Thirstless Blood

The grating of chains woke him from the sleep and he felt himself pulled forward, hung out over empty air. Pain glowed in his wrists, his hands, the muscles in his arms screaming in fiery ache. With the scraping of metal against metal. he descended through the air, dampness cooling against his naked skin.

His feet scraped against rock and the squeal of scraping chains ceased. A flutter of metal shavings rained down against his shoulders, small dots of burning pink dancing into his flesh. He didn't bother at opening his eyes; instead, he let the air come to him. Wet, dirt, fecund, rot, the scurrying of rats. The perfume of woman, the honey of lust. The dry cackle of skin breaking seemed deafening to his ears, but still Michal managed a smile.

"oh, my devil," the woman purred, her skin, her body so close. "my poor devil, it's been so long."

From above, the dusty smell of oils and incense and candle-wax floated down to him and he could imagine the caricature that hung from the wooden cross.

But the woman's skin was against his own, her soft fingers against his cheek, and the moment for whimsical thought left him. The pulse of life tickled against his alabaster skin, reminding him. Awakening him.

"I've been away from you for too long," the woman whispered, almost with love. Michal could hear age in her voice, a crispness in the coldness that had always been there. The woman was growing old, as they all did, and Michal sighed softly at the brush of her frailty against his hardened skin.

From occasions before, he knew not to struggle, that it would be fruitless. The chains that bound his wrists were coated with silver, to keep him placid, and somewhere nearby a chambermaid kept to the shadows, her hand kept ready on a control for the hoist that would lift him, back up into his prison. Michal briefly thought of a time when he would have her throat opened before she had time to blink in surprise.

Sour breath tickled at his throat, drying lips brushed his skin. Over his chest, the woman's naked breasts rubbed against him, her nipples becoming points of diamonds scraping against him. Below, he could feel the heat of her lust pressing against his thigh. Despite all the time that had emptied him, he could feel his own beast awakening.

"mm-hmmm," the woman purred again, her hand slipping down over his chest and between his legs, taking his stiffening cock in her hand. "Look what you have for me here."

Her velvety fingers slid over his length teasingly, and Michal buckled forward in the woman's fist. Minutely, his eyes clenched tighter. He did not want to open his eyes, did not want to look out onto life, even in this dungeon which had housed him for more years than he knew. The ache within him was growing, and he did not want to face that.

"First, though," the woman whispered, a conspiratory echo in her voice, "I have something for you."

A pin broke skin, and Michal could hear the tissue ripping. Immediately, the slight throbbing within in him erupted into a clamor as the scent of life touched all of his senses with its beauty. Just its proximity awakened the need in him. Even his rising cock stretched with want, pressing against the woman's hip.

Michal's lips parted as the woman's finger cut through the air. He knew his role here, could feel the air tighten as the chambermaid tensed with the control box in her hands. His reaction now would be carefully watched, judged as the bloodied finger slid against his teeth.

He couldn't help the moan that grated against his throat. It had been so long! Her blood was older now, tainted with age, but sweeter than anything he'd tasted in years. It would only be a drop or two given, but as it touched his tongue, his whole body shuddered. The chains rattled and tightened above his head and his lips sucked at her finger, drawing what he could before she pulled away.

"Now, now," she said with a coy smile, sucking her own finger between wanton lips. "Not too much darling." Michal licked his lips, searching for whatever leftovers he could find. He remembered when such a gesture would seem seductive, even lewd. Now it made him feel pathetic, like a starving dog searching for scraps. He opened his eyes, peering down upon his mistress. With effort, he pursed his face with want, becoming the docile pet.

She knew what she was doing. How, God, she did. Just from the few drops of her blood, she knew his sustenance would return, yet not to a degree that he would be too strengthened. Just enough for her needs. Somehow, he would learn where she had discovered so much. He would know how she knew so many secrets.

He gazed at her, his pale eyes washing over her body. From the slight gray coming into her hair, from the growing weight that hung in her breasts, from the minute lines that began their spread from the corners of her eyes, Michal could see how the years so quickly passed. There were a hundred other tale-tell signs that showed him how long it's been.

