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Vampire Kisses fanfiction
MURDERVILLE
Author's Note: Dedicated to BrutieBoots because 1) it's her birthday today (at least in my time zone it's still her birthday haha ... Happy Birthday, mama!), and 2) we're both making our big returns to the fanfiction community and it's super exciting! Also, special thanks to Brutie for Tristan, Salem, and Caro. (: So, with that being said, thank you for reading and enjoy!
Rated M for language, sexual content, and violence.
PROLOGUE
Bloodlust
Pounding rhythms sounded above the dim and dank underground studio. The room was empty mind the forgotten crates of empty beer bottles and strewn papers that were so old the print had faded away. The smooth cement walls bore crumbling posters of past performances and massive graffiti sprayed across them. It was a room that undoubtedly held many one-night-stands and housed an assortment of mice and spiders. A single light bulb hung from above, but only sizzled with the last remaining life it had before shorting out.
And yet, three figures found the room comfortable enough to relax and rest from the heavy traveling they had done. They'd flown in all the way across the sea, crossing continents from Europe to North America, and here they were in the States, all for one little thing.
The sole female of the group sat in the only chair in the room, her eyes squeezed shut as she desperately concentrated. Her fingers were weaved together and sitting in her lap. Occasionally her eyelids would flutter, but it would only mean she was concentrating harder.
Two young men in their early twenties stood on either side of her, arms crossed in front of their chest as they stared her down, waiting impatiently for her to speak again.
"I thought we were closer to the source," said one of the men, the brawnier of the two. His emerald eyes were narrowed into slits with impatience. "Why is it taking so long?"
"Shut up," hissed the other, his eyes also narrowed however his were an alluring lavender color. He was tall like the first man, but much slimmer. "Don't let her lose her train of thought."
They watched her face contort with puzzlement, and then what looked like pain, and suddenly her eyelids flew open, revealing a pair of dazzling amethyst orbs framed by long glossy lashes.
The two men looked at her eagerly.
"Did you find it?" asked one of them.
"Is it close?" asked the other.
"Yes, and yes," she replied, her voice soft and gentle, a hint of reluctance in her tone as she told them. "There is a small town quite a few miles from here. That's where it is."
"Well then!" exclaimed the man with lavender eyes, clapping his hands together with a large grin. "Shall we get going?"
"I'm parched. Why don't we stop for a drink?" suggested the brawny male. He glanced at their female companion, who glanced down shyly at the ground.
"A little meal wouldn't hurt," the first man agreed. "Right, Aiza? I know how much you enjoy hunting." The woman, Aiza, glared daggers at him, but she did not disagree, because, truthfully, it was hard for her to resist the smell of something that delicious.
"They serve drinks in the Dungeon," Aiza mentioned, referring to the underground club they were just a few feet away from.
"And also private rooms," the brawny male added, morbidly grinning at Aiza. She glared and bared her teeth, pearly white fangs poking out from underneath her pierced lips.
"I want something fresh," the purple-eyed male said, his face excited as the words rolled off his tongue pleasantly. "They have even better drinks upstairs."
"Where the mortals are?"
"Exactly, my friend," he said to his male companion.
He led the two others out of the dingy studio and into a dark hall, dimly lit from the antique mounted votives sparsely scattered along the stone walls.
They entered the upper-story of the club, which was actually the first floor of the building. The deafening music had switched to heavy metal and screaming lyrics, and people dressed in leather, lace, and heavy black clothing moshed in the center of the dance floor. The smell of sweat and alcohol emanated from the crowds, and from the balcony above that overlooked the entire dance floor, the faint smell of sweet hookah smoke wafted down from the rails. But these weren't the smells that the trio fancied.
To all the other clubbers, the three of them looked like they belonged, like they were all the same. But they didn't realize just how deadly these people were to them. "People" wasn't even the right word to describe these beings.
"Find anything, Maddox?" asked the brawny man of the trio. Maddox, combing his hazardously layered black hair, narrowed his piercing purple eyes, eyes that he shared with his younger sister, Aiza, and looked around.
"Nothing as great as the blood we'll have later, but I've found something to settle with for now," he said, licking his lips and running his tongue over the two silver rings threaded through the right side of his lower lip. He left his two companions and effortlessly made his way through the suffocating crowds until he reached his destination. They watched him charm a young innocent gothic girl dressed in a shredded t-shirt dress and punk combat boots, her long pink hair pulled in a ponytail that hung over her shoulder. She smiled at him as he spoke, his words like velvet to her ears and very promising, but both Aiza and her partner knew better than that.
Once Maddox had disappeared with his bait, Aiza felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. That girl would never be seen again, and she didn't even realize it.
"Maybe we can find a girl ourselves and have some fun with her," the brawny green-eyed male said, breaking her from her thoughts. "A threesome sounds like fun."
"You're disgusting," she spat as she turned away, searching the crowd for someone for herself. He grabbed onto her arm and she spun around, her face livid.
"Then what about just the two of us?" he whispered.
"Let. Go. Of me, Tristan," she seethed. Tristan glared, his seductive smirk twisted into a snarl and pushed her away before turning around to find somebody else to seduce.
