From my mountaintop aerie, the view of the valley is breathtaking. Stretching before me for miles, the glacier, which cuts it's swatch out of these mountains, leads up to the rocky outcropping that hides the opening in the rock from prying eyes. All these long centuries, the cavernous prison within this mountain has served as haven for my kind. Driven by the Roman advance many centuries ago, fore-bearers of the ancient blood sheltered themselves here. Awaiting the Roman Legions' departure. Picking out a few unfortunate souls along the way. Roman soldiers were more than happy to leave this place. Away along the Brenner Pass in Austria.
West of Grossglockner, the second highest peak in the eastern Alps, a mountain prison was created for his eminence the Cardinal_de_Richelieu of Paris in late 1624. A place for Richelieu, a man of great lust for power, to send his political enemies. Arrested on charges, some true, some a convenient creation of Richelieu himself. A long journey across the French, then Italian Alps ended here. Unwittingly providing my kind with a sanctuary from which to plague the lowlands in eastern Austria, and Tirol. As far east as Graz. As far West as Innsbruck itself. It was in this time, that I came to be reborn an immortal. Vampyre, the villagers would call us. For almost 400 years, I have surveyed this terrain. I've watched from this place as armies advancing in the name of madmen created more destruction in a few years than all of my kind did in a century. Watching as civilization marched forward. The invention of the rail system. Electricity. Villages grown to modern, if still gothic cities. And all the while I watch from Schloss Richelieu, cleverly and artistically hidden in the eastern face of Grossvenediger.
Every night, the moon rises beyond the pyramidal apex of Grossglockner. An artist's painting to behold. Cities and villages dot the landscape below, their lights flickering. Souls waiting to be taken. It was here, in one of these, Lienz, to the south, where I found you. My night mistress. Beautiful, alluring, deadly. Preternatural angel. You stir beneath the mountaintop. I can sense you from here. What have you been up to? These early evening feedings are as dangerous as they are exhilarating. Nearly 400 years have made me cautious. Mingling with mortals is a delicate business. Merely fifty years since I found you, and you are more beautiful than ever with your gothic appearance. Yes, undead suits you. The dark suits you. But you must take care. You are reckless in your beauty.
The mist dissipates as I emerge at the entrance to the cavernous great hall within the mountain. Once the last view that dozens of Frenchmen ever saw of the outdoors. Cauldrons, four feet across are ablaze from all corners of this great place. Fed by a natural fuel from deep within the mountain, these blazes are never squelched. Warming the hall, but not much else. Great winds blast the mountains with snow and icy cold just beyond the hewn gothic stone entranceway, typical of architecture that makes up this place. Notre Dame for the damned. Winters here are ferocious. But in this place, in this time, my attention is drawn to you. And not even the icy winter without can distract me from the sight of you, bent over a mortal. Seated in a great stone chair, his trousers around his ankles. At first you appear to be entertaining him with your mouth wrapped around his ample manhood. But upon my approach, I realize that while that may indeed been how this encounter started, there is sufficient blood mixed with his semen to have been his demise. What a tease you are. At the moment of his great climax you amused yourself by piercing his great cock with your fangs. The better to feed. What better resource of man's blood than his engorged penis at the moment of orgasm? Clever little mistress.
You recoil from your victim on my approach, but I motion you to stay. I am not angry with you my ingenue. Amused but not angry. Sensing the life just out of this poor bastard, I avail myself of a feeding myself and drain the remaining blood from his throat. Your eyes never leave me. Lustful and aflame with reflections from the cauldrons. Copper, your eyes became the day I gave you the gift of immortality. Brazen and unforgettable. Licking the remnants of your feeding from your own lips, or tasting my feeding from a short distance. I cannot tell. Your scent, however is unmistakable. The juice which flows from your perfect love lips is evidence enough. Your love play with this human more than sparked your lust for blood. Lust drives you.
The thought of sharing your playtoy with your immortal is more than you can restrain. As you approach, the willowy garment that you wear begins to slide from your pale white skin. Your black lips purse as you reach me. Black nails reaching, one hand behind my neck the other groping for my swelling cock. Naked now, flaming red hair tossing as you drop to your knees and find the opening in my leather garment. Protection against the elements is irrelevant to an immortal, and this clothing is equally useless against your lust. As your tongue caresses the head of my manhood I release the belt that holds the garment up. You greedily suck my cock, taking the full length down your throat, though it almost chokes you. A great roar escapes me. Evil and undead, my scream echoes through the cavernous hall. I grab your head and begin fucking your mouth, oblivious to the great gashes that your fangs are digging into my erect flesh. It is not from these wounds that there is danger, but you guzzle at the ancient blood pouring down your throat. Sharing in the origins of my kind is dangerous. Small amounts can be taken in addition to human blood, but too much can overpower all but the strongest immortals. We feed on mortals out of need. The ancient blood is like nectar. Soon you are swooning and collapse to the stone floor at my feet.
