Darkness... Total, utter darkness. That is the way they were meant to be. Lying under thick cover of black bear pelts, held fast as they are in their ageless forms. Two opals fly open; a bat shrieks its warning. A lightly luminescent, pinkish-red glows from the eyes. They shift sideways, gazing with passion towards the being lying beside her. She props herself up on her elbow, kissing the man, biting, but not breaking the skin. He moans pleasurably and rolls over on top of her, kissing her neck, running his hands over her body.
"Are you ready?" he asks lifting his face to her, a manly smile donning his lips.
"Born runnin'" she replies with a lop-sided grin. She rolls out of bed picks up a dress from the nearby chair. She dresses in a long old fashioned black dress decorated with same colored lace, but lets her hair fly madly about her elegantly shaped face.
"Mmm," Raphael agrees also flopping out of bed and dressing in his own dark clothing full of folds and dark recesses between the cloth and cloak. Finding flying quicker, Jessabelle transforms into her winged beast with a laughing Raphael following close behind.
As the moon's light shimmers off the leathery wings, the two divulge into the town's nightlife, searching. An open window bids them entrance. Raphael lands silently on the window. Jessabelle changes back to her original form, standing in the middle of a room, adorned only by an antique dresser, a large bed, and a walking rug from door to bed. A soft breath whispers in the silence, the coverings on the bed slowly quiver in an up-down pattern. Quietly, yet standing upright, back rigidly straight, the woman in black walks towards the bed. She leans down smoothing the burgundy covers away from a young male face, tipping her crimson red lips down to meet his. His manly voice whispers, his eyes still closed, and a moan escapes his lips. A sickening snap of the puncture echoes in the room, his body jerks, his hips jumping into the air, his knees crooked joints writhing in pain as his feet twist and jump away from the persecutor. His body convulses. A happy, blood-lusting, purring growl emits from the woman's throat as she holds down her victim by his shoulders, unwilling to let him escape her. The rancid scent of a fresh kill fills the room; the body ceases to writhe and falls limp onto the bed in an awkward position. She turns her face and body back to the now reformed Raphael; her beaming red eyes half closed in a pleasured grimace. A thin trail of thick, red liquid travels down from the corner of her mouth, down her neck.
"You have done well, my sweet!" Raphael exclaims taking her up in his arms.
"I must sleep," is her only reply before the two fly back to the castle to rest.
