Rogue Vampires - Vampires Aren't Real Part 5

"Never mind. Think back. You'll remember. The dying are always given one final gift before they set sail down the River Styx. Er, before they kick the tin pail or whatever. So how about it, big boy?"

You can probably see where I was going. If you don't, wait for it.

Warren's frown deepened. He lifted up and sat back on his heels. "What do you want?"

He didn't quite understand, no, but Dusty broke into giggles which sounded downright spine-chilling coming out through his new fangs. "Bet I know what she wants. She's asking for a show."

Vampire Dusty? A lot sharper of a tack than human Dusty. Something to worry about later, if there was a later, but at the moment his insight suited me fine. I kept my back to the wall but spread my legs to display my p.u.s.s.y. Dry as a blade of bone -- thinking you're about to die doesn't generally get the old juices flowing -- but still, p.u.s.s.y on parade. I slid a finger between my folds and faked a lazy, hopefully sensual smile. "One good o.r.g.a.s.m before I tumble off the mortal coil. For old times' sake. What d'you say?"

Warren narrowed his eyes. I think he might have been figuring out what I was up to, but even though he was smarter now Dusty still worked on impulse, and after my little display he'd changed modes from feed to f.u.c.k. He rose to the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and glided up to join Warren. "Get up, handsome," he ordered, toeing Warren in the ribs. More of a kick, to be precise. "The lady wants a show. I want your a.s.s. Want to ream you out until we blow our minds. Stuff you so full of c.o.c.k you split open." He'd been pulling Warren to his feet as he spoke, his voice dropping into a throaty whisper which did get me damp, G.o.d help me. I'm such a horndog.

Er. No pun intended.

As Dusty spoke dirty to him, Warren's own switch tripped over. Red eyes glowed like fire alarms and he showed off his fangs. "Who says you get to be on top?"

"I do." Dusty spun Warren around and nearly KO'd him with a sharp pop to the solar plexus. Warren didn't need to breathe, but forgot when he hit the floor. A corpse struggling to catch the breath he doesn't have sounds like water gurgling in clogged pipes. Not pleasant. Dusty followed Warren down, landing on hands and knees, pinning my big Marine type easy as a b.u.t.terfly to a display board. "Roll over and spread 'em."

Warren snarled. Dusty snarled louder and slapped Warren's face hard enough to leave fingerprints, a pretty impressive feat for the bloodless. Actually, an impossible one. Then again, Dusty always did have his own special ways.

"Turn. Over."

Warren lunged up, fangs snapping shut on empty air. Dusty slammed his knee into Warren's b.a.l.l.s and pancake-flipped the man -- vampire -- himself while he did the gurglegurglegurgle thing again.

Female juices off. These weren't the guys I knew. Nothing left but stone-cold killers wearing the faces of my lovers. The thought of jilling off to this kind of violence turned me colder than Popsicles in an Alaskan winter.

Good luck on my part, they'd all but forgotten about me. Dusty had one hand on the back of Warren's head, forcing his nose into the dirty cellar floor. He'd dropped his voice to a level only a were could pick up at that distance, whispering things fit to make a sailor blush. Where he'd learned to talk that way, I didn't know, but geez, he'd have made a hooker want to wash his mouth out with lye soap.

Apparently Warren didn't mind. He bucked up, trying to throw Dusty off, and I got a good eyeful of his ma.s.sive hard-on. As I had seen earlier, he'd definitely grown. And as I saw now, when Dusty punched Warren's skull hard enough to daze even a vampire and got into position between Warren's legs, I noted that Dusty too -- who'd already had the length and girth men would have killed to possess -- had enlarged to a downright frightening size.

Eeee. The thought of having his new and improved monster inside got me damp again. Ever wish your c.u.n.t would make up its mind about whether or not something's s.e.xy or scary? If you have, you're not alone.

Horndog moment deux. I started dripping, p.u.s.s.y lips swelling, as Dusty prepared to drill for oilgasm.

