A Tale of Revenge

Author's Note: Some of you might remember this one. Yes, it's another repost. There is a strong warning. We're dealing with Vampires, Bloodsuckers, Nosferatu. There is definitely going to be blood and gore as well as violence. A warning to any of the men reading this, Chapter two is going to be a doozy. This story was written a long time ago. Enjoy!

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The alley was rank and smelled of foul, dirty diapers and three week old trash—

the scent of the day. I crouched amidst the waste, hidden in the shadows as I waited for some sign. Would it be tonight? Tomorrow? Would I have to continue my watch for the rest of the week? It should be tonight. Halloween, a fitting evening to end this game of cat and mouse we'd begun so long ago.

I was tired and sore, sick of the stench and the damp. I wanted this to be over. It should have been over. It should have never been left to go this far. I closed my eyes for an instant and took a shallow breath, all I dared allow myself even after ten days of inhaling this filth.

Two months ago I'd been happy and smiling, about to be wed to the man of my dreams. I had a job I loved, a family who adored me and everything a girl could possibly want out of life. I didn't know such nightmares existed or could intrude upon my existence in such a way. And now, sitting here in this alley, terrible thoughts haunted me, horrible memories that would forever be burned in my mind. The dreams possessed me when I allowed myself to sleep, dreams of red eyes staring out at us from the woods behind my house.

I saw every single detail of what happened that night in my mind's eye as if it were happening now. I could envision the way Wyatt had turned, the way he smiled at me, laughing as we discussed the wedding and what would be "okay" for his bachelor party. We walked the path we always walked when we wanted to talk, a path that took us through the woods and into a pretty field of lavender as purple as the color it was named for. We held hands, we kissed and touched and laughed—everything a couple should do when they were in love.

And then that growl, that terrible unearthly growl splitting the night and making the hair stand up on the back of my neck. A dog, that's what Wyatt said it was. It was j—just a dog.

We turned to go back and she stood in the middle of the path, the huge luminous moon silhouetting her curvaceous figure in intimate detail. Her thick black hair tumbled around her shoulders, swaying gently with her movements. Her eyes shone red in a face as pale as death. Her lips pulled back showing white teeth with long, sharp incisors. She wore leather, a long coat billowing in the wind, and pants that curved and clung faithfully to her figure. Her blouse was white, shining eerily in the moonlight, the laces in the front undone and exposing a goodly amount of cleavage.

I'd tried to talk to her, to ask her what she was doing on my property or even if she knew that this was private property. Her eyes raked over me disinterestedly, her gaze for my Wyatt alone.

She spoke, soft words carrying on the wind which didn't reach my ears. Protecting me, Wyatt pushed me behind him as the woman stepped forward. I tripped over an exposed root, hitting my head dully on a hidden rock. Even so, I tried to rise, to see what was happening.

I saw Wyatt standing in front of the woman, staring down at her as if he knew her. He took her in his strong arms, holding her closely in an embrace I knew so well. He held her as a lover would, his hands moving slowly against her back as his eyes stayed fixated upon hers.

When he kissed her, my heart bled. I called out his name breathlessly and was ignored. I tried to get up again, but dizziness defeated me and I was helpless to do anything but watch as he began to make love to this vision of darkness.

She pushed him down so he knelt in front of her. His hands stroked over her bosom, pulling aside one part of the billowing blouse to expose her naked breast. It was beautiful, rounded and pale as ivory. The tip was dark, almost cherry colored in the deepening shadows. I saw his mouth close over it, suckling her in. Her head fell back and once more I knew what she felt, how he touched and kissed, what the heat of his mouth, the soft flick of his tongue, felt like upon my own rose colored nipples.

Her long fingers entangled in his hair, holding him to her. I saw her sharp nails parting through his thick hair, caressing his head as he fed upon her breast. Her eyes swept downward, meeting mine in the glow of the moon. Hers were triumphant, victorious, as she let my love nurse of her dark passions to his contentment.

She bent over him, her stance almost protective and loving. Her mouth opened and I saw it then, the jaws splitting impossibly large, lips stretching over teeth that had grown even sharper and more menacing. She tipped his head to the side and latched on to the strong muscles of his neck.

Wyatt gasped in surprise and struggled for an instant before groaning. His moans and sighs sounded more as if he were in the midst of an intense orgasm, rather than having the life's blood sucked from his veins. I heard the sounds of her feasting from where I lay, the slurping and gulping as she fed from him, the sound vile and nauseating.

.

She bled him close to death, his body barely staying upright. She supported him easily, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other still buried in his hair. When she lifted her head, I saw his blood shining wetly on her mouth, trailing down the side of her chin, dripping against her exposed breast.

With one sharp nail, she slit the skin over her nipple, blood welling and mixing with his own. Then she pulled him closer, pushing his mouth against her open wound. He struggled weakly and then his tongue swept out, tasting the salty tang of her blood. His mouth closed over her wound and he started sucking hungrily.

She let him feed for a moment and then pushed him backwards, coming to stand over him. As I watched, the deep wound she'd created healed itself, leaving her skin smooth and unblemished and as pale and cold as the moonlight she stood in.

