Feast of Souls
By: Aurorarose13
The night-lights of Los Angeles twinkled like never before. Horns blared and
voices chorused and sirens wailed in the usual wild fracas of the city. Red
lights throbbed angrily like a heartbeat atop looming skyscrapers. Beneath the
window, ants dressed in revealing clothing and black leather scoured the streets
for some activity. LA had never seemed more alive to Darla as it did then.
Colors danced in a frenzy before her eyes, and she sighed contentedly. How
beautiful her new home metropolis was. And its beauty was only enhanced by her
recent kill. Darla put her hand to the window, dragging a finger down the pane
of glass slowly while tracing an outline of a building. Inside, she felt warm,
like someone had lit a match in the place where her rotting heart was and the
blood was flowing again. Periodically, she moaned with pleasure as the human
blood made a course through her system. There was so much going on inside of
her.
Darla's body began to sway back and forth as though she was possessed by a
spirit dancing to some unheard music. The natural rhythms of life flooded her
insides, a feeling she could hardly ever get back even after feeding. Life…
But her last meal had been special.
Something about Darla's victim had been so right. She found him wandering down
an alleyway close to Angel Investigations (Angel, that spineless asshole), his
hands in his pockets and a whistle encompassing his head. He was one of the new
recruits there. Judging by his darting eyes, he was alert but surprisingly
relaxed, too. When Darla had appeared seductively before him from the shadows,
he backed off a few steps, as though he had already known what she really was.
Though this had startled her, Darla continued with her plan unfazed, luring him
a little closer. As she reached out to touch his collarbone, she was astounded
to find out that not only did he know her dirty little vampiric secret, but he
was also prepared—with a stake in hand. Still, Darla had acted as though she
didn't understand what was happening, and that made the boy lower his guard
enough for her to have the chance to move in and knock him out.
Back at her humble abode high above the city of Los Angeles, Darla laid him out
on a table so that when he came to, he would see her hovering right by his side.
Finally, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, his eyelids fluttered
open and he looked her straight in her cold green eyes. She beamed at him,
overjoyed to see that he would be completely conscious for the fun. With that
huge grin plastered to her face, Darla informed, "You're dead."
If she were to live a thousand more years, she would never forget their only
conversation.
He blinked once and stated matter-of-factly, "I know."
"Anything else you'd like to say on that matter?"
He nodded. "The Slayer will save me."
Darla threw back her head and cackled at his stupidity. "The Slayer, my dear
boy, is dead."
Again, he nodded and replied, "I know."
With a questioning look in her eyes, Darla fell silent as she considered him.
The handsome young boy, though strong and formidable-looking, seemed so tired.
He had dark circles under his eyes and a weary sound to his voice. "Ooooookay.
So let's recap. We both know that the Slayer is dead. Agreed?" He acknowledged
slightly with a tip of his head. "All right, so then, if you're going to die,
how could she possibly save you?" she asked exasperatedly.
"That's exactly how she's going to save me," he answered cryptically. Darla
sighed, giving up the interrogation. All this talk had made her even hungrier.
As she dipped her fangs into his soft neck, she heard him whimper slightly and
whisper the Slayer's name. "Buffy…" Drinking down every drop of sweet nectar
that flowed from the puncture wounds, Darla moaned happily a few times to let
him know that she would never forget this moment. He didn't seem to care.
He had fought her to the end in his own subtle way. This one had faith in the
face of Death, and that made him taste all the sweeter. He held onto his beliefs
of savior until his last breath and even beyond that in his own death. Perhaps
that's why Darla shivered inside—he was still fighting, still believing.
After living these hundreds of years, Darla considered herself a connoisseur of
blood; she knew who would be bad, who would be good and who would be best. But
this boy's special flavor had surprised even her. Running a finger across her
bloodstained lips, the vampire could still feel his heartbeat throbbing on them.
She licked them over and over, hoping that there might be a blood cell or two
left in the corners. As she pressed her forehead to the window, she stared at
the faint glimmer of her reflection in it, a sight she rarely saw unless she had
a bit of human life within her body. The only things she saw distinctly were her
crimson lips. She concentrated on the wickedly stained flesh and purred.
The room air burned against her skin. She felt so hot, so excited. A passion
built inside her and she needed a release. A fresh kill never failed to increase
her sexual drive. Darla needed out. She needed to cruise LA for some hot
prospect. She craved sex. Then she craved blood after.
Hopping over to the table in the center of the room, the vampire crawled atop
the corpse decorating the top and lay down so her breasts were crushed against
the boy's motionless chest. Darla planted a delicate kiss on his white lips,
softly brushing hers up and down his. She nuzzled her cheek to his and cooed
thank you's repeatedly into his deaf ears. "I'll never forget you, Alexander.
You were the best drinking partner I've ever had." She kissed him once more,
yelled out the window to some unseen, nameless vampire to "clean up this mess,"
and then Darla waltzed out the door.
She had never been more grateful to anyone else than Xander.
He had filled her.
