Chapter 2
Enthralling
I don't understand why they've chosen my home to break into. Not that they've had to break in, since once they passed the perimeter fence and drugged the dog, I considered they had already gone too far. I unlocked the door to his attempt, and he boldly entered.
Of course I have every right to defend my home and my property from thieves. A worthy man would not be so bold as to steal, especially while gloating about it in the process. I have every right! But clearly she is merely a witness. I cannot let her escape even though she is more respectful of my home and property. I will show her mercy and end her gently. Simple to catch her; block her retreat and imprison her in my arms.
"Don't scream love, " I whisper into her delicate human ear as I try not to break her yielding young body in my embrace. It has been far too long and I have forgotten what this feels like; the trembling, the gasping in fear, and the pounding of her heart, which is even more delicious than the blood. I pause just to savor the moment, looking down into her wide and terrified eyes as I slide my fingers through her silken hair. Such bliss! Modern women are so clean and her perfumed hair makes me hunger for more.
It is then I feel her relax in my arms. Oh my god, I'd forgotten the moment of anticipation. She can smell me and now my scent is tearing through her defenses. I watch her eyes as they lock onto mine and her head tips back so imperceptibly a real man would not see it for what it is – surrender. It is the perfect moment, the time to strike and take her, but I hesitate – it's those eyes. They are blue like the sky reflected on a lake on a sunny day, wide and crystal clear. I pause to look at my witness. I have been dead for far too long, that her beauty goes unnoticed until the moment I would kill her. Exquisite beauty that artists would praise in paint and sculpture, and poets would laud in long, and rambling sonnets. She is perfection. Lovely oval face, delicately arched brows, those incredible wide blue eyes, and a mouth made to be kissed. I stare at her soft pink lips over straight even teeth as the softest of sighs escapes them for my ears alone. She is mine!
I pull her to me, bending her frail body to mine. I feel the clothes she wears like so many women of this age, so like a man it is almost obscene. But I feel her womanly body through the denim and the thin cotton of her blouse. Her youth is in her firmness and the supple way she moves, arching her back as I place my lips onto the long column of her throat. Have I ever savored a kill more? It is then I feel something that stops me, freezing me where I am, with my mouth precious millimeters above her jugular, with her pulse sending it's rhythm to my brain through my cold lips. There is the tiniest sensation of warmth against my marbleized flesh. Her hands.
Of course I am used to the futility of the fight when their hands seek for a weapon, to hit or push against me, or scratch and claw. But her hands are not fighting me, they are touching me. I feel them as they slide around me, and her arms pull her closer. And those soft little hands caressing up along my back, over my shoulders to the back of my head – heavenly! Her pulse is all but forgotten as I feel her fingers in my hair, so soft and delicate. Her hand moves gracefully to my temple only to slide down and mold itself warmly to my cheek. Her warmth... I have forgotten – no – I have never felt this kind of touch from a victim.
I pull back from her throat so I can see her face; see those eyes. I can see it there; she knows. She knows I am going to kill her. I know that my face must be registering some kind of shock since I watch her smile, a sad little ghost of a smile on her perfect mouth. Then I feel the movement of her hand, joining the other one on my face, cradling me in her warm palms.
With her human speed I can watch her at leisure as she brings her face closer to mine while pulling with her hands on my cheeks. I have to relax so she can move me. Warm hands glide along the back of my neck and I find myself nose to nose with her. She tips her head to the side and I'm mesmerized as her eyes are still open. She breathes, and I taste her warm breath, as she presses forward so innocently. Her eyes drift closed.
I taste her. Her sweet lips press gently against mine as her hands on the back of my neck pull me to her. She is life! I inhale deeply to take in her breath through her parted lips and I'm even more startled when her tongue explores timidly past my lips. She engages all of my senses and I am feeling almost powerless in her arms. I am jolted by memories of humanity with a clarity I haven't known in... centuries.
Her eyes are closed so I close mine and I am suddenly eighteen again. There is a purity in the moment as I let myself go and just hold her. I let my tongue slide over her lips and just taste the moistness of her mouth as my hands move slowly up her back, feeling every fragile bone in her spine. I want to crush her to me. I want to ravish her soft mouth. I want to tear open her throat and absorb her essence into me!
But her tongue is dancing with mine, and her fingers are twisted in my hair. I'm eighteen and the sun is on my face and I am alive. I don't even know her name and she is the most important person in the world. My hands caress the softness of her dark blond hair. Gently I hold her head in my hands before touching her warm face. I cannot lose control – I will not lose control! My hands are slowly warmed by her skin as they trace down her neck. My fingers pass over her most vulnerable pulse points and I let my hand dip into the V of her blouse.
I feel her heartbeat racing just before my hand becomes boldly familiar with her. I feel her moan against my mouth where her lips are locked onto mine almost as if she were feeding on me. I can feel her body responding to me in it's uniquely human way. I open my eyes and hers are still closed, as if she is lost in the moment. I feel the time pass with the beating of her heart, but I am frozen in this forever embrace. I memorize the details, knowing I will savor them for years to come, like the way her hair shines in the sunlight filtering through the ornate windows. I will remember her kiss and the feel of her supple human body against me, and I will never forget the beauty of her face as I look down on her in our mutual bliss.
Her eyes flutter open and she pulls her lips from mine. I hear her gasping as she tries to catch her breath, looking up at me in wonder and adoration. I lower my face to her beautiful neck where I can see the pulsing of her lifeblood. I want her now more than ever. She will be remembered far longer than any human would be able to recall. She is etched in my memory and I'll write her into my journals as soon as I've fed. She presses her body against me even as I lick the porcelain smoothness along her jaw and down her throat. I could punch a hole through her gossamer skin with my tongue alone if I chose, but I desire more satisfaction than that would bring. I long to clamp my jaws onto her, and feel her life gush into me in a hot flood.
