The Dark Immortal

The blazing light from the chandeliers streamed down upon the ballroom to touch everything and everyone with an ethereal glow. Even the marble floor gleamed as if it were covered with a sheet of ice. Briella stood near the doorway; her eyes were riveted on the tall, dark stranger who wore a sleek, black evening suit. His hair was dark and slightly wavy, falling richly to his broad shoulders, and his features were hard, yet handsome, perfectly proportioned upon a long, somewhat angular, face. Yet beyond his physical appeal, there was just something about him...some kind of charisma, perhaps…that thoroughly fascinated and aroused her.

It was apparent that he had cast a similar spell on the many other ladies in the room as well. They circled him like hungry vultures, their eyes seemingly glazed with unadulterated passion as he chuckled at their softly uttered quips and struggled to give them each an equal amount of attention.

Releasing a long sigh, Briella turned away, trying to focus her attention on something else...anything else...the tight corset beneath her nineteenth century red velvet dress, making her all the more aware of her femininity. Her breasts were cupped so tight and held so high by the garment that it almost seemed as if the palms of tiny hands held them erect. And the lace around the rims of the cups continually tickled her sensitive nipples, stirring a passion that sizzled through her entire body.

She wasn’t the only one who had gone to such lengths in choosing her attire for Marla’s annual Halloween party. Surely every costume outlet in town was thread bare. The many female guests sported feathered hats, high top boots, and the velvet and lace of the Victorian era about the resplendent ballroom. The scene made Briella feel as if she had traveled back in time. But that would be fine with her. Nothing turned her on more than seeing men dressed in the debonair styles of old.

Yet the stranger stood out among all the rest.

From the richly embroidered vest, threaded with glistening strands of gold, to the black and gold pendant on his lapel, he looked more like a nobleman from some dark, foreign country rather than the typical upper-class Victorian male. In fact, he could have been the character from some dark, gothic romance novel--a man, perhaps, from some better, vanished time.

But here she was, thinking about him again, and after she'd promised herself that she wouldn't. Yet even as the thought entered her mind, she found her gaze drifting back to the stranger.

As she continued to peruse him, she realized that the man seemed totally annoyed by Amelia. The clinging redhead in the flowing white gown, continually followed him about, one white-gloved hand possessively on his arm. Though the stranger managed to smile warmly at the woman, Briella could tell that he met Amelia's interest with disfavor. Of course no one else probably noticed his well-disguised aggravation, but as a writer, Briella was accustomed to studying people's reactions and had grown quite adept at analyzing their thoughts and feelings.

She wondered what his name was. Due to a flat tire, she had arrived late, and Marla was still so busy greeting the guests that she hadn't had the chance to introduce them. But when Briella had entered the ballroom about a half-hour ago, she'd felt his eyes upon her like the hot burning rays of the summer sun, and she'd wondered if he was attracted to her as well. But she had sufficiently convinced herself that his interest was just a figment of her imagination. After all, why in the world would he be interested in her when he had the attention of all these ladies to choose from?

She was handsome enough with her waist-length, jet-black hair and flawless complexion, and she was in excellent shape due to daily workouts, but there were many other more traditionally beautiful woman among the throng…

Women like the shockingly beautiful redhead hanging on his arm.

Disgusted by the direction of her thoughts and her obsession with the stranger, she headed to the courtyard off the side of the ballroom, desperately needing some fresh air. Thanks to an evening of unseasonable warmth, the tall French doors had been thrown back and several couples were dancing upon the well-manicured lawn, the haunting tune of Strauss' Artist’s Life Waltz carried upon the cool night breeze, making her feel all the more morose.

She was so deep in woe that she nearly jumped when someone spoke to her.

"Excuse me, Briella, can I have the next dance?"

Briella turned to face the man who had nudged her shoulder, Roy Genter, a man she'd met a couple of years ago at one of Marla's other parties. The boorish blond had always had a thing for her, and she knew it, but she was singularly uninterested. She just didn't feel the chemistry for him the way she did for the stranger.

But now he was looking at her, waiting for a reply.

"Sorry, Roy, but I've already promised the dance to someone else," she lied. And then she wondered why she had done so. It wasn't like her to lie like that, but she certainly didn't want to dance with Roy. Again, she spied the enigmatic stranger, and she knew the reason for her untold behavior--she wanted to do nothing but stand there and gawk at the man like the rest of the ladies. But how she intended to cover up the lie, she had no idea. Frustrated, she turned back toward the courtyard, thinking that she’d just have to find a dance partner.

