The Haunting Ind

She'd seen his kind before. She wouldn't have been here, otherwise, sitting in this expanse of marble and candlelight, of shadows that danced when you weren't looking and wind that whispered words on the edge of hearing.

His kind. The haunting kind. The fire flickering over his face. She watched him, as he sat there on the marble steps, the sound of his breathing noticeable by its absence.

His jaw, as flawless and hard as the marble statue next to him. The shadows of his nose, his chin, the angular lines of his face. The lack of a pulse beneath his smooth alabaster neck. His beauty. Despite her fear, or maybe because of it, she felt a tremor run through her legs, and a heat in her loins.

She stepped forwards, trying to glide on the flagstones the way Antonia had, smooth and graceful, but her legs shook beneath her. Scared. Excited. She felt it now, a palpable thing, hot and heavy in the air. Tension.

He smiled and she blanched, taking a step backwards. She'd felt it. He'd been there. Inside her head. His presence, his mind, his being. Stripping her soul bare. He smiled again, in that peculiar way they do, not exposing much of his teeth.

She licked her lips and swallowed.

"You're one of Them, aren't you?"

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her with those hypnotic brown eyes, and then he nodded. Just once.

"A woman.. Tall, graceful, long dark hair.. One of You. She brought me here." Her voice, barely audible. He'd heard her though. They heard everything. His eyes upon her, dark and unreadable, making her self conscious.

He smiled again, although only his lips moved.

Blood. Rising into her cheeks, making them flush. Blood. Rushing through her veins, hot and quick and bright. Blood. Her reason for being here.

He spoke, finally. Correcting her.

"Seduced." His words were fluid, rippling, live waves moving over the ocean. "You were seduced. And here you are. And you have no idea why."

She cast her eyes down. There was a long pause.

"To be like you." The words, falling from her lips like raindrops in a storm. Swallowed up by the thunderous silence.

"Like me", he said slowly. "Like us."

She took a step back. For a terrible moment there, he'd looked like her father. He shook his head and went back to staring at the fire, the orange flame dancing enticingly, teasingly. Michael, he'd said his name was. That voice, quiet, calm and rippling. Spoken as if he had all the time in the world. On reflection, she thought, he probably did.

He looked at her. Only once, and the look sent electric shocks from her nipples to her pussy and back again. She blinked and without warning, there was a breeze out of nowhere, the hairs on her arms rising, an involuntary shiver running through her body. The flicker of the fire and the dance of the candles extinguished in the same instant, and then the blackness was absolute. She was alone, surrounded by the dark and the silence and the cold, unyielding hardness of the marble.

A footstep. On the stairs. Above her. She stared into the darkness, seeing nothing. Another footfall, and then a chuckle. Supercilious, arrogant. A smirk given voice. She froze as out of nowhere a hand descended upon her neck, and she heard one word whispered in her ear.

"Yes." The voice was deep, resonant and sinuous, the hand on her neck holding her firmly, but without pain. Not Michael's voice. Not Michael's hand. She tried to turn, but the grip tightened, and she felt his other hand brush her hair away from the nape of her neck, and a soft, cold finger touched her skin.

"So beautiful," it whispered, and she could feel his cold breath on her ear. She shivered, maybe from fear, maybe from guilt-ridden lust. She couldn't tell. Her father's touch had erased the ability to tell the difference from her conscience years ago.

He said, simply: "Gallich. My name is Gallich."

And then he was gone, and it was still dark and she could see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing except the hammering of her heart in her chest, and the pounding of the blood through her veins. Blood. Listen to your blood. A voice, floating out of the darkness, calling her name. A fragment of sound, that might have been a trick of the breeze, except that there was no breeze anymore. The air, hot and heavy. Anticipating.

Hands touched her, softly, gently, caressing her. Cold hands on warm skin. Her shoulders, her back, her neck. Inside, she screamed at them, but somehow her voice didn't work. Whispers and murmurs in languages too ancient for her to even recognize, much less speak. She froze, motionless.

