guess that sounds pretty selfish, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I dunno . . . seems pretty level-headed to me. Find a goal and work for it. Isn't that what we're all supposed to have in life; a goal?"

"Guess that's so."

"And when did you decide you wanted to join the union?"

"Huh? The what?"

"Sorry. Little joke. When did you decide you wanted to be a Vampyre?"

"When I was thirteen, I guess. I mean, all my life there were signs and stuff. I wasn't like the other kids. I didn't want to play outside in the daytime, liked the darkness better. Even had a big cardboard box with a blanket in it. I would lie in there and go to sleep, until my dad found out about it and threw it out 'cause he said I'd 'suffocate in that coffin'. Then, when I was twelve I found a copy of 'Dracula' in the school library. I stole it and read it over and over until it fell apart. That opened my eyes. I knew then what I was longing for. About a year later I went to my first away-from-home Halloween party. They played some scary videos and one of them was Bram Stoker's Dracula. I couldn't sit through the whole thing. When Dracula attacked Lucy I had to run to the bathroom. Everybody thought I was so scared I'd peed myself. But they were wrong. I had to go clean myself up from my very first orgasm." She stopped, hoping that he couldn't see her blushing in the darkness. "Geez, listen to me. I'm sorry, Russell. I just never could tell anyone the whole story before. Once I started telling you I just couldn't shut up. Felt good to get it out in the open, though."

From the corner of her eyes she saw him smile warmly. "It's okay, Ruth. You don't have to be ashamed or embarrassed. I'm sure that was a very confusing time for you. I'm glad I could help get the weight off your chest." At that moment Ruth decided he was quite probably the handsomest man she'd ever met.

They stopped for a red light and Ruth took a deep breath and changed the subject. "What about you, Russell? What's your story?"

"I never wanted to be a Vampyre. But I didn't get much choice in the matter." His face grew sad then, and his eyes looked away, as though they were focusing on something far off in the distance. "In 1836 I fought alongside brave Texans in the Alamo, in San Antonio. We were all full of big dreams of a free Texas. One hundred and eighty of us against five-damned-thousand of Santa Anna's crack Mexican soldiers. But we held 'em back for two weeks. Then they finally breached the walls. It was a slaughter. We were all killed, near as I can figure. I was shot in the stomach and fell behind a woodpile. Wasn't dead yet, so I laid still and played 'possum. Hoped they'd think I was dead. For hours I watched the soldiers dragging the bodies of my comrades onto wagons and carting 'em away. Then they left, and all I had to watch was the buzzards circling overhead. I was too weak to move by then. By nightfall I was more dead than alive. Been bleeding all day and there wasn't much juice left in the jug, if you know what I mean. The soldiers had gone back to their camp for the night. They'd be back to finish in the morning. As I lay there I saw a man walking among the dead. He'd stop and bend low like he was inspecting the bodies, then rise and move on. It struck me funny that he wasn't carrying a lantern. Eventually he came to me. I didn't know what to do. He bent over me and I heard him whisper just one word: alive. Then he smiled and in the semi-darkness I could see he had fangs. Three nights later I awoke in an open coffin in a Mexican church. An old priest was giving me last rites. When I got up out of that box he was so scared he had a heart attack and died on the spot. He was my first meal. I've been hanging around the southwest and northern Mexico ever since."

"What was a vampire doing at the Alamo?"

"Some Vampyres never miss a war. We call 'em vultures. War's a buffet for them. Dying people everywhere, and the people responsible for clean-up generally aren't very careful in disposing of the bodies. So you can pretty much take your pick and nobody's going to notice whether a corpse died from gunfire or from being bitten and drained."

Ruth wrinkled up her nose in distaste. "Damn . . . that's foul." Then she turned the wheel and guided the car into the Econo-lodge parking lot. "Here we are," she said.

- Chapter 3 -

Inside the room, Russell immediately sat in the stuffed chair in the corner. He slouched back, his long legs stretched out straight before him. "Nice little place you've got here, Ruth," he teased. "More homey than my place, I'll tell you that. Mine's absolutely a mausoleum." He grinned widely, the yellowed light of the bulb over the room's writing desk giving his teeth an unpleasant old-ivory tinge.

Ruth's eyes never left him as she lowered her shoulder bag to the bed. "Funny man," she replied. Then her brow furrowed slightly. "Hey, aren't you supposed to have fangs?"

