December 1999…

Can blood drain from the face of a vampire?

It certainly felt like it. Standing inside the art gallery in New Orleans, I was shocked into immobility, unable to move a single muscle as electricity surged through me. Whiter than white, my body was totally incapable of movement as my eyes fixed upon the painting before me.

Impossible...

But there she was, right before my eyes, staring out at me from the canvas. Her expression so familiar, it could have been only yesterday. There was not a shred of doubt in my mind. It was her.

My creator. Lilah. Someone I hadn’t spoken to for nearly five hundred years.

My friend had indeed completed his commission. The style was different, but the brushwork was unmistakable.

When did you finish this, my friend? Why is it not signed? Where has it been hiding all this time? Did no one realise that it was a Da Vinci?

I looked for the name of the artist. The plaque below simply said 'Unknown'.

There was a mystery here — a secret that I had to discover.

I had been drawn here after almost a century of wandering these lands — to this city which was decaying so gracefully. New Orleans, I sensed, was home to many dark treasures. A quite fitting place for one such as myself. I had felt an almost supernatural pull to this place.

And now, as I gazed upon the portrait, I knew why.

Suddenly, every nerve in my body tingled with warning. I was not alone! Even as I sensed the threat, my eyes blazed and, spinning with preternatural speed, I pinned her against the wall before she could lay a finger upon me.

Arms lying dormant by her side, she smiled.

“Hello, Vincenzo.”

~ooOoo~

1888…

Damn me, God! I hadn’t meant to kill him — or had I?

The events continued to swirl inside my head as I struggled to settle upon one emotion. Since the unfortunate incident, I had been racked with hurt, rage, shame and guilt. An innocent tree bore the brunt of my frustration with its trunk stained red from my pounding, bloody fists.

My body, of course, healed the wounds in moments — it was a shame, really, that I wouldn’t ever be made to suffer the physical damage I inflicted on others. My eyes clenched shut, trying to unsee what had just happened. Mortified, I had immediately left her home when she told me to go. Since that moment, my mind had tortured me with recurring pictures of her bewildered, stricken face; her eyes gaping wide with fear and horror. Fear and horror of me, and what I had done.

Oh, my dear Elizabeth, how has it come to this?

Of course, it would only be a matter of time before the police came to my estate. Possibly, they were already on their way. I had no other course than to keep walking with no clear direction in mind. Once again, my state of mind changed. Dear God above, he was beating her for Christ’s sake! Was I really supposed to do nothing? Rage bubbled up inside me at the memory of him striking her. HE was the monster! Him! Not me!

No doubt he had heard of our love affair. Shame overtook me once more at the realization that this was entirely my fault. I should have never involved myself with her. But the thought was unimaginable; how could I not have involved myself with her? It had seemed the most natural thing in the world.

In despair, I continued walking for what seemed like an eternity. Still in a daze, I discovered that my feet had naturally led me back to my home. I very much expected to see the police lying in wait for me, but all was disturbingly quiet. Why were they not here? I wondered.

There were no unfamiliar scents; no evidence of my grounds disturbed. I paused, looking around, thinking this was a quite curious turn of events. I had anticipated an attempt at arrest the moment I arrived. Resisting the urge to return to the scene of my recent crime, I instead simply went inside to await my fate. Defeat, absolute defeat, was the mindset that finally settled upon me.

I remained at home the whole of the next day, waiting — waiting for the inevitable. But no one came. The front page of the newspaper screamed my hideous crime at me, but I could not bear to read about it. Then, on the second day, I was surprised to hear a carriage approaching. I breathed in deeply and immediately picked up the scent of her perfume. Elizabeth!

Rushing to the door, I flung it open to greet her. She stood there looking quite ragged with her eyes red and swollen. There was no sign of a smile upon her face.

“Elizabe—“

“Stop!” She put her hand up in warning, stopping me in my tracks. Her voice was devoid of all emotion. “I have come only to tell you that the police will not be looking for you, Vincent.”

“Why not? I don’t underst—“

“I lied, Vincent,” she interrupted again. “I lied for you! I told a story of three vagabonds entering my bedroom from the balcony to rob me of my jewels and to — to rape me. I told them my husband died a heroic death protecting my honour!”

