Page 10 of The Vampire Always Rises
A glance around the hall didn’t show me any handy vampire-moving tools lying around, but I’m pleased to say that it didn’t take me long to realize an important fact: an antique Persian throw rug on a beautiful marble floor is the perfect vehicle for transporting almost-dead vampires across vast spaces.
“At least until the marble runs out,” I grunted, hauling the vampire-bearing rug down what seemed to be endless miles of hallway until I reached the library, a room that I knew had a gas fireplace. It was also fully carpeted, but after a quick examination of the handsome almost-dead vampire to make sure I wasn’t hurting him, I more or less rolled him across the short stretch of floor until he came to rest before the fireplace. “And now we’ll get you warmed up, since you feel like an icicle, and I’m freezing in this skimpy nightie.”
I turned on the gas fireplace, made sure the man wasn’t too close to the flames, and, clutching my gauzy robe, dashed back to the entrance, hoping that a car would be pulling up with the castle’s owner inside. He’d surely know what to do with a possibly dead vampire. Unfortunately, there was no one outside, not even a hunchback servant named Igor. All there was outside was a whole lot of inky darkness lightened only by a faint glow of the moon, and the still-flickering torches.
“Rat pickles,” I swore softly to myself, closing the door carefully before I made my way back to the library to check on the probably-wasn’t-really-dead vampire. “Where’s Igor when I need him? Someone has to be out there keeping those torches lit. Right. I’d better see what I can do with Mr. Handsome.”
I didn’t even bother asking myself if it was wise to take it upon myself to rescue the vampire lying on the library floor—ever since I’d read Dante’s books, it had been my greatest wish to meet a vampire, but hidden behind that was a secret desire, one so wicked that I hadn’t been able to face it fully. I did so now.
“I want to feed him,” I whispered to myself when I entered the library. The man lay exactly where I’d left him. “I want to feel all those things that Dante says women feel when they offer themselves up to their sexy vamps. I want to feel what it’s like to be joined with a man on a level that transcends primal. I want to do something that no one else can. Hey, mister.” I gave the vampire’s shoulder a little shake. “Do you want me to save you?”
There was no answer, of course, and as I sat on my heels next to him, I considered how best to go about saving him. I laid my hand on his neck. The flesh was cool, but not cold or clammy, and still without a pulse. I thought about that for a minute. Did Dark Ones have pulses? I wasn’t absolutely sure about that—Dante never mentioned it. I shook the man again. “Hello? Are you in there? Oh, grape juice, Tempest, that’s a stupid question. Of course he’s in there. OK. I need to get a grip. He needs blood. You want to give him blood. Therefore, you should just do it.”
I leaned down over the vampire’s face, pulling my curls back to expose my throat.“Bon appétit,”I said, pressing my neck against his lips, and bracing myself for the bite.
There was none.
“Hmm.” I sat up again, frowning. “Maybe I need to get the process going. Let’s see. I’ll start by opening your mouth.”
My tongue snuck out to the corner of my mouth while I carefully wiped my fingers on my negligee, then gently pried open the man’s lips. There were no fangs visible, which I felt was a bad sign. Everyone knew a vamp had to have his fangs out in order to feed. Feeling more than a little bit awkward (and not a little like I was baiting a lion), I carefully eased his mouth open an inch. With a quick prayer that I wouldn’t get my fingertip snapped off, I slid my index finger into his mouth to feel around for his tongue. I knew from a school first aid course that tongues had to be moved out of the way whenever oral aid was rendered, and was trying to remember what steps I should take next when I encountered a warm, moist blob.
“Warm,” I said to myself as I pressed the blob down. “Your tongue is warm, which is a good sign. It means you aren’t dead. OK, mouth open, tongue down. Now let’s get a little blood into you. Er ...” I put my wrist over his opened mouth. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take over from here?”
He didn’t care to. I sighed, and got to my feet to investigate C. J. Dante’s desk, returning with a wickedly sharp-looking letter opener. I held it over a finger, telling myself that a quick stab was all that was needed, but I’ve always had an aversion to blood, and I just couldn’t bring myself to draw my own.
“OK, you’re going to have to help me,” I said, wedging the handle of the letter opener into his armpit, so that the sharp end pointed up at me. I raised my hand over it, turned my head, and, bracing myself mightily, brought my hand down.