Surprisingly she is still pliant in my arms even though she seems to have some concept of what I have in mind for her. Even still I can feel her tender little hands pulling my head, my mouth more firmly against her throat. I open my mouth wide against her as we are both ready, and I hear her take in a deep breath. "I want you Stefan, please take me now – I'm yours love."
Her words freeze me. What does she want from me? How am I to 'take' her? Her words are reminiscent of love, of attraction,...of sex; those vaguely remembered notions from my life before. But I know I did not misunderstand her cues. I know she sees me for the killer I surely am. This lovely moth has not flown too close to my flame accidentally; she sought me out. Still I cannot do this now, not yet anyway, so I kiss her neck instead. I taste her with my tongue, trying to draw out every nuance from her skin before I excuse her from the deadly feast I was about to enjoy.
It takes more restraint than I expect to pull my mouth away from her. This surprises me since I am a master of control. After my first five hundred years I learned the kind of restraint it takes to release a victim unhurt. But this one so tempts me! I pull back from her, and her eyes meet mine. She is confused. Her face tells me that she did indeed expect to die. In fact she tries to pull me back to her, again offering up her tender throat, tipping her head back to exaggerate her offering and I feel her soft hair cascade along my arm as I hold her. So eager is she to die. I must know why!
I am used to this kind of yielding and death seeking among my recent victims. But never from one so young and vibrant. She should be fighting me, not inviting me to end her. She weighs next to nothing to me as I pick her up effortlessly, cradling her in my arms. Her own wrap around my neck as she watches my face with curiosity and still that same resignation. I step over the near corpse of the thief and she notices, suddenly stiffening in my arms. I smile in all my monstrous glory and set her on her feet, blocking her exit and freezing her with my eyes.
The man is brain damaged beyond repair. I've done it so many times it's almost a perfected art; one where the victim remains alive, but non-functioning. It's a way to incapacitate one, for expediency or perhaps a later meal. It might seem barbaric but far better than to have to slaughter them to insure their silence and stillness. She calls his name, softly and regretfully. I pick him up under his arms and his head lolls to the side.
It is a simple matter to feed on him. I hold him in much the same way I'd held her not long before and fasten my jaws onto his throat. He is unresisting and silent, all but the sound of his heartbeat thrumming in my ear, and in my veins. The power of my hunger pulls every drop from his body even after his heart has finished pumping. It takes mere minutes, then I break the seal of my mouth against his neck, not even needing to wipe my lips. He is finished, emptied like a child's juice pouch. I look over his shoulder and I see her still form watching me. Her own breathing and heart rate seem to have sped up as the thief's slowed and then stopped. She is all but gasping for air, but still she does not flee. Her eyes lock onto my refreshed red iris's with the recognition of whence comes the sudden pigment.
I lay the body gently on the floor so as not to startle her into a scream or flight. She doesn't look at it, instead she watches me, trembling where she stands. I feel the warmth of his blood spreading throughout my body and I again pick her up. Even though she knows the kind of monster I am, she again wraps her arms around my neck. I carry her through the house, winding through boxes of forgotten treasures and various art and antiques. As if I myself were not the most antiquated object in the place. She seems only mildly interested in the contents of the house, then she rests her head against my shoulder with a sigh.
I puzzle over where to take her. I have a strong desire to take her upstairs to my suite, but no human has ever seen that sanctuary and I am not quite willing to breach it's sanctity with something that will surely end badly. Of course there are guest quarters aplenty in this enormous building, but she is not a guest. She is my...prisoner...my captive...my fascination...I know not what, but that she belongs to me! I take her down the stairs into the cellar. I don't realize it is cold until I feel her shiver against me. The cellar is extensive as it was designed to hold a number of things, including servants quarters and a wine collection. In the past I have used it as a prison and that is where I take her.
She doesn't seem to mind until I open the door and she lifts her head and looks around. I know she expects something different, and I am reminded of our reputation through popular fiction. She is looking for my coffin! I have to laugh as I set her on the dusty, disused cot and slip quickly out the door, locking her inside. I can feel her panic even before she starts to scream. The terror she should have felt when faced with her death is in full force as she realizes she is my captive.
I watch her through the plexi-glass wall. I cannot take my eyes off her as she fights so fiercely against her prison. She kicks the wall, she overturns the cot, she throws the chair at me, narrowly missing being hit by it's rebound. She screams, cries, grovels and makes impossible lying threats. And she is breathtaking!
Her hair is a golden corona of glory as it's tossed wildly around her in her frenzy. Her fists pound again and again on the glass until her hands are bruised. She pounds them against the brick and I smell the tang of her blood in the air as she scrapes the skin from them. She shows me her bloody hands, licking at the scratches as if to entice me to do the same. It makes me smile as it reminds me of a mother bird faking injury to lure a predator away from her nest. But instead she wishes to lure the predator to her.
I can tell it frustrates her, the way I watch her so passively. I am trying not to be so monstrous. But what do I expect after proving to her that I am indeed a monster? Of course I've demonstrated my monstrous abilities many times in the past to humans for various reasons. Often it was for show, or to play with them so that they understood the futility of their struggles. But there have also been times when I used my abilities for nobler pursuits. Either way it was always the same. No one would take me at my word when I told them what I was, they all required a demonstration. 'Crush this rock, read my mind, change into a bat, a wolf, or mist.' Silly fictions have given them the idea we are magicians. Instead we are killers, and I showed her I was a killer.