"Not all the time, Ruth. Hollywood got that right too. They grow when we need 'em -- kinda like getting an erection. Don't worry, if I consent to bring you over I'll have everything I need to do the job."

"If?" Ruth countered. "I thought it was a done deal, since you'd come back here with me. You're not going to chicken out on me, now that I've almost decided you're the genuine article, are you?"

"Nope. But come on, Ruth, be realistic. What's in it for me? I mean, you get what you want -- eternal life, to join Club Undead, etc. -- but what do I get in exchange?"

Ruth removed her coat, and turned down her turtleneck, noticing how Russell's eyebrow cocked upwards at the sight of her chain mail collar. She sat on the bed, facing him. "A free meal from a willing victim. What else do you want?"

He chuckled softly. "Shit, Ruth, I could get a meal anywhere. In a city this big there's always somebody down the next street. With the sewers, tenements, empty houses, secluded places, dark alleys and deserted parks there's always somewhere to feed in peace and dispose of a body. But you forget something important -- the club is very select. We have to keep our numbers small, and we don't let just anybody in. It's the only way to protect ourselves. A few can hide and operate in secret, but if we got too numerous we'd be discovered. Then, with our existence no longer a myth, we'd be hunted down like wild dogs. I died once, Ruth, I don't want to do it again." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "And as for a free meal . . . Ruth, if I wanted your blood I'd just kill you and drain your still-warm body." This time when he grinned his eyes glowed a faint red, his smile cold and vulpine.

Goosebumps skittered up Ruth's back but she kept her voice even by sheer force of will. "I don't think so," she said, her fingers brushing the steel collar she wore.

Russell's eyes narrowed. "If I wanted to, Ruth," he said as he ran his fingers across the wooden table at his elbow, "do you honestly think you could stop me?" The question was punctuated by a sharp crunching sound as he effortlessly snapped a plate-sized chunk from the tabletop.

Cold sweat broke out on Ruth's skin and she felt her belly tighten. Part of it was fear, certainly, but there was also excitement. Russell's strength, his aura of restrained threat, and his beautifully feral eyes had her snared. She swallowed hard. "Okay, then . . . so why did you come? If I'm just one possible selection on a city-wide menu, why did you agree to meet with me?"

His wolfish grin softened, and although the flickering crimson faded from his eyes the hunger in them did not diminish. "If you become one of us, Ruth," Russell said, "you will learn so much. And if you're very, very lucky, you'll someday find someone who truly, honestly, deeply wants you to feed on them. Any Vampyre worth his salt can find prey and feed, but that is only one part of the existence. Oh, the hunt is exciting, the pursuit is wild, and the feasting is deliciously sweet, no matter who the entrée is. But when you find someone who aches for your fangs to taste them, who begs for the feel of your mouth draining the life from their body, only then can you taste the sweetest wine."

Ruth's brow furrowed in confusion. Seeing this, Russell's smile faded. "It's not so hard to understand," he continued. "Ever have sex with somebody even if you weren't in the mood? Maybe some guy who demanded a blowjob, and you gave in because you didn't want to lose him, even though you'd rather have just gone out for pizza?"

The girl's mind went back to the night of her senior prom. She was about to speak but Russell interrupted her. "Of course you did," he continued. "It happens to everybody, in one way or another. But if you really love the guy, and he really loves you . . . if his touch on your skin is more intoxicating than any drug, and just the smell of him makes you thirst for him . . . then you're glad to let him do anything he wants to you. And when you make love with him it's fireworks and volcanoes and earthquakes all wrapped up in one because you wanted it so bad it hurt! Same situation here.

"Vampyres are more tuned-in to body chemistry than mortals, Ruth. Your emotions influence your blood chemistry. When you're frightened, your body pumps adrenaline into your veins -- when you're happy, you get a dose of endorphins, and so on. All those factors change not only how you taste to me, but how your blood effects me when I drink it. If you're mesmerized, like you were back in the bar, you're compliant, and your blood is fine -- a bit bland, but okay. If you're scared and unwilling, you taste bitter and acidic. But if you want it, Ruth . . . if you really, reaaaalllly want it . . . your blood becomes Napoleon brandy, molten honey, Spanish Fly, and pure Peruvian cocaine all mixed together. It's the sweetest wine, Ruth. And trust me, there's nothing in your human experience that comes close to matching the taste . . . or the rush!" He licked his lips hungrily, and Ruth noticed that a telltale bulge had formed behind the zipper of his pants.

