vampire for hire 02.5 - vampire nights (3 page)

“So she asked you to suck blood from her neck?”

Aaron nodded. “I told her no and that she was drunk and high, and she said fine and started getting up off my lap. But I didn’t want her to get up from my lap. I wasn’t, you know, finished yet....”

The young man actually blushed, and the attorney silently approved.
Blushing shows the jury you’re still human, Aaron.
“So what did you do next?”

So Aaron told him. He told them all. And as he spoke, his voice grew stronger and he sat a little straighter. And as he spoke, his teeth showed more and more, flashing brilliantly in the muted lights of the courtroom....

He didn’t want Annie to get up off his lap. He liked her just where she was, and so he told her, yes, he would suck from her neck. He would, in fact, drink her blood. She squealed and clapped and gave him a kiss so big that it had literally taken his breath away. And as he was left gasping for air, she lowered herself back down upon him, back down into his lap, and Aaron thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Were you a virgin up to this point, Aaron?”

“Yes.”

The attorney nodded. “Tell us what happened next.”

So Aaron did. With Annie on his lap, rocking slowly and rhythmically, he had pulled aside her pitch-black hair, exposing the smooth sweep of her delicate neck, a neck that was now slick with sweat. Immediately, he found himself enchanted by the hypnotic throb of her carotid artery. Never before had he drank from another. Never before had he tasted another’s blood.

This would be another first in a night of firsts, and his excitement was nearly overwhelming. Annie must have sensed his excitement, must have felt it deep inside her, for she gasped and moaned and rode him even harder.

The throbbing in her neck picked up in tempo. Her slick skin reflected some of the distant ambient street lights. The rapid pulsing in her neck glinted like a strobing light. Like a beacon. Beckoning him....

He lowered his mouth to that smooth, sweeping, gleaming neck, pulling back his lips and fully exposing his God-given fangs. Saliva formed under his tongue, threatening to spill out of his mouth, and as he drew closer to her neck, the beating vein disappeared from view and so he went solely on feel. On instinct.

First the tips of his teeth brushed her skin lightly. At the slight sensation, Annie trembled almost violently. Aaron could feel her excitement, literally washing over him.

“Do it,” she whispered hoarsely in his ear. “Now.”

He positioned his teeth over the pulsating vein and slowly applied pressure. Annie stiffened briefly, but continued thrusting against him. He applied more pressure. Now she gasped, paused briefly, but picked up speed again. He applied further pressure, biting hard into her soft neck, his own saliva spilling out and dribbling down her throat.

She ground her hips against his own. He heard her breathing through clenched teeth. She was in pain. And loving it.

Finally his teeth punched through, piercing her flesh and artery. Annie cried out. Blood filled his mouth, gushing in as if he had wrapped his mouth around a garden house.

Annie didn’t stop riding him; indeed, she heaved herself against him, faster and harder than ever. It was all he could do to keep her from bucking free, to keep his teeth from inadvertently tearing open her neck.

Aaron could barely keep up with the flow of blood. He swallowed great quantities of it, mouthful after sweet mouthful. Like a hungry babe drinking from his mother’s teat. The warmth of her precious hemoglobin spread through him, coating his esophagus, his stomach. His lips. And now some of it began to spill free. Down her neck, down over her bare shoulders and breasts.

And still she continued to thrust. Her powerful movements rocked him, but not enough for him to lose his grip on her neck. Oh no. Like a pit bull, he held firm.

And still he drank.

Her blood was sweet and salty and coppery. It tasted far different than his own. He hadn’t expected that. A pleasant surprise.

God, she tasted so damned good. So
perfect
.

Aaron couldn’t imagine a more intimate encounter: two people connected in so many ways. His heart soared. His love for Annie soared. He loved her for letting him drink from her. He loved her for accepting him for who he was. He loved her in so many ways....

He sat back now in the witness chair, words escaping him. Tears flooded his eyes. He didn’t bother to control them. He didn’t care what others thought of him. Not anymore.

Aaron’s attorney was standing before the witness box, hands folded loosely in front of him, handsome face somber and bone-pale.

“But you went too far, didn’t you Aaron?” asked his attorney.

Aaron nodded. And he kept on nodding....

He had known he had to stop sucking her. He had never consumed this much blood before. Too much. And so much of it was spilling out now, flowing down her back and chest, puddling in his lap, soaking into his car seat.

But he couldn’t stop.

Making love to her felt so good, so amazingly perfect—especially while simultaneously drinking her down—

That’s when she started hitting him, beating his shoulders and back, scratching him, clawing him, begging him to stop. But he couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.

Not now.
He was so close....

He felt his own blood streaming down his back, pouring from the deep furrows dug from her black nails. And still he sucked. And still he drank. She had been fighting hard, but now she was losing her strength, her resistance weakening.

She fought him to the very end, beating weakly against his back, begging him to stop. But no amount of clawing or screaming or begging would stop him now. And now he was aware of her heartbeat growing fainter and fainter. Less and less blood was pumping into his mouth. His stomach was painfully full.

She’s dying,
he thought.
You have to stop.

But he didn’t.
Couldn’t.
He was so close to climaxing. So tantalizingly close....

Finally she quit hitting his back, her hands falling limply to her side, and when her blood ceased to pump into his mouth, Aaron Parker the American Vampire climaxed mightily, powerfully, exploding into her.

He was certain she had died the instant he came.

His words hung in the courtroom, echoing faintly, like the sound of Annie’s heartbeat just minutes before she had passed. Another woman was holding Annie’s mother tightly, who now sobbed soundlessly into her shoulder.

The attorney crossed his arms in front of his chest and studied the young man in front of him. “You didn’t mean to kill her, did you Aaron?”

