Thirty – A Shift in the Natural Order
“You must not doubt my love for you, Perveen,” I said, this time daring to take her cheeks between my palms, pointy fingernails (the first time I’d noticed them) making dimples either side of her lips, as she had done to me so often already. It was my turn to try to instil confidence, take the burden of responsibility from those lithe, olive-skinned naked shoulders.
When we looked into each other’s eyes this time around, with me peering down upon her never-to-be-fully-grown height from a seemingly taller perspective than I had been used to, with the blood of Vlad Țepeș still coursing through my veins, there had been a very definite shift in control. I knew it, she knew it. And it affected her a great deal more, which is why I had to convince her now that whatever trial lay ahead of us our wedding would proceed as planned.
As we had both knelt at my sister’s side, I had sensed Perveen’s pure blood vibrating through my sibling’s very blood cells, knitting broken fibres together in preparation for her stage one metamorphosis before joining us on this undead side of the grave. But nothing could prepare me for my first real draught of my queen-to-be’s blood. I combed that ebony hair back, which slipped like silk through my fingernails, exposing a smooth, sleek neck; gently, I pierced the jowl, just beyond her jaw line.
The blood was pure, unscathed as a result of an unsullied mortal life; no wonder she had such vivid fantasies about what intimacy between a man and a woman could be. She had never experienced male contact in the way that she pictured it, with the two of us entwined, in and out of each other in every way imaginable. Every fibre of her being quivered as my lips drew closed towards my fangs, puckering her skin between lips that merely sipped from the bounteous well of blood, a stream pumping around her body like a river in torrent.
She closed off her mind, desirous of only the physical contact she’d been deprived of all of these years.
Her nails dug into the top of my gluteus maximus as she ground her pubis against my rising left thigh, taut with new muscle, forged by a master vampire’s blood; I drew her up by her own firm rear so that she sat in the cradle of my hip and thigh. I kissed her eyelids, one at a time. Her legs clenched around that thigh, all sinew and steel since my making and she crushed herself against it, digging her nails in further to get her neglected womanhood as close to my flesh as possible.
Perveen’s body flexed backward in an arc from her lumbar, those pert breasts thrust skywards, magnified by the fluidity of the ivory silk, crowned by nipples that looked as if they could have split the milky material of their own volition. I ran one thumb delicately between those solid breasts, the nail grazing the skin enough to draw the slightest trace of blood, a mocha strip on her brown décolleté in the waning light, darkening by degree the further down this pathway we had walked.
I bent forward and flicked at the incision with the tip of my tongue, so very solid in its purpose. I felt every fold and every crease of her tighten against the tendon atop my quadricep; she shivered and clenched her womanhood around me even more tightly, daring to lightly pound herself once, twice, three times.
I began to trace the line of my thumb beneath the hem of her sash, down between us across her belly button and the bright red ruby that sparkled there, even in the murk and down to the hem of her waistline, across the top of the soft sheen of silk, drawing ever closer to the top of my own thigh as her breathing became shallow, heaving as…her eyes snapped open, she whip-lashed her torso forward and clamped onto my neck with an oh-so delicate bite. Even if I had seen it coming, I would not have been able to evade the cobra-like strike as her fangs purposefully punctured my vein. For one fleeting second she opened her mind, only to show me the pulsating of her every fibre, that when the time was right every inch of her being would be mine to do with as I pleased. But that time was not now.
A dark prince waited, as did his court. Reluctantly, she slipped off my upraised thigh, running the back of her fingers down the side of my cheek before nipping my chin with a playful bite.
Her feet hardly touched the ground before she was off, dragging me by the hand around the blind curve. Within yards we came to a halt, reaching a tunnel entrance that cut deep into the rock-face itself.
Standing in the shadows across the threshold was Vlad. He sensed the arousal in both of us, sniffed the very air as if he were a sommelier in the French valleys in ’78, curating stock and checking its suitability for serving to the noblemen, lords and ladies gathered at a banquet. He nodded, satisfied.
At the click of his fingers torches ignited for as far as the eye could see, their incandescence stretching beyond sight into the very mountainside. labyrinthine forks split all ways, creating a trickery of perspective that perplexed the mind, leaving it not knowing which way was up, down, foreground or background.
The pathway immediately before us, however, was strewn with black rose petals. Vlad opened his arms, gesturing us forward so that we may step inside his ancient cloak. We accepted in silence, Perveen stood to his right, I to the left. The cloak enclosed us amidst a cyclone of black petals and down we went, yet again.