He was so beautiful, so alive, and yet he was cold and dead.
"Eric, you're a conundrum," I whispered trailing a finger down and over his lips. He hovered over me, staring into my eyes with an unfathomable expression. I could see my own reflected in his eyes, one of pure awe and adoration. I pressed my other hand against his chest gently, and he rolled off of me with a sigh.
"And what makes you say that?" he asked, remarkably affable. I shook my head and looked away. An eye blink later he was on top of me again.
"I asked you a question," he said, voice stern, but a hint of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. I could see my face in his eyes again, and the expression was wistful now.
"It's nothing I haven't said before," I muttered, "And to ask it again would make me sound stupid." He ran his fingers through his hair and I shivered.
"I could make you tell me," he said with a meaningful look. My eyes widened and I suddenly forgot how to breathe.
"Don't do that," I hissed, trying to recover from the effect of him looking at me like I was a sin-sweet dessert. That look did always did a number on me, simultaneously making me feel guilty that he would look at me like that and feel like I was the most gorgeous thing to have ever crossed his path. I wasn't; his child, Pamela, was a goddess clothed in flesh, albeit dead flesh.
"I like the curls," Eric murmured, slipping his finger into one and lifting it. I bit my lip knowing that he was intentionally mimicking what he had done to me less than an hour ago. "They were a nice touch, something different."
"There's too much of it, it's too much work," I said, distracted as he fit a second, and then a third finger into the curl before it finally came apart on them.
"You so rarely do anything with your hair," he answered in a hypnotically soothing, seductive voice. I felt mesmerized. Who was I kidding? I was mesmerized, and he hadn't even glamored me. I took a deep breath.
"Space?" I asked, my voice cracking a little. He was irritated now. In a moment he was picking up his clothing.
"No— I didn't mean— Wait—" I pleaded helplessly, and he froze and turned to look at me.
"Why?" he asked, his tone betraying that he would wait patiently for my answer until the end of time. I avoided his eyes, and then looked at him.
"Please?" I whispered. I began to reach out to him, hesitated, and then completed the action. He stepped into the range of my hand and I sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling him to me, wrapping my arms around his waist. I laid my cheek against his abs and closed my eyes. I was so pathetic.
"Please what?" he asked, stroking my hair.
"Please stay," she breathed, and I tangled my fingers in her temporary curls and bent to kiss her, pulling her head up toward mine. She stared up at me with fear and longing written on her face and I was struck again by how much more fragile she seemed compared to other humans. How had she attracted Godric's attention?
"I can't stay forever," I said gently, and she dropped her eyes again. She always felt guilty for something, I was never sure what.
"I know," she said, "But you don't have to go back tonight, do you?" She seemed so hopeful. Pamela was taking care of Fangtasia tonight, and I hadn't planned to go back yet anyhow. It was just so much fun to play with this girl's emotions.
"No, Isabelle, not tonight," I said, and then I bowled her over flat onto her back on the bed and covered her body with mine.
Instantly, I was flooded with heat. She was warm, so warm, and pliant and yielding. I slipped my tongue into her mouth, pulling her body tight against mine, molding it to me. She was so soft and tentative, responding with passion, but never very hard. She usually came away from a night with me with black and purple bruises all over her body. Tonight would be no exception. She moaned as I manipulated her flesh and limbs, whimpering and keening. She was so sensitive. Humans were always overwhelmed by my sexual prowess, but she was in another category. With most, a few single orgasms were typical; with her, multiples of multiples were the usual order.
"Eric," she gasped as I pushed two fingers into her. She was, as always, tight and hot.
"Yes?" I cooed, inhaling her scent, brushing her face with my cheek. She squirmed, impaling herself on my fingers a little more.
"Please," she panted, "More. Please, Eric!" She sounded almost panicked, her eyes glazed over as she began to spasm, her orgasm moving through her body like a riptide. Her neck and back arched and the punctures on her neck cracked open a little, drops of her blood leaking from them. I leaned forward and licked it away, and she sighed as she came down. I pulled my fingers out, pulled her legs around my hips and thrust into her.
"Eric!" she shrieked, instantly climaxing again, writhing as I held her wrists down against the bed, watching her thrash with satisfaction. When she was still again and panting I rolled my hips forward to assault her senses again. Her reaction was instantaneous. She groaned and arched pushing herself closer to me.
"Isabelle," I said softly, "Look at me." Her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't looking at me; she was looking past me, too far gone in her own pleasure to focus. Still, it was pleasant to see the look on her face. She looked lost, desperate, and afraid. She was drowning in me, just like any other human.
She whimpered my name again and suddenly her eyes focused. She was looking at me.
His lips parted and his eyes were surprised. He was looking at me with something akin to curiosity, but also to satisfaction. I stared at him, but it was so hard to focus… I could feel another orgasm building and when it came it would pull me under again. I had only this moment of lucidity before I lost it.
"Eric, I— " But I was too late. I closed my eyes and screamed beneath him. This time he answered with a snarl, and he slammed me into the mattress over and over again, too fast for me to keep track. I was hyperventilating as another and another climax washed through my body, and then I blacked out.
I woke up cradled in the soft blankets that I kept in my closet. Eric was watching the television, flicking through the channels with one arm securely around my waist. I snuggled closer, my face turned away so that he couldn't see the sadness there. A couple more hours and then he would retreat to sleep in my basement, and then tomorrow night he would be gone. He wouldn't let me see him before he left, he never had. I held back the tears as best I could, but one escaped and I pretended to be rubbing my eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked in a flat, almost exasperated voice. "I can smell your tears. Don't try to evade the question."