“No.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

“With all my heart.”

“And do you miss her?”

“Every minute,” said Aaron. “Of every day.”

“Aaron, do you believe you are a vampire?”

Aaron didn’t move. Not at first. But then the left corner of his lip curled up, revealing a small section of the mammoth tusk that hung from his upper jaw. The young man nodded, and kept on nodding.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Very much so.”

*  *  *

Aaron Parker was sentenced to life in a high-security mental institution. Having saved the young man’s life, the attorney had done his job and was pleased, although he would forever be known as that
vampire’s attorney
, something he would later regret.

A month after sentencing, a sedated Aaron Parker was hauled into the asylum’s dental office, a creepy room located in the far corner of its vast basement. The single chair was commonly known as the “torture chair” by the asylum’s residents. After all, any patient with a tendency of biting the staff was subjected to the removal of all of his or her teeth.

And Aaron had a hell of a tendency to bite.

After an hour of strenuous work, an exhausted dentist held up two extraordinarily long canines, both of which would later be purchased by a popular occult museum in Hollywood, where they were proudly displayed in a polyurethane case near the bones of the Elephant Man.

A month after the removal of Aaron’s canine teeth, a guard at the asylum was found dead at his desk, his neck having been thoroughly chewed through, nearly decapitating the man. There was surprisingly little blood found at the scene.

Seven months later, the occult museum was robbed, too, its owner killed on-site in a similar fashion. The only items stolen were the vampire’s two fangs.

The whereabouts of Aaron Parker, aka the American Vampire, aka Fang, are unknown to this day....

The End

Vampire Nights

It was late and I was at a Denny’s.

Other than a creepy old man sitting alone at the counter who occasionally glanced at me, no one seemed to notice that I had been crying. I ordered a steak, very rare, and was now using a spoon to sip some of the blood that had pooled around the meat. I left the meat itself untouched.

A rowdy group of high schoolers sat in the far corner of the restaurant. Late night at Denny’s was, as I understood it, part of the partying circuit. Cruise through a handful of parties, then hit a Denny’s late at night and make drunken asses of yourselves.

Tonight, however, I found their laughing and snorting and general mayhem somewhat comforting. They were buzzing with life and energy, with expectations, hopes and dreams. Granted, the extent of their hopes and dreams might not have extended further than, say, getting laid tonight or their next buzz. Still, a dream was a dream, and these kids were overflowing with them.

I used to dream.

The creepy old man slowly got up from the counter, paused as if debating something, and then headed straight over to me.
Great.
I seriously did not want company tonight. I certainly did not want to listen to the incoherent ramblings of a deranged and damaged mind. I inwardly, and even outwardly, groaned.

“May I sit?” he asked pleasantly, motioning toward the seat across from me, showing no signs that he had heard my grown.

He didn’t sound drunk. He sounded, if anything, lucid and friendly. Still, now was not a good night. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone.”

“Being alone with one’s thoughts is most advantageous, but I will be leaving soon and thought that maybe we could chat for a few minutes before I do so.”

Leaving soon was good. I looked at him, willing him to leave with my mind, but he didn’t. I shrugged, and he next began the long process of sitting in the booth opposite me. I think one of the kids in the far corner had gotten up to pee and returned again before the old man had finally sat. Yes, that was an exaggeration. No, it wasn’t that far off. I think he might have had a trick hip or a bum knee, or both.

“My name’s Jack,” he said, smiling serenely.

“Sam,” I said,
not
smiling serenely. Or even pleasantly. Or at all.

There was a hint of body odor to him. Not overwhelmingly bad, but evident. His clothes looked old, too, but not particularly ratty. A smudge of dirt was on his cheek, and there was a hint of a food stain over his shirt pocket. Ketchup maybe. Or blood. He was either homeless or damn close to it.

I sniffed. No, not blood. Definitely not blood.

“So what are you doing out so late, Jack?” I asked, since he was just sitting there and staring at me. He didn’t make me feel comfortable. Very few people could ever make me feel comfortable. If anything, I tended to make them squirm these days.

He said, “You could say I’m a creature of the night.”

My breath caught in my throat and I’m sure my eyes narrowed a little, but he kept smiling pleasantly at me and didn’t seem to intend any double meaning to his words.

“And what about you, Sam?” he asked, still smiling. “What are you doing out so late?”

“Oh, I’m definitely a creature of the night,” I said, although I’m not sure why I said it. Surely no one would see the truth to my words. I was just making a little joke, pleasantly playing on the old man’s own words. Still, I rarely joked about such things. And why I did now was still mystery to me.

He nodded but made no comment. He glanced down at the untouched bloody steak in front of me but made no comment. He then looked up at me with such compassion and warmth in his eyes that my breath caught in my throat. If I wasn’t already cold, I think a shiver might have coursed through me.

He knows,
I suddenly thought.

He continued looking at me. He continued smiling and holding my gaze. A distant memory tugged at me. Very, very distant. I was suddenly certain I knew him.

You’re crazy,
I thought.

“You’re not crazy,” he said quietly. “You’re just confused and hurt and lonely.”

I sat up, suddenly alarmed. The man, I was certain, had just read my thoughts.

“The ability to read thoughts is in each of us,” he said. “This ability, sadly, has been forgotten. Or, rather, suppressed.”

“Who are you?” I asked. My voice sounded distant and weak and scared.

“Just a friend,” he said. “And you, Sam, are a vampire.”

* * *

We were walking outside.

The night was cool and the partial moon hung just above the nearby Chuck E. Cheese’s. Only a handful of the brightest stars penetrated the Southern California smog.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I know things,” he said. “I know a lot of things. And so do you. So does everyone. The knowledge is always inside us. Forgotten, but there.”