Oil. Oh, s.h.i.+t. Oil. "Lube!" I yelled, withdrawing dripping fingers which had found their way down to tease my throbbing c.l.i.t. "For the love of sweet mercy, use lube, you morons!"

Dusty ignored me. Kind of a stupid demand, anyway, since I didn't see any in the cellar and you can bet your a.s.s Vlad wouldn't have left a supply. He turned t.i.t for tat back on Warren, driving in dry. The key difference this time around the block? When they both howled, it was nothing but pure glee. They got off on the pain. Vamps do, when they're in the mood. It's a thing. Not a pleasant thing, but them's the facts.

Maybe it was my own inner animal nature kicking in, but watching my men go at it no holds barred, chained or padlocked got me hotter than a bonfire in summertime Bronx. I couldn't stop myself from rubbing faster, harder, slipping on my own cream, drizzling a swear-to-Bob honest puddle on the cellar floor beneath me. I could feel my own o.r.g.a.s.m coming on, one big mother of a climax, the kind that, once you'd ridden out the wave, would leave you ready to die happy because there's no better way to go.

Uh-oh. Last request, indeed.

Still couldn't stop f.u.c.king myself with my own fingers, pumping two in and out, catching Dusty's rhythm as he pounded into Warren's mostly-virginal a.s.s. They made noises like orcs going through a meat grinder, happy howls of agony, Warren humping up as Dusty thrust in.

They changed position when I wasn't expecting them to. Dusty, c.o.c.k still in Warren's a.s.s, dragged them both up into a kneel. He got one hand around Warren's p.o.r.n-worthy b.o.n.e.r and yanked almost hard enough to tear the man's -- vampire's -- poor willie clean off. Did the job, though. Warren let loose with a marrow-freezing shriek and shot s.p.u.n.k halfway across the room, cool splatters landing on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, belly and p.u.s.s.y.

I dare you not to blow your lid in the face of such pure, raw s.e.x. I came, oh, yeah, did I ever come, everything going pure white as my mind went bye-bye and my body shook, rattled and rolled through the biggest O of all big O's. Not really aware of anything besides my own waves of ecstasy, I did hear Dusty's howl of triumph and knew what it meant.

At the peak of climax, I didn't care.

When I came down, panting for breath, which I was ent.i.tled to as I still needed oxygen, my fingers trailed out of my c.u.n.t as I struggled to focus on Dusty and Warren. Wish I hadn't. They were finis.h.i.+ng up their s.e.x-fest with a refres.h.i.+ng drink. Dusty's fangs were buried in the previously un-wounded side of Warren's neck, and Warren's teeth were sunk deep in Dusty's wrist, which he must have dragged up to his mouth.

They didn't get much. Duh. Bad on them for being stupid.

Worse for me when they realized a nice, fully-stocked snack was right there for the taking. Dusty pulled out of Warren's a.s.s with a jerk and they rose way too gracefully to their feet. Eyes aglow, they made for me in perfect sync, ready for a real feast.

I knew my number was up. Warren reached me first, scuffing a hole through the silver powder easy as a spoon through cheesecake. I could get out of there then -- yay. Staying in would have been better, especially if they'd had to stay out. Ya don't always get what you wish for, though, do you?

Warren hauled me to my feet, bracketing me between his own body and Dusty's. They were cold as glaciers, hard as marble, and had breath that smelled like snakes and blood. They hissed, opening their mouths, each taking one side of my throat like proper gentlemen share and sharing alike.

Fine. This was my stop. I knew I was getting off, not in the fun way, and permanently, but I couldn't go without a real goodbye even if they wouldn't understand at the moment. I raised my arms, cupping the back of each vampire's head, thought about the good times, cursed my impulse for a night on the town, and whispered: "I love you, Warren. I love you, Dusty. Forever and always."

Twin tears ran down both my cheeks. Then, I wound up, took aim, and popped them in the backs of their heads as hard as I could, which for a werewolf is pretty d.a.m.n hard.

"Ow!"

"Ow!"

They could have really savaged me then for the sake of revenge.