Bethany stepped back from him, her eyes wide with desire. Her hand left her lips, tracing the softest of pink down her throat and across her chest. Becoming lost in her lust, she squeezed her breast, lifting the cupped flesh towards her monster. "It's been so so long," she murmured, her once-husky whisper now gone dry over the years. "I've wanted you so much. It's been so hard to keep from coming here."

Michal sighed, feeling the pulse of life quickening inside him, feeling his skin awaken and the ache below his stomach harden. Though he looked directly at the woman, he let himself see the girl she had been so many years ago, the ripe burning creature that had imprisoned him and awakened him. He pitied her now, so far from the beauty of youth, and he pitied himself even more, for her age showed him how many years had passed.

"The world is changing again," Bethany said as she pressed her warmth against his cold skin. "Who knows what changes are near." She followed each word with a kiss against his skin, as though she was offering heartfelt promises. Her kisses trailed lower, sucking between her teeth the hard, bloodless tip of his nipple as her hands reached around to pull him tight against her. His cock nested between her thighs, her wet heat burning against the swollen head. There was a moment when he felt himself slip inside her and the burning torture shuddered through him. It was almost enough to forget that he was playing the prisoner here and he struggled against taking control. The woman knew what heat she was playing with and, though she eased against him to take more of his dick into her, it was only a moment before she slid back, groaning against his chest as her cunt emptied of him.

"None of that, love," Bethany groaned, her teeth nipping against Michal's navel. "Perhaps soon we will get the chance to play so.... freely. For now we unfortunately have to.... contain ourselves." As she whispered up at him, she had come to a kneel before him, and she surrounded his hard cock between the soft fullness of her tits. She rocked back and forth, keeping her breasts firmly engulfing his length. Soft cooing sounds echoed in her throat and she let his swollen head rub against her lips.

Michal threw his head back, staring up to the darkness. Tremors danced under his skin and, inside, blood was ripening his veins. It had been a long time, indeed, but time was inconsequential within his body. He longed to toss away the pretense but some instinct stilled his rancor, held his wrath. The hunger inside him was barely held at bay; the taste of blood was dizzying, and the bitch's mouth threatened to send him reeling.

She was still good, no matter how many years had passed. Her tongue lapped at the base of his cock as her fist teased the head in her grip. The fingers of her other hand held onto the back of his thigh, squeezing his firm flesh, pulling him closer. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, her heels pressing between her buttocks.

In the dank air, Michal also caught another scent. A musky youthfulness, thick and dripping. The maid, watching from the shadows. Michal could hear the soft rustle of fabric as the girl touched herself. It was only a girl, so youthful, barely past the age of her budding, her fingers pulling nectar from her flower. He could make out her quivering form in the darkness, her heat making her a beacon in the black.

His gasp surprised him. He looked down the see Bethany's nose pressing against the thin patch of hair above his groin, her mouth swollen and tears moistening her eyes as she held all of his cock in her throat. Her fingers squeezed and kneaded at his full sac, urging the lifeless seed within to come forth. One slickened fingertip rubbed against his asshole, forcing his hips to tremble. Perhaps the years had touched on her flesh, he thought, but it had shown her a few tricks as well.

Her lips tightened around his cock as he slid back and forth. He felt almost helpless to his actions, the finger sliding deeper in his ass bringing the inevitable closer. Tainted beads slipped down his cheeks, sweat heavy with salt and his poisoned blood.

"That's right," Bethany encouraged him, her fist sliding over his wet cock at the same quickening beat her finger pushed into him. "Oh, you like me doing this, don't you?" Her tongue flicked hungrily at the pinkish tear that was seeping from his cock, the shudder trembling through both of them.

He arched forward, throwing his head back and baring his teeth. The howl that rose from his throat was purely bestial and he gripped the burning chains as his entire body forced forward. Bethany was quick, slipping her lips over his jerking prick as his dead cum spurted forward, her finger pushing deep into his ass as he filled her mouth. She gagged and almost fell back from him, but her nails dug into his thigh, holding tight, and her throat worked to swallow the cold nectar. A trail of cum hung between her lips and the head of his cock and she sucked it into her mouth greedily.

