Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood.
Black, white, black, white, black. High cut, but with enough material to cover her flat abdomen, the undergarment had no accompanying piece. Nicolette had long since removed the stringy striped swim top. It rested somewhere by our bare feet as we sat on her meager bed–the sandy blonde fae perched atop my hips–soggy from the sea. She pressed her smeared mouth against my ear, breath hot, skin still golden in the dark, and whispered. She had saved herself for me. She had not showered since her morning swim. She had not been deflowered. I kissed the juncture between her neck and shoulder, and inhaled her scent. Sunshine, saltwater, sweat.
"Do you," I began, my voice quivering from an attempt at restraint. Had morality abandoned me altogether, I would have had her right then. "Do you know what you are to me, mon cher?" When she did not respond, for she knew nothing of her magical blood, I continued. "Do you know the way my heart would stop were you no longer around? I swear I would cry tears of blood at your disappearance."
Nicolette placed a petite hand over her harlot red lips. Her blue, human eyes grew glassy. "Please do not say such bad things," she said in quick French, her native tongue. "I might not understand the pain my not being with you would cause, but please understand that I would die without you." She wiped away a tear from her black bottom lashes. "Because," her voice had thickened, "good like you does not happen to daughters of fishermen, Godric. God only knows how I spent my nights before we met, praying that I find a good, normal man. And not a…"
"Vampire," I said in French for the first time, causing her to become a weary. I could feel her fright in her faster heartbeat. Nicolette tensed, but my left hand sliding up her thigh and my right hand sliding down her chest relaxed her taunt muscles. Though my brother had protested against it, I had provided her with my true name, my vampiric name. By the time I have her heart, I told my brother, a stake will be the last thing going through mine.
"Yes," Nicolette breathed after an eternity. She took long to answer not only because she was scared, but because I found her pert nipple. "Yes," her response was repeated as a groan as I played with the bud between my thumb and forefinger. Her hands came to rest on my shoulders, squeezing, kneading. She mentioned nothing about the coldness or hardness of them.
I removed her swimming undergarment and situated us in the bay window of her bedroom in less than a second. Nicolette gave a squeal, too enamored by the sensations she was experiencing to notice my inhuman speed. I feared no interruption, no burst through the bedroom door. Her mother was dead; her father was on a four week long fishing expedition. The sweet sixteen year old had had no one to turn to but good old Godric for three whole weeks. Her fae abilities, abilities her denial made her oblivious to, prevented her from forming the congenial relationships humans crave. I leaned back against a straw pillow. The sea, glinting like a silken sheet under the moonlight, was behind me through the three-paned window. I still had no idea whether the fae was from her mother or her father.
"How do you feel about those vampires?" I murmured while unbuckling the leather belt around my waist. My fangs remained retracted. I had almost a millennium of what humans called 'restraint.' Not until the grande finale, I reminded myself, not until the grande finale. "I mean, beyond your justified fear in them. How do you truly feel, Nicole?"
She tossed her head back, brought it to rest against her shoulder. I palmed her breasts now, with her nearly pushing herself into my hands. "I," she said in heavily accented English, "I hate those night walkers, those blood drainers, those eternal sinners." Nicolette thought that would somehow turn me on–I could tell from her self-righteous, impassioned yet frightened tone.
"I love you," I said because it was the expected reply. If she did notice, she mentioned nothing about my faintly accented English.
Nicolette planted a sloppy kiss upon my lips, then nipped at my neck. "I love you much, my Godric," she cried. From what she told me, she had never even told her father that she loved him. She was sliding her tongue along my skin, down my chest, when she stopped. Nicolette raised her head, eyes like saucers. "You…" Her voice trembled. "You have no heartbeat…"
I sheathed myself completely in her wet warmth, sans warning. Nicolette screamed as if I had just split her in half. I clutched her hips, tried to keep from taking her that instant. To have sexual relations with another vampire is to touch heaven; to have sexual relations with a human is to hold it. I had never had a virgin. My fangs immediately extended upon my entrance–she was unbelievably tight–almost equal to my own hand. "You really do not hate them, Nicole," I whispered in her ear. "In fact, I bet vampires excite you." Distracted by the sensations between my legs and in my lower abdomen, I could not prevent my voice from becoming tinged with the malice I harbored toward the human race.
"I bet you will just adore the next hour."
Nicolette swore in French. Her heart beat as if she had been running, and by the way she shook in my arms, she clearly wished to. Because her gaze had become rampant, shifting left, right, left, I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. Nicolette calmed when our eyes met, though I did not glamor her. "Why me," she breathed, voice flat, vitality gone. "Why not the girl down the road? Why not the whore in the whorehouse?"
"I guess," I said while a smile crept onto my lips, "I am not one to chase caught and released game. My interest lies in those who mean something to your society. The girl down the road, Bethany, had been already attacked by another vampire. Whores are no different." I held her against my chest until she screamed again. "But you, love," I continued over her whimpering and babbling, "were innocent, untouched, and are ignorant."
Nicolette started to sob fat, ugly tears. My stomach lurched at the suddenly repulsive view before me. After what seemed like an entire year, she spoke. "What do you want me to do, Godric?" Her eyes, with their damp, clumped together lashes met mine again. The impact of my action had set in, but rather than continue crying, I could tell she wanted to do whatever would get me to leave. For a moment, I was actually impressed. She probably refused to die, as many of my victims do.
