Lights Camera Blood:

Authors' Note: This is the final part of a chain story by a sextet of Literotica authors:

@Tio_Narratore

,

@StillStunned

,

@pink_silk_glove

,

@Erozetta

,

@AlinaX

and yours truly. You will be able to find all the chapters in this list:

Vampire Chain Story.

***

Mina gasped. Her back arched, head burrowing into the lush feather pillows, sweat pebbling on her skin despite the chill of the night. Glow from the diminishing fire warmed her right side, beddings under her were warmed by her feverish body, but the touch on her skin was surprisingly cool. Her hips rolled, trying to goad the slim, cool hand onto her needy center.

She moaned, "Please..."

Mircalla's laugh was low and quiet. Mina's skin rippled into goosebumps, when the beautiful Hungarian finally, finally slid her hand lower. Tiny squelching noises joined Mina's ragged gasps and the crackling of the fire, Mina's body continuing its dance that got more urgent by the minute.

She was so close. She was so close. If she could just have this one orgasm,

right now

, she would... she would...

Something was wrong. The goosebumps on her skin didn't settle, instead her whole body shivered, and her mind's focus was being forcibly drawn from her dripping pussy outwards, outside the comforting warmth of the bed, outside the cool beauty beside her. There was someone in the room. There was someone there, in the darkness, watching her, monitoring her. There was something, lurking in the darkness, that wanted her no good. There was...

"Anna!" Mina gasped, jerking to sit upright, blinking wildly. She backed up against the headboard, not the heavy ornate wooden one from her dream but the squeaky cloth-covered one in her home. The blankets she squeezed against her chest were her own, not the coarse linens and furry fake pelts of medieval make-belief. Her eyes, still blurry from sleep, darted from one corner to the other, but her bedroom was quiet and empty. The little light next to the door illuminated every corner. There was no sound from elsewhere in the apartment.

Mr. Buttons, the fat tabby, looked at her disapprovingly from his place at the foot of the bed. He meowed, standing up and stretching his spine in one long sinuous movement, before jumping down from the bed and padding away towards the kitchen. There he meowed again, with more accusation in his tone.

Might as well feed me now that you woke me up

, he seemed to say.

Mina, still trembling, wrapped the heavy dressing gown around her and followed the cat. The clock on the kitchen wall told her it was almost five o'clock, and with a resigned sigh she put the kettle on.

Call me when you get up

, she typed on her phone, sending it to Lucy. Five o'clock was seven in Finland, and Lucy would probably be getting ready for her big day soon enough. She would berate Mina for sleeping poorly, but it was almost a consolation in itself. Lucy didn't always understand, but she did care. All this was more difficult for Mina now that Lucy wasn't home. She slept so much better with Lucy beside her, though it didn't deter the nightmares completely.

Mr. Buttons pushed his head against Mina's ankles, purring.

"Okay, okay," Mina mumbled and opened the cupboard where cat food was held. "Okay."

Fortified with a mug of hot tea, Mina made the rounds in her and Lucy's apartment, opening the heavy blackout curtains. Sun was already rising, the summer was encouraging that way. Wistfully she wished, once again, that she had accompanied Lucy to the Sodankylä Film Festival -- this time of year, sun didn't set at all on those latitudes. However, since she'd gotten fired over performing in a porn film (and no matter how Mina had tried to point out the artistic value in the movie, her boss hadn't been able to overcome seeing her privates on big screen... and to be honest, Mina didn't blame her) she didn't have financial means for trips like that, and the magazine only paid for Lucy, and Mina did have her therapy appointments.

She had gone through all of this countless times since Lucy had left two days ago. It hadn't helped then, and it didn't help now.

At least today was therapy day.

***

"Okay, baby girl, I really have to go," Lucy said. "Take care of yourself now, will you?"

Mina promised, although she didn't sound convinced. Lucy made a few kiss-kiss-sounds and ended the call, slipping the phone into her purse. She met her eyes in the mirror, turning this way and that to double check her hair and makeup, then slipped on her sunglasses and left for the hotel breakfast buffet.