She did fall away from him then, shaking. His breaths were short, almost as if, despite his heaving chest, he wasn't breathing at all. That had always been a misconception of his kind: that they did not breathe, did not live. He was more alive than these lessers ever could be.

Bethany gasped, looking up from behind the curtain of her hair. "Oh, you liked that very much, didn't you? My devil." Her fingers found a trail of cum sliding down her breast and she lifted the sticky essence to her lips. "Mmmm."

Michal watched the woman, the surprise at the change worn away from times before. Of course, before it had never been after so many years and he watched as the woman quivered, watched as her body tightened. He imagined that she was feeling a rapture akin to feeding, how the coldness filled her with warmth. The time that creased her body seemed to fade away and the luster of youth returned to her hair. Sagging flesh squeezed and became supple, her breasts grew firm as they hadn't been for two decades. Michal could even feel the change in her heart, how it quickened at a healthier beat.

Her laughter filled the chamber. "Oh! It feels so good!" Her eyes glittered silver in the shadows and her teeth glinted from behind her grin. She was Vampire, if just for a few hours, and still only a weak Lesser at that. From somewhere she learned some secret, a way to gain a taste of the immortality without having to be turned. When she had entered tonight, she appeared as nearly seventy of age; now that visage had been erased and she stood as a beautiful woman of maybe thirty years, firm and tight and eager. She would not have to feed to maintain this renewal, though Michal knew she would kill. The urge for blood was in her, perhaps more than it had ever been the times previous, and the cry for death glowed in her eyes. She did not need the blood, yet she yearned for it. Hungered for it.

"Darling, I'm sorry I have to go so quickly," she told him, cradling his cheek in her hand. Against his cold flesh, he could feel how smooth her skin had become. "You were.... magnificent." She leaned forward, slipping her lips against his, and he could taste the coppery taint of his cum in her kiss. "I so hope I won't be gone so long again. And, perhaps then we will be able to do without the constraints."

There was a glimmer in her eyes accompanying her last words and Michal suspected that there were great changes about in the world overhead. Not that any change would benefit him, he knew; he did not fool himself to think that her promises of consort would be fulfilled. His survival so far had only been as a tool, for her benefit, and he felt that his usefulness to her was becoming short.

With a final kiss and a tight squeeze of his ass, she turned away, returning to propriety. "Maria, please," she called out as her firm body strutted towards the steps.

There was a moment of pause, and Michal smiled as he listened to the chambermaid smooth out her skirt and compose herself, fumbling at the box before finding the lift button. With a smirk, he watched the fine muscles of Bethany's ass work with each step, and slid his fingers along the length of chain as its slack tightened. His fist tightened around the links while his feet rose from the ground. The muscles in his shoulders and back clenched as he was lifted once more into the darkness.

"Goodbye, my love," Bethany whispered from the top of the stairs. Michal could see the silver gleam of her eyes staring up at him. The maid's feet scurried after her mistress and Michal thought the young woman would not be breathing by the time the sun rose. A door was eased shut, a heavy bolt locked, and Michal was alone once again.

In the darkness, Michal waited. From around him, he could hear the scurrying of rats, their chattering reassuring in the black. Life, a burning need, raced fiercely in his veins, calling him. And, in his fists, he squeezed the chains.

In the blackness of the tomb, he smiled. He smiled and he fell.

In his head, he fell. Into blackness.

The smell of fire was overpowering. Of burning flesh. The screams of the dying echoed for miles. Everywhere he stepped was the blood of his clan, dying and dead. There had been a betrayal, and Joseph's mighty army had fallen. The witch's ploy had held and for three days there had been night and war had been waged. Both tribes had suffered and lost, but of the two, a victor had emerged. Michal knew it was not his.

He stumbled across the bodies, making his way towards the center of the field. In the confusion, his division had been cut off; the upstarts had lit streams of fuel on fire, and his men could do little as Joseph rode onward into the screaming enemy. Michal fought his way through the upstarts to find his sire, but the fires were burning fiercely by then. His sword had broken and he was almost felled himself but the arrival of the revenants, and the madness and confusion they brought, had saved him.