"Yes and that someone would be me," she heard from over her shoulder. She turned and nearly gasped when she found herself staring into the handsome face of the stranger. There was a slight smile on his full lips, and he met her gaze fully, seeming to stare deeply at and within her--searching her soul. She shook, noticing the passion that seemed to gleam in the depths of his obsidian eyes.

How in the world had he managed to escape Amelia and the others? Even more importantly, why was he lying for her? Had she been that obvious?

"Come, let's go inside. It's getting a bit chilly out here, and the next song is about to start," he said with an unusual lyrical accent. He had to be from Europe. There was no doubt about it. But though she'd traveled Europe many a time, she couldn't put a finger on the area he was from. His accent seemed a strange mix of many different countries and regions and was as unique as the man himself.

She accepted his outstretched hand, immediately noticing that it felt somewhat cold, but it was a different kind of cold...not the cold of winter...not the cold of ice…but maybe the cold of the breeze off the Atlantic Ocean in the summer, or the cold of a late spring rain. His touch, nevertheless, was enough to set off an eruption of chilblains on her flesh.

The feeling only intensified when the music began, this time a dark and chilling tune that she didn’t recognize, and as he took her into his arms, she realized that he held her much closer than the dance warranted.

"So, Marla tells me you're the great horror writer, Briella Delaine," he whispered into her ear.

"Yes," she replied. For a minute she was surprised that Marla had spoken about her. But that was just like Marla--always the matchmaker. Briella had to collect herself quickly. It was just that she was so fascinated with this man that she was having a difficult time speaking. "But I wouldn’t swear about the ‘great’ part. I simply write, because there’s nothing else I’d rather do. But before you rush out to buy any of my novels, I think it's best to warn you that they’re rather graphic and more than a little morbid."

"Actually, I have read your stories, all twenty-one of them, and I savored every word. I must admit that I'm one of your greatest fans. I find your field of work quite fascinating. Obviously you know a lot about the supernatural."

"Yes," she replied. "I’ve studied it extensively. I believe that everyone has a dark side they'd like to reveal, and I’m just lucky that I’m able to do so through my work. But you have me at a disadvantage. I know nothing about you, sir, not even your name."

"Pardon me for my rudeness.  I'm Frederic...Frederic DeLavon."

French? No, the accent didn't sound "purely" French. It more closely resembled the Old English brogue with a twist of one of the old countries such as Poland or Czechoslovakia.

"Frederic," she repeated the word, letting it echo smoothly in her mind. What in the hell was the matter with her? Her mind was doing some crazy acrobats. She should be saying something about how glad she was to meet him, or something along those lines. She was just unable to think clearly or command the words that were forming on her wooden tongue. The man was having a powerful affect on her. That much was certain. As they continued to dance, he embraced her tightly, and she could intimately feel the outline of his long, muscular body pressing into the softness of her flesh through the velvet dress.

But she knew her thoughts were leading down a dangerous trail, and she was relieved when he spoke again.

"I fear that my work isn’t quite as romantic as yours, my love. In fact, it’s rather boring to most. I'm a physician!" he said.

A doctor? He had to be kidding! She had never seen a doctor who looked like him. If she had, she would have made it a point to be ill more often.

     "That's wonderful," she replied, "a very noble profession. I have a lot of admiration for your kind. But I would have made you out to be an actor or maybe a male model. I noticed that you have quite a following among the ladies." As soon as the last sentence was out, she wished that she could recall it. She didn't know what had possessed her to say such a thing. But Frederic didn't seem to mind her bluntness. He merely grinned and shook his leonine head.

"Oh, but from what I’ve seen, you've quite a few admirers yourself, love. And I must say, I'm not surprised. You are rather stunning!"

"You’re too kind, sir."

He pulled away from her for a second and spun her around, and when he tugged her back into his embrace, she was never happier to be there.

"So, Doctor DeLavon, do you have a practice in town?"

"No. I've only recently arrived from Europe. I'm here on vacation, you see. I have some close friends in town, and I make it a point to come to the States as least once a year to visit them. However, in my travels I often volunteer my time at local health centers or wherever else I’m needed. My specialty is emergency medicine, so I can pretty much handle anything that comes my way."

