'You're so warm,' she murmured, not meaning to speak at all. But she was amazed at the heat of him. She hadn't felt so much heat since before…before she became this thing.
He kept his mouth against her, lips working around her neck, pressing up to her ear, tasting every inch. Her nerves flared at the touch.
And suddenly, finally, she understood. It wasn't just the blood that drew her kind to living humans. It was the heat, the life itself. They were bright sunlight to creatures who lived in darkness. They held the energy that kept her kind alive and immortal-for there would always be people, an endless supply of people, to draw that energy from. She was a parasite and the host would never die.
Neither, then, would she.
With new reverence, she eased him to the bed, made him lay back, and finished stripping him, tugging down his jeans and boxers, touching him at every opportunity, fingertips around his hips, along his thighs. She paused to regard him, stretched out on his back, naked before her, member erect, whole body flush and almost trembling with need. She had brought him to this moment, with desire burning in his eyes. He would do anything she asked, now. She found herself wanting to be kind-to reward him for the role he'd played in her education, in bringing about the epiphany that so clarified her place in the world.
This exchange would be fair. She would not simply take from him. He would have pleasure as well.
She rubbed her hands down his chest, down his belly. He moaned, shivered under her touch but did not interfere. She traced every curve of his body: down his ribs, his hips. Stretched out on the bed beside him, she took his penis in her hand. Again, their mouths met. His kissing was urgent, fevered, and she kept pace with him. He was growing slick with sweat and smelled of musk.
She laughed. The sound just bubbled out of her. Lips apart, eyes gleaming, she found joy in this. She would live, she would not open the curtains on the dawn. She had power in this existence and she would learn to use it.
'Oh my God,' Chris murmured. He froze, his eyes wide, his blood suddenly cooled. In only a second, she felt the sweat on his body start to chill as fear struck him. He wouldn't even notice it yet.
He was staring at her, her open, laughing mouth, the pointed canine teeth she'd been so careful to disguise until this moment, when euphoria overcame her.
In a moment of panic like this, it might all fall apart. An impulse to run struck her, but she'd come too far, she was too close to success. If she fled now she might never regain the nerve to try again.
'Shh, shh, it's all right,' she whispered, stroking his hair, nuzzling his cheek, breathing comfort against him. 'It's fine, it'll be fine.'
She brought all her nascent power to bear: seduction, persuasion. The creature's allure. The ability to fog his mind, to erase all else from his thoughts but his desire for her, to fill his sight only with her.
'It's all right, Chris. I'll take care of you. I'll take good care of you.'
The fear in his eyes ebbed, replaced by puzzlement-some part of his mind asking what was happening, who was she, what was she, and why was she doing this to him. She willed him to forget those questions. All that mattered were her, him, their joint passion that would feed them both: his desire, and her life.
He was still hard against her hand, and she used that. Gently, carefully, she urged him back to his heat, brought him again to that point of need. She stroked him, first with fingertips, then with her whole hand, and his groan of pleasure gratified her. When he tipped back his head, his eyes rolling back a little, she knew he had returned to her.
The next time she kissed him, his whole body surged against her.
She twined her leg around his; he moved against her, insistent. But she held him, pinned him, and closed her mouth over his neck. There she kissed, sucked-felt the hot river of his blood so close to his skin, just under her tongue. She almost lost control, in her need to take that river into herself.
Oh so carefully, slowly, to make sure she did this right and made no mistakes, she bit. Let her needle teeth tear just a little of his skin.
The flow of blood hit her tongue with a shock and instantly translated to a delicious rush that shuddered through her body. Blood slipped down her throat like honey, burning with richness. Clenching all her muscles, groaning at the flood of it, she drank. Her hand closed tight around his erection, moved with him, and his body responded, his own wave of pleasure bringing him to climax a moment later.
She held him while he rocked against her, and she drank a dozen swallows of his blood. No more than that. Do not kill, Alette's first lesson. But a dozen mouthfuls would barely weaken him. He wouldn't even notice.
She licked the wound she'd made to hasten its healing. He might notice the marks and believe them to be insect bites. He would never know she'd been here.
His body radiated the heat of spent desire. She lay close to him, gathering as much of it as she could into herself. She now felt hot-vivid and alive. She could feel his blood traveling through her, keeping her alive.
Stroking his hair, admiring the lazy smile he wore, she whispered to him. 'You won't remember me. You won't remember what happened tonight. You had a nice dream, that's all. A vivid dream.'
