Disclaimer: This novella generally contains content of nonconsent/reluctance, bdsm, and gothic themes like vampires, bloodplay, and demons. I understand these are not common fetishes, so if you are offended by any of the above, please hit the back button on your browser now... Still reading? Then I hope you enjoy the product of the dirty little corner of my imagination.
-DannyGirl
*
Darrien takes a handful of dirt from the ground, holding it up closely to his nose and sniffing it carefully. The scent he's tracking seems to be getting fainter, and he frowns at this revelation: He had been following the scent all night from Samantha's old church and was hoping it would lead him to the one who had burned it to the ground.
Oh well, he muses: He was drawing near a small southern town, and he may as well see if the culprit had left any evidence here. Within minutes, he moves into the town, still following the scent, to a burned down home.
Okay, there is definitely a pattern here: Whoever did this certainly liked to burn down things. But who was doing this? Samantha seemed devout in her belief that it was Monica who killed the hunters she once called comrades and took her vengeance on the church she once called home for so much of her life. But this new revelation certainly cast doubt on that theory: What grudge would Monica have on a small town home?
"Excuse me?" the voice of a middle-aged woman calls out to him, cutting through his concentration. He turns to face her as she carefully approaches him with a scowl on her face. She must be some kind of over-vigilant neighborhood watch, ever spying out her window as opposed to minding her own business, foolishly checking up on a suspicious looking individual loitering just outside her home. Darrien considers her as a snack for a moment, but thinks better of it: He must really visit his beloved slave sometime soon, for he grows thirsty.
The woman peers at him, then upon getting a decent look at him her scowl changes to a pleasant smile: Something about Darrien's white hair and deep wisdom-filled eyes show him to be a distinguished and handsome individual, despite his youthful good looks. Of course, this is a perk to being a vampire, everything about his appearance is meant to draw in his victims. "Can I help you with something there, stranger?" she smiles alluringly at Darrien, thinking herself to be something of an old cougar.
"What happened here?" Darrien gestures towards the wreckage.
The scowl returns on the woman, "Oh, a house fire, nevermind THAT." She draws herself in too close for Darrien's comfort. "I think it's more interesting over at my place..."
Darrien gently pushes her away, "did anyone perish?"
The woman frowns, disappointment coloring her expression. "No, unfortunately."
"Whatever do you mean?" Darrien forces a fake smile, his patience being tested with this woman.
"Well, just between you and me," she draws in close, this time to whisper but taking advantage of the situation regardless. Darrien musters the contact. "A witch lived there. I bet she burned down her house doing some dark ritual. She's a heathen I say!"
"Do you know where this witch is now?"
"What do you..." the woman trails off as she peers at him suspiciously, the rusty cogs in her head turning, "Oooh! Your into that kind of stuff, aren't you?"
Darrien sighs, rolling his eyes, then grabbing the woman. She starts to cry out but Darrien wrenches her eyes to his, hypnotizing her. "Tell me about the witch," he demands.
"Uh..." she stares ahead blankly, "I hear she joined the convent at the church."
"Now that doesn't sound like something a witch would do now, does it?" Darrien chuckles, taking pleasure in picking at the woman's bigotry.
"Well, no, I guess not," the woman only continues to stare slack-jawed into empty space.
"You will not remember this encounter," Darrien states, and the woman repeats mindlessly. Then, he turns and disappears into the night, off to investigate the church, and leaving the woman to continue drooling out in the middle of the street.
Moving quickly from shadow to shadow he makes his way to the church in a matter of minutes. Studying the architecture of the ancient convent he begins to realize just how old this run down little small town must be. He leaps silently up to an open window on the second story and stealthily creeps in. He muses for a moment about mortal superstitions of how vampires are unable to enter the sanctity of god's house.
He catches the scent he needs, the one he's been following all along, and begins to sneak towards it. He moves into a dark room, lit only by a single candle, to find a nun, kneeling by her bed, deep in prayer. Darrien watches her for a moment, pondering the significance of this woman in all of this.
After a moment or two the woman notices him, and she quickly dashes for a bag at the foot of her bed. She draws a small dagger to defend herself, but she is a mere mortal, and Darrien easily overpowers her and forces the dagger from her.
"Please, don't hurt me," the woman begins to wail, and Darrien covers her mouth forcefully.
"I won't hurt you, just tell me what I wish to know." He holds her steady until she calms down, then carefully releases her.
She stares at him with wide eyes, kind of like a deer caught in headlights, completely tense and not sure if she should fight or flight. Finally, after nearly testing Darrien's patience to the limit, she complies: "Wh-what do you want?" she stutters.
"What happened to your home?"
