Gender: Male Age: 18 Location: Florida
|Introduction: New story with new characters. Will be love story. That is all. Enjoy. Six parts.|
I lick my teeth as I gaze out over the misty water splashing along the rocky Washington shore. The earth grows mercilessly around me as I crouch down, my fingers digging harshly in the dank earth, and stare at the figure walking slowly along the shore. Though the air is salty around me, I inhale as much of his scent as I can and close my eyes. I can practically smell the blood that courses through his veins under his honey-colored skin. Just from his scent I can describe him: 5’ 5’’, curling black hair that falls over his ears, thin pink lips that stretch over his long jaw line. He has the hands of a worker, rough and smooth at the same time, and broad, toned shoulders to match.
I inhale his scent again and dig my fingers further into the earth. It takes everything in me not to jump out and rush to his side and take him in.
He should pray.
Or he’ll become prey.
I have no name. When I do make an appearance, it’s of I dancing under the moon as I stalk the next victim in line. They call me Predator, and that’s all right with me. Predator sounds kind of sexy, anyway. Wouldn’t you agree?
Before I became like this, I was young. It’s been almost fifteen years, and I can still smell the stench of that night. Eighteen years old, the night of my birthday, walking alone down an empty street in the middle of town. Nobody liked me. Who would? A lanky, redheaded boy whose face was dotted with freckles, and acne to boot. I had no skill, I had no special abilities to play sports or do anything in the art world. I made an average C every semester in high school.
I was a loner.
I came to a street corner that led the way to my house. A dark shadow approaching me as I turned the corner stopped me dead in my tracks. He wore the attire of a local policeman, and looked to be in his mid-twenties. He called my name, now I do not recall what it was, and urged me to follow him. “They’ve been hurt,” he said, voice silky, smooth, and mysteriously calm. “Your mother and father have been rushed to the hospital. Your little brother was killed.”
Nathan. He looked just like me, but ten years old. He had friends. He could play baseball exceptionally well for his age. He was everything I wanted. “Not Nathan,” I said, mumbling, my voice starting to crack from tears. “They didn’t kill Nathan!”
“Come with me,” he insisted and held out his hand. Then he leaned in to me and his eyes sort of glowed a deep, iridescent red. The color of blood. When he took my hand in his, I blacked out.
I woke up a little over an hour later in a deep, abandoned alleyway covered in rats and garbage. The place stunk of death. Chained to a wall and on the ground, I could feel the rough concrete biting hard into my back. My knees were pulled into the air close to my shoulders and an ache sent fire through my thighs.
The policeman hovered over me with pearl fangs flashing in the moonlight and sweat beading his forehead. He called my name, over and over, constantly moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. My vision was foggy as I stared up at him, the color of his pale skin starting to blossom with color. “Come to me,” he said, calling my name, reaching down to smack my face. “Come to me.”
His fingers played along my cheeks for a moment, holding me there, his body moving over me, then fell along my jaw and down my neck. When he pulled his fingers away, he licked from his palm to the tip of his index finger and kissed my blood from them.
Then he bent into me and kissed my neck. Searing pain split through my body as he did so and I could feel my heart begin to shudder underneath him. The more he sucked at my neck, the clearer my vision came to me. When he was satisfied, he pulled away and looked down at me. My blood covered both lips and ran down his chest. He called my name and eased my legs down a bit. His smooth voice hit me like a bullet. “It’s going to be all right,” he promised. “I’m almost finished.”
“Nate,” I stuttered, shoving my head to the side and looking up at the stars above us. “My parents.”
“They’re just fine,” he said, still moving.
“But you said—”
“It doesn’t matter what I said. I was lying,” he said to me, calling my name again. He bent down to kiss my lips, his blood-covered tongue inching its way to my throat and dancing with my own. I tasted my blood and fell back into ecstasy when suddenly everything came to me.
Pleasure surged through my body as I felt him digging into my ass and pulling out. That’s what the moving was. That’s what he was doing. I thought I was straight! I never even thought about loving a man before and I was being fucked! “Help,” I screamed, my voice echoing above me. “Someone help me.”
