Page 2 of Her Vampire

Perhaps the amulet, buried in the far north in a frozen cave for protection, was a joke, the sorcerers’ final jest for the last vampyr, or vampire, as we came to be known later.

Vampire.

Our legend survived in books and later films and television shows, and it was quite amusing to me, in the beginning, to watch how the mortal species fawned over us.

Over me.

Because there is only me now.

I sigh and step back from the edge of the roof.

I’ll spend the night in my study, reading, as I spend so many nights. Or perhaps I will run a circuit in the gym. I could have my private jet take me anywhere in the world, but I’ve seen everything, lived everything. I’m not tired, because I cannot be tired. But I am bored, so achingly fucking bored.

I leap down the balcony and start walking toward the door that will lead into my building. The rain has stopped. It was just a shower. And now it’s passed.

I pause.

For the first time in hundreds of years, I feel the blood-lust trying to creep into my body. My fangs tingle and every muscle in me tenses as I stand there, head tilted, scenting something in the air.

No, not something, someone.

I can scent her, her, I can fucking scent her a mile or two away, her gorgeous sweet smell riding the wind and blooming in my chest like a promise.

The scent of the mortal race is ever-present in the city, surrounding me at all times, and I’ve long ago learned to ignore it lest I want to drive myself insane. But there’s something different about this woman. There’s a primal invitation in her scent, a sweet, welcoming tone. I can feel her blood rushing around her body, so vital and alive, and a deeper need inside of her.

I can smell her womb.

Could it be her?

I don’t have a choice. I have to follow the scent.

I take what I need to appear more human and run back to the edge of the roof and walk along the edge, the wind trying to knock me over every step of the way. I walk to the edge where I know the alleyway is below, the private alleyway I’ve had installed for this very purpose.

Nobody but me knows of its existence, otherwise I might risk some innocent mortal standing there when I leap down one-hundred floors and land in the devastated cement.

The air rushes past me as I fall, bent into a practiced crouch. I land and feel the reverberation pound through my knees and my body. Cement flies into the air and hits the walls all around me. I climb out of the stony hole and then brush my thumb against the hidden access pad, opening a corridor that leads to the city.

I move quickly, a chorus of blood rushing in my ears.

I need to calm down.

I can’t let the blood-lust take me.

It hasn’t taken me for two-hundred years when I decided that I’d never feed, that I’d forgo the pleasure and the captivity of blood. Others of my kind said it was impossible, before the war, when there were others left. But it’s not. It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible.

I burst onto the street and take in another breath of her.

Then I duck my head and run, the lights of the city becoming blurred conflagrations all around me. I stick mainly to the road, ducking between cars like a motorcycle. I move far too quickly for anybody to know I’m there. If they see anything, it’s a shimmer in the light, passing like a mirage and then I’m gone.

The closer I get, the fiercer her scent becomes, until it’s all around me, inside of me, filling me with a greater sense of purpose than I’ve felt since I was a mortal. I have to stop and lean against a wall, gritting my teeth, when I feel the blood-lust welling up from inside of me.

My seed. I need to put my seed inside of her.

But that’s impossible. My kind cannot mate, cannot procreate. We are dead.

But the amulet … the amulet can turn me into a mortal man.

Is she the one?

“So this is fun, isn’t it, Chipper?” her voice sings as she walks past me.

The street is quiet, lit with low street lamps.

The woman passes, shrouded in a big jacket with a little dog walking happily at her side. The dog is a Dachshund, one of those sausage dogs with a long body and short legs. Tan in color, it looks up at the woman with complete devotion.

My mouth falls open as I recede into the darkness of the doorway and watch her pass.

My fangs tingle and then spring into sharpness, something they haven’t done involuntarily in generations.

She has a curvy body, a beautiful thick voluptuous body that her shrouding clothes can do nothing to hide. Her legs are thick in her jeans and her hips push the bottom of her winter coat out. Her breasts are mounds I’d delight in sucking, rubbing her pink nipples, making them hard so that she sings out her pleasure. Her luxurious oaken hair spills out from a winter hat, over her shoulders, glistening in the eerie autumn light.

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