Vampires are mythical beings and therefore can be whatever the author wishes. My alter ego, Vandalia Black, writes stories about vampires who are lonely and honourable, sensual and beautiful, and in search of their eternal loves. To celebrate Hallowe'en, here is a short story from Vampires Don't Drink Coffee and Other Stories.
Watcher By The Bridge
THE MURKY GREEN waters of the river rippled around the pillars which supported the ancient stone bridge, hinting at hidden secrets in the darkness of its depths. Mist cloaked the trees and bushes of one bank in ethereal finery and blurred the brooding shape of the old mill opposite. The girl on the bridge shivered. Such stories it could tell, she thought ‒ and hers would be just one more of them. A lone tear trickled down her cheek; she ignored it, leaving it to pursue its course without hindrance. This was no time to be sad. Her decision was made and she craved the peace it would bring.
Following the accident which had burned one side of her face, the doctors, therapists and other well-meaning folk she had not been able to avoid had all said the same. She would grow accustomed; it was amazing what cosmetic surgery could do nowadays; it was the inside of a person that mattered. She did not care what they believed. Her life was gone; her career as a photographic model, as a human, was gone; her boyfriend was gone. She was a freak, shunning the daylight like some monster. She experienced a rush of sympathy for the Phantom of the Opera ‒ she knew just how he had felt.
The darkness surrounded her like a blanket, the air seeming to stroke her although there was no wind. Jodie looked around her, convinced suddenly that she was being watched, but there was no-one to be seen, just the shifting and swirling of the mist as it danced with the night. She turned her attention back to the silent, moody water. The bridge, with a complete lack of local imagination, was known as Lovers Leap. A smile touched her lips at the irony. She had no lover and never would have now, but it was an appropriate place to make an end. Desolate, lonely and sad, it was all the things she had herself become... Tilting her head back, she stared up at the grey-shrouded heavens for a long moment. With a deep breath, she climbed on to the stone parapet.
“You are not a freak.”
Jodie gasped and spun around. A man walked forward out of the shadows by the mill. A long black cloak floated round his ankles, the mist making it appear as if he, too, was drifting above the ground.
“You will not find the peace you seek there, Jodie.” His voice, smooth and rich like a chocolate liqueur, melted over her, sending minuscule tingles of pleasure down her spine.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” she demanded, finding her voice, although even to her own ears it sounded scratchy and weak and unlikely to dissuade him from interfering. “How did you know what I was thinking?” She felt like telling him to mind his own business, but that would have been unnecessarily rude, even if he was putting his nose in where it was not wanted.
The stranger shrugged. “It seemed a reasonable assumption,” he answered, ignoring her first questions. Slowly he approached, the mist apparently parting to allow his passage. Jodie blinked several times and swallowed with difficulty. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, his lean, swarthy countenance enhanced by a deliciously sensual mouth and fathomless dark eyes. He held out his hand to her.
“Come. You do not really wish to die.”
“You know nothing!” she wailed. “I have to do this.”
“No. No, you do not.” The stranger’s voice was deep, compelling. Jodie found herself gazing into his eyes; then somehow, though she did not will it, her legs were unfurling and carrying her towards him. She put her hand in his.
In that same instant, a bolt of electricity shot through her, jerking her senses to awareness. She looked from the man’s face to the bridge and back, feeling disorientated as if she had just woken from a dream.
“How—?”
“Come with me, my sweet,” he murmured in the same liquid tone. “I can help you.”
“No! I—”
“You will come to no harm.” His finger followed the curve of her damaged cheek without touching it. “I can heal you.”
Jodie snorted. “You a moonlighting plastic surgeon, then?” Her voice dripped derision.
The stranger hesitated before replying. “No. A vampire.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled to her lips. That was all she needed, an escaped lunatic!
***
Dominic Véquaud smiled wryly as he read her thoughts. Why he had revealed his darkest secret he had no idea. He only knew that from the first moment he had seen the slight figure with the pale blonde hair, several nights ago, he had felt a strange urge to help her. Until tonight she had done no more than stare into the water; he had felt her loneliness, her anguish, but had been reluctant to reveal his presence. Tonight, his cold heart had flickered with life for the first time in centuries. He could not say why, but he had to save her. Lifting his hand, he ran his knuckles lightly over her unblemished cheek. Jodie shivered, her eyes widening as he held her gaze. What lay behind those ice-blue orbs was as clear to him as Venetian crystal. She was acutely aware of his size, his power and a need for something only he could give her which she found disturbing.
He offered the merest suggestion, no more; he had no wish to coerce her. As if impelled by some other otherworldly force, she stepped nearer until her chest almost brushed his, her lips parting in an unconscious invitation. Dominic lowered his head slowly, watching her, seeking permission. His arms slid behind her, pulling her closer until he knew she could feel his desire. Although she trembled, she did not pull away. He recognized prickles of fear, overlaid with ripples of exquisite sensation which he suspected no man had made her feel before. The warm smell of her reaction, combined with soap, shampoo and coffee, bombarded him. Yet above all else swam the sweet nectar in her veins, calling to him, tempting him beyond reason.
His hunger roared to life, forcing him to look away lest she see the unholy glow in his eyes. He was a hunter, but he did not kill his prey; had not done so for a hundred years or more. Nevertheless he was glad he had already fed. This woman was affecting him like no other. He craved her body and her blood with an urgency previously unknown to him, yet equally he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe.
***
Breathlessly aware that she was courting danger, Jodie raised her chin. Some instinct was pulling her towards this man; to his touch, his kiss. As he claimed her mouth, fingers of fire burned their way to her core, filling her with a new vibrancy, a new desire for life. Dominic deepened the kiss and her insides turned to melted fudge.
“Dominic,” she sighed, not caring how she knew his name.
“You are beautiful just as you are, ma belle,” he whispered, “but if you wish it, a little of my blood will heal your scar.”
Suddenly she understood what had drawn her here. With this man alone she could be whole again; with him she could seek love’s eternal flame.
No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the expressed permission of the author.
(C) Heather King
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