Lucy had hoped Mircalla Bartók would be staying in this same hotel, after all there were not very many choices in this little shithole the film festival was hosted in, but either that wasn't the case or she had the worst luck of ever being there at the same time as the Hungarian actress. After their joint acting endeavour, Mircalla had checked into a reclusive rehabilitation center somewhere in Poland, and Lucy hadn't been able to contact her. She had been somewhat understanding, because maybe the rehab center had rules against outside communication? Wasn't isolation usually part of the process in places like that? But now it had been months since Mircalla had re-emerged on the movie scene, having signed up for an artistic character piece by the upcoming Polish director Ostrowski, and even though Mircalla had given interviews she had not returned Lucy's requests for one.

That hurt.

Lucy had hoped -- no, she had been certain -- that what they'd shared had been more than acting. That surely, it had been as influential to Mircalla as it had been for Lucy. That was the primary motivation for her to come to this remote location, under the midnight sun, so far away from home and her struggling girlfriend. Her editor, Charles Ashley, had a long list of interviews he hoped she could score while up here, and why not; she could just as well make this trip worthwhile, but her eyes were on the prize, and that prize was backing Mircalla into a corner and interrogating her. Today, Mircalla would be in a press conference beside Ostrowski, and Lucy was determined to be in the first row.

***

"I know you think I'm crazy," Mina said, blushing in shame even though she was lying down with her head pointing towards the chair her therapist sat in, so that he couldn't possibly see her face. "I know we've been through this before."

Only reaction from Mr. Hall was the pen scratching on his notepad as he took notes.

Mina sighed. "It didn't use to be like this. I was always the brave one, the more outgoing one, and now Lucy is traveling the world alone while I'm scared to leave my home. And even our home... we can't really afford to rent at Canary Wharf, but I insisted, because it's surrounded by water, and... and that's crazy, right? That's completely bonkers."

"What have we discussed about labeling things as crazy?" Mr. Hall asked, his low voice neutral and calm.

"That it's not helpful," Mina said. "But it's... I didn't use to be like this! I was, I was happy, and... carefree, and I used to love scary movies for the thrill, and... even the movie we made, if I'd just seen it in a theater, I would've loved it. But it wasn't... it isn't what it seems, it's... it was

cursed

. I was cursed as soon as we snooped our way into that castle. I was... dunno, bewitched! Enchanted! I wasn't... I remember it, you know, I remember all of it, but it was like I wasn't in control of myself. I was like a cat in heat. I was going to just tag along with Lucy on that trip, to encourage her, because she can be such a pussyfoot, you know, and maybe try to coax her to see the finer points of loving women, but... we got swept up so easily."

Mina sank into her thoughts. It was difficult to put into words how alien it now felt to her, how easily she had agreed to flaunting her body on the screen, how eagerly she had participated in all the sex scenes. How even outside of scheduled shooting she had sneaked from hotel room to hotel room, shagging Mircalla, and that one Slovak actress who barely spoke English, and Anna--

At the thought of Anna, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Then, when we got back to England, it was like we had swapped parts. Now Lucy is the outgoing one filled with energy, and I'm this frightened mess. I don't know what will happen to us."

She sighed. "I want to get better. I want to get out of this... paranoia, I want to be able to work again. Though I think my days in social services are over. I can't believe that I didn't spare a single thought on what performing in that movie would cost me. I was so... consumed by being on the set, and... it was like being in an alternate reality of some sort. It feels very distant now. Like a dream. Or, psychosis or something."

The scratching of the pen. Mina wondered what it was that Mr. Hall was writing. Maybe he was just doodling to keep busy; Mina had told him these same things so many times before.

She wanted to say she was afraid the vampires would find her and Lucy and kill them, or worse. She thought about that every time she was heading to the therapist's office, but once here, it felt so insane that she couldn't bring herself to say the actual words. She wondered, not for the first time, if her therapist was under obligation to sign her into a mental asylum if she confessed to something so outright crazy.

"At least Lucy is safe now," she said, despite herself. "I just... I'm afraid something will happen to her. The state I'm in, I don't know what I'd do without her. My family is not the kind you go to when in trouble. Oh god, I just want to get back to normal again. Back to myself."

"How are you doing on your daily routines?" Mr. Hall asked, the pen pausing. "What did you commit to this month?"

