Chapter One: Can't Live This Life
It had only begun. Her fangs sunk into the man's skin, making a sound similar to that of an opening seal on a Snapple bottle. His blood flooded her dry mouth, reviving her ragged and worn body to the point she resembled something of her human self once more. Her ashen skin lightened with a sort of glow, the glow of life. Her matted and broken hair burned into a golden shimmer falling down the length of her back. Her eyes, dull and dark, began to glimmer their dark green. But she was not human. No matter how much blood she drank, she would never return to what she once was- an innocent.
Stepping onto the streets of New York with a hunger raging inside her, took all her might, but she managed to make it home. With her first kill, tremendous guilt ensued, and the water pouring down over her shoulders hid the tears that crept down her cheeks. She tried to wash everything away- the pain, the guilt, the blood… herself. Eventually, she knew she would adapt. She had to adapt or die out.
His head swam with anger at his own rage, and demoralized by her cruel comments. His wounds outside were no near to the depth of those inside his mind. People dodged his anger, quickly jumping to the other side of the crosswalk. He sighed, the walk relieving his anger, but not his wounded pride. He had tried his best back there. Briskly, he shoved open the bar door, stepping inside and pushing his way to the bar. "Whiskey, double shot," he demanded the bartender.
He didn't sense her. She had been a member of the damned for months now, and still the kill did not come easily. She smiled demurely. Hannibal King, she thought, the famous vampire hunter. It's my chance. Her intentions were suicidal.
The woman walked up along side him. She was beautiful. Her hair was long and blonde, curling up on the ends that kissed the top of her perfect ass. Her face was round, her two large green eyes competing for dominance against her full pillow lips. She was much shorter than he, and curvaceous. She smiled coyly at him, her eyes casting a downward glance. "Can I buy you a drink?" she offered.
Hannibal smiled.
They left the loud hubbub of the bar, stepping out onto the cold, concrete streets. Homeless lay about the sidewalks huddling near the steaming sewers. Whores lingered on the corners. Vampires haunted the alleys. This was reality, which most humans chose to ignore. Her shy attitude in the club had dissipated, and now she seemed distracted. Her gaze rested upon a man dressed in rags. Or maybe it was to the young woman on the corner leaning into an open car window. She sighed, sadly.
He looked at her and offered an encouraging smile. She shook her head and asked, "My place?" She smiled gently, like she had before in the bar. He followed her and smiled when she took his hand.
Her one-room apartment was a mess of empty bottles of southern comfort, ashtrays full of cigarette butts, and jars of drying paint. She partially opened the bedroom window, and removed her jacket. She lit a cigarette and pulled a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. She smiled and handed the bottle to Hannibal.
She disappeared from the bedroom and emerged from the bathroom in baggy paint covered pants and a black tank top. Pulling her hair up into a messy bun, she settled Indian style in the seat across from him, a sketch pad and charcoal pencil in hand. He was looking at the bottle. "So?" she asked, taking a large drawl from her cigarette. He looked up at her. "What's your name?" he asked calmly. "Marja," she responded without looking up from the clean sheet of paper in front of her.
The charcoal scratched the paper as she began to draw, she looked up at him seeing sadness in his eyes and drew those first. She had to capture those eyes. She sighed sadly once again, "Who are you and why are you so sad?" She continued to draw and listening to him. The cigarette crackled in her mouth.
"My name is Hannibal. I can't take this place anymore," he answered.
Three weeks later they found themselves the same place as they were the week before, and the week before that. Drinking and laughing in her apartment, only to hit the bottom and settle into silence. But this time was different. She had finished her first sketch of him the night before and smiled as she found him standing in her doorway. Quickly, she pulled him inside, a smile bright on her face. She sat him down on the edge of her bed, where the television played softly on channel 8.