'Emma,' he murmured, flexing toward her for more. Almost, her resolve broke. Almost, she saw that pulsing artery in his neck and went to drink again.
But she continued, 'If you see me again, you won't know me. Your life will go on as if you never knew me. Go to sleep. You'll sleep very well tonight.'
She brushed his hair with her fingers, and a moment later he was snoring gently. She pulled a blanket over him. Kissed his forehead.
Straightening her bra, buttoning her blouse, she left the room. Made sure all the lights were off. Locked the door on her way out.
She walked home. It was the deepest, stillest hour of night, or early morning. Streetlights turned colors but no cars waited at intersections. No voices drifted from bars and all the storefronts were dark. A cold mist hung in the air, ghost-like. Emma felt that she swam through it.
The stillest part of night, and she had never felt more awake, more alive. Every pore felt the touch of air around her. Warm blood flowed in her veins, firing her heart. She walked without fear along dark streets, secure in the feeling that the world had paused to notice her passage through it.
She entered Alette's town home through the kitchen door in back rather than through the front door, because she'd always come in through the back in her student days when she studied in Alette's library and paid for school by being Alette's part-time housekeeper. That had all changed. Those days-nights-were finished. But she'd never stop using the back door.
'Emma?' Alette called from the parlor.
Self-conscious, Emma followed the voice and found Alette in her favorite chair in the corner, reading a book. Emma tried not to feel like a kid sneaking home after a night of mischief.
Alette replaced a bookmark and set the book aside. 'Well?'
Her unnecessary coat wrapped around her, hands folded before her, Emma stood before the mistress of the house. Almost, she reverted to the teenager's response: 'Fine, okay, whatever.' Monosyllables and a fast exit.
But she felt herself smile broadly, happily. 'It was good.'
'And the gentleman?'
'He won't remember me.'
'Good,' Alette said, and smiled. 'Welcome to the Family, my dear.'
She went back to the bar once more, a week later. Sitting at the bar, she traced condensation on the outside of a glass of gin and tonic on the rocks. She hadn't sipped, only tasted, drawing a lone breath so she could take in the scent of it.
The door opened, bringing with it a cold draft and a crowd of college students. Chris was among them, laughing at someone's joke, blond hair tousled. He walked right by her on his way to the pool tables. Flashed her a hurried smile when he caught her watching him. Didn't spare her another glance, in the way of two strangers passing in a crowded bar.
Smiling wryly to herself, Emma left her drink at the bar and went out to walk in the night.
The Vechi Barbat by Nancy Kilpatrick
Nancy Kilpatrick is the author of the Power of the Blood vampire series, which includes the novels Child of the Night, Near Death, Reborn, Bloodlover, and a fifth volume which is currently in progress. She is also the editor of several anthologies, including an all-new vampire anthology called Evolve, due out in 2010. She's a prolific author of short fiction as well, and her work is frequently nominated for awards. Nancy was a guest of honor at the 2007 World Horror Convention. She lives in Montreal, Quebec.
This story is about the old world clashing with the modern world. 'There are places in this world today, despite computers, cellphones, TV and other modern technologies, that still have a lot of cultural mythology and ancient lore embedded in the lives of the ordinary person who live, by our standards, very primitive lives,' Kilpatrick said. 'How much of a shock would it be for someone who comes from such a place and is thrust into the 'first' world, hauling with them every one of their beliefs learned at the knee of their mother into this more or less godless and myth-free zone of 2009?'
Nita sat hunched at the scarred table studying the black gouges in the wood made by knives, pens, fingernails hard as talons, thinking about the words and symbols. J.C. had been scratched in about the center, and a rough drawing of an eye with long lashes that looked mystical or psychotic, depending on how Nita let her mind wander. A cruder sketch of what might have been a penis but slightly deformed with two long eye teeth and 'Bite Me' deeply carved into the birch had been positioned to the right. The letters
c-a-s-, Romanian for 'home,' stretched above the rest.
'We are nearly ready,' Dr. Sauers said, a bit gruffly to Nita's ear. Then, '
Sit lini_te!' telling her to sit quietly in her native tongue, as if that would have more impact. The doctor didn't really approve of having anyone else in the room and likely was worried that Nita would 'misbehave' as she had warned her against so often. Not that she could. Even if there were no chains circling her wrists and ankles, the drugs they pumped into her kept her weighed down emotionally as if there were also heavy chains clamped to her heart. Sauers was a control freak, she preferred running the show by herself, Nita had quickly realized to her dismay.