She spat the last word with an ironic sob.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Why?” She had perjured herself to the police — for me! “Why would you do that, Elizabeth?”

“Because I — because I loved you, Vincent.” She hung her head, but no tears fell for me.

I thought I would disintegrate at the sight of her distress and I reached for her again. Shuddering, she backed away, stabbing me in the heart with her retreat.

“Please, Elizabeth! Allow me to comfort you!”

“Do not — do not touch me, Vincent!”

“He was hurting you! What was I supposed to do?” I wanted to make her understand!

“He was my husband and he was disciplining me because I had humiliated him. He was perfectly within his rights, Vincent, and he did not deserve to die!” She raised her eyes to face me now, her jaw trembling. “How did you even…” She stopped herself with a shudder, then continued in a monotone. “Never mind. I want to know nothing else about you, Vincent. I came to say you are safe and to tell you goodbye.”

Her voice had started to crack on the last word, and I could see that she was close to breaking down. I had done this to her through my despicable actions. She was giving me exactly what I deserved. But…

“Please don’t go, Elizabeth,” I pleaded, reaching my hand out. Again, she backed away. The light had left her eyes — they appeared dead — just like her feelings for me.

And then, turning on her heels, she walked out of my life forever.

~ooOoo~

1890…

The abrupt ending of my relationship with Elizabeth took a huge toll on me. I had not felt like this since those horrendous hours of confusion after I was turned. I retreated from society and roamed the length and breadth of Britain with no real purpose in my reeling, stricken mind. I wanted to drown my sorrows, but alcohol did little for me. Not for the first time, I used sex to fill the yawning emptiness. Sex and, of course, blood — which was always at the centre of my cravings. And once again, I used prostitutes to satisfy my disconsolate lust.

This time, however, there were no fancy brothels for me; the seedy alleyways were much more suited to my maudlin temperament and fulfilled my needs perfectly. My heart yearned for Elizabeth, and in truth, I could not bear the taste or feel of another woman’s lips upon my own without bile swiftly rising in my throat.

Any drunk lying in the alley fulfilled my bloodlust, whilst a prostitute dirtying her knees satisfied my sordid thirst for sex. No intimacy — just a sad whore sucking on my indifferent cock. From time to time my self-loathing waned enough to allow myself the warmth of a seedy cunt, temporarily wallowing in another’s tawdry heat as they enveloped my apathetic member with the same dispassion I myself displayed. I was, however, only ever sated for a few moments before loneliness returned with a crashing vengeance.

Did they know — the ones I fucked the hardest — that it wasn’t their stout bosoms or well-upholstered bottoms which caused my uncaring cock to thrust so vigorously? That instead it was my need to expunge the emptiness which raged inside me. Their unsavoury, soiled cunts simply filled a primal need devoid of emotion or feeling.

And so, this was my life once again — aimlessly wandering without motivation or thought, living as a depressed leech upon an unresponsive society.

~ooOoo~

1897…

How time passes when you do not care. How unexpected is the catalyst of change when it finally happens upon you?

Somehow or other, I eventually found myself in the seaside town of Whitby, one-time home of the great explorer, Captain James Cook. Whilst there, and with great surprise, I ran into my old friend Mr Stoker, whom I had always admired for his creative spirit. Indeed, we both found ourselves staying at the Royal Hotel situated on the town’s Western Cliffs. Seeing him somewhat lifted my downed spirits — at least temporarily, for our conversations had always proved refreshing in the past. Dare I say that it even felt good to be stimulated by someone other than a low-minded prostitute for a change.

His family was not due to arrive for several days, so we spent some time in discussion together. As we strolled along the town’s cobblestone streets, I discovered Bram (as he now asked me to call him) had a penchant for Gothic architecture — just one of the many things it appeared we had in common. We both enjoyed the sights offered by this busy little port, such as the dramatic ruins of the Abbey perched high on the East Cliff overlooking the town. All were welcome distractions for me.