She searched her bedside table, pulling out the sketchpad he had seen the first time he had been at her apartment. She was incredibly nervous, andas she lit her cigarette, she trembled. She turned to him, smiling, and handed him the sketch book, and waited anxiously. He looked at her strangely. "Please," she begged.
He opened the sketchbook and flipped through each drawing, each painting. Many of them hit him hard and he turned to look at her curiously. She just shrugged and let him continue on. He flipped the last page and smiled. She had drawn him. But as he looked closer, he noticed the eyes and how she had drawn them. They were the only bit of color on the page, and he recognized them. He had looked into the mirror several mornings and saw those eyes looking back at him, in fact he saw those eyes smiling at him wreathed in cigarette smoke- the eyes of a vampire.
She stood at the window, tears running down her face once again. He had not come to see her in two weeks. This was the third. She didn't think he'd ever come back, not after he had learned her secret. She sighed, preparing herself for what she planned to do as a way to slip away from this world. She drank all night, never stopping except to have a smoke. She filled the tub with cold water and ice, and slowly she stepped into the water. Her tank top and bikini underwear clung to her. One last puff of the cigarette in her hand, and she had fallen asleep, and soon drifted into unconsciousness.
Hannibal briskly walked, his mind in complete turmoil. He brushed past people on the street. And he stopped when he saw a man, struggling with the weight of life on his back. The man dressed in tattered clothes wandered down a back alley only to, he supposed, what the man called home.
The cigarette lay stranded on the white tile, marring it with black soot.
He knocked on her door, calmly. He knocked again when no one answered, growing more and more anxious. A neighbor stepped out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. He turned to Hannibal and nodded. "Is Marja in?" he asked the stranger. He nodded, "She's a total drunk. This morning I heard nothing but yelling and screaming and glass bottles shattering." "But is she here?" he asked again concerned. "Yeah, she was running bath water about a half hour ago," he answered before walking down the steps.
He knocked once more, before breaking into her apartment. The room was a mess. His heart pounded a mile a minute, as he walked into the bathroom. She was so pale. She was lying in the porcelain tub, full of ice. He touched her arm, she was so cold.
"Marja," he whispered softly to her cold body. He laid her on the bed and held her close, wrapping them both in a blanket.
Hours later she finally came to. She gasped as her body came back to life, tears wracking her little frame. Then she saw the arm wrapped around her waist, and immediately calmed her breathing. She pulled back the covers and smiled to see Hannibal lying asleep by her side. He was shivering.
Her cold lips warmed his cheek, and slowly he woke cold, but not alone. She sat up in the bed, running her hand through his hair. He shot up like a bullet, straight and rigid, "Marja." She smiled and stood up from the bed, weak and struggling to reach the closet, but she managed. With a pile of dry, clean clothes, she stepped into the bathroom, painfully looking at the bath tub, still full with water and melting ice.
He watched her emerge from the bathroom looking comfortable. She went back to the closet and pulled out another set of clothes, and set them on her pillow. Her eyes were two pools of undisturbed water- they conveyed no emotion, but as she pulled herself closer to him, those pools turned from melting ice to molten lava. Her hands slipped under his soaked shirt, slowly pulling it from his body and over his head. Her long hair swept across his skin, burning his flesh. "Please," she urged, "Put these on. I won't look."
He obeyed and quickly changed into her large pajama pants, and pulled the wet cover from the bed. Underneath everything was dry, and slowly he crept underneath the covers close to her. She smiled feeling his arm wrapped around her waist once more and turned to face him.
Sad, tortured, needing eyes buried themselves into her soul. She began to cry again, angry at herself. "Please forgive me… please," she whimpered through her tears. "Shhhh…" he whispered to her, his hand sweeping the tears from her cheeks. She nuzzled her face against his bare chest, and began to calm as she heard the rhythmic yet fast paced beating of his human heart. She lifted her head and saw the need still lingering in his eyes.
Her breath against his skin was driving him mad. And the way she was looking at him that very moment, melted his insides. Marja was so beautiful, so delicate, so innocent, yet a killer. Gently, she kissed his lips, barely touching. She withdrew and waited.
