Laughing. She was laughing over her own grave.
Eric had never been a man to show much emotion, even when he was human; but something about watching this creature, his own making, his progeny laugh caused his own lips to draw up into a wide grin. That was the only thing he needed to see. He had chosen well. He had chosen right. She was born to be his. She had been born to die.
Her laughter was only cut off by his lips, and even he was surprised by how strongly, how passionately she responded. Her hands twisted in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He needed no further urging, his hands leaving dirty streaks across the soft velvet of her deep red gown. Those same hands, that had always been so sure and confident, skilled even, when dealing with women, thousands of women, were suddenly close to trembling. Her need and wants washed through him, unfiltered, and he knew his own desires were threatening to drown. But even with this new tidal wave of emotions, she never let go, she never ceased in her attempts to mold herself to him. He had become her anchor in this storm of death, and his own body encircled her, ready to protect.
His fingers expertly pulled at the strings of her corset, and she whimpered as the cool night air rushed across her exposed breasts. He wasn't sure if the sound came from the new heightened sensation or if it was a new experience all together. He didn't care; her past didn't concern him. The future was all he had to think about. His lips finally turned their attention to something other than her soft lips. The sharp intake of breath that followed as he captured her nipple with his cool mouth almost sent him over the edge, and he had to force himself to pull away. As if she would allow such a thing. Her hips ground into his, and he was sure she could feel exactly what she was doing to him, even through her thick skirts. Her blue eyes grew wide as she became aware of her actions, and he felt the first few tendrils of doubt filter through her blood. And he hated it. His hand had already gripped her chin, wrenching it up just as he saw her eyes lower in embarrassment, forcing them to remain raised, focused on his own.
"Do not look upon the ground; do not be ashamed for what you feel."
Those innocent eyes grew impossibly wider as he spoke; his voice stayed soft, as if explaining something to a small child. But while he spoke, his hands drifted. His thumbs grazed the roundness of her breasts, intentionally not touching her where he knew she ached. Her head rolled back, and something between a sigh and groan echoed in the night.
"You are above all others now. You bow to no one. You take what you want."
His fingers fell to her hips, and slowly, he pulled at the heavy fabric of her skirts. How she ever managed to climb down a window and run through the thick woods in the garment astounded him. She had been desperate to make her escape. As the skirts inched higher and higher, he saw the resolve strengthen behind her eyes. His hands slipped underneath, making short work of the undergarments they had buried her in. A lady, even in death. The back of his hand brushed against her as his lips pressed against her ear.
"What do you want, Pamela?"
She did not ask how he knew her name. She did not question why a complete stranger had his hand up her skirt, outside, in the middle of the night. But she did answer him; and the words he first heard her speak rang through the night.
"You. I want you."
He absorbed her strength at the last second as she launched herself at him, allowing them both to tumble down to the dirt. She sat astride his hips, her skirts pulled up to her waist. The moonlight spilled across her blonde hair, making it look white, almost translucent. She looked like an angel, and Eric was intent to corrupt her. To teach her. His fangs slid down just as he overpowered her, swiftly turning them both so that she lay before him as he hovered above. She couldn't seem to decide what to concentrate on first; the buttons of his pants or the appearance of his fangs. Her fingers explored both, blue eyes darting up and down his body. He waited, allowing her to study him as he studied her, to wrap her mind around what was happening; what had happened. She finally met his eyes as she managed to free him from the confines of his pants.
"What are you?"
His only answer was a hiss as she rocked her hips towards him, the tip of his cock parting her folds. Her head fell back, her blonde curls splaying against the dark ground. He restrained himself, brushing his lips across her neck, not moving any further.
"Look at me, Pamela. Eyes on me."
Immediately, her eyes opened, and locked with his. And then her fangs, so small compared to his, flashed down. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she pricked her finger on her sharp teeth. She pulled her finger away, holding it between the two of them as she watched the blood drip even as the wound closed.
"What am I?"
He responded with a single word as he claimed her, sinking into her to the hilt. Filling her completely. Even her own screams of pleasure couldn't drown out his answer as he all but shouted.
"Mine."