He was gathering inspiration for a story he was writing. At first, he was quite secretive — worried perhaps, that I might pilfer his ideas. He was too excited, however, to stay silent for long. And using my subtle influence, he soon began to reveal his thoughts.

“Do you know of Vlad the Impaler, Vincent?” Bram asked whilst we walked.

Ah — the conversation was taking an interesting turn! Of course I had heard of Vlad Țepeș and his lust for blood. Indeed, I knew the story very well, and I had often wondered about his origins.

“Yes, I have some knowledge of him,” I replied cautiously.

“I have been researching him for my book. He was quite a gruesome figure.”

I was not quite sure how to respond, so I kept my counsel. The word “gruesome” was quite an unfavourable term which some would undoubtedly also apply to me. We paused our chatter and seated ourselves on a bench overlooking the harbour. He scribbled away in his notebook, writing the words “imposing ruins”, “dark silhouettes”, “brooding structures” and the like. I surmised that this was indeed to be a story of a darker nature. Then I spied the word “vampire”. At that moment, the fog started rolling in from the sea, quickly and suddenly blanketing the small town in a veil of white mist. The people wandering the streets became dark and shadowy silhouettes themselves. What a perfect backdrop for a story such as his!

I chuckled at the absurdity of it. Oblivious, the monster he was so eager to create in fiction was in fact real, and seated right next to him. Bram broke from his scribbles and eyed me curiously. I shook my head and chuckled again, glancing at the pulsing vein in his neck. It would have been so easy to sink my teeth into him and drink, the suffocating fog covering my dirty deed; he would have no idea what was happening. For a moment, I was startled at my own amusement, and dare I say it — temptation! Deciding I was dancing a little too close to danger with my friend, I wished Bram well with his book and took my leave of him, citing an early rise the next morn.

And for the first time in months, I felt an urge to do something!

~ooOoo~

New Orleans, 1999…

“Lilah…” I responded, with more composure than I felt; the shock still reverberating within me.

I had felt her presence moments before. But the sight of her standing before me seemed to suck the very air out of the room. The rush of emotion, the feelings sweeping through me were overwhelming.

Why was she here? — HOW was she here? And why now?

I stared at her in consternation, the adrenalin flow finally slowing within me; the instinctive desire to defend myself ebbing with the knowledge that she wasn’t here to harm me. How I could be certain of this I did not know — only that it was true.

I released my grip on her and we stood staring at one another. What now? I tried to imagine what would happen next. Surprising to me, I no longer had any ill feelings toward her. How many times in those early centuries had I imagined the fury and rage that would consume me when I saw her again. But now, somehow, anger evaded me. Instead, to my astonishment, I felt — longing.

“How are you, Vincenzo?” she whispered. I was confused by the question. She looked almost — there was no other word for it — ashamed!

“Do you still hate me, Vincenzo?” Her extraordinarily beautiful eyes gazed into my own with uncertainty at this crucial moment; it felt like she was peering deep into my soul, searching for something.

She was unsure of me. What did that mean?

I thought back — back to those years following my departure from England, and the new insights I had gleaned as I rejoined society.

~ooOoo~

The early 1900’s…

I had become severely depressed. My life, such as it was, had become meaningless. I was tired of England and its dark, repressive ways. My chance meeting with Bram had, for some reason, lit the tiniest of flames within me and, restless now, I nurtured this minute flicker. I wanted to move on; I needed to find enlightenment.

And so I returned to Europe. At first, I was unsure where my meanderings were taking me. But then I realised that I needed to find some meaning to my life — or rather, to my existence. More specifically, I wished to know why the things that had happened to me had happened.

Almost inevitably, I found myself back in Florence. I wanted to find my family — my mortal family. Had my name lived on? I had not dared return to find out following the years when I first became a vampire — who knows what I would have done in my thirst and confusion. But surely, with three sons, I would have descendants? I was unsure what I would do, but I wanted to see!

Alas, it was not to be. Months of searching proved disheartening and, ultimately, fruitless. My old home no longer existed and I could find no record or other evidence of my family. It seemed that my line — like me — had disappeared with no vibrant, beating hearts, no burning embers to show any kind of legacy from my mortal life. There was no more sign of my being than the hole left when you withdraw your finger from a cup of water.