He sat up, looking at her closely. His eyes trying to understand. He leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers. And she responded, her hands snaking through his hair. Her skin warmed as her heart labored under her want. He was so strong.
He pulled her closer, feeling her response of need to his kiss. Roughly, he set his lips against hers, licking her bottom lip, coaxing her to give him entrance. He smiled, pushing her onto the bed under him. She gasped, and his tongue swept across hers, gently probing, licking her kiss. Her breathing came heavy, her hands sweeping down his bare chest, scarred by action. She kissed him deeply, passionately, pulling him closer to her. Her body heated with fired from inside out. He was going to burn her alive.
She smiled, pushing him off and onto his back, before pinning him quickly down to the bed. She bent to his neck, gently kissing. As he pushed the straps of her tank top off her shoulders, her fangs grew, gently scraping across the skin of his neck. His pulse quickened, his body tightened, and his breathing escalated.
His hand slipped underneath her shirt, cupping her breast in his hand. He kissed her ferociously, as he sat up to close the gap between them. As he kissed, her hands held tight to his back. Hannibal groaned as he set his eyes upon her bare bosom. His breath growing cold upon her skin, sent her body into chills, and caused her nipples to peak and harden.
The feel of skin on skin was a miracle. He kissed her neck, her chest, stopping to love each breast and its peak equally. She gently nibbled his ear, and caught by the swift motion of his teeth pulling on her, moaned loudly, calling his name. She pushed him further into the mattress, kissing every square inch of his skin. Her kiss lingered near the top of his pants. Slowly, she pushed them down, exposing his brand.
She looked at him and brought her lips to the black ink as if to make the pain of being a vampire go away, and the memories fade. Her long hair splayed across his stomach, and gently dragged as she pulled further, exposing him to the air. His hard length brushed against her hair. His body clenched, and he moaned softly as he pushed her hair away from her face. She kissed his tip, teasing him gently with small laps of her tongue, before licking her lips and plunging him deep inside her mouth and into her constricting throat.
His eyes were shut tight as she held him unyieldingly in her mouth. A curse escaped his lips, and she smiled, pulling away from him. She licked the length of his underside, before plunging again, and sucking him off. Each time she pulled away, her fangs scraped, sending him into spirals. Not being able to stand it any longer, he grabbed her with all his strength, and forced her under his weight. He struggled with her pants and kissed the hollow of her stomach as he tossed her panties across the room.
Her love-well was hot and wet, waiting for him, pleading for him. He stroked the inside of her thighs, kissing her sensitive skin. She was so wet. He lapped at her, his hands gripping her ass firmly. She squirmed under his talent, her hands grabbing onto his hair. He was making her dizzy, and on the verge. She whispered his name, and he complied, raising himself close to her, kissing her with a passion she had never felt. His tip stood ready and waiting at her entrance.
In the ancient language, she spoke to him. With a smile, he complied. With care, he slowly slipped inside her. Both panted and whispered curses to one another in the dark. With each thrust, he quickened the speed, and built up power. Between kisses, Marja bellowed in pleasure, while Hannibal grunted with each stroke of force that he exerted. Viciously, Marja spoke in the old tongue, the ferocity of their mating driving her to insanity. With one last thrust, Marja tightened around him, gripping him from inside. She trembled as waves of love blew threw her one after another. The shocks were almost unbearable. Feeling Marja let go, Hannibal let go. As he emptied himself inside of her, he growled. The first sense of contentment he had in a long time ebbed over him.
At that moment, Marja had thanked God that the humans had made black-out blinds. She didn't have to seek darkness or retreat to a coffin in a closet behind the ironing board. She snuggled closer to him, his skin still glistening with sweat. His fingers danced softly on her stomach, and she purred with delight. A final gentle kiss, before she sent them both into a deep slumber until the sun had set.