Her dress was stripped from her. Her breasts exposed, the nipples hard and erect in the cool air and then, when she was completely naked, save her stockings and heels, the hands left her, as quickly as they'd appeared, and as she stood there, shivering, in the darkness, a match flared, and a candle was lit.

Antonia. Antonia in a leather bodysuit the color of dried blood.

"Come. Come closer."

Did she hear those words? She couldn't tell, couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus on anything except Antonia. The beauty. She wanted to throw herself to her knees, profess her undying love, pledge her everlasting servitude, scream her lust, the lust that was already making itself felt at the juncture of her thighs.

Instead, she meekly let Antonia lead her to a chair, soft, plush, velvet. She sat, pressing her thighs together, her wide eyes staring, still unable to speak, only able to watch Antonia light more candles. The shadows danced and wavered over the walls, dark and secretive, moving too fast for her to focus. She felt her head swim, but Antonia was speaking again, the words penetrating the trance.

"Don't you think fire is so beautiful." A statement, not a question.

She let her knees be parted, as Antonia moved closer, their faces inches apart. "So elemental," the vampire whispered. "I wish I could taste it .. I wish I could be it."

She parted her lips, as Antonia's mouth descended upon hers, their tongues sweeping forward to intertwine, to play and tease. 'No!' She thought, 'It's wrong!' Daddy will punish me! But she didn't stop. Didn't stop before, didn't stop now, heedless of the consequences. She moaned into the kiss, into Antonia's mouth. She wanted to reach up, to touch this angel, but her arms were made out of lead, and she felt Antonia's hands and fingers, so cold, but so soft, doing to her what she longed to do to the vampire.

But it was Antonia's hands moving, teasing, caressing, fingers pinching her nipples, rolling the hard nubs between thumb and forefinger, dipping between her thighs, making her moan and arch in the stiff-backed seat. All she could do was clench her fingers around the arms of the chair until her knuckles were white, until her own teeth were bared, until she was begging Antonia to stop.

"The power consumes you, does it not?" Antonia's voice was soft, gently understanding.

She nodded, not willing to trust her voice, but she heard herself answer anyway. "it makes me hunger." The voice was hers, and yet not hers. "Hunger for more, for everything I've ever dreamed of, everything I've ever fantasized about, everything I've ever wanted from you." Her own voice, husky and seductive.

"Everything that you will have," finished Antonia, bending, her wet pink tongue tracing damp erotic circles on soft human skin. "I can smell your blood, I can feel it pumping through your veins. It calls to me, to be released from it's prison, to be consumed.. And I will consume you, make no mistake."

She let her hand be lifted, placed on Antonia's breast, and as if the very touch galvanized her, she began to caress and tease the nipple through the leather. The vampire moaned slightly, tilting her head back at the pleasure, but mastered herself with an effort, and stood.

An object loomed up out of the darkness. A table. Cuffs at each leg, and a body-shaped contour in the surface.

"Lie down, my child," Antonia said, pushing her face-down onto the table.

A perfect fit. Almost as if it was made for her. The moulded steel cold, hard and unyielding against her soft flesh. Her achingly hard nipples pressed against the blackened steel, throbbing with her desire. She let out an involuntary moan, as unseen hands pulled her legs apart, securing her ankles to the table legs.

She felt open, exposed, the cold air against her thighs, Antonia's touch on her back unexpected and harsh, the vampire's long nails scratching lines down her back, over her ass, squeezing it, kneading it firmly. Unable to stop a moan, as Antonia slipped a slim finger into her wetness, craning her neck around to see.

"Yes," she moaned. "That feels so good. The pain. I need the pain.. Oh god."

Antonia knelt down, lifted her chin, looked into her eyes. The vampire smiled cruelly. "Oh princess.. God isn't here."

"No," said another voice. "I am."

She didn't have to turn to know who that was. She did, though, arching her back around, watching him as he walked around the table to stand before her. His hair was unbound, and fell to his shoulders. Naked, save a leather codpiece already straining, he looked down at her. He reached over, and she felt rather than saw something brush against her back, resting in the cleft between her buttocks.

Antonia's eyes widened, and she looked up, then down, a quick gesture of submission. "My Lord Gallich," she said softly.