“Nobody is going to come,” he assured me. “This part of town has been abandoned for years.” Then he swallowed and picked up the speed of his body. He started to lose his breath, his fangs biting down into his lip. Blood peaked at the fresh wounds and traveled down his chin. He tilted his head back so the blood would rush into his mouth, then cupped his tongue in his mouth until his blood collected there and bent down to the bite on my neck.
Pain blasted its way in me when he kissed the bite on my neck. His back buckled as he pounded into me harder and I fell numb to him. Why is he doing this? Why is this happening to me?
Then he let out a guttural scream and pulled away. Stroking himself, his head dazzled nearly the color of blood under his fist. “Drink,” he said to me and climbed up my body. “You have to drink or you’ll die.”
I clamped my lips shut. His nails raked into my jaw forcing me to yelp. He dug himself into my lips, stroked as intensely as he could until he fed me his seed. With each blast, I was forced to consume every last drop of what he had to offer.
He reached forward and unlocked my hands from the chains. Pressing my own palm against my neck, I swallowed what was left in my mouth and felt the wounds he left heal under my skin.
“Now,” he said, burying his lips against my ear, “you have to come with me. Just until you finish Changing.”
When you read novels about us, you never really quite get the whole story. Our saliva is pure venom, yes, but it’s not enough to transform anyone into a Vampire. Just one bite will leave you dead. In reality, my Master, the one who Changed me, didn’t have to fuck me the way he did. It is the intense sexual nature that allows us to become Vampiric, but action is not needed. I’ve learned over the years how to do just that.
Only a man can complete the task it takes to create us Vampires. If you’re bitten by a Vampiress and fed her blood, you’ll die a slow, painful death. You’ll still be very much alive as your body literally rots from your bones. If a man completes her process, you’ll live and be Changed. Most likely than not, you were just used as food.
The power of three is what some like to call it. Our saliva is full of venomous toxins that immediately target your bloodstream directly to your heart causing your organs to fail. If that’s the only thing a Vampire has done, you’ll die rather quickly. Our blood is what we simply call the Vampiric disease. Your Master Vampire must first slice his bottom lip with his fangs to produce blood then transfer the blood to your fresh wound to stop organ failure. However, the Vampiric disease will cause your mortal body to decay while you lie paralyzed and alive. It is a Vampire’s semen, fed to the victim orally, that cures the body of the Vampiric disease, heals the bitten wound, and causes the Change.
Human semen has the ability to create new life, Vampiric semen does pretty much the same.
It takes the power of all three—saliva, blood, and semen—to create a Vampire or Vampiress. It’s a darkly, sexual act that can either save your life, or doom the victim to death. Luckily, I was Chosen to be saved. I thank my Master every day for doing just that.
Becoming like me is a gift beyond everyone’s wildest imagination. We are given intense physical and mental strength. We can move mountains with the tips of our fingers or answer any mathematical or scientific problem in a matter of seconds with our minds. It’s not that gift that I love the most, however. What I admire the most about the things I can do is the fact that I can smell human blood.
Blood. It’s the source of our survival. True, we will still live if we are cut off from blood supply completely, but we will lose all traces of the gifts we are given, our memories, and become the ruthless, murderous killers you find massacring entire towns in movies.
Given personal choice, we are either Angel or Demon. I? Well, I choose both.
The salty wind kicks up around us sending his scent my way. I inhale as much as I can and allow the copper of his blood to set in to me. He’s got the type of blood I like—innocent blood, tamed blood; the kind of blood that comes from a cautious boy who hasn’t dared try to blend in with society. I can smell the alcohol and that one drag of a joint he tried only once lace his blood, but other wise it’s transparent. From the scent of his blood I can tell you a variety of things. His name is Simon Chase. He’s twenty-two years old. He made A’s and B’s in high school and has yet to attend college. He lives alone down the road from his mother and father. He’s a single child.