I completely missed the letter opener, of course. I tried again ... and again ... but some sense of self-preservation kept me from so much as glancing the tip of the opener off my hand.
“Oh, for mercy’s sake!” I said in exasperation, snatching up the opener, and of course, grabbing at a sharp, pointy object in a haphazard manner had exactly the result you’d expect. “Ouch! Rat pickles! Oh! Wait ... this is good.” I squeezed the tip of my finger to encourage the few drops of blood to grow, feeling vaguely sick at the sight of the welling mound of crimson.
“Ugh. I sure hope this works.” Without looking at my thumb, I maneuvered it between the man’s lips, and waggled it around on his tongue, pushing away thoughts of germs and infection, and focusing on the anticipation of the joy that was sure to be mine any second now.
Any second.
Any ... “Well, pooh.” I withdrew my thumb and leaned over the man, my nose touching his as I watched closely for signs of life. “Maybe it wasn’t enough?”
A faint exhalation seemed to emerge from his still open mouth, brushing over my face. “Mister? Do you need more? If so, you’re going to have to do the honors yourself, because it makes me queasy to do it mys—”
The words were stripped right out of my mouth when two arms suddenly wrapped around my back at the same instant I was pulled down onto his body, my mouth colliding with his in a way that I knew immediately wasn’t an accident. His tongue had come to life, sweeping into my mouth like it owned the place, his spicy taste somehow both foreign and strangely familiar.
Without being aware of any movement on his part, I found myself on my back, the warmth of the carpet and the heat of the fire dancing along my nearly naked flesh, the man pressing down on me a solid but not uncomfortable weight, his hands not moving, but holding firmly to my hips.
Only his tongue moved, twining around mine as it tasted me, teased me, its movements seeming to stir fires deep inside me that echoed with the memory of my erotic dream. “Oh, Glorioski,” I moaned when I managed to pull my mouth from his. I felt light-headed, like there was no oxygen in the room, but it was a feeling I wanted to go on and on.
The man’s mouth moved along my jaw, pressing hot kisses to my flesh, his touch making me shiver with both anticipation and sexual excitement. I couldn’t believe I was reacting this way to a man I didn’t know, let alone who wasn’t, strictly speaking, conscious, but I knew vampires had the ability to make women swoon just with their touch. “Man, C. J. Dante didn’t get this wrong at all,” I said, my breath catching in my throat when the mysterious vampire’s mouth moved down to my neck. My heart beat madly, while intimate parts of me woke up and began to express interest in the proceedings. I clutched his shoulders, waiting, hoping for the bite, sure it was to come, and equally sure that when it did, it would be the last thing I’d ever feel.
The pain was over almost before my brain could process it, the sting sharp and swift, but easing almost immediately to an erotic sensation so strong that I writhed beneath his body in my attempt to get out of my underwear, every inch of me a sensitized erogenous zone. I was simultaneously hot and cold, the hunger within me blotting out everything but the need I had, a need that had to be fulfilled or else I’d simply fade away to nothing. My fingers weren’t in the least bit gentle when I pulled at his clothing, the sound of cloth ripping as I exposed his chest, then struggling with the leather belt buckle, all the while my legs moving restlessly against his. I could do nothing but make incoherent moaning noises while I tugged at his clothing, releasing the hot brand of him into my waiting hands.
His mouth moved on my neck, and I caught a flash of beautiful blue eyes when he shifted, his body urgent as he bit me again, this time on my shoulder just as he’d done in my dream, the sensation of my blood flowing into him almost pushing me over the edge.
“Please,” I whimpered, wrapping one of my legs around his. “I’m going to break into a billion pieces if you don’t.”
My hands were desperately pulling at him, under his shirt stroking the still cool flesh of his back, my hips doing a sinuous dance of enticement, my whole being focused on this desperate need that I felt to take life from him. And when he gave in to my urging and moved into me, it was as if my own personal heaven had opened and choirs sang down on us. I moved in ways I’d never moved before, matching his thrusts into my depths, reveling in both the stretching feeling and the sensation of my tightness upon him.
So ... hot.
“Oh, yes, so very hot.” I arched back when his mouth moved again, and he kissed a burning path over to a spot just below my ear. “No wonder women do this. It’s ... it’s ...”