"It's nothing," I said hurriedly.
"You don't cry over nothing," he answered, sounding bored, "No one cries over nothing."
"Can I see you before you leave tomorrow night?" I asked hesitantly.
"No," he deadpanned without explaining himself, no pause between the question and answer.
"Why?" I pleaded.
"I'm not going to answer you," he responded.
"Why are you allowed to evade the question?" I asked with a scowl. He glanced at me, a quick flick of the eyes and nothing more.
"Because I am a higher species. I am faster and stronger than you will ever be, and I have powers you could only dream of having," he said coldly. I glared at him.
"If vampires were such a superior species, they wouldn't be restricted only to the night," I grumbled, and he threw me a freezing look that made me shudder in fear.
"Don't get above yourself, girl," he said. So he had demoted me to 'girl.' At least it wasn't 'human,' not yet. Still, I was upset. I hated when he reverted back to those times when he had only spent time with me because Godric had insisted. I rolled to the edge of the bed, away from him, and got up. I wanted to cry, but I swallowed hard instead. I picked up my clothes and folded them mechanically. No, I would not cry again, I would not cry in front of him, not again. I put them away and set a foot in the bathroom when he jerked me back into the bedroom with a hand on my upper arm.
"Why are you suddenly so distant?" he demanded with hard eyes and an unfeeling expression. He was looking at me, trying to figure it out.
Why was the silly girl upset now? She was being infuriatingly common. I had disappointed her in some way, so she had put physical and emotional distance between us. After she had just tried to tell me that she loved me in bed, she pushed me away. I searched her eyes. She was hurt, that much I could tell, and she had been afraid and shocked when I had grabbed her without warning. Now there was just that hurt lingering deep while she tried to cover it with anger and accusation.
"So it's back to just, 'girl,'" she snapped, her lips pressed together. Her voice quivered, betraying how upset she was. "I thought we were closer than that, but I guess I'm still just a human. I'm still just an inferior being." Her face twisted into a mocking sneer. I folded her into my arms and pulled her against me, holding her there with an iron grip. After a moment or two the steel went out of her spine and she leaned into me.
"I hate you sometimes," she whispered. She was despairing, but over what? Her arms encircled my back and I loosened, holding her much more gently now. She pressed her face into my chest, so her next words were slightly muffled.
"No, hold me tight, please," she begged, and I obliged. I crushed her against me. I could have destroyed her, broken every bone within that circle around her, the way the flame destroys the moth. I didn't. Her breathing evened and calmed and she leaned a little more heavily into me. I sighed, and stroked her hair with one hand. The action always soothed her, and I put that knowledge to good use now. It wasn't long before she was nearly limp and lethargic. I lifted her easily, one arm behind her knees and the other still around her back. She clung to my neck instinctively, and I placed her gently on the bed, wrapping her in the blankets she had left behind earlier.
"Isabelle," I began, but her eyes were bleary, sleepy. I changed my words. "Sleep, Isabelle." She yawned, like a small child, and then curled into the blankets. Putting her to bed hadn't been my intention, but it wasn't an undesired outcome. She was exhausted, and she needed the rest. A long day at her job, blood loss, emotional moments, and sex had taken it out of her. I ran a hand from her shoulder down to her hip before I folded the blankets over her naked body. She had become sick from sleeping without covers before and I didn't want to be blamed for that happening again. I dressed swiftly, knowing that if I didn't leave now that I wouldn't be able to resist her request to see me before I left tomorrow night. I paused in her doorway, looking back at her. Her hair spilled over the pillow and her neck, and her face was peaceful. I couldn't help my smile.
"Sleep well, Isabelle," I murmured before closing her bedroom door quietly behind me. I maneuvered through the house and went out the front door, locking it behind me with her key. I then put the key underneath her doormat before I left, speeding my way back to Fangtasia.
The light was muted as it shone through the blinds, but it was there nonetheless. I glanced at the clock, but didn't worry. My waitressing hours didn't start until the afternoon and I had no classes today. I pushed back the blankets and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I sighed and dropped my hands in my lap while I looked forlornly at the door. Always, he was gone by morning. I hated that he couldn't be with me during the daylight hours, but I didn't dwell on that long. I stood, taking an inventory of my body, the bruises, the new punctures in my neck, and the stiffness, sore places, and aching spots. I went into the bathroom and while I was brushing my teeth, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
My body was bruised badly, but my face looked refreshed. I looked as if I had slept enough for two weeks. I could also see that I looked a little happier, a little more content than usual. But that was normal after a night with him. I splashed water on my face before wandering back into my bedroom and slipping into underwear, a plain gray cotton bra, a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. I went to the kitchen wondering when I would see him again. He averaged visits roughly twice a month, only on weekends. He had a job, sheriff, and a business, Fangtasia, and it was a wonder at all that he managed to spend two nights with me a month. Of course, some months he didn't come at all and others he came more than twice.
I tossed a frozen breakfast sandwich into the microwave. I had homework to do, a job to do, and by the time that was all said and done, I'd be too exhausted to do anything but sleep away another lonely night. I thought, 'Funny how I miss him most the day after he leaves.'