"Meditation, and walks, and journaling," Mina recited dutifully. "I've been pretty good. I haven't written every single day, but I have done the rest."

"And have you considered applying for the part time job you talked about?"

Mina crossed her fingers surreptitiously and said, "Yes, sure. I haven't made up my mind yet."

The reason she didn't want to apply for part time at the local grocery store was that she knew that it would be a shift job, and would sometimes require her to be outside during dark, and she couldn't handle that. Not even with the canals and rivers surrounding the Wharf. It felt idiotic even to herself, but she couldn't push through it.

The session ended with all the usual platitudes and plans for improving Mina's capabilities for normal functioning in society. As she stepped out onto the uncharacteristically hot and sunny street, she wondered bitterly if she was more afraid of her therapy ending or that it wouldn't end. What good was a therapist, if she couldn't reveal her true fears to him? And yet, she had to be crazy, her fears couldn't possibly be true, so why couldn't she work through them without revealing the actual details?

Thoughts can't hurt me, my thoughts are not true

, she told herself while heading towards the train station. She couldn't bring herself to believe it fully. Maybe it was because the thought of running water protecting her from

them

was also only a thought.

***

The press conference was held in a tent, like all the rest of the festival. This far north wasn't exactly sweltering, but the air inside the tent was hot and stood still. Lucy tore a page from her notebook, folded it into a makeshift fan and relieved herself the best she could. A bead of sweat rolled from the hairline beside her ear, down her neck, and she wiped it off impatiently.

Ostrowski stepped in through the tent's back lapels first. He had messy hair that looked like it was painstakingly combed to be that messy, and small round sunglasses on his crooked nose, and he looked painfully pretentious. Lucy wondered if young Adimir had had that air of pompousness upon him; if so, it was probably for the best that he had made it his signature move to avoid all publicity.

Mircalla stepped in behind him, and Lucy's attention was instantly completely focused on her. She had the same beautiful face, the same slim but curvaceous body, the same piercing eyes, pale gray and striking. Lucy knew that, up close, they had tiny golden specks in them, and a sudden and fierce twitch of longing took her breath away.

Mircalla arranged the flowy summer dress and sat graciously on the flimsy foldable chair behind the table. Her mere presence seemed to elevate this rudimentary setting to another level. She looked like the film stars of old times, dark hair falling in lazy curls over her shoulders, big sunglasses perched on top of her head. She crossed her legs, one knee primly on top of the other, and lay her slim hands on her lap. Her lips were painted the same deep blood red that Lucy remembered, making her complexion seem even paler than it naturally was. She wasn't smiling.

The actress eyed the gathered journalists with a detached, disinterested look, but when her eyes found Lucy she paused.

Mircalla showed no signs of recognition. She didn't smile, she didn't nod, nothing on her carefully painted face changed; the only indication that she had recognized Lucy was how she stopped to look at her. Lucy shriveled at the gaze of those cool, bright eyes, clear and translucent like a cold winter day.

An official from the film festival launched into the introduction of Ostrowski in their broken English, Mircalla looked towards him, and the tension broke. She didn't look at Lucy again. Lucy did her best to listen to what others asked and what Ostrowski answered, hastily taking notes on her pad, but her focus was almost entirely on Mircalla. Others asked questions of Mircalla, too, and hearing her voice sent a ripple down Lucy's back.

Get a grip

, she admonished herself.

You're here to do a job, now do it.

Ostrowski's film was not horror, and as such was not really of interest to Lucy's magazine

Tentacles and Torture

, and Lucy's notes were so crappy that it was probably for the best. If asked, she couldn't even have said what the man's next film was called. She had heard that Mircalla had been booked for the entire trilogy, so she was certain she would watch them sooner or later. She was awoken from her Mircalla-centered trance by another familiar name.

"Miss Bartók, how would you compare working with Ostrowski to working with Adamir? I understand their methods are very different?"

Lucy's head whipped from the old reporter with the bushy beard making the question back to Mircalla, who glanced at offended-looking Ostrowski and creased her delicate brow minutely. "I am not here to talk about Adamir. That film is done, I am looking forward now."