And, looking in the mirror, even the physical evidence of my birth had been strangely diluted; whilst my features still bore some remnant of the Mediterranean, I had long ceased to sound like a resident of the Italian north.

Who was I then? I was nobody; I’d never existed. Yet this realization actually began to heal me in some bizarre way — it forced me into the present and made me look to the possible future laid out in front of me. It was strange, but now I could accept that my life would continue whether I wanted it to or not. For a moment, I wondered what had become of the one who had created me — Lilah. For a long time I had hated her; hated what she was, and what she had made me into. Now — now my thoughts and feelings started to become muddled. I was confused. It was odd, but over the years there had been occasions — brief moments here and there where I thought I had glimpsed her. Had my mind been playing tricks on me? Or was it perhaps wishful thinking, my subconscious telling me what I refused to consider openly?

My trousers had grown uncomfortably tight as my thoughts wandered, and I delicately adjusted myself. My manhood, for so long only rearing itself with a blatant, physical stimulation, now grew and ached at the thought of her — painfully ached! Ah — this unexpected, subconscious erotic reaction was giving me away! So much so, I had to make haste to my accommodations to urgently take the matter in hand. I saw Lilah’s face clearly as my body found its welcome release, spurting again and again and again. What was happening to me? Why would her face not leave me now?

~ooOoo~

Confused, I made my way north to Vienna. I had heard of someone there who I thought might be able to help me make sense of these reactions. I had read a number of his papers and was particularly interested in his thoughts around something called ‘dream analysis’. Whilst I had no need for ordinary sleep, I was beginning to be haunted by persistent daydreams of Lilah. Try as I may, I could not discern their purpose. No day passed where I did not see her face within my mind, resulting in an urgent need to masturbate with thoughts of her filling my consciousness.

And so I became acquainted with the theories of Freud. Perhaps the Austrian might have some insights for one such as me. Some answers to my questions; why now? I had tried to forget her for so long, so why was I consumed — tormented — with thoughts of her after nearly four hundred years?

Inveigling my way into his circle took some time, a little charm and a sprinkling of money spread in the right places. It wasn’t the first time, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Over a period of a few months, I got to know him quite well. He was opinionated and a little full of himself, but intriguing and knowledgeable nonetheless.

I found myself invited to his weekly discussions with friends and colleagues where he revelled in holding court and giving his opinions. There were some very robust discussions — particularly with his friend, Carl Jung — another fascinating individual with interesting ideas about the human psyche.

I confess that, whilst befriending him, I managed to surreptitiously offer myself as an interesting case for study. Siggi liked to puff on his cigar whilst shooting questions at me about my daydreams. In the course of our conversations, I managed to disclose much about my relationship with Lilah and how I had fled her company — disguising, of course, some of the more difficult details that he would not understand.

It was a challenging game that I played. I very carefully trod that difficult path between openness about myself and my ‘dreams’ whilst, of course, concealing or steering away from things that would almost certainly lead to ridicule or the lunatic asylum — or even worse, a desire to study me to a level beyond that with which I was either comfortable or willing to acquiesce.

His conclusions were startling. In divulging the intense sexual response my body had to thoughts of her — a somewhat difficult and shameful thing to reveal in the early twentieth century — Siggi surmised that I had repressed a deep-seated need to be with her. I was somewhat shocked — surely I hated her, didn’t I? She had ruined my life, and I had fled from her clutches!

Siggi’s response when I articulated these thoughts shook me to the core. He rather abruptly stopped his note-taking and, looking at me with absolute certainty said:

“You need to seek her out! Seek her out — find this Lilah and confront her!”

I sat opposite him and pondered his words. Was he a genius, or a madman? Would he dare even suggest such a thing if he knew who or what she really was?

Regardless, I admit I enjoyed his company immensely. I very much valued the time I spent with him and his friends. Siggi, Carl and I, in particular, spent more than one evening smoking cigars, discussing politics and, I confess, enjoying the relaxing and uplifting effects of drinking water laced with cocaine.