"That’s very noble of you. If only there were more doctors out there who cared as much about their patients’ welfare as they do about making money. What region of Europe are you from?"

"That's a difficult question to answer. Though I was born in the mysterious and bountiful country of Romania, I don't consider it my home by any means. I'm more of a man of world, I guess you'd say. I love nothing more than traveling about and seeing new places, and I never stay in one place long. There’s just so much to see, and I'd like to experience as much as I can in my lifetime. But I must say that my decision to come to St. Louis this month was a lucky one. These poor eyes might never have been lucky enough to see you had I not. And now that I have, I swear that your face is one I’ll never forget."

She smiled shyly, thinking that she was probably blushing like a teenager on a first date. "Your charm is touching, Doctor, but like the old saying goes, ‘you probably say that to all the ladies!’"

"I assure you that I do not, my love!" he declared then chuckled softly. When he pulled her close, her breasts were pressed so firmly against his hard chest that she knew he could feel the outline of her corset and the fullness of the breasts it so amply supported. That all-consuming fire was swiftly taking hold of her.

She allowed her thoughts to drift toward fantasy involving her partner, as they quietly danced, but all too soon the tune ended. Finally, Frederic released her, and that was when she noticed that he suddenly seemed very pale. There was a definite washed-out haggardness about him that had not been there earlier. When he grabbed her hand again, clutching it tightly in his, she feared that he might faint dead away. His flesh was cold, much colder than before, and as they moved toward the side of the dance floor, he had to lean on her shoulder for support.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

He feigned a smile. "Yes, I'll be fine. Just a bit of jet lag, I'm afraid! I think I need to sit down and relax for a bit. If you'll excuse me, Miss Delaine."

Briella forced a bit of a smile, and was about to lead him to the opposite side of the ballroom where some chairs had been set out in rows along the back wall, but he turned his back on her and walked away. From where she stood, she watched him cut across the gleaming dance floor and make a beeline for the main hallway. For a minute or two, she considered pursuing him, but thought better of it. She certainly didn't want to embarrass him about his illness. It was obvious that whatever ailed him was far more serious than jet lag, and she didn't want to draw attention to the fact. Besides, maybe what he really needed at the moment was a little privacy.

She regretted her decision, however, when Amelia, the big-busted redhead who had been hoarding his attention earlier, pursued him. The woman's interest didn’t prevent her from pausing at the doorway to shoot daggers at Briella before following him into the dark hallway. Nearly grinding her teeth to the roots and telling herself that she was a certifiable fool, Briella claimed a chair and waited, hoping he'd return to her soon.

And before long, Mrs. Henderson, one of Marla’s neighbors and one of the worst gossips in town, came to sit beside her. "I'd stay away from that one. I've met him before. He has come to visit Marla a lot over the years and he--"

Oh what was the old bat talking about?

"Excuse me, Mrs. Henderson, but I believe that Dr. DeLavon is a very remarkable man, the perfect gentleman in every way."

"He may be nice enough, and I can’t deny that he’s refined and respectable, but he's not well. I've always known that there's something seriously wrong with him. You wouldn't want to become involved with someone like him. Better to choose a healthy mate, I’ve always thought! It might save you some heartache."

Now the nosey old woman caught her attention.

"What do you mean that he's 'not well'?"

"If you're around him enough, you'll find out soon. He has these terrible spells of the shakes and weakness. He turns as white as a marshmallow. I admit that I don’t know him well, but quite honestly, I think he has these spells, because he's taking drugs!"

Brielle gasped. "Well, personally, Mrs. Henderson. I think you should mind your own damn business! And if you don’t know him well, I think it’s rather odd that you’d make such implications about his character! It’s obvious that you don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about!"

The woman let out an outraged yelp, but Briella didn't wait for a lecture about her rudeness. She leapt from the chair and was gliding across the ballroom in a flash, ready to find Frederic. She had no idea why she was being so defensive about him anyway. Hell, Mrs. Henderson could be speaking the truth for all she knew.

Nevertheless, Briella entered the hall and began the search for him. Her conscience warned that she was every bit as bad as Amelia who had so shamelessly thrown herself at him earlier. It was as if the good doctor had cast a love spell on her. She was completely fascinated and intrigued all at once and just couldn't get Frederic DeLavon off her mind.

She knew she wanted him, would doubtlessly come into his arms if he asked...but she wanted something else from him as well, but couldn't figure out what.