By then the carnage was overwhelming. Something struck him from behind and he looked down at the blade that sprung from his chest before he fell from consciousness.

The stench of rot woke him and he knew daylight had come and gone. The field was littered with bodies, both friend and enemy, and in the distance he could hear the chanting of holy men, as well as the death-cries of the damned. Even the wounded were staked and beheaded; on the battlefield the fallen were to remain fallen. The decree was so, and both sides would keep to their honor. Guilt swelled in Michal as he stumbled from the pit of bodies: guilt of failure and guilt of desertion of his honor. But all his mind could focus on was finding Joseph, of knowing whether his master breathed or not.

The scraping of bones grew louder and Michal looked from side to side for its source, but a darkness was seeping towards him from all around. A wet sound came from the darkness that surrounded his legs, the sound of tongue against flesh. His skin shivered beneath his armor as the dark engulfed him, suffocating him, and he felt the bite of pain in his leg.

Michal's eyes snapped open from the dream and he grabbed at the darkness. The rat's helpless squeal vibrated in his fist and he brought the rodent to his face.

"Never again," he whispered, his lips barely an inch from the rat's twitching nose. "I won't feed off rats ever again." He tossed the rat across the tomb as he stood up. His skin prickled in the cold dampness and he stretched upwards, like a cat waking from its nap. There were men above, he knew, and it was time for him to have a more fitting meal.

He hadn't thought he was so deep underground but he followed the steps a few hundred yards before he was able to smell the fragrance of the world. The crisp taste of autumn came to him on a slight draft, making him dizzy. It had been too long, too many years, since anything so pure had reached him. There was a garden somewhere close and, though it was the waning season, it was well-kept, no doubt by the priests above.

He smiled at the thought of clergymen. There wasn't a chance they could be of the Order-- Michal had a feeling more years had passed than he knew, and with those years many changes-- and he would have no qualms over feeding on them. Besides, the idea of such tainted purity was so... delicious.

The steps ended at a large door, the ancient wood twice the breadth of a grown man. The stone walls themselves professed an age of centuries. Though the priests that tended this church could not be of the Order, their rectory certainly was.

The air here felt more alive against his skin; it lent him more strength. For too long he had been nothing more than a revenant, feeding off rats he called, waiting for the drops that bitch would dole out to him. But now he could breathe, now he was alive again. Now he was free.

The shackles still encircling his wrists jingled mockingly.

He found the steps that led to the church easily enough, but he paused for a few moments near a door that led outside. Bethany's perfume hung in the air. Faint, as though days had passed since her visit. And maybe they had; Michal had no way of knowing how many hours passed while he was revisiting memories. It had once been that the pulse in his blood was more dependable than the ticking of any clock, but his body now needed much more than a few drops of blood and the determination to be right again. Michal imagined the viciousness needed to restore his proper strength would be unlike anything he had known since Africa.

Upstairs, he immediately scented two men there on the floor. The smell of their blood was an intoxicant; his nostrils flared obscenely and his tongue curled at the air to taste them. He found the two priests, both barely more than boys, in a lounge. His curiosity had been piqued as he made his way through the darkened rooms by everything around him. His fingers trailed over walls that appeared to be cut from wood yet felt irregular and false beneath his fingertips. Lamps sat on tables but he could not find wells of oil nor wicks, only curious glass balls, some still warm to the touch, as though a minature fire burnt within. He imagined the wonders of this new age would keep him enthralled for some time.

Now he watched the young priests from the open doorway. It was obviously past the normal hour these two would retire for the evening, that much was discerned by their hushed voices and the way their heads tilted towards each other. Michal grinned broadly, stifling a chuckle. The priests, they would never change! If they weren't trying to diddle the young nuns, they were off buggering each other. He listened to a few minutes more, enthralled by their curious dialect and the naivety that filled both men. Michal was sure that, despite the passion that ached in each man's loins, their debauchery had not yet been consummated.