I think, though, that was what snapped them back to the real world. Rubbing the backs of their noggins, Dusty and Warren both paused, sniffing the air.

The p.r.i.c.kle of fangs lifted from my throat. Curious tongues tickled up the drops of salt water I'd shed.

And by d.a.m.n, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself, but when they tasted my tears both Dusty and Warren yelped, swore, and jumped away from me as if I were made of garlic and festooned with crucifixes.

Ookay, never seen anything like that before. I didn't exactly know what to do except look from one to the other, trying to figure out what had happened. Warren looked baffled, but Dusty, my sweet Dusty, fought his way to the other side fast and sweet. His eyes faded from red to their normal sweet blue. "Oh, G.o.d," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his ribs. "Gilly."

Good sign. Good, good sign. "It's me, Dusty. I'm here."

"Gilly, I was about to... oh, f.u.c.k, I was... I wanted..."

I wanted to hug him so badly. "Shh. It's okay. You didn't. That's what matters."

"Forgive me?"

How could I say no? Fine, fine, I should have turned him down flat and scrambled for my life, but what can I say? Dead, undead, human, vampire, I still did love him.

Warren too, and when I glanced at Warren his red lamps had gone cocoa brown. He looked like he was going to be sick but was way too macho to actually let himself heave. "I taste blood. Sticky in my mouth." He swallowed hard. "And I remember everything. That crazy cape-wearing b.a.s.t.a.r.d bit me and drank my blood. I was thinking what the f.u.c.k?, of all the s.h.i.+t to go through your mind when you're being murdered, when he sliced his wrist and pushed it against my mouth. Then, nothing, until I woke up and we tried to kill you too. G.o.d. Gilly, 'sorry' doesn't cover it." He patted down his naked body, hunting for what I knew he wouldn't find. No pulse. No breath sounds. On the other hand, plenty of panic struggling for place with macho pride. "Gilly, what happened to us? What kind of monsters did he turn us into?"

"Vampires," Vlad replied, sliding so effortlessly out of a super-shadowy corner of the cellar that I knew he'd been there all along. I might have counted on him having a f.u.c.king flair for drama. He lurked there, all but scorching the scenery with his scary-monster vibe. "You're vampires, my beautiful boys. You're my new pets." He grinned, showing off his own fangs, displaying the kind of b.e.s.t.i.a.lly smug glee that made me want to chew the grin off his face. "You've tasted my blood, and you're under my control. The little werewolf knows I'm telling the truth. Don't you, Fido?"

f.u.c.k. I looked back at Dusty and Warren to see they'd gone slack-jawed and empty-eyed, swaying just the way Vlad wanted them to.

"You see?" Vlad snickered. "Such beautiful creatures of the night. I have a job for you, boys, pets, and then I'll take you out to feed and f.u.c.k your way through the night. First, we're going to play."

I had a bad feeling about what he was going to say next.

Good hunch on my part, because his command, short and to the point, turned out to be: "When we're done playing -- you're going to kill her."

Chapter Six.

"Friends. Gentlemen, ladies." Vlad snickered. "Sorry. Just one lady present. An easy mistake to make. There's so much of her I thought we had at least two women in the room."

Remember my urge to kill him? Getting stronger by the minute.

"So good of me to join you," he went on as he strode between me and my men. Pfft. Drama queen. The weirdo had switched out his semi-sw.a.n.ky duds for a pair of once-black jeans washed soft charcoal gray and a loose black silk turtleneck.

He'd probably been trying for "cool." He looked more like the love child of a beatnik and Elvira.

The shadows in the room didn't hide the insane glint in his eyes. He glittered with malice like a twisted Tinker Bell fooling around in her bag of pixie dust. This guy was mad, bad, and dangerous to know. He had also whipped Dusty and Warren back into a thrall and wound them around his pinky without breaking a sweat (okay, vampires don't sweat; it's a figure of speech), ignoring me except for the slam about my size.

I really, really hate cracks about my weight, so I decided it was time to show him my literal inner b.i.t.c.h.