"I want to do it," Ruth whispered, almost as though she wanted to convince herself as much as she wanted to inform him. "I want to be one of you . . . undead, immortal . . . a vampire."

"Then you're convinced I'm real?" he asked.

"Just about. I have another test I want to perform, just for my own satisfaction." She reached for her shoulder bag and unzipped it. "After all, I'm literally taking my life in my hands, here." She brought out a silver hip flask. The sallow light of the room glimmered off the shiny metal, glinting off the simple cross engraved on the front of it. "Roll up your sleeve, Russell," she ordered.

"Let me guess -- holy water?"

"Yes. I'm going to dribble a bit on you to see what happens. According to the movies it should burn your skin on contact." She unscrewed the cap on the flask and waited while Russell pulled his left sleeve up, exposing his forearm.

"I thought this might happen," he said. "Another thing Hollywood got right. Holy icons do burn us, if they're wielded by a believer." He held his arm out to her. "Go ahead, Ruth. I'm ready." His lips compressed slightly as though he were about to get a shot at the doctor's office, then relaxed.

Ruth poured a trickle of water over his arm. Nothing happened.

"You fraud," Ruth murmured. "You lying prick." She took several steps backward, her eyes angry and fierce.

"You're not fooling anyone, Ruth," Russell said. "It wasn't blessed water, and we both know it." He lifted his arm to his mouth and licked the moisture from his skin. "I've been around long enough to know what holy water smells like, and that ain't it."

Her eyes softened and she replaced the cap on the flask. "You're right. I filled it at the sink," and she tilted her head slightly towards the bathroom, "just before I came to meet you. I wanted to see what you'd do when I said I wanted to test you with holy water. Guess you passed."

Russell raised an eyebrow. "Then you're convinced I'm the real article?"

"Well, I would still like to expose you to sunlight, just for a moment or two, to see if you start to smolder, but . . . "

He moved like a flicker of light. Immediately he was on her, instantly wrapping his arms around her and pinning her fists behind her back with one surprisingly strong hand. "No, Ruth," he growled, his voice suddenly guttural and harsh, a sound like a loaded hearse driving down the gravel road in a cemetery. "No more tests, no more delays."

She struggled, suddenly scared and unsure. She tried to scream but her voice wouldn't come, as though the steel collar around her throat had cut off the sound. Russell's hand caressed her belly, and somewhere inside her she registered how cold and alien it felt, but she felt a warm flush spread through her as well. "Sweet Ruth," he murmured, and now there was something more in his voice. Something new had joined the harsh, gravelly snarl. She'd heard that indefinable tone before in men she'd loved. It was the sound of sexual arousal. "Don't be afraid, Ruth," he crooned, "you'll like what's about to happen."

His hand crept up her body, slipping under her shirt until it cupped her right breast. Even through the cup of her bra Ruth felt the chill in his flesh, but despite the growing knot of shiny, fresh terror swelling in her gut her knees went weak. Her nipples swelled with want and her breath caught in her chest. "Oh, god," she gasped, and it was partly prayer for deliverance and partly the sound of desire.

Russell chuckled softly and in the rustling sound Ruth heard flames flickering in some distant diabolical domain. Then the flames weren't so far away -- they were burning in her pelvis as her excitement overpowered her fear.

Suddenly he gasped in pain. He yanked his hand out from under her shirt and muttered a virulent oath. On the side of his hand was an angry, red welt in the shape of a cross, its edges charred. A thin thread of smoke curled up from the seared flesh.

Russell's lip curled into a feral snarl and he ripped the front of her blouse open. Between the mounds of her breasts was nestled a small golden crucifix on a thin chain. "No more, Ruth," he growled, "no more." His hooked fingers grabbed the chain and tore the cross away from her chest, throwing it across the room. It clinked against the mirror and fell to the dresser. "After tonight, Ruth, I promise you . . . you'll have no more need for that," he growled. Then he smiled, and the woman he held stared in wide-eyed horror as his canine teeth lengthened and became curved fangs. "Or for this," he finished, and his fingers grasped the steel mesh collar around her throat. The strong metal broke, the links falling to the floor like metal snowflakes.

Ruth gasped for air. Her mind wanted to scream, wanted to cry out for help, wanted to scare the demon off of her, but she could only rasp hoarsely. "Please," she whispered. Then Russell's frigid, iron-hard fingers were stabbing between her breasts and grabbing the connecting strap of her bra. It tore with a ripping snap and her breasts tumbled free.