The year I spent in Vienna gave me much to think about. More than anything, I sensed the need for a more radical change; something entirely different — a completely new start. The political climate in Europe was becoming volatile, and I could sense the oncoming of hostilities. When I was finally ready to leave, I felt a new energy filling my being; the flame in me was burning brighter. The time was right to move on.

Thus it was that I decided to try my luck in the New World.

~ooOoo~

I won’t bore you with details of the journey. Suffice to say that crossing an ocean wasn’t as simple as you might think for one such as me. I made landfall in New York in the spring of 1914. This was the land of opportunity. Immediately I sensed its appeal. Here, perhaps, I would be able to find freedom from my past.

During the following years, I roamed this new continent, exploring with wonder and deliberately ignoring anything to do with the depressing slaughter on the other side of the Atlantic.

I look back at those years and smile inwardly. I saw so many wonderful and beautiful things: canyons and mountains, deserts and valleys, rivers and forests. And the people — the people were a refreshing change from the squabbling Europeans with their unwarranted sense of superiority.

Following the Great War, I spent some time in the vibrant city of Chicago. I lived in a townhouse, enjoying the cities offerings, and looked with hope towards a brighter future.

And then I became sick. I hadn’t known it was possible for I had not suffered from disease or illness one single time since I had emerged from my transformation. But for the first time in over five hundred years, I was unable to rouse myself, so ill had I become. I had been infected with a virus, and I wasn’t the only one. Millions were dying, not just in the United States, but all over the world. I did not realise it at the time, but I believe I was close to my end. I was in a fever, not unlike that when I was first turned. I was also alone — there was no one to tend to me, and I could not exactly call on the doctor.

The fever was so strong that at one point, I started hallucinating. I could see angels hovering above me — a beautiful face that reminded me of Lilah. I wondered for a moment if I wasn’t in heaven. But then, even through the muffled haziness of my mind, I realised with a start that that was not a place I was ever likely to be going.

The vision leant toward me and spoke.

“Drink, Vincenzo — drink!” The words were soft and kindly and it seemed silly to fight them. I remember my teeth grazing skin and a sudden, powerful rush of the most potent liquid that had ever passed my lips. I sucked greedily, feeling an instant influx of energy into my contaminated system, and a new will to live welling up inside me!

The visions stayed with me for some time, though it is difficult to say exactly how long. All I know is that afterwards I began to recover, and actually felt some relief at being well again. Clearly, I still had some zest for life.

But full recovery took a lot longer than I anticipated. And even this new land had its annoyances. Within the year, Prohibition had been introduced and the mood of the country changed. Much of the bright life that had drawn me here was driven underground and became secret and furtive.

Of course, time for me was relative, and I could quickly see that Prohibition wouldn’t last forever. It simply wasn’t working as it was intended. But just as I thought the end was in sight, during the fall of 1929, disaster struck in what came to be called The Great Depression; a drastic fall in stock prices drove people out of business and into poverty overnight.

They were a strong, hard-working people, these Americans. But this really seemed to knock the stuffing out of the country. Of course, they weren’t the only ones — this economic crisis affected the whole world — but here, it seemed a particularly hard hammer-blow.

America was in the midst of a huge recession, and if one read the newspapers, one could sense another global war on the horizon. I sighed; would people never learn? Had the Great War been for nothing? For surely, another war now would only be a continuation of the last ghastly, foolhardy enterprise.

Enough was enough. I decided that it was time to rest. As I’ve already mentioned, I didn’t need sleep — not in the normal sense. But every century or so, a great weariness overcame me, and with it a desire to pause for a while. One might almost compare it to a form of hibernation.

I found somewhere where I would not be disturbed. Somewhere secret and safe from prying eyes and inquisitive noses. Hopefully, when I rejoined the world, it would be a more inspiring place. And so, I closed my eyes… and slumbered.

~ooOoo~

1999…

I realized that I hadn’t answered her question.

Lilah stood before me, waiting patiently for me to respond.

I looked at her again, still not trusting my eyes. My preternatural eyes, which could see more than most, felt blinded by her presence.

