Darest Night

This is my first submission. I am satisfied with everything except the title. I hate naming things.

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I pull myself out of my dark thoughts as I hear the key in the door. I smile. The door opens and she steps in.

She looks tired; it must have been a long day at work. I dissolve entirely into the wall as she passes, losing sight of her, but I can feel her walking to her room.

I peek out of the mirror above her dresser, watch her change out of her sweaty work uniform—a black and red corset top and a knee-length black skirt are apparently more comfortable to her.

I withdraw as she turns to the mirror, re-applying lip gloss that I know to be strawberry scented.

I want her.

I cannot resist myself entirely; I slip out of the wall as an invisible mist and look down on her. I reach out a misty appendage and caress her cheek.

She starts.

Oho, so she knows something's up. Must be especially attuned to the occult, this one. I smile to myself and fade back into the wall. After that encounter, she will need some time to calm down. I must lull her into a false sense of security.

She leaves her bedroom and enters the bathroom. I press an ear and nose out of the wall, listening to her now-steady heartbeat.

Oh God, I can smell her blood, her sweet blood, coursing through her, so close to the surface...she will be delicious.

She's in the living room now, with a cup of tea and a book— Dr.Faustus (with footnotes. I read it when it came out. Foolish mortals.

My contempt for the book does not extend to her, however. In fact, she's one of the most fascinating humans I've met in decades. She's small, delicate and has a whiplash temper. Her strong will is slowly being eroded by the harshness of life.

How I love such decay.

Despite her difficulties, she carries herself with fierce, almost tragic, pride. She's smart, too, good at making connections. I like this.

I love when my prey realizes it's being stalked just before I attack.

She takes another drink of tea and changes her position in the armchair. Now her neck is bent gracefully over her book. I can feel myself hardening, feel my tongue twitching.

I grin to myself. She doesn't even suspect that she is being hunted, and God, I love her for it.

This is what I live for, the hunt. The only question is whether I'll take her still unawares or whether she'll realize it at the last second. Part of me hopes she will.

I envision myself stalking slowly through her apartment, looking into each room even though I know she's hiding in the last room, just heightening her fear and suspense.

I envision the look of terror on her face as I slowly turn the doorknob, slowly open the door.

I grin hungrily.

I've been with you all day.

I'm trying to stay calm.

I'm impatient and it's really hard to breathe.

I'm going to empty you and fill you in with me.

I'm really quite proud of myself for planning this so well.

Three days ago, I visited her as a calendar salesman. Sweet soul that she is, she invited me in for a glass of lemonade against the evening heat. It was worth drinking that tart, unsatisfying beverage to imagine—no, to win—the opportunity to drink her delicious blood.

Last night was spent moving my coffin temporarily into a disused portion of the building's cellar. Now every room in this entire housing complex is as good as mine.

But hers are the only ones that really interest me.

She's on the phone now, talking to some friend or other. I can hear a male voice, deep, on the other end of the line.

"So, how was work, Mara?"

She laughs sweetly and replies with pleasant nonsense. I listen to the music of her voice. Her very presence has begun to drive me mad with hunger.

I inhale deeply of her scent and close my eyes. I imagine the feel of her flesh under my teeth, imagine her blood spurting into my mouth. I envision her body struggling uselessly in my arms.

I can feel my sluggish undead heart beat faster as I revel in these sensuous images. If I needed to breathe, my breath would be coming fast and shallow, my lungs needing more oxygen than I would be getting. I smile and try breathing, just for fun. It's been nearly a century since the last time I bothered.

I want to drain every drop of blood from her body.

I suppress the intoxicating thoughts. The last thing I need to do is lose control.

The hunter is always the master, never the prey.

My desire is no less, but my self-control is again complete. I go to the building's roof and release the laughter welling up within me.

"Hahah. Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha hah!"

I clutch at my chest. God, I love the hunt. I descend to her apartment again. She's just closing the book. She finished her tea some time ago; now she carries the cup into the kitchen and sets it in the sink.

She pulls out a tray of fudge from the fridge, grabs a sharp knife to cut it. I watch on hungrily. If she cuts herself, I know I will lose control, take her here and now.