Well, she intended to find out soon enough.

After she'd failed to find him the lower hall and outdoors in the spacious front yard and driveway, she decided to return to the mansion and haul herself up the long, dark circular stairway to search the second floor. Down another dark hall she ventured, peeking into many bedrooms along the way and pausing when she saw a couple intimately entwined upon a massive four-post bed.

But she hadn’t found Frederic or Amelia.

Quietly, she closed the door, remembering her purpose as she trod further down the dark hall. But neither Frederic nor Amelia was anywhere to be seen. She decided that he must have recuperated and had left with Amelia.

Frustrated, she was about to go back down the stairs when she heard a slight gasp coming from the far end of the hall. Remembering that there was a curtained alcove off to the right where the Victorian owners had taken their daily tea, she headed that way. Marla had shown her the tiny room once, and if memory served her right, there was a red velvet fainting sofa among the antique furnishings of the chamber, a place where someone could lie comfortably and rest.

When she'd finally drawn back the curtains to the tiny chamber, the scene that met her shocked and appalled her all at once, and she almost screamed; yet, at the same time she was so fascinated that she could do nothing other than stand there and watch.

Frederic was there all right, but he no longer looked ill. Far from it, he was the epitome of health.

On the fainting sofa before him lie Amelia, the bodice of her white silk dress had been unbuttoned and lowered to her waist to reveal her plump, white breasts. Apparently unaware that he was being watched, he moved his lips from Amelia’s breast to her throat, appearing to suckle some kind of wound there. A droplet of blood ran down her neck to stain the pale gown, a shock of red against white. Still he appeared to drink of the blood thirstily. Or was this all just some kind of illusion?

Briella was fascinated and terrified all at once. Yet the fear intensified when Frederic brought his head up, and Briella saw that there was blood on his lips. Again, she almost screamed, but managed to summon some calm when Frederic turned toward her and put a finger to his lips. Suddenly, she realized that he'd known she was there all along. What's more, it seemed as if he could read her thoughts. But it had to be coincidence. Pure coincidence. This is real life, she reminded herself; Not fiction!

Amelia, however, didn't move, didn't stir, and Briella was certain that the woman was either dead or severely injured.

"Is...is she all right?" She whispered, not realizing until afterward that she had spoken her thoughts.

"She'll be fine. I just drained her a bit...and she…"

"No! Don't bother telling me! I don't want to hear this!" And truly, she meant it. Suddenly Briella felt ill, because the truth had dawned on her fully. He was a vampire. Without a doubt. That explained his sickness, his paleness, his weakness, and shakiness. Indeed, he was a "drugger" of sorts, an addict who craved blood. In her travels to Europe she had studied vampires for her stories, and she had found evidence that they truly had existed at one time, but she had thought that they were either extinct or rare...or at least she'd tried to convince herself.

Something about vampires had always bothered her.

Perhaps they disturbed her so, because she thought them evil. History did suggest that vampires earned their power from the Devil, and she wanted no part of that. The mere thought abhorred her.

Nevertheless, she continued to watch Frederic as he sampled more of Amelia's blood. It was as if his every movement mesmerized her. Or was it merely that his hard, dark stare was capable of calming, enchanting, and arousing all at once?

She realized that she was uncomfortable about looking into his eyes for long. She was afraid of what she might see there. Wanting only to forget him and this dreadful night, she was about to flee, yet she found herself unable to do so…maybe because Frederic was looking her way, a shock of red on his lower lip.

And that's when reality finally hit her, warning her that this man was nothing short of a monster. He'd said that he hadn't killed Amelia, and she knew that was the truth, but would the young woman be permanently marred after this confrontation with death and darkness?

Terrified, Briella decided that she had to leave, had to escape this dream that had turned into a nightmare. She never wanted to see this man again...even if her heart was crying out for him.

But Frederic didn't intend to let her go. In a flash he was pursuing her down the hallway, and he made her halt at the top of the stairs.

"I promise you, Briella, she'll be all right! I didn't lie when I told you I'm a doctor. Despite what you’ve read in books or have seen in movies, I didn't take any more blood from her than she might have given at the local blood bank!"

"If she'll be all right then why is she unconscious now?"

"She's not unconscious in the way that you may think she is. She's in some wonderful world of dreams and warmth. It's due to the chemical in my saliva, and it’s perfectly harmless. And I swear that she allowed me to do what I did to her. She knew from the start that I was a vampire, and that I’d sample a bit of her blood. She wanted it, Briella. I swear she did!"