Had her accent always been so thick? Her v's so sharp, her r's so hard? Lucy tilted her head in confusion.

"Have you kept contact with Adamir? Do you have any info of his whereabouts?" butted in another reporter, a woman with a tight ponytail and red-rimmed glasses.

"I said, no--"

Mircalla's refusal was drowned by more questions fired at her from two more reporters. Adamir had been missing in action after his last film--their film--had been released, and where he had hitherto published a film per year, there was now not even rumours of his next project. More voices chimed in, shouting on top of each other. Ostrowski looked like he'd chewed on a lemon. Mircalla threw out her hands, muttered something under her breath and got on her feet. With a whirl of her dress she turned, pushed aside the man who had stood behind them guarding the lapels of the tent, and disappeared.

Lucy exited the tent as quickly as she could swerve between the now-standing crowd of colleagues. She ran around the tent just in time to see Mircalla disappearing behind another tent, and sprinted after her. She wasn't fast, but Mircalla was wearing heels, and Lucy covered most of the distance before Mircalla reached a row of motorhomes parked on a level spot behind the tents. The area was guarded, but the guy with the neon colored attention vest was on the side where vehicles entered, and before he had time to react Lucy gave it all she had and caught Mircalla just outside her camper.

"Mircalla," she panted. "Mircalla, wait!"

Mircalla turned sharply, the wide hem of her dress again swirling around her in slow motion, twisting around and then back in a sensuous sweep. The actress herself stood ramrod-straight, her mouth a straight line under the big sunglasses that reflected Lucy's own, perplexed reflection back at her. "Are you here to ask about him too?"

"No," Lucy said, even though she was, partly so anyway. "I wanted to... you haven't answered my calls, and..."

The guard had finally noticed something was happening, and was walking towards them over the grassy field, shouting something in Finnish. Mircalla looked at his direction, her brow furrowing, and hissed, "Basszus!" She waved at the guard with a tense smile, grabbed Lucy by the arm and yanked her toward the motorhome. Lucy did not resist as Mircalla pulled her inside and locked the door behind them.

Inside of the camper was cramped and, compared to the blinding, white sunlight outside, almost dark. Lucy looked around, blinking, and was startled by the loud sound that came from Mircalla's sunglasses hitting the opposite wall. The actress herself, her gray eyes hard as steel, pushed Lucy against the door, stepping so close that Lucy felt crowded even though Mircalla wasn't any taller than her.

"Why you come?" Mircalla hissed. "Why you not let it be, hm? What do you want from me?"

There was a scent upon her breath, sweet and somehow unnerving. Lucy drew backwards against the door, her eyes darting back and forth between Mircalla's, the back of her head pressing into the small hard plex window in the door, her hands trembling against the wagon's inner paneling. "I... I came to look for you."

For a short, tense moment, Mircalla didn't react. All Lucy could hear was her own, frantic heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

Slowly, Mircalla's lips curved up. The smile was mirthless, and a shiver ran down Lucy's back. She squeaked when Mircalla pressed up against her, her hands suddenly everywhere. Mircalla kept eye contact as her hands crept up Lucy's body, squeezing here and groping there, until she had the blonde's boobs cupped in her small, cool hands. Lucy's breath hitched, and her nipples tightened into painful peaks, even though they were both between Mircalla's fingers, devoid of direct contact.

"The little English blonde came for me, eh?" Mircalla's breath swept over Lucy's trembling lips, cheek, ear. She kissed Lucy's neck, first lightly and then more intensely, and her hands roamed on Lucy's body again. Lucy spread her legs, helplessly, cursing that she'd put on pants. Oh, what she would have given to have on a skirt now! Hormones coursed through her, and when Mircalla's nimble fingers unzipped her, she squirmed eagerly to help lower her pants. Mircalla pushed them down to mid-thigh, forcefully, along with her knickers.

Mircalla paused. She lifted her head, slowly, to look at Lucy again. Lucy drew a quivering breath, and the brunette kissed her lightly, just as lightly as her fingertips swept on Lucy's lower abdomen. Mircalla's lips were smooth and lush, and Lucy chased after them when she pulled away minutely. Mircalla chuckled, kissing her more deeply, as her hand cupped Lucy's sopping pussy.