She does not. Probably for the better, I reflect disappointingly. My heart beats faster yet as she eats her confection. I cannot tear my eyes away from the sensuous movements of her lips, and I groan deep in my throat as she licks her fingers.

I wonder at vampires who fear to relinquish their humanity. After 327 years, nothing could be more natural to me than preying on humans.

~

I am glad that I need not breathe, for I would not be able to do so now.

She's in the shower, hot water streaming down her thin frame. There is a clear plastic panel, the kind which distorts images beyond clear recognition, between her body and the mirror I currently inhabit, but some clever focusing of my superhuman eyes and I can see right through it.

I am mesmerized. My eyes cannot leave her hands as she scrubs her body with a sponge. Does she know she is being watched, or is she always so seductive when she washes herself?

Now the soap is rinsed off, and she is washing her hair. I realize with a rueful smile that a woman's breasts have not thus captivated me since I was a mortal man. I stare at the small but perfectly shaped globes, gleaming with water, and I am again aware of my arousal.

I raise my gaze, and am unmade. She is rinsing her hair, displaying her neck to the fullest of its charm.

I am utterly captivated by its every hollow, its every curve, its every line. I want to touch it, lick it, bite it...

I could.

She stands before me, and she doesn't even know how helpless she is. I could take her right now, and she is completely unaware of her own mortal peril.

Wait, I tell myself. Not yet.

~

Intoxicating. That's the best word that I have come up with to describe her.

Every movement, every scent and sound, make me nearly drunk with desire for her. I have stalked many humans (the blood tastes best when filled with the chemicals of fear) but none that I recall have awoken such intense desire in me.

Yet again, I stifle the desire lest it overwhelm me. Amazing that such a frail creature can hold such sway over my emotions without even knowing it.

She's looking around uneasily now, sitting in her room and writing in her diary. Such a canny mortal, I think, no sign of the hunter and still she realizes she's in danger.

I look over her shoulder, careful not to attract her attention. She is writing of a hard day at work and of feeling watched at home. Oh, love, how right you are. If only you knew...

A new fantasy comes to me, and in my mind I fall upon her with all my speed and strength. I rip her literally in half with my arm, delighting in the frozen look of shock on her face, before blood erupts from the fissure I made. In my imagination I can taste it in the air, and I bend down as her body falls to the floor in two separate pieces, licking up the savory red puddle that is forming rapidly beneath her.

Hidden inside the walls I laugh heartily, nearly hysterically. Had any human heard it, he would doubtless have felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, would have been rooted to the ground in terror.

"This is what it is to be a vampire!" I revel. "This is what it boils down to: the hunt, the chase, the kill!"

I am very aroused; perhaps I will love her before I kill her.

I reflect momentarily onto my human life. I had been a physician, dedicated to learning about and promoting human health.

Have I gone so thoroughly from saving human life to taking it? This madness, then, this blood lust, must exist in all humans. Anyone could become so ardent a hunter as I, even the most loving and caring of humans.

I shake myself from my thoughts. I have an eternity, I remind myself, to think upon such beautiful, dark thoughts, but this human prey of mine will quickly become old and die of age if I dally too much.

I lick my lips with my inhumanly long tongue.

I'm about to fall upon her, too early. My control, slipping all night long, is almost gone.

I realize what to do, how to draw the game out a little longer. I materialize and glide quickly past the doorway of her room, disappearing into the opposite wall.

She gasps, and I smell the fear-sweat as it breaks out across her body. "Who's there?" she calls, her sweet voice trembling slightly.

She stands up and moves to the doorway. I watch as she looks around anxiously. She sees nothing, but this is not enough to satisfy her. Wonderful, she is no fool.

I follow her silently, hidden, as she goes through every room searching for an intruder. She finds nothing, of course. She retraces her steps, looking now in every closet, every cupboard, every place something frightening could be hidden.

Still she finds nothing. I could weep with mirth.

She returns to her room and, apparently thinking she is merely overtired, changes into her nightgown. She lies down, snugging her covers up to her chin.

I see you in the dark

I step out of the wall, reveling at the feeling of freedom. Before she can react in fear, I reach out with my powers of seduction and capture her.