Briella didn’t doubt his last, nevertheless, she wanted nothing to do with a vampire. He was dead, she told herself, a mere walking corpse. He should be in the ground, in the grave where he belonged.

He raised her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look into his sinister yet beautiful eyes, but they didn't seem so dark or so wicked then, and again she was reminded of her fascination with him. "Please, don't leave, Briella," he said softly.

She shoved him away, uncomfortable with the depth of emotion she'd detected in his voice.

And because she was afraid that he’d realize the affect he had on her.

Again, she tried to descend the stairs, but he blocked her passage, and she wondered if he'd ever let her go. She nearly screamed when he grabbed her harshly and pushed her up against the wall, shoving himself against her. It was difficult for her to speak with thoughts of him caroming in her head, but she attempted to do so anyway.

"I want nothing to do with you, Frederic, or whatever your name is...you're evil in every sense of the word, and I despise you!"

"You know that's not true. So much of what everyone believes about vampires is just myth. You must have learned this in your research, and you’ve even said so in a couple of your books. I was young when I became ill...and I just wasn't ready to die. There was too much to see and learn and appreciate. I swear to you that this immortality I have is not a gift from the Devil or any such nonsense, but comes from my own propensity for medicine and some ancient Egyptian scroll that I had the good fortune to purchase. The only thing I did regret when I used it so long ago was that I had to leave you! I've been searching for you ever since."

"You really expect me to believe that? And you really expect me to believe that Amelia will be all right? It’s clear that she’s on the verge of death! And now, you want to do the same to me!"

"No, Amelia will recuperate, Briella. It doesn't take the body long to do so, and she'll have the most wonderful memories of this experience. I swear I'm telling you the truth. She'll wake up in a few hours with a slight headache, and she'll think that she just had a little too much to drink. But she'll remember the ecstasy of my bite all the days of her life."

"Yes, and a few days later, she'll turn into a vampire!"

"No. It doesn't happen that way. She won't turn into a vampire. I promise you that! No one can turn into a vampire unless they want to. Even then, it's not easy."

"And you have the power to make someone a vampire, I suppose."

"Yes, but it's a power I've never used."

She shook her head. "I've really heard all of this nonsense that I care to hear! Now please, let me go!"

He didn't budge. Instead, he stared at her, making her feel dizzy, and she looked away, uncomfortable. After his interlude with Amelia, his color had gone from pale to golden. He had replenished himself. She supposed that it was necessary for him to do so, just as it was necessary for mortals to eat. Still, she just couldn't bear to face him any longer tonight now that she knew the truth, and when he spoke again, she tried to block his words from her mind.

"I can share this passion with you as well...only for you it will be much better than what Amelia experienced. Much better than what either one of us has ever experienced. You're different from Amelia. You're special to me, a part of my heart and soul, and I did come a very long way to find you again!"

She shook her head, but he continued.

"Briella, I want you! I need you in my life!"

She managed to pull her hand from his iron grasp. "Just leave me alone, Frederic! I never want anything to do with you again! Stay away from me!"

Finally, he withdrew, and allowed her to escape. But as she descended the stairs, he said, "We were meant to be together, Briella. Soon, you’ll understand that!"

Ignoring him, she stormed a path to the lower hallway. Marla was there and was handing Roy his coat while she told him to drive carefully. Roy always was a lightweight. It couldn't be any later than ten o'clock, but he'd already had enough partying for the night.

She realized that even knowing the worst about Frederic, he was still far more appealing than Roy--was far more appealing than any man she'd ever met.

She stood in the shadows, waiting for Roy to leave before she approached Marla.

"Marla, the party was great, but I'm leaving. I have an awful headache, and I've decided to make an early night of it!"

"But...you've only just arrived, and there’s a guest I want you to meet..."

"I believe I've already met him, but thanks for your concern. I'll call you tomorrow. Okay?"

Marla looked taken aback, but Briella's dour expression made it clear that she was in no mood to reiterate. But Marla knew Briella well, and Briella was certain she understood. After Briella had donned her cape, Marla gave her a kiss and a hug, and Briella left the mansion, Frederic and vampirism heavy on her mind as she drove the twenty-minute trip home.