Her eyes skimmed the crowd, scents drafting into her nostrils like an appealing gas, but one scent overpowered them all. He looked around eighteen with a strong face and athletic figure that towered over Aiza. He moshed with a group of other young girls, his eyes full of lust and excitement. She didn't have to read his blood to know he was new here, or to know that he didn't belong.
She approached him, effortlessly weaving through the crowds as Maddox had done and flashed a shy smile. The boy immediately tore away from the girls, who glared at Aiza with raging envy, but she didn't care. The boy was already hers for good.
His bright green eyes wandered all over her body shamelessly, attempting no effort to hide his interest. He flicked his dyed black bangs out of his visage and smiled seductively.
"Hey, I noticed you were looking my way. I take it you liked what you saw?"
Peering into his memories, Aiza knew he wasn't always like this. Despite the egotistic façade, he was actually a kind and sweet kid, a complete mama's boy. Desperate to become a part of a crowd he would never belong to brought him to dyeing his shiny yellow hair to the color of old ink and dancing with scantily-clothed girls in a club for undead wannabes, which was what drew Aiza to this boy. The blood of innocent humans was the most appealing blood, and the strongest.
She shrugged and bit her bottom lip, slowly squeezing her chest in between her arms to accentuate her cleavage. The boy fell for it miserably.
"Why don't we dance privately in one of those rooms?" she asked softly, motioning towards the back of the club, and before she knew it, he was already leading her by the hand through the mosh pits. Her grin dropped when his excited thoughts raced through her own mind. He didn't deserve this.
He led her to a dark and secluded side room towards the back of the club. He anxiously shut the door behind them, the grin never falling from his face. His face reminded her of a giddy schoolboy more than a handsome goth poseur.
"Let's just skip the dance. What do you say?" he suggested, blatantly staring at her chest. He was intending for her to be his first naked woman, at least in person. He'd definitely had his share of online pornography.
"You're very anxious. I take it this is your first time?" she teased. Finally the grin left.
He scoffed. "Hell no. I've lost count how many times I've done it."
"Done what?" she pressed.
"It."
Aiza stared at him with an arched eyebrow. She knew this was wrong. He was a clueless kid who needed guidance, and someone to assure him that being a gothic playboy was not the key to his success in society. But the longer she stayed with him, especially in such close proximity, her craving continued to grow and take over. Her moral conscience had already lost.
She pursed her lips, amused.
"What is this it?"
The boy rolled his eyes.
"Go on, say it."
"Can't we just do it?" he whined, breaking through his macho man mask. Aiza giggled and lay back, opening her arms.
"Sure. You're the expert, I take it?"
"Yeah." There was less confidence this time. Aiza tried to hide the reluctance that wanted to burst through. This boy had a family, friends, a good home; great things in life he would never see again.
"You've done this plenty of times, right?"
"Duh."
Liar, she thought.
"Well come on, big boy." She waved a finger at him. "Show me what you've got."
He got down on to his knees, meeting her eye level and crawled to her, but Aiza could see his arms shaking. She could read the inner fighting within his mind—he should be excited about finally getting laid, but what would his family think? Was it really what he wanted? Of course … but was it really?
He stopped.
"M-maybe you could take the reins?" he asked. She stared at him and clucked her tongue, a grin spreading across her plump lips. Here it went.
Any shred of morality left in her vanished as the bloodthirsty monster she was completely consumed her. Within milliseconds she was leaning over him, pinning his back to the ground. With a swift swipe of her finger, the black skull t-shirt he'd been wearing was torn hazardously at the neck. The boy knitted his eyebrows together, confused and slightly worried, but remained quiet as Aiza moved her body against his. She could feel all the blood in his body rushing south. His forehead lined with beads of sweat from nerves. His heart pounded against his chest in a heavy rhythm. He didn't deserve his fate, but at this point Aiza could care less.
"Aren't you going to touch me?" she rasped in his ear.
He hesitantly lifted his hands, but it was Aiza who placed them on her breasts for him.
"Come on, what happened to that cocky-ass boy that brought me in here?" she taunted.
"I'm not cocky," he mumbled, but she ignored it.
"Aren't you going to undress me? That's why we're here? What kind of expert are you? I'll bet you're still a virgin." She tilted her head back and laughed. The boy narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not!" he argued, but Aiza continued to laugh.
"You know what? Never mind. You're not worth this," he said and attempted to shimmy out from underneath her. She pushed him back down, the smile gone, the laughter silenced. Her eyes narrowed.
"You're not going anywhere," she hissed and the look of fear on his face only made her hunger worsen. Squeezing his cheeks together, she leaned down, touching the tip of his nose with her own. "You are mine."
She dove into his jugular, fangs tearing deep into his flesh as blood erupted from his wound. The boy screamed, but the pounding techno outside screamed louder with wailing lyrics and a heavy bass. Mere seconds later, he was silenced and the blood was almost gone.
She walked out of the room, brushing herself off and fixing her hair over her shoulders. She closed the door on the murdered boy. Some horny couple would be surprised to see the gift left behind. Moving swiftly through the crowds, Aiza made her way to the exit of the club.
The crisp night air stung her cheeks as she hugged herself, the remorse of her kill slowly washing over her as she waited for her comrades to join her.