Under my influence, she slowly sits up in bed, sliding to the edge and standing up. I smile, studying her figure, her bared neck, with my superior dark vision. She slowly walks toward me.

She passes through a beam of moonlight from a window, and my heart skips a beat. I can see her now as clearly as though it was brightest noon. She is breathtakingly beautiful in the stark moonlight, and I draw her on. As she reaches me, I pull her close.

Her body is quiescent in my arms, but her mind is battering at mine like a moth against a window, trying to regain control of her unresponsive body.

I caress her cheek, so soft and smooth, and murmur in her ear. "Stop fighting, and I will give you pleasure such as you cannot imagine."

Her mental struggle slackens for only a moment. I draw her with me toward the bed. I lay her down on her back and straddle her. Slowly, teasingly, I bend over her, lowering my mouth toward hers.

I brush her lips with mine, then lean in for a chaste kiss, rubbing my lower lip tantalizingly against her own. Her mind's resistance falters, and I seize the opening, wrapping my long tongue around hers.

Her body moans beneath me, and her mind stops fighting me. "Didn't believe me?" I murmur, and kiss her throat, barely grazing her skin with my fangs. She moans again and stiffens against me.

I raise the skirt of her nightgown, enjoying the feel of her soft skin. I run my hands up her hips and across her belly, then raise the nightgown over her head.

I gently nip her shoulder, not enough to break the skin—no way could I maintain control then. I smile, and at my mental urging she removes her panties and tosses them aside.

A thought, and my clothing is gone, replaced only by an undershirt. I kiss her again, deeply, and slowly lower my body to lie atop hers.

I rub my rigid erection between her thighs so it brushes her rapidly moistening slit. She lies beneath me, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. I find I am in no mood to take this slowly.

I spread her legs and angle myself, lining my body up with hers. Her eyes go wide as I enter her, then roll upward, and she moans more urgently as I bury myself fully within her. I wait a brief moment for her to grow accustomed to my girth.

I slide one arm underneath her lower back and grab her hair with my other hand, pulling so her body arches against me. Now I begin to move, thrusting myself into her firmly and a little roughly. I hear her breath come faster as my tongue plays down her throat and along her shoulder.

I grin against her throat. I bite, holding her trachea in my teeth, tight enough that she gasps and tightens her kegel muscles around my manhood, but never enough to break the skin. Not yet, for I still want to be in control.

The pace of my thrusts increases with the tempo of our desire. I feel her tighten hard around me, driven to pleasure by my thrusts, and with my mouth I cover hers, shaped into an O by her orgasm.

I break the kiss and lever myself up, sitting astride her. I take both of her hands in one of mine and the back of her neck in the other.

Now I'm pounding her hard, she's crying out softly at each thrust, and I'm driving myself toward the heights of pleasure. I feel the pressure building in my loins, and—

Now.

I lower my mouth to her neck and bite down. She stiffens in pain and fear, but I ignore her reaction. A small rivulet of blood escapes from the corner of my mouth. I move my lips to capture it and resume my driving thrusts.

She's going dry now, with fear, but I do not stop. Her blood, as warm as and sweeter than I had imagined, is running down my throat and I care for little else.

Her slender, weak body writhes in her attempts to escape, but she doesn't stand a chance against my inhuman strength. I thrust once more, hard, and feel the pressure break, feel my undead seed fill her. I continue to feed, her motions becoming feebler as she loses her life-blood.

Even though I drain her petite body dry, it's not enough. I let my darkness lash out, wrapping her dark form in black tendrils. Slowly they envelop her body, and I consume her, both body and soul. I sigh and roll onto my side, lapping languidly at a bit of blood that escaped my mouth to fall onto her comforter.

I lay there perhaps an hour, contented at last. I realize that it is time to get my coffin back to its permanent home, so I get up.

I smile at the mirror as I think my clothes onto me. Another soul in my collection, another Missing Person report for the police. Oh, I know I mustn't do it often, but medical blood is so bland that every year or so I must indulge myself.

I walk out of the room, shreds of her latest diary entry whirling in my wake.