Mark
I have been spending far too many of my nights in poorly lit basements and shriekingly loud clubs. I’m turning into a Barstool Charlie, chatting up bartenders, drinking whiskey and scanning the crowds but remaining cynical, bitterly detached from the good times being had around me. That was actually why I was leaving Sabbat; part of me thought I was tired and unfocused, another part thought that I was becoming pathetic--an old man in his early twenties. In truth, I was really thinking about giving up the whole quest thing. It seemed ridiculous, and I questioned my sanity. I rarely saw anything more than mild strangeness in these bars, and hadn’t had a trace of Chryseis or Miriam in weeks. It didn’t help that it had also been weeks since I’d last gotten laid and the memory of making love to Miriam, not to mention our sexcapades with Chryseis, were constantly in my mind. That’s one thing I’ll say for that bitch-demon vampire, she fucks like a million dollar whore.
As I approached the parking lot, I heard a car alarm go off. It echoed around the brick and cinderblock buildings and irritated me. I already had a headache, and I wasn’t in the mood the listen to some jackass’s fumbling burglary attempt. I made an instant change of direction, and began following the sound. It couldn’t have been more than 30 or 40 seconds later that I reached the source--a late model Mustang, with some stoned looking teenager leaning against the driver’s side window. The passenger side window was busted in, and I was looking around to see if his accomplices had abandoned him, or if he was just the stupidest fucker I’d ever seen and had nodded off in the middle of a break-in. There was no sign of anyone else, so I decided to find out what was up, maybe scare the kid into a smarter line of work--or a better M.O.
When I opened the passenger door, the kid didn’t stir. "Great, a junkie," I thought. I shook him roughly. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You’re carriage is here." He still didn’t move, and I reached for his neck, to check for a pulse. "What a time for an overdose, you moron." I felt a small tear in the skin of the neck, and my fingers came away slick with blood. Hmmm. This was definitely getting more interesting. The kid’s pulse was reasonably strong, so I went back to the bar, told the bouncer that someone seemed to be hurt in the parking lot, and left--reminding myself to come back here tomorrow night. For now, it was gonna get weird, and fast. I just wanted to leave.
Chryseis
To be honest, I felt bad for that dimwit Mark when I first met him. He was so clearly in love with Miriam, had no idea that she wasn’t the Miss Apple Pie All-American that he believed her to be. But, as with all of those that we pity, I also felt contempt. I’m amazed he could get anything done with his pretty little head so full of fantasies about the long future he’d spend with his little princess. He was deluded, unbelievably naive, and weak; it was the last that really bothered me. I have no tolerance for weakness, and underneath all the happy human denials and justifications she’s been taught, I don’t think that Miriam does either. Not really. It’s not really very surprising, there had to be a reason she came looking for me.
The night we met was nothing special, a slow weeknight in late November. She walked into the club on a Tuesday night, bored and clearly looking for something. I felt that she didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, and I wondered how many nights she had passed "studying"--the flimsy excuse she had given her friend (??? male or female??? At that moment I couldn’t get a clear picture). She sure was tarted up for a girl going to the library: tight jeans, halter top, platform sandals, dark lipstick on her full lips. This was going to be easy, perhaps too easy. The ones who are infatuated with night creatures are almost invariably neurotics and worse, and cheap vampire groupies are a dime a dozen. I don’t even bother to litter my haven with that kind of trash anymore, not in dozens of years. But she had the spark, she would flower under the stars. I knew instantly that I had to have her.
When I introduced myself, after sliding beside her silently, she stared at me frankly, trying to pin down why I looked familiar. I exerted my drawing power, using my hypnotic eyes to pull her into my spell. She became distracted, slightly physically uncomfortable. I was right, it was easy to get in, to insinuate myself into her mind. I knew that her thoughts were filling with images of us together, our naked bodies grinding, sweating and clenching in a dozen simple variations--suggestions I fed her subconscious mind. She didn’t think of herself as a lesbian, and was confused, even disturbed, by her sudden fascination with me. I bought her a drink, and we chatted. I didn’t really listen, but neither did she. I was just loosening her up, letting her settle down and get comfortable, drawing her in further. When she finished her drink, I bought her another while I continued to sip my scotch, savoring the single malt’s smooth but crisp scent and taste. I so love the flavors that I almost don’t miss the buzz. Besides, she was drinking steadily and well. She would provide a variety of intoxications soon enough.
She glanced away while finishing her second drink, and I surreptitiously bit my lip with my sharp incisors, hard enough to draw a bit of blood in my well-fed state. When she turned back toward me, I didn’t give her time to spot the blood. Using her surprise to my advantage, I put my hand on her neck and pulled her to me for a kiss, forcing my tongue past her lips. Part of her rebelled for a variety of reasons, but the tiny taste of my blood, my power, hit her before she could overcome her surprise and wrap herself in a cloak of denial. With my hand at the top of her spine, I could feel the tremor as she climaxed. When I pulled away, her eyes were cloudy with lust. "Are you ready?" I asked her verbally and mentally, giving her a few moments to allow the apparent ambiguity of the question to unfold in her mind, become an invitation and a challenge, but also a way out. She nodded silently, picking up her purse as she stood up to leave with me.