Free of the circle, I felt that good old achoo! all through my bones and muscles, rattling me from the shape of a plump, naked coppertop to a snarling, slavering wolf with plenty of pointy bits.

Vlad could have read my mind and known what I was planning. He didn't. I don't know why. c.o.c.kiness?

To be properly dramatic I should have raised my muzzle and given Vlad a warning howl, at which point he would have turned around in slo-mo, mouth opening in a silent scream of terror, whereupon I would have lunged for his throat and the scene faded to black amidst splatters of gore and some ominous violins playing.

Uh-uh. f.u.c.k playing fair. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't even turn around, didn't even think of me as a threat. Nothing to worry about. So I figured he deserved what he got just a little bit more. Gathering my strength in my hind legs, I launched up, up and away, jaws closing around his throat to tear into the meat.

Or that had been the idea.

What actually happened was that as soon as my teeth touched him, the rest of my body reacted before my brain fully processed the screaming pain. Ever bitten into aluminum foil? Like that, only more so. I crumpled to the cellar floor in a tangle of furry legs, howling because I couldn't stop myself, it hurt so bad.

Vlad casually glanced down at me. "Oh, no, Fido's had an accident." He tugged down the collar of his turtleneck and pulled up the tail of the s.h.i.+rt to show me what he'd been hiding under there.

Chain mail? I struggled to process. Who the f.u.c.k wears chain mail? He's even got a neck guard! And they were made of pure silver, the finest I'd ever had the misfortune to come in contact with. If I believed in elves -- and hey, no reason not to, is there? -- I'd have sworn this suit of armor was forged somewhere Underhill.

Either way, he'd tricked me easy as cheating at Solitaire and he was laughing his a.s.s off at me on the inside. "The suit goes from throat to toe, Fido, and I have silver rings on my fingers and thumbs. You can't hurt me, so why don't you drop the fur coat? We can have a chat, man to blob."

I made my growl sound questioning, teeth itching to bite him despite the chain mail. No way was I s.h.i.+fting back until I knew what he had up his sleeve.

Besides a whole lot of freakin' silver, that is.

He clicked his tongue. "Really, Fido. We're all friends here. I won't hurt you. Scout's honor."

R-i-i-ght. And I was supposed to trust him why, again? A quick look up the stairs showed the doors were still sealed up tight with silver barring the way out. I could run a lot faster on four legs than two if it came down to flight, but I didn't see Vlad politely lifting his gates for a lady and her knights in any shape or form and I had a nasty suspicion he didn't plan to let my guys walk out at all.

On the other hand, if I took human shape I could cuss him out. That was what decided me.

Sneezing myself back, I opened my mouth to let 'er rip. Vlad did the creepy-fast zip vampires have down pat and pressed his finger to my lips. "Shh, Fido. If you raise a fuss I'll break your jaw, and I want to hear you begging for your life."

"Who writes your scripts?" I scoffed behind his finger, which felt dry and papery against my skin. Parchment. Old and dead. "'Cause I've gotta tell you, you really need to come up with some better material."

Apparently I amused him. Vlad slapped me on the shoulder like a good ol' drinkin' buddy, scorching my skin with the silver rings and nearly knocking me flat. "You're a real Mae West, aren't you? Used to be Snow White, but you drifted."

He actually waited for me to laugh.

I got the joke, yeah, but be d.a.m.ned if I'd giggle on command. "See my previous comment on needing something fresh for your repertoire," I said. "Seriously, how do you sleep at night? I mean, how do you sleep during the day? Don't say 'upside-down' or 'in a coffin' either, smarta.s.s. You'll ruin a good rant." I paused. "Where was I?" Realization struck as other thoughts turned slippery and hard to hold on to. "Hey! Don't mess with my memory. Get out of my head, you f.u.c.ker!"

To all appearances, Vlad thought that was downright hysterical. He whooped and pounded his knee. Dusty's and Warren's mouths curved in uncertain grins, although G.o.d knew if they even understood what a joke was at the moment, much less the joke in question. I held on, knowing what was coming, what was really going on.