And, the spark that catches my attention most, he’s practically a virgin. Sure, if I breathe deep enough I can catch the stench of experimentation he had with a girl when he was fourteen. If I breathe deep enough I can tell you everything that happened that night: It was in the back of his closet, she was far more experienced sucked his dick for only a few minutes before he blasted in her mouth. He didn’t even get to play with her vagina, not that it really mattered to him. Once he came, she cleaned her mouth with mouthwash then disappeared into the night. They never spoke again.
I breathe even deeper, sifting through the history written in his blood. He’s lived the life I’ve wished to live. He’s a hard worker, deserves every ounce of money he earns. He’s an honest guy; he does what he has to to get by in a world that no longer believes in the innocent. He’s kind, gentle, sweet, and overall adorable with the way his cool eyes look out over the water and his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. His bare feet sink down into the sand.
For a moment, I disregard targeting him and turning away. He’s not victim material at all. He deserves to wander this earth doing what he does and changing the people around him.
Remember when I said the Change is a dark, sexual act? Yeah, well, I’m not as decent as he is. Just as I start to turn away, he turns from the ocean and stares out over the beach. The Vampiric sexual monster in me triggers and I can see him crystal clear. His body is lean and well defined. He’s honey-colored everywhere but under his boxers where his skin lays a softer white. Right now, as I lick my lips once again and refuse to take my eyes off of him, I can see exactly what he looks like through his jeans. He’s hanging loose between his legs. He looks to be a little over three inches flaccid, a soft pink head mushroom shaped hanging to the left of his testicles.
He turns back to the ocean and shows me his ass, firm and rounded under his jeans.
Vampiric overdrive. I immediately begin to sweat, my palms shaking on top of the dank sand, my jeans growing tighter. The blood courses through my veins even though my heart doesn’t beat causing my flesh to burn.
I want him. I want now.
Closing my eyes, I try to decide whether I’ll use him for sexual pleasure or to Change him. I can see myself running to him, knocking him back in the sand, ripping his clothes from his body. He’ll scream as I go down on him, ripping his ass apart as I tear into him, digging further into his soul, my teeth resting on the side of his neck elongating into fangs before I bite his flesh…
In one swift motion, I’m on my feet and darting from the wooded area behind me. Running so fast, I cause dry sand found under the dank top to cloud into fog behind me. In the blink of an eye I stop, my hands shoved in my pockets like his, the sweat on my body dried from the run that lasted only a millisecond.
I tap him on his shoulder. “I never thought I’d see another person out here,” I say, my fangs withdrawing back so that my teeth appear humanly natural. I flash him a smile and rake my ginger hair back.
He offers a shy smile in return and turns back to the ocean. “It’s close to forty degrees out here,” he says, his voice just as innocent as his blood. “I wouldn’t suspect people to be wandering about.”
“You are,” I say back quickly, my tongue clicking on the top of my mouth. “So am I. You suspected wrong.”
He nods slowly, looking at me for only a second before his eyes scan the ocean once more.
“Name’s, uh,” I turn, cross my hands behind my back. I don’t know my name. Looking out over the flowing waves, I look at him out of the corner of my eyes and says, mischievously, “Most everyone calls me Predator. It’s funny, I know.”
“No,” he says back, pulling his hands from his pockets and wiping them in the air to warm them. “Predator sounds cool. I’m Simon.”
I know, I think to myself but nod my head instead. I take a deep breath and release it as a sigh. “Salty air is the best, don’t you think?” The line is as cheesy as it gets, but it suits me. What’s really going through my head is the scent of his blood, mere inches from my body, flowing as easily as any through his veins. The scent is just as innocent here as it was when I hid in the woods; it smells as sweet as the ripest strawberry on a warm, summer day in the South. This close to him, I don’t even smell his experimentations.
My mouth waters and the fangs threaten to reappear behind my closed lips.
Simon turns his gaze toward me for a moment, then smiles. “Yeah,” he says, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” I reply, eager to hear what he has to ask.
“Why do they call you Predator?”
A wicked smile plays along my lips.
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