Gallich smiled down at Antonia, showing his teeth again, and Antonia lifted her hands to his crotch, unbuckling the codpiece. Hurrying to obey his unspoken command, she released him and softly stroked his length.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Antonia's small white hand moving slowly up and down the length of Gallich's thick-veined manhood. She heard, or she thought she heard Gallich moan, somewhere above her.

And then she was opening her mouth, as Antonia was guiding Gallich forwards, opening to taste him, to suck on him, her tongue moving back and forth. His hands on her head, in her hair, moving her at his pace. Her nostrils full of the smell of him, and Antonia's hands and tongue on her body, and then she felt the whip, and instantly she was somewhere else.

Maybe it was her daddy wanting those special games or when Bobby Sanderson had wanted to play spin the bottle, or maybe she was back down on 24th street where Billy said you didn't go after dark, but she'd gone anyway, because she'd heard you could score some serious shit down there, but she hadn't found any smack, she'd found The CrossBreeds, with their bikes and their whores, and she was over a barrel with a knife to her throat and her skirt up around her waist, or maybe she was all of that, all at once, losing herself in the smell and taste of Gallich, and the fierce pain of the whip, on her buttocks, on her back, her thighs, and then Antonia struck her just so, the tip of the whip landing on her clitoris, searing hot and she couldn't stop the orgasm, cumming and cumming and cumming, and she knew she could make Gallich cry out and climax, and so she did, and he did, his back arched, his face a rictus of ecstasy.

She felt Gallich withdraw, the loss of him from her mouth an almost physical pain. Her eyes, opening. Searching. He was nowhere to be seen. But somehow, Michael stood before her, looking down at her. Was that sadness in his eyes? Why did he look sad? She smiled up at him, a lascivious, seductive smile. "You too?" she asked, confident and arrogant.

He simply shook his head, reaching out to run a cold finger down her face, to cup her jaw, then he turned on his heel and walked away without saying a word. She wanted to scream at him, but Antonia was speaking again. She was naked, and breathtakingly beautiful. She stood in front of the table, and raised her arms high.

The shadows stopped moving, solidified, became real. People. Vampires.

"She is ours!" cried Antonia. "And we are hers!" The light dripped off the straight razor she held, like the wax from the candle. and she brought the blade down fast and hard, across her wrist, shrieking with pleasure. It was the sign.

And she was there again. At the first touch of the other vampires, she was there again, lost in the pain and the pressure and the pleasure. She felt them on her body, her veins open to them. Sweet, intoxicating pain, fuelled by the rush of Antonia's blood. A physical release, an exchange. Old for new. She screamed with the intensity, the fire in her belly. It swelled, consuming her. Why didn't she burn? It was bright and hot, filling her very soul. She remembered nothing else.

~*~

He came to her, two days later. She was chained to a chair, hungry. No, not hungry. Thirsty. She heard the door open and she looked up, and he was there. Michael. He held something out for her, wrapped in a blanket. She took it from him, looked down. It was an infant. The child looked up, wide eyed and innocent.

She looked at him. He nodded. "You wanted to be like us," he said. "One of us." Still liquid, still fluid, still mesmerizing. He was so perfect, with his pale, flawless skin, and his sad brown eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to love him, to serve him, the way she'd served Gallich, but instead she lowered her head to the infant. It squealed once, and then it was over.

He spoke, then. "I could unlock those," he said, nodding at her manacled ankles. Her perfect, manacled ankles, covered in blood. He wanted to fall to his knees, to lick them clean, to take her away from here. Innocence lost.

She looked at him. "But you won't," she said, and she could feel the difference herself now. She could hear it in her voice, in her gut.

He could see it too, in her ivory skin, her bright eyes. Preternaturally bright, especially after feeding. He shook his head again, confirming her statement. "No," he admitted, finally. "I won't."

"Why?" she asked, almost dreading the answer, and yet, in some terrible place inside herself knowing it already.

He looked at her, for a long, lingering moment, those soft brown eyes reaching inside her soul again, looking for confirmation for what they both already knew. Then, finally, before he turned away, he answered. "Because you don't want me to."