I want a vampire valentine.
No sparkling. No brooding. No perfectly conditioned hair, but a true vampire valentine. I want a vampire who is in love with the one thing I have to offer that is more precious than anything– blood. I want a vampire who isn’t afraid to be who he is. He drinks blood. From humans. And he isn’t sorry about it. He doesn’t go out in the day because he’ll burst into flames. He doesn’t have a fireplace because he’s afraid that he’ll burn. He lives in a dark, damp castle, not an ultra-modern abode. He has a funny accent and razor sharp teeth. He can fly, turn to mist and control the creatures of the night. He never drinks… wine. He’s a real, honest to God, vampire valentine.
Give me Count Vlad, David, Jerry, Varney and Nosferatu. They may not have perfect hair, but they still have their balls. Much like the star of my current WIP, Seth. Seth is a vampire that dates back to the pharoahs. He’s in love with his mate, but make no mistake– when he sees you in an alley, you’re just a cheeseburger.
Willow tensed at his words and he pulled her to him. “The pain lasts only a moment,” he whispered, his lips moving softly against the puckered skin of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckled gently at first, worrying it to a swollen bud until she gasped. Only then did he prick the edge of the areola with his teeth. The wound was miniscule and she barely noticed the sting until the tiny pearl of blood appeared. Pulling back from her, he purred deep in his throat upon seeing the deep red rivulets that ran down the side of her breast, following the curving silhouette of her body. Before it could reach the sheets below, he swooped down and captured the drops with his tongue, then lapping at the precious fluid. Willow moaned, her heart beating faster. She knew she should be afraid, but she was lost in the sensations he created. He kissed his way back up her torso, alighting on her other breast and biting down hard. She cried out, instinctively trying to push him away. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the pillow behind her head. She groaned and struggled, but he was much too strong for her. Closing his mouth over the breast fully, he sucked at the wound until it was bleeding heavily down her front. She watched with eyes, blurry with tears, as the thickening sanguine fluid stained her skin. He drank deeply for a few moments, then tore himself away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Strangely, she didn’t feel drained as she’d thought she would. Only this heaviness that had settled into her extremities, keeping her still as he slid away from her. “Is that it?” she croaked sleepily, thinking that perhaps she’d been afraid for nothing.
He gave a dark chuckle as he stood up at the side of the bed. A smear of her blood stood out as a harsh streak of black against his skin. “Patience, little one,” he purred, pulling at the button on his jeans. “I’ve only just begun. Such a delicious delicacy should be savored, not devoured in one sitting.” She shuddered visibly and he chuckled again, pushing the restricting fabric over his narrow hips and down until he stood before her, a vision of male perfection. His body seemed to be carved of stone, every muscle standing out in harsh relief under his skin. The bones of his pelvis crossed over his hips, drawing her eye down to his cock which stood out impressively, giving away his own lust. Willow smiled, feeling somewhat empowered by this show of arousal. She wanted to sit up and go to him, but her body was so heavy. She felt as if he’d restrained her, but there were no bonds. Seth threw his head back, his black hair spilling over his shoulders as he inhaled her scent on the air. “Fucking hell, Willow,” he sighed. “Your scent… so much fear, so much desire… it’s like a drug.” He climbed back into the bed, kneeling between her outstretched legs. “I fear that once I start, I won’t be able to stop,” he murmured, grasping the waistband of the pants she wore. With a growl he pulled at them until they were ripped completely open and he could jerk them down her legs. “A thousand years of practice and you have me behaving like a fledgling.”
“I’m… I’m sorry…” she stammered, biting her lip as his fingers brushed her thighs.
He leaned over her, kissing just below her navel and swirling his tongue around it. “You’re not sorry,” he replied, opening his mouth wider and grazing the warm skin with his teeth, opening another bloody gash. It dribbled slowly down, pooling in the crease above her mound. She could feel the warm wetness and she reached down to touch it, but he slapped her hand away. With the flat of his tongue he licked at the blood, tasting it and purring with satisfaction. It wet his lips and when he looked up at her, he looked like a sinister harlequin with his painted mouth.
In case you’re curious, here are some stalking grounds:
The Southern Belle from Hell: https://lexxxchristian.wordpress.com/