THE END
By: Aurorarose13
The night-lights of Los Angeles twinkled like never before. Horns blared and
voices chorused and sirens wailed in the usual wild fracas of the city. Red
lights throbbed angrily like a heartbeat atop looming skyscrapers. Beneath the
window, ants dressed in revealing clothing and black leather scoured the streets
for some activity. LA had never seemed more alive to Darla as it did then.
Colors danced in a frenzy before her eyes, and she sighed contentedly. How
beautiful her new home metropolis was. And its beauty was only enhanced by her
recent kill. Darla put her hand to the window, dragging a finger down the pane
of glass slowly while tracing an outline of a building. Inside, she felt warm,
like someone had lit a match in the place where her rotting heart was and the
blood was flowing again. Periodically, she moaned with pleasure as the human
blood made a course through her system. There was so much going on inside of
her.
Darla's body began to sway back and forth as though she was possessed by a
spirit dancing to some unheard music. The natural rhythms of life flooded her
insides, a feeling she could hardly ever get back even after feeding. Life…
But her last meal had been special.
Something about Darla's victim had been so right. She found him wandering down
an alleyway close to Angel Investigations (Angel, that spineless asshole), his
hands in his pockets and a whistle encompassing his head. He was one of the new
recruits there. Judging by his darting eyes, he was alert but surprisingly
relaxed, too. When Darla had appeared seductively before him from the shadows,
he backed off a few steps, as though he had already known what she really was.
Though this had startled her, Darla continued with her plan unfazed, luring him
a little closer. As she reached out to touch his collarbone, she was astounded
to find out that not only did he know her dirty little vampiric secret, but he
was also prepared—with a stake in hand. Still, Darla had acted as though she
didn't understand what was happening, and that made the boy lower his guard
enough for her to have the chance to move in and knock him out.
Back at her humble abode high above the city of Los Angeles, Darla laid him out
on a table so that when he came to, he would see her hovering right by his side.
Finally, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, his eyelids fluttered
open and he looked her straight in her cold green eyes. She beamed at him,
overjoyed to see that he would be completely conscious for the fun. With that
huge grin plastered to her face, Darla informed, "You're dead."
If she were to live a thousand more years, she would never forget their only
conversation.
He blinked once and stated matter-of-factly, "I know."
"Anything else you'd like to say on that matter?"
He nodded. "The Slayer will save me."
Darla threw back her head and cackled at his stupidity. "The Slayer, my dear
boy, is dead."
Again, he nodded and replied, "I know."
With a questioning look in her eyes, Darla fell silent as she considered him.
The handsome young boy, though strong and formidable-looking, seemed so tired.
He had dark circles under his eyes and a weary sound to his voice. "Ooooookay.
So let's recap. We both know that the Slayer is dead. Agreed?" He acknowledged
slightly with a tip of his head. "All right, so then, if you're going to die,
how could she possibly save you?" she asked exasperatedly.
"That's exactly how she's going to save me," he answered cryptically. Darla
sighed, giving up the interrogation. All this talk had made her even hungrier.
As she dipped her fangs into his soft neck, she heard him whimper slightly and
whisper the Slayer's name. "Buffy…" Drinking down every drop of sweet nectar
that flowed from the puncture wounds, Darla moaned happily a few times to let
him know that she would never forget this moment. He didn't seem to care.
He had fought her to the end in his own subtle way. This one had faith in the
face of Death, and that made him taste all the sweeter. He held onto his beliefs
of savior until his last breath and even beyond that in his own death. Perhaps
that's why Darla shivered inside—he was still fighting, still believing.
After living these hundreds of years, Darla considered herself a connoisseur of
blood; she knew who would be bad, who would be good and who would be best. But
this boy's special flavor had surprised even her. Running a finger across her
bloodstained lips, the vampire could still feel his heartbeat throbbing on them.
She licked them over and over, hoping that there might be a blood cell or two
left in the corners. As she pressed her forehead to the window, she stared at
the faint glimmer of her reflection in it, a sight she rarely saw unless she had
a bit of human life within her body. The only things she saw distinctly were her
crimson lips. She concentrated on the wickedly stained flesh and purred.
The room air burned against her skin. She felt so hot, so excited. A passion
built inside her and she needed a release. A fresh kill never failed to increase
her sexual drive. Darla needed out. She needed to cruise LA for some hot
prospect. She craved sex. Then she craved blood after.
Hopping over to the table in the center of the room, the vampire crawled atop
the corpse decorating the top and lay down so her breasts were crushed against
the boy's motionless chest. Darla planted a delicate kiss on his white lips,
softly brushing hers up and down his. She nuzzled her cheek to his and cooed
thank you's repeatedly into his deaf ears. "I'll never forget you, Alexander.
You were the best drinking partner I've ever had." She kissed him once more,
yelled out the window to some unseen, nameless vampire to "clean up this mess,"
and then Darla waltzed out the door.
She had never been more grateful to anyone else than Xander.
He had filled her.
THE END