Колин Глисон: The Vampire Voss

It was a matter of a breath before he arrived in the engulfing shadows that, nevertheless, appeared to him only like green haze mottled with gray. Although the details were obscured, he could still clearly see shapes and some texture in the dark. His fangs he kept retracted and he knew his eyes glowed faintly, but he didn’t allow them to burn very hot. Not yet.

The muffled sounds of struggle filtered through the silence and Voss smiled in anticipation. Just a bit of a diversion before the propriety of the ball.

He moved so silently and quickly that the man had no sense of his presence until Voss closed his fingers over the scruff of his jacket and hoisted him up and away from his prey. Nearly twice his size, the attacker flailed with a meaty arm, attempting to whirl about as Voss propelled him through the air like a child’s ball. He landed against a rough brick wall with a satisfying thump as Voss turned to the woman.

Blood scented the air—thick and full and tempting. It had, after all, been two days since he’d fed. Voss drew in a breath of pleasure and looked down at her. In the greenish-glowing dimness, he took note of her wide eyes and her dress—a frock that he could see was of decent quality. The daughter of a tradesman perhaps, or a servant, but certainly not a beggar or even a whore. Her clothing and grooming were much too nice.

She gaped at him, staggering back into the wall behind her as she stumbled away, clearly frightened of everything, including her rescuer.

Voss heard the noise behind him as the heavy man struggled to his feet, but he ignored it and instead spoke to the woman. “A bit dark down in here, isn’t it, m’dear?”

Her neck and the expanse of her bosom gleamed pale in the dimness and he saw blood trailing from a cut on her cheek. It was still fresh; glistening and raw and its scent teased him. A young woman’s blood, cut with fear, rich and sweet. He could already taste it.

Her mouth moved but nothing came out, yet Voss stepped closer, reaching for her arm. “Come,” he said. “You don’t want to stay here.” He turned just as she gasped in alarm, his arm whipping out to crash solidly into the other man, who’d lunged at them.

One effortless slash against the attacker’s gut, then an elbow smashing into the side of his head, and this time the man collapsed like a stone. The aroma of his blood filled the air, heavy and metallic. And plentiful.

Voss wasn’t even tempted.

During this additional altercation, Voss hadn’t loosened his grip on the woman’s arm, and now he turned back to coax her. “Come now,” he said again, leaning closer to get a better whiff of her bloodscent. Lovely. “He won’t bother you again. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

She made a whimpering sound, and he banked the glow of his eyes. He’d kept his fangs sheathed all this time; there was no reason to frighten her any further. He had other methods, and he preferred an at least somewhat willing partner. Once she understood that pleasure awaited, she’d be willing and ready.

He’d already stripped off his gloves, and now, with a bare finger, he reached out and swiped the blood from her cheek. His skin seemed to heat as the liquid touched his flesh, and he brought his finger to his lips. A delicate taste, just there on his mouth…warm, but a bit thin. Not as sweet as he’d expected, or hoped. But pleasant enough. It would do.

She was still gaping up at him with frantic eyes and Voss tugged her closer. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, and deftly shifted so his foot brushed against hers.

So simple, so easy. He allowed his eyes to shift and beckon, and felt her tension ease as he captured her gaze, just enough to take the edge off her panic. Even in this dim light, he could find the center of a mortal, he could tug and coax and lead.…

She stumbled a bit and he moved closer, still holding the eye contact. “I want to taste you.”

Her breath stuttered and she stared at him, her hand trembling against her throat. Her lips parted but nothing came out.

“May I?” he asked, but he was already moving in. Closer. The warmth of her breath puffed against him, buffeting his mouth, the smell of bloodscent filling his nose. He smiled. Then he released and loosened the thrall he had cast upon her so that she knew what he was about to do.

So she would feel the pleasure.

She softened and her eyes fluttered.

His fangs had emerged and he showed them to her. “It won’t hurt,” he murmured, lifting her arm, smoothing away the sleeve of her frock. Then in a burst of ferocity, he changed his mind and reached for her shoulders. She muttered and shifted, and he pulled away to look at her. A bit of fear leaped there… fear and an edge of curiosity and desire. The glamouring, the thrall, was no longer necessary: he saw only clear need and question. He smiled and bent to her neck.

She stiffened and gasped in shock as his fangs sank in, down into the soft flesh.

Ah. The blood, the sweet flood of it, the smell and taste of iron and fear and naked desire poured through him. His veins surged and filled, his body heated and the familiar throb lifted his cock. She trembled, shuddered, her hands against his shoulders. Whether she were pushing him away or merely steadying herself, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t care.

When he wanted, he took.

She moaned against him, suddenly soft, suddenly pressing her body all along his. The curve of her breasts and the swell of her arse were tempting and he pulled away from her neck long enough to smother her mouth with his. Heat mixed with the heavy iron of her lifeblood. She shuddered beneath his kiss, her lips opening and the warm sleek thrust of her tongue shared the blood on his lips.

That was the way of it. They always wanted more.

And for the Dracule, it was a dual-pronged need: the desire for hot, sweet, life-sustaining blood combined inextricably with sexual desire. One fed the other: the dual penetrations, the heat and sensuality, the sleek, pulsing sensations, the intimate tastes and scents. Although it was possible, a Dracule rarely indulged in one without the other. Why bother?

She shifted so that her hips moved against him, little gasps and sighs coming from deep in her throat as he returned to feeding, to drawing the pulsing blood from her throat in the same primitive rhythm of coitus. The girl shuddered, vibrating with desire, her fingers curling into his arms.

Voss fed, drawing deep and hard. He breathed in her heated scent, felt the tremors in her torso and her weight suddenly sag between him and the wall. He knew when to stop, and he pulled away. Reluctantly. His cock raged, needing to finish things off. In response to the interruption, Voss felt the familiar warning twinge on the back of his shoulder.

The girl looked up at him with vacant eyes and he kissed her parted lips in a brief thank you. Then he bent back to the four little wounds on her neck and licked them delicately, slipping his tongue into and around the little indentations to ensure the spread of his healing saliva. After all, he’d just saved her life. It would be a bit of a kick in the face to let her die so soon after.

Just as he was finishing and setting her weak-kneed body up against the wall, Voss heard a noise behind him.

“What in the bloody hell?”

Eddersley.

“Hell, Dewhurst. Can’t keep ’em sheathed for more than a few hours, can you?” His friend tsked. Of course, if it were a handsome, muscled young man in the alley, Eddersley would have been unsheathing his own incisors without delay. He’d even looked Voss’s way more than once—but that had been decades ago, when they’d first met at one of Cale’s parties in Paris.

Voss smiled, still feeling the pleasure. “When the opportunity presents itself, why not? She enjoyed it as much as I. Or at least, that’s how she’ll remember it.” As she tensed, he curled his fingers around her arm so the girl couldn’t run off before he was through with her. “You can still join me.”