She stared down at his prone figure, seeming to wait for something. I managed to drag myself to a sitting position, my hand held to my head the other propping me up—it felt as if my head would split right off my neck. As I watched the two of them, my heart breaking at the death of my beloved, tears of rage and pain mingling with the dirt upon my face—he moved.

At first just a twitch, a jerk of muscle so small I thought I'd imagined it. Then his arms moved, pushing against the ground feebly as he tried to curl in upon himself. A soft crooning noise came from his mouth and grew until it became a scream of such pain that I clutched my hands over my ears, sobs racking my body.

His body jerked with intense spasms that almost raised it off the ground, his head flew back, his sightless eyes pointed towards me. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it ended. He relaxed against the ground, his lungs exhaling one long drawn out sigh and then didn't move again.

And I knew he was dead.

She stood over him the entire time he writhed and cried out in pain, watching him fight and struggle with a pleased smile under the blood on her lips. Her eyes watched every move he made, sweeping over the length of his body. She waited out his spasms and then, with his final breath, she licked her lips once, her pink tongue sliding over the lush bloody fullness and held out her hand.

I gasped as Wyatt reached up and took her hand, letting her pull him off the ground. She steadied him for a moment, watching him as he looked around. When his eyes turned my way, I gasped again, but this time in utter horror. His eyes glowed that same unearthly red hers had.

She had turned him, changed him into the same type of creature she was, something dark and foul that fed from innocence and despair. As I watched, they kissed, his hand dipping into her dark hair. He licked the blood from her lips hungrily. Then he turned and stared at me.

He looked like my Wyatt but I knew the man I'd known so well, had loved so thoroughly, was gone. In his place was a monster so hideous and unclean it fed upon the life's blood of others. I'd heard the stories, seen the movies and had never once believed that such existed.

Wyatt and the woman moved towards me, their movements more stalking, more predator after prey, than a simple stroll through the garden. I scrambled backwards, trying to get to my feet, to get away.

He held out his hand, stopping the woman. His head tilted to the side, his new eyes seeing me in ways I couldn't even grasp, not then anyway. I saw his tongue snake over his lips, touching the tips of his now elongated incisors. He stared at me and then smiled and held out his hand.

My Wyatt was there, a sweet smile upon his handsome face, his eyes shining, dancing lights of good humor. His voice was in my head.

"What are you doing, baby? Come on, we've got to get to the party."

I looked down and saw myself in the new dress I'd bought for our rehearsal dinner. I was sitting on the floor of our house, my feet splayed, the dress pushed high on my hips. How I had gotten here, I didn't know. I reached up with absolute faith and trust in my fiancé.

When our hands met, a spark shot from my fingers and suddenly I was back in the woods, the hard ground wet against my now filthy jeans. My hand was tingling, almost like an immense static shock had pulsed through it. There was a glow coming from my body, golden and warm, making me feel wonderfully safe.

A yowling scream erupted from in front of me. The sound of pain bled into that inhuman screech. I saw Wyatt on the ground, his hand smoldering, his fingers blackened. The woman was beside him, her eyes wild as she shied from the aura surrounding me. She grabbed Wyatt's arm, holding onto him as he rose and then they both turned. Almost as one, they disappeared from sight, moving at a speed beyond anything I'd ever seen before.

The aura faded from my body and I noticed a stinging warmth at my neck. The cross, a present from Wyatt on the anniversary of our first date, was hot enough to burn me when I touched it with my fingers. Laughter welled from deep inside of me to mix with the racking sobs. A gift from the man I'd loved had saved me from a terrible death at his hands. What horrible irony was that?

After that night, I hid in my house for a few days, seeing no one, speaking to no one. I took the phone off the hook, locked the doors and windows. I became obsessed with locks, constantly checking them, even though I knew I had done so not minutes earlier. I slept in my clothing, when I slept that is. Most nights, I paced, going from window to window, waiting.

Finally, he came back. I knew he would, I knew he would be drawn to me as the one he loved. He stood outside my second story bedroom window as if there were solid ground under his feet. His eyes looked in at me through the glass. He whispered to me, using every secret, every dream we'd ever shared to try to get me to come out to him or to let him in.

I stared at him, the dark figure of the man I loved more than my own life. His skin was pale, shrouded in shadows. His eyes no longer danced with laughter and life—instead they glowed with evil's intent. He smiled, not the smile of my lover but that of the hunter, his teeth sharp and predatory in a mouth grown larger, his lips crimson from the blood he now drank. I threw my hands to my ears, ignoring his words, tuning out the images he placed in my mind. I wouldn't be fooled.

He shrieked and beat at the glass on the window in his frustration. It held against his powerful blows. How? I didn't know then, but I do now. They cannot enter if not bid welcome. And I had barred him from me.

He left as the sky turned a lighter shade of midnight, his shadowed form moving with incredible speed. It was then I knew what I had to do. He would be back, over and over until my will gave way and I let him in, or my mind gave and I killed myself. I felt an intense hatred grow for the woman—no, the beast—that took my Wyatt.

I would use that hatred, tap into it, and find a way to best them both.