"You used my name," I said mockingly. "Even when facing death, you are polite. That is exactly why I was drawn to you, love. Or, at least, that is what you and I can tell ourselves. You know, when we continue our little charade of lustful boy and enamored girl."
"Please Godric, I do not want this–"
"I never asked what you wanted. Now flee, and flee like you meant to."
I released Nicolette, practically throwing her onto the paneled floor. She began to run on all fours for a second, before she climbed to her bare feet and earnestly fled for her life. I allowed her a head start as I paused to remove my pants. Nicolette had only reached her bedroom door before I caught her, sweeping her off her feet like a parent would a child. Now near my face, I inhaled the wonderful smell of coagulating fae blood. I had no doubt broken her hymen in my thrust. I imagined her blood sliding down the inside of her thighs–for the first time my fangs ached. Nicolette, ever so flushed and alive between my hands, let me carry her to her bed. As if my petite fae had a choice. I dumped her face down, then slapped her fatty behind.
"What was that for, Godric?" Nicolette squealed like a piglet.
I shivered at the sound of my name on her lips. My victims always used less endearing titles. Still, I was angry that she had hardly put up a fight. Like the animals we are, vampires prefer their prey to be active participants in their own death. I answered, "For not fleeing fast enough, love."
"I had no chance," Nicolette said, dead serious. "Maybe if you gave me ten minutes…"
"So you may find your silver, your stake?" I growled. Perhaps somewhere deep within my subconscious, in the cavity my heart once was, I admired Nicolette. To hear her beg for another head start made my blood boil. But she was pained. I could tell from her watery eyes, and like a leopard with a gazelle, I was drawing out her death. "Do not make me harm you."
"You have," she spat, the 'h' silent, "done so much worse than harm me already."
"No," I said quietly. "You will know when I have done you real harm."
Leaning over and gripping the back of her tacky neck, I bit Nicolette. She screamed a blood curdling scream into the bedspread. Her hands clenched the mattress, her legs tensed, and her toes curled. I think she thought I would turn her. I wedged my knee between her legs, spread her wider, entered her. Nicolette tried to get out from under me, but failed feebly beneath the pressure I applied to her back with my chest and abdomen. As her sweet blood touched my tongue, I saw something–her feelings. They were warm, fuzzy, human. Nicolette loved her father though she had never told him so. She missed her mother and wished the woman was around to aid her now. She harbored a gnarled lump of anger and adoration toward the dead boy on top of her, me. I disliked Nicolette for these emotions, and started to drain her like a man who has gone without water for days.
I thrust while I fed. She quieted after a while, once she realized there were no means of escape. Nicolette was just another unfortunate girl. Another one of my unfortunate girls. What I must have admired about her was her devotion. I had hardly taken her blood–had she wanted to, she could have at least attempted to fight me. Instead she lay like a burlap bag beneath me, panting and clenching. I called her name, wrapped my hands around her chest, fondled her breasts. Nicolette lost herself momentarily at my touch and moaned my name.
I covered her mouth, felt her saliva coat my palm. "Quiet," I said, my words on the verge of being groaned. "Do you not realize that your death is imminent?"
Nicolette flipped onto her back. Apparently, I had not realized my loosened grip on her. She stared to the side, though she spoke to me. "I just thought maybe, Godric, you would take pity on me. Maybe you would forget about ending my life. Or remember the past three weeks and change your mind."
"Oh love," I said, ignoring the slick feel of blood trickling down my chin. "I am vampire. I choose not to remember and I certainly do not forget. But you continue calling my name. I admit I sometimes enjoy the kinky."
Her manicured eyebrows creased. Nicolette threw her head aside so that it lolled against the mattress even though she was still alive. My attention went back to her neck, and I drank her until she was on the brink of death. Her heart beat–one…two…one….I gazed down at the limp, pallid girl and grew harder, if that were possible. At the time, that was all I existed for. To bring out fear and weakness within the human race. Also, to pleasure myself while doing so.
I dragged myself off her. "Go," I said, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
Nicolette shook her head.
"Why not?" I chided, faking oblivion to her obvious inability to flee now.
"Because even if I could," Nicolette managed, "I would stay."
I grabbed her throat, seized by sudden rage. "Why?"
"Because you want me to run. I will not indulge you."
I did not know whether to finish her then and there, or leave her to die as the sun rose. I sat back on my calves. Nicolette donned an outfit of carmine red. Her chest, her abdomen, her thighs were covered in her own blood. Blood pooled in her bellybutton. I reached out, holding my hand toward her face. She scanned my fingers, which were stained with her ruby red liquid life. Just as Nicolette reached out, I dove down. I slid all the way into her, sank my fangs all the way into her neck. She briefly wrapped her fingers around my arm, before her hand fell back onto the bed with a soft thump.
Nicolette came a few seconds after I felt her heart give a shudder then stop. The actions were so close to one another, for a moment I believed she was still alive. I stopped thrusting, my own release washing over me in waves of beautiful sensation. Her name rolled from my lips while I was blinded by the passion. I hated wasting a virgin, but I would have hated letting a virgin live, and wasting a wonderful opportunity. My face was slick against her sweaty skin as I rested my cheek against her shoulder. Across the room, in the dim moonlight glow, I spied her swim undergarment.
Black, white, black, white, black. My petite fae and I had reached our grande finale.