Did I still hate her?

I should have felt anger; hate; frustration. I should have felt so many things.

And yet — and yet, I did not. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of coming home.

Freud had been right.

“I — I do not,” I stammered in reply. Almost with a will of its own, my hand slowly reached up and gently stroked her cheek. “Maybe I did at one time, but I do not now.”

This was unusual. I had not felt such confusion since my most recent awakening. I started to speak, the centuries of pent-up feelings wanting to pour out of me.

“Shhhh…” said Lilah, putting a finger to her lips. “Not here. Let us go somewhere quieter.”

She led me outside to a small, dimly lit café next to the gallery. There was a private booth at the rear, where she indicated I should sit.

“Now, tell me…”

I started with why I had run from her. Then I continued with how my feelings had turned from fear to anger. “You took my life from me, Lilah — a wondrous, fulfilling life filled with a lovely wife and three strong sons.”

She reached across the table for my hands.

“Forgive me,” she said, her eyes unexpectedly welling up with tears.

I looked at her fingers, holding mine. I could feel my own emotions starting to overcome me. “Lilah, it took me a long time — centuries — to accept what I had lost.” I paused. “You changed everything for me.”

“I too, have lost,” she whispered, squeezing my fingers tighter.

Her words took me completely by surprise. I raised my face to hers, looking deeply into her eyes — the same eyes that had haunted me through the centuries. I saw things I had not expected to see. Her loneliness; her regrets; her fear. She was like me — she too, was a victim. She had not wanted this life either.

I was starting to understand.

Still looking into my eyes, her hands now reached for my face, gently caressing my cheek. “I was so lonely — so very, very lonely,” she said softly.

She continued talking as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I saw you in Florence and… and felt an attraction I had not felt before. Not once in my three thousand years. I wanted you, Vincenzo. I had been so alone and wanted companionship. I needed you! At that moment, I craved you with everything I am. I… I’m afraid I lost my senses.”

She pulled away, no longer wanting to meet my eyes.

I studied her features; her sincerity and chagrin were apparent. But not, perhaps, regret. I felt a warmth towards her that I had not expected.

“Please forgive me,” she begged again, almost choking on her tears.

I realised now what she had gone through; comprehended her pain. When I looked at her again, there really wasn’t anything to forgive, was there? I took a deep breath.

“I forgive you, Lilah.” And with those four words, an incredible weight lifted from my being. I stepped around to her side of the table, lifted her up, and enveloped her in my arms. We stayed like that for a very long time, clinging to one another. I felt a sudden shift in our relationship, and I sensed that she felt it too. It was a very warm, welcome feeling.

She lifted her face to mine, her eyes still seeking my understanding. “I have kept an eye on you through the centuries, Vincenzo — or do you prefer Vincent?”

“Kept an eye on me?” I responded, ignoring the question. I thought back to those occasions that I thought I had glimpsed her — when I could have sworn that I had felt her presence. A memory of the time I was ill suddenly flooded my mind.

“It was you — it was you that…” my voice trailed off. “I thought you were an angel.”

I recanted my memory to Lilah.

“Something had been wrong, and upon my return from the theatre, I had become ill, my body shaking violently, covered in sweat. My body was on fire, burning. I had no notion of what to do. Everything had started to go dark.

“The next time I opened my eyes, I saw an angel and thought of you. I did see you! Your hair was different, but your face — your face was just the same, like now!”

I looked at her. She was so beautiful! Her eyes lit up, obviously happy I had become aware of her help in my time of need.

“I could never forget your face, Lilah. As I lay naked, fever raging, you cooled my face with a wet cloth. It felt so good — the dampness of the water on my heated flesh.

“’Vincenzo, I am here,’ you said, although your voice seemed very distant — hazy. My eyes closed again and you told me to drink. And then I felt a warm liquid dripping in between my lips, running down my throat; I remember I couldn’t get enough and greedily gulped and drank and swallowed. When I stopped drinking, my nausea had subsided and darkness fell upon me again.”

I smiled ruefully.

“I convinced myself that you were just a fever-induced dream, but you stayed with me, didn’t you?”

