Chapter Text
Aimeric
The full moon is a cruel mistress. Unknowing humans believe she only commands the wolves, but we vampires are her victims too. The full moon is the only time we sweat, our already dry corpses making room for the blood of new children. The moon bids us to kill, to drink our fill—finally, as we always wish we could—and stand guard as the fresh corpses grow fangs and feed, feed…
Oh, I am hungry. The ache in my fangs begs me to bury them in a hot human neck. The pain is so bad that I almost forget the burn of the silver blanket draped over me, keeping me immobile in my dreary apartment while the full moon glows.
My human slave Kira is nowhere to be found. Following my orders, every full moon she drapes me in the blanket made of silver chains and becomes scarce. I know not where she sleeps, but I think of her heartbeat, her warm skin, the hot blood pumping through her veins. Perhaps it would be safer for me to have her near, ready to remove the silver should a hunter or other threat find me while I cannot move. But she is small and weak—a helper, not a guard. It would not be fair to her.
In general, I prefer male meals. But during the full moon, I would ravage anyone, Kira included. Even so, I must remember how badly I need my slave. After my sire’s death, his enemies cast me out of my birth den, and now I am alone, save for her. Yet I would tear into her now if I were able, feel her lifeblood coat my cool tongue… Then I would have a fellow vampire, a true friend. But it is forbidden to make children without permission from an established den leader. I would only be condemning her and myself to final rest.
I hear something. Wood creaks.
My hunger remains, but now trepidation twists in my hollow gut. No vampire would be alone like this if they could help it. There is safety in numbers—safety from the hunters, who sometimes risk night hunts during the full moon. I have no protection because formidable humans look down on me, and fellow vampires judge me for having no home.
“Kira?” I call out to the empty room. My apartment is just that—a room—but outside is a staircase, and the sound comes again—the creaking. “Kira, you are foolish! Stay away!” Yet I hope it is her. Her presence will increase my pain, but better her than a hunter since I cannot break free from my blanket without human help.
The lock turns, and I exhale my relief. It must be Kira; she is the only one with a key. Her heart hammers so sweetly.
“Kira, you have your orders. You are to stay away.”
“My name’s Storm.” A man’s voice. “And I don’t take orders from you. Neither does Kira now.”
My cold body grows colder. I dart my gaze around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder.
“Maybe in her next life, she won’t be vamp-fucking scum.”
His barely audible steps end somewhere to my left. My fear twists inside want—his heartbeat is strong, fast. I long to snuff it out.
“I have killed no humans.” It is not the truth, and I know already that no hunter will believe me, but I can’t think through the hunger, pain, fear. Oh, Kira. My Kira has left me too. And I am so hungry. The silver is so heavy. In death, I would feel nothing. Perhaps—
“All vamps kill.” Storm hums menacingly. “But you’ve gotten lucky, beast.”
I don’t want to know how.
“You’ll get to live a bit longer while I take my sweet time with you.” At last, Storm brings himself into view. A sinister smile on a pretty, masculine face. He’s a brunette, scruff decorating his well-structured visage. His hair is just long enough for me to grip as I sink my teeth into him.
He stands lean but strong, a pack slung over his shoulder. He walks over to the window and draws back the curtains, letting in some of the moonlight. I see well in the dark, but now I can make out his veins.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and fresh sweat eeks from my pores.
Storm takes slow steps toward me. “Yes, I taste good. Are you imagining it?” He sinks into a crouch next to me, and I can sense his warmth.
I regret the silver that keeps me tethered and hiss, showing him my desperate fangs. “You would be mine.” The first of my children.
He chuckles. Arrogance pours from him, and I want to kill him. But the moon whispers to me. Sire him. He is a fighter.
No, he is a soldier. And he fights on the wrong side.
“You are so small. Turned as an adult, though, I’d guess.”
Twenty-four. Many full moons ago. And yes, I am small! I am so cute! This is what other vampires say when they mock me and why I cannot seem to have more than one weak slave. The humans do not want to serve me because my presence does not inspire lust in them. They want disquieting, dominant masters.
Where my blanket of silver does not cover, Storm touches me. A single searing thumb pad on my shoulder, but it vanquishes everything but blinding want as I fall into his heartbeat, pulsing where we connect. I want him, I want him. Must drink, must hold. I’ll let him sink his burning organ inside me, and he’ll spend as he dies, growing weaker, softer. Mine…
The touch disappears, and I scream. Agony. Burning. “Get this silver off of me!” I growl my scariest growl, hiss and hiss and fight uselessly against the metal. “Get it off!”
“Your slave is dead. Remember?”
But I don’t have the capacity to think of anything but Storm’s heartbeat quickening. It is more distant now that he does not touch me, but I still feel it. It calls to me like the most beautiful siren song.
“You would make a healthy vampire.” My instincts push me to woo him into it. “You would have many slaves willing to serve you.”
“You vamps have no morals.” Storm spits, the warm saliva landing on my cheek. In my hunger, it feels good.
Please touch me again.
Storm moves away and sets his pack on my end table. He removes something I can’t see, but when he comes close again, I make out the muzzle. As he crouches behind me, I thrash my head from side to side