Russell spun Ruth to face him, but his left hand kept her hands pinned behind her back. His right hand cupped her breast and he pinched her nipple between his thumb and fingers, making the hard, pink button sting, and immediately Ruth felt her vulva pulse wetly in the flutter of a small orgasm. She looked into his eyes and shuddered as she saw them glaze scarlet. Then his lips drew back, his fangs glistening wetly in the light. His head darted forward like a viper's, and she felt the burning pain as they cut into her throat. For a moment she stood on a precipice, and then blackness covered her.

- Chapter 4 -

Ruth swam through a beautiful land of gray shadows, her mind not fully aware, but her body was completely awake. Although her eyes were closed she seemed to be watching a thunderstorm because jagged forks of blinding, yellow-white lightning flashed back and forth through her retinas. The glowing bolts were firing up from her belly and searing through her brain like boiling honey. Her heart was hammering madly inside her chest and she could hear the sound of her labored, rapid, gasping breathing . . . and, as if from a distance, her constricted voice whimpering and begging and crying out over and over again as the lightning bolts stabbed through her pelvis. She was being racked by the most incredible, devastating series of climaxes she'd ever imagined. They tore through her with savage, brutal intensity, and left her broken and weak, gasping for air like a boated fish. But no sooner had one explosion begun to ebb away than another wave would crash down on her, sweeping her away again. She had no idea how many orgasms she'd had while she was unconscious, but she knew every muscle in her body was aching and her crotch was raw and burning. But she knew inside herself that she'd joyfully endure all that pain, and far, far worse tortures, before she'd willingly stop this insane, wild ride.

She opened her eyes, and was almost perplexed not to be looking up into Russell's face. But all she saw was the shadowed ceiling of her hotel room. Now that she was awake, the pounding waves of her orgasms weakened slightly, and she could think. She felt incredibly weak, but through the haze of twinkling snow that filled her mind she could feel what her vampiric lover was doing to her. Struggling to lift her head almost made her swoon, but she could see him lying between her legs with her thighs over his strong shoulders, his face tight to her groin, as his tongue moved against her sensitive tissues. Then he growled, an impossibly deep and bestial sound, against her pelvis and she felt the curved ivory of his fangs rub against her clitoris. Immediately and involuntarily her body bucked upwards against his face, and another merciless and titanic climax slammed through her body. She felt the scream boil up from her gut but her throat was already so raw that the only audible sound was a hoarse, croaking whimper.

Russell lifted his head, looking up across her naked body, and their eyes met. "I'm glad you're awake, Ruth," he said. "You've been out almost two hours. I was beginning to think I wasn't doing something right." Then he smiled. His face shone wetly in the gloom. "How was your introduction to Vampyre love-making?"

"That . . . that was . . . you mean I'm a vampire now? That I've made it?" Ruth's throat hurt deep inside as she spoke.

"Nope, not yet. I just bit you to seduce you. I wanted you to have a taste of what being a vampire is like before your baptism. I wanted you to want it -- to need and crave it -- more than you've ever wanted anything else in your entire life!" He smoothly disentangled himself from her thighs and then his form began to flow. In a heartbeat he had melted into a shimmering mist.

Confused, Ruth watched as the mist began to move, almost like a living thing. It slithered up her body, spreading itself into a human form, and as she watched with wide and amazed eyes, it solidified again. Now Russell was lying on top of her, his legs between hers, his bare chest against her breasts. "Welcome, Ruth," he whispered, "welcome to the beginning of a whole new world of sensation and delicious freedom and perfect, unending, immortal life!" With that, he thrust forward and buried his erection in her.

As mind-bendingly wonderful as the oral sex had been, the intercourse was even better. Ruth experienced the insane delight of atomic-level climax, every atom of her body shrieking in indescribable, blissful orgasm for a thousand lifetimes, all condensed and compressed into one billionth of a second and repeated endlessly, like a blindingly fast loop of film screaming through her cellular structure. It could have lasted a minute or a billion years, she did not know. There was no today, no tomorrow, no past or future . . . there was no earth, no sun or stars . . . no Ruth, no Russell, no life or death . . . there was only the explosive cum that had never known an origin and would never find an end. Every peak was only superceded by its next, and at the ultimate moment, when she innately knew if she flew any higher her wings would surely catch fire and burn, she heard Russell's voice calling to her, "Do you want it, Ruth? Swear it to me, beg to me to rip your throat open and drink your blood. Scream it, Ruth . . . this is the time . . . scream it to me!"