Lilah returned my smile, nodding her reply.

There is a strong connection between us, Vincenzo — I can always feel it, and I think maybe you can too. I sense — know — when you need me.”

“So, my fevered dream was not a dream at all. You healed me?”

She smiled. “I did. It is the blood that bonds us, Vincent. I gave you my blood to heal you. Because of the amount of time I have spent on this Earth, my blood is very strong, my dear Vincent — strong enough to heal you when you became ill.”

She paused.

"There is something you should know. The virus that you contracted — that killed so many humans — came from us, Vincent.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it originated with a vampire. We don’t know how — only that it did. And because of that, it affected our kind. The first time any such thing has happened.”

I thought for a moment.

“How many of us are there, Lilah?” I asked.

“Not as many as you might think. I do not know for sure, but we probably number in the hundreds — which is not many at all if you think about it. Not spread over the entire planet.” She paused again.

“You are one of the youngest, Vincent. Very few are made, and most have been around for thousands of years. I made you because I wanted a mate, Vincent.”

I held my breath as I watched her, watching me.

“Have you — have you not found another,” I asked hesitantly. I saw her expression turn sorrowful.

How I hoped she had not!

She reached up and brushed my cheek with her fingertips. “No. There has only ever been one mate for me. And, quite understandably, he chose to run.”

Her smile betrayed her vulnerability. She looked so fragile in that moment. I could not restrain myself from touching her face. She covered my hand with her own and her sweet lips brushed against my fingers. I could feel the skin tingle where she touched me.

“I knew I might have to be patient,” she whispered. “I knew you might not understand — might hate me for what I’d done, and find me repellant to be near. But when I saw you that day, I knew I had to take the risk.”

“The painting…”

She laughed. “Yes, the painting — you recognized it immediately didn’t you.”

Her smile turned impish.

“I have lived here in New Orleans for quite some time. I bought this gallery and established a residence above whilst I waited for you.”

She paused at my expression and laughed again.

“Yes, I own the gallery. You saw the picture — it’s only been visible to the public for a few months. No one — so far — has any idea that it is Leonardo’s work — and I am happy to keep it that way. His signature is actually hidden by that huge frame it sits within. Maybe one day… but I will tell you more of this later.”

I nodded. I wanted to know everything — there was so much! How had she known I would come? But I thought — hoped — that perhaps there would be a lot of time for this.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers. Our eyes locked, mouths so close we breathed in each other’s air. I inhaled her sweet breath, wanting to taste it. I could not deny she was the most beautiful woman my eyes had ever seen. My body reacted to her as it did centuries before — she unravelled me. It was then that I claimed her lips with mine. Such soft lips, she had. Hesitant, then persistent for more contact. Fire spread throughout my insides from our kiss. Our mouths soon mashed together in urgent need, tongues thrusting. I licked the tip of her exposed incisors.

She stopped me. “Let me take you to my apartment,” she breathed, leading me up some hidden stairs at the rear of the café. Clearly, the café was part of the gallery, but I didn’t really notice doors or steps; I was much too lost in the moment. In only seconds, we had arrived in what could only be her bedroom, usefully located in her accommodations above the unsuspecting public.

Our heated embrace quickly escalated to a raging fire as we tore at each other’s clothes, wanting nothing between us. I pulled back a moment to marvel at her naked form. She was breathtaking! So much more than mortal flesh.

“I came straight down to the gallery when I felt your presence,” she murmured, her eyes burned red with a smouldering passion. “Vincenzo, I want you — need you…!”

I responded with my mouth, kissing her with ferocious need. Then I lay her down onto what looked like a very expensive, luxurious Persian rug, and slid on top of her, spreading her legs for my impatient cock. Hopefully, we would have all the time in the world to explore each other, but right at that moment, I wanted to make love to her — to make us as one, as so many of the images in my head had shown me over the years.

Having grown accustomed to holding back my strength, I eased my rigid member inside her, gently testing her depth. Her cunt was so hot — a raging inferno! Our outsides were cold to the touch, but her cunt was heated and wet and, with a life of its own, seemed to gleefully draw my cock in. I grew larger and harder in her vicelike grip. For so long, I had had to be controlled with a lover. But Lilah was different; her strength more than matched my own.

“You cannot hurt me, Vincenzo. Do not hold back, my love!”

I heeded her words and penetrated her with newly released intensity — uncontrolled, unrestrained thrusts. Being inside Lilah’s sweet snatch surpassed any previously known sexual pleasure. Looking down, her pink nipples, sharply contrasting with her pale skin, drew my mouth. Oh, how they hardened between my razor-sharp teeth.

She responded with shrill cries and her long fingernails dug deep into my buttocks, drawing blood. I raised my face to look into her hypnotic eyes once again. Witnessing her desire for me fueled my passion to never-before-reached heights. Waves of warmth rushed throughout my body. How I feverishly fucked her. The sounds of our bodies slapping noisily together — our moans of ecstasy — our pleads for more — were almost deafening!

I continued slamming my cock into her steamy cunt. She took it — each and every deep thrust, pushing back with a force equal to my own. We wrestled for control, her rolling me onto my back and pinning my wrists, bucking and slamming down on my cock with a force that would break mortal men. Her cunt squeezed me with strangling force each time she rose, lengthening me farther. Wanting control back, I rolled us over again. Lifting her legs in the air, I fucked her faster and harder. We were burrowing an impression into the soft fibres beneath us with our grinding loins.

She sucked my bottom lip, trapping it between her sharp teeth; then I felt a sting of pain. Her sucking increased with fervour. She was drinking — me! Drinking my blood!

She pulled back, her eyes glowing. “Bite me, Vincenzo. Release your fangs, my darling.”

Ahhh! It was freeing to allow them to descend — no longer having to keep them retracted.

Baring my fangs for her, I took her lip in my teeth and bit her gently, but hard enough for a trickle of blood to stain my lips. Licking, I tasted her blood. Delicious! Ahhh, so heady! My head swirled. Rushes of power mixed with arousal rose up inside me, consuming me. Then, our thoughts became one as we took each other’s necks, piercing, sucking, each frenziedly consuming the other with an inhuman fervour. Animalistic growls filled the room as we writhed.

I resumed our coupling with renewed ferocity — a savage intensity I had not enjoyed before now. She remained latched onto my neck, feeding. I could feel my manhood thickening and lengthening as the taste of her blood sent me to unknown heights. Her legs spread wider to suck in my increasing girth. Our hands roamed each other’s flesh, desperate for places to take hold.

Two blood-spattered, naked bodies glistened with vampire sweat; it would have been an astonishing sight for mortals, no doubt. Pupils crimson and dilated, mouths with fangs exposed and dripping with blood, both of us growling like leopards in heat. Tongues licked and lapped at the red drops staining each other’s face. The fucking combined with primaeval feeding unleashed an indescribable ecstasy. This was undoubtedly the most intimate encounter I had ever had with another.

As we raced to the edge in unison we both shuddered, clawing each other. Raw lust consumed us. Lilah’s legs shook violently around me, then momentarily stilled before I felt her liquid heat soaking my cock. I came with a roar, coating her insides with my own molten heat. A seemingly never-ending orgasm almost rendered me unconscious. I didn’t recognize our carnal, entangled screams; never had I experienced a more satisfying feeling in my entire existence. My manhood finally slipped out of her volcanic cocoon, deflating, completely sated.

We lay still, recovering. We basked in the afterglow of our supernatural coupling. As my arms enveloped her, sealing our bodies together, we whispered words of love for one another; words that had taken several lifetimes to bring to fruition. Contentment, actual contentment, hit me as I realized I could finally be myself with a woman.

As she laid her head upon my chest, I thought of her portrait in the gallery below and became contemplative. For some time now, I had resigned myself to walk this earth alone — alone and without meaning. Yet here we were about to enter a new century, and for the first time since my change over five hundred years earlier, I looked forward to the future with a hope I had never expected to feel.

I had reconciled with my creator, Lilah. Could it be that finally — finally — I would also be reconciled with the monster within?