Right on cue -- double drama queen -- Vlad stopped laughing mid-snicker and straightened, glaring at me. He showed his true colors, then, no games, just the face of a stone-cold killer, and confirmed for me the knowledge that he'd never really been laughing at all. "I'm going to enjoy slitting your throat," he whispered, voice cold and sharp as a dagger carved from ice. "I have a silver knife sharpened just for the occasion. I've wanted to have some fun with one of you hairy abominations for years."

Weres don't like vampires. It cuts both ways. Kind of alarming on the pointy end of the blade.

"You can try," I bluffed as I rose into a semi-crouch, s.h.i.+fting my weight from one foot to another. If I pounced him it was unlikely I'd even make a dent in his att.i.tude, but I didn't want him thinking I was afraid.

Vlad shoved me back down, knocking the wind from my lungs. He sat casually beside the ring of silver, toying with his alarming knife. I noticed a hooked tip and really had to wonder what it was there for, despite figuring I didn't actually want to know. Brrr. "Fido, Fido, Fido."

Down. Not out. "My name is Gilly," I spat at him.

"What's in a name? Gilly, Fido, Rover. I'm Vlad, and other things. We earn our names, don't we, pooch? Whatever our parents call us when we make it through birth, and other t.i.tles we collect as we live. Or don't live, in my case. Or in the case of your boy toys over there." His teeth flashed white, fang-tips extra s.h.i.+ny. "I think I'll call the big one Tweedledum and the one with the stick up his a.s.s Tweedledee. Or maybe Tooth and Claw. Doesn't matter, really. Whatever names I use, they'll come when I call."

"You think you're that good with a thrall?" I asked, stalling for time while I desperately racked my brain for some kind of Master Escape Plan. So far, no luck, but at least Vlad kept on talking.

"I'm the best. Want a demonstration?" He flicked his fingers at Dusty and Warren, who swung into one another's arms jerkily as puppets and started to waltz in one small circle, Dusty leading. "Bet the Marine type would hate playing a girl's part. You think?"

I didn't bother answering. Vlad wasn't listening, anyway. He lifted his thumb like Jeannie twitching her nose and Dusty dipped Warren. This was a sight no sane woman should have to see.

"Stop," Vlad ordered mid-dip. Dusty froze, Warren dangling from his arms. Vlad turned back to me. Goody. "See? Putty in my hands. Mallomars, huh?"

"Malleable, you nitwit," I snapped before remembering what a bad idea it was to taunt the psycho vampire. But in for a penny... "Mallomars are candy."

Vlad leered. "I meant what I said. They're sweet as cocoa, light milky and bitter dark chocolate. Their blood tasted so young and vital. They had happy lives, didn't they?"

I kept my mouth shut this time.

"Doggie got her muzzle on?" Vlad casually slapped my upper arm, silver searing me. I knew I'd have bruises and burn scars -- if I made it out alive. "No problem. I can make you talk when I want." He waved his knife, doing some fancy tricks to make the blade dance across his knuckles without a single slice. "Vampires consume the memories of the ones they drain. Sort of like seeing your life flash before your eyes when you die, except I get my own no-pay-per-view. I saw a lot in those two. So much potential. They'll make fantastic lackeys."

"Lackeys? You're making them slaves?"

"You have a problem, Rover?"

"Gilly. Gillian, if you want to be a f.u.c.king pedant. Yeah, I have issues with slavery. Duh. If you saw them for who they really are, how can you melt their brains into slag? You know Warren's overflowing with ideas about blockbuster video games. Dusty's wanted to be a model since he was five, for Christ's sake, five."

"Blah, blah, blah."

I kept on going, on a roll. "Dusty carries spiders outside instead of squis.h.i.+ng them. He brings me chocolates and cuddles me and lets me cry on his shoulder."

"You? You cry? Outside of the magic Cinderella tears that brought your f.u.c.kbuddies back to sweet sanity in your arms? Nice touch. Cheesy, but nice."