Domitia had always been a bit of a drama queen. There were rumors that she had tried to take the stage in Ancient Greece as a human. But when it was found out that she was a woman, she had been kicked off and then shunned. Her theatrical flares were then turned towards the men she turned.
I wasn’t the first child she’d collected and groomed before turning. Clodius, whom Domitia had taken when he was a babe in arms, had a fear of beds. Even after he was turned into a lethal creature of the night, he slept standing up to ensure no monsters could reach up and grab him.
With me, Domitia liked to play a game of hide and seek. She didn’t look for me with her eyes. When she found me, she didn’t grab me with those razor-sharp nails of hers and say: Gotcha. No, she liked to hunt me with a torchlight so bright, I thought it was the sun.
I knew what the sun did to vampires. Each morning before I went to sleep, Domitia would send me off to dreamland with the promise of turning me in my sleep. In the evening, when I woke, she’d shine the bright torchlight in my face, making me think I was a turned vampire who would burn.
Now, every evening when I wake, slowly peeling open one eye to check for light, I can still hear her cackling.
Inside my bedroom, it is too dark even for shadows. Not a sliver of light has made its way inside. But I know I’m not alone.
I can’t see her, but I can smell her. Not the earthy scent of turned earth that always clings to her skin. Not the lush, sweet smell of a ripe grape. Not the musky scent of her wet cunny.
What I smell above all that is the sweet fatty acids, the bitter iron, and savory proteins of Zahara’s blood. Hunger grips me. The few blood cells that remain inside me all rush to my gut. I have never had to fight against that particular organ before, as a vampire. The stranglehold it wraps around me is Herculean compared to my cock.
My dick doesn’t rouse as I snatch Zahara from her post at the door. Her abundant curves are light in my arms as I toss her down onto the bed. She lets out a yelp of surprise. My hands are pinning her down before she can escape me. My dick remains tame, still sated, even with her sweet cunny so near. It’s my fangs that have become the real monster. Those sharp points are the new beast that will take its due.
My fangs punch through my gums. The four points of pain don’t bring me back to my senses. Zahara’s wide eyes do.
They flash up at me—not one, but two suns shining on me in the night. Zahara’s gaze is brighter than any torch Domitia ever used to bring on nightmares. I see the truth in Zahara’s stare; I am the monster.
I release my hold on her. Once she is free, Zahara sits up. She reaches over to the nightstand and turns on the lamp there.
Soft illumination floods the room. But the glare of the light is too much for me. I move to the end of the bed, preparing to put as much distance between her and myself.
And I thought I could be a father? I can’t control my most base instincts. Not my dick. Not my fangs. There is no way I can be trusted with a new life, even if creating one were possible.
Zahara’s hand catches my wrist before I can get far. “Where are you going?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Shame clogs my throat and clouds my eyes.
“To the kitchen?” she continues when I remain mute. “To grab a bag of Layla?”
I have to turn to her now. Her words aren’t making any sense to me. What’s a Layla?
“I don’t want you drinking sex-spiked blood anymore,” Zahara goes on. “If you’re thirsty, you’ll drink from me.”
Either I’m asleep and dreaming the cruelest nightmare, or I’m awake and hallucinating. I’m not sure which I’d prefer to be true. Zahara is slipping out of her robe. Her naked body is revealed to me as she peels off the pieces of fabric. There is an ache in my loins. But the low levels of blood in my gut refuse to go any further south, so my cock can’t rise to do anything about my mate’s nakedness.
So, this is a nightmare then.
“I just nearly killed you,” I finally manage some words.
“You mean when you tossed me on the bed?” Zahara moistens her lips, leaving behind a glossy grin. “I thought that was foreplay.”
Not a nightmare. Perhaps a very vivid fantasy?
“You’re thirsty,” she continues. It isn’t a question. “I’m giving you permission to drink me.”
The pounding in my fangs dampens the throbbing of my cock. I move towards her. Slowly. Not because I fear I’ll scare her. I’m scared of myself.
My need for this woman is great, so absolute. Every part of me wants a part of her. My teeth want to sink into her veins. My cock wants to thrust into her sheath. My eyes want to feast upon her loveliness. I need to touch her with my tongue, taste her with my hands, get the smell of her on my teeth.
“Spread your thighs for me, my wee kitten.”
With only a hint of hesitation, which I suspect comes from the endearment and not my command, Zahara does as she’s told. She opens to me. My gaze has trouble focusing as the heat of desire washes over me. The gates of Heaven are open to me. Two paths lie ahead.
The first gate is a set of double doors. The pink lips of her cunny are flushed red with the evidence of her desire for me. I could sink my tongue into her entrance and sate the