She asked herself what she was so afraid of. Did she fear Frederic or did she fear death in general? The thought of her own mortality bothered her, which was probably why she liked to write about it, a way to exorcise her own demons.

But vampires never really have to die--not in the true sense. And she wondered if it would be so bad to be immortal like Frederic, never aging...never becoming ill… never having to wither and decline?

Vampirism is "not a gift from the Devil," he'd told her, and now that she was over the initial shock about what had happened tonight, she started thinking the matter over more logically, wondering if he had indeed spoken the truth—spoken his heart. She supposed that her trouble was that she simply feared the unknown just as everyone did. She wrote about the supernatural and vampirism, yes, but she'd never really touched or experienced it until now, and the episode had frightened her thoroughly.

Still, she couldn't deny that her passion for Frederic outweighed her fear. There was no man she wanted more than Frederic DeLavon, and she knew that despite her earlier misgivings, some part of her wanted to be with him more than anything else in the world.

She entered her modest two-story Colonial home, hanging her cape on the coat rack in the hall. Afterward, she turned toward the front room and nearly gasped seeing a human-like shadow along the far wall of the elegant parlor. Terror racing through her, she flicked on the light, only to find that the shadow was simply a reflection of her own image eerily broken and heightened by the moonlight that flooded the room.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she made her way to the bedroom, deciding to end her night with the latest edition of Underworld Magazine. She turned on the light and entered the room slowly--alarmed that the French windows were open and the sheer white curtains danced madly in and out of the room. She moved to shut them, thinking that the episode reminded her of the scenes she'd seen in the old Dracula movies…but that was all just fiction…just a myth, or so Frederic had said.

That's when she heard him call her name. He called her as gently and as smoothly as the night breeze, as if they were one.

"Briella..."

She spun to see that he was on the other side of the room near the fireplace. He was quite resplendent in his dark suit, his face reflecting both his passion and hunger. She supposed that she should be scared with a vampire standing before her, but she was not. For in that instant she allowed herself to look deeply into his eyes, staring hard into the dark orbs in an attempt to read his soul the same way that he had hers. And at once she realized that she knew him well, had always known him somehow, and that she had nothing to fear from him. He had spoken the truth about his heart and soul: they had been destined to be one, and she knew that she had waited a very long time to be with him again.

And now, she would never have to loose him again, because he would never die. He was an immortal, beautiful and perfect in every conceivable way. And at once, she threw away all of her silly fears and distrust, no longer needing to question herself or her desire. She knew she wanted to give herself to him. Completely.

He seemed to understand her feelings without question, and when she went to him, he took her into his welcome and loving arms, and she was glad to find that his flesh was not cold but as warm and alive as a rose beneath the summer sun, his body seeming to pulsate with renewed life and vigor.

"I told you, Briella, we were meant to be together, and from this night forward, we shall never be apart," he whispered huskily into her ear. In short order, he stripped her of the elegant gown, and paused for a moment to study her. She was a vision in her black stockings and lacey corset, and as he thoroughly perused her, she felt more beautiful than she ever had before, truly loved and adored. She savored the feel of his arms around her when he picked her up gently and carried her to the bed, removing his own clothes before he joined her there.

Slowly the ties to the corset were loosened, her full breasts exposed to his eager questing eyes, and when he suckled her pert nipples, thoroughly lapping one before going to the other, she felt fire shoot through her body in intense, recurring explosions. His lips met hers, then his kisses trailed a line along the column of her white throat.

When his teeth punctured the vein in her neck, she let out a high-pitched scream, but it was a scream of pleasure rather than pain.

She found that he was indeed a man of his word, for he was giving her all that he had promised, and much, much more. This interlude was sheer ecstasy in its purest form.

The feeling of his teeth in her vein released a new form of euphoria in her body that she had never experienced before. The pleasure moved from her neck up to her face, her ears, her forehead, her scalp, then it seemed to slowly touch every nerve in her body.

She moaned like she was dying, even though the pleasure was intense, and he continued slowly...so very slowly...to feast on her blood. Every movement of his lips sent the most incredible bliss through her entire body...while his soft hair tickled and caressed her neck, face, and chest as he continued to claim a bit of her life force only to bestow some of his to her in return.

Finally, she escape into some wonderful, warm, world of blinding light and when the bliss overcame her, she knew that at last, they truly were one again.

It would be a night she would never forget for the rest of her time on earth...time that would never end for an immortal.