Spiked Embrace

Mirage Amoreux

Silence is golden, they say.

Oh yes, indeed.

Though, it is not a biunivocal kind of gold, but a one-sided spark of unparalleled pleasure, savoured with blissful lust on the top of the predator's moist, eager tongue.

Twilight creaked in shades of deep purple and dark gold among the veins of the leafy trees of the immortal forest.

A single shiver of cool and masked fright ran down the girl's spine, and she lost her smile for few, brief seconds.

Then the spilling sunset hues, landing on branches and rimming boughs with bars of orange and purple stole her attention and rippled more smiles from her heart, that sped ever so slightly its rhythm.

The springing heartbeats did not go unnoticed.

Movements shook the nearby blueberry bushes, but no human eyes could spot such irrelevant shifts of stillness. No human hears could perceive a cloaked grin erupt in delightful spillings of a hushed laughter, muffled by nightshades.

The girl had but turned on her heels to retrace back the course of the bubbling crystal stream, when a light, almost imperceptible 'thump' froze her. She stood still in her unaware spot, marking, had she but known it, the inevitable start of her sacred vessill's downfall.

At first, they smile. Such a tainted, magnetic, beguiling smile, framed by sharp yet guiltless teeth spilling a thousand moonlights sparking with repressed laughter, the white skin of angels haloeing their outer intentions and manners, leaving their preys awestruck and lost for words. As regards inner intentions, well...that is totally another topic of discussion, better left unanswered and unexplored, for humans' sake.

Then, they will place ever so gently yet firmly their right arm across their chest upon their - eerie indeed, yet irony their delight - non-beating heart, palm wrapping their fingers holding their jackets' lapel, and ensnaring their prey with gleaming blue-silver or crimson eyes, depending on how much time they have or haven't been feeding themselves.

Yet....yet, the endangered victim can still hope and grasp at her or his very last drops of strength and courage and flee for their life, until the vampire is silent, though those eyes are more piercing and magnetic than the deepest imaginable gravity on earth or underseas.

But alas! If the immortal speaks, your free will is going to be caged forever by that sound, so silken-sweet and addictive, pushing and craving for your total willing submission with every spoken word, sound, syllable, even studied pause.

Got that far, upon reaching this point, all I can do is sigh deeply, wish you best of luck and hope for your safety he will be gentle enough not to make you suffer, or equal your status to his, but this rarely happens. They are proud creatures, obsessed with noble blood and pure races, therefore only seldom do they accept and yield at the temptation of mixing their pure blood with mortals, in their opinion bearers of mixed, inferior blood, made to be eaten and feed their needs (be it hunger or lust), but nothing more.

Clearly it would be impossible to state there aren't half-blooded creatures creeping in the shadows of the night, hated and despised by noble vampires and mere rebels conspiring in the dark, doing their best to uprise against their nemesis gathering an army of mortal-born vampires, whose mixed blood but young age they hope will outpower and submit the nobility's snob and unflexible attitude toward them.

The gentleman materialized in front of the girl's appalled, shocked eyes was nonetheless than the chief in command of the Rebel's army of half-blood vampires known as the Clan of the Outcasts. Little did she know he planned to make her his own companion in his mission, deadly and liable to be a life's hazard - though what was at stake for him was his own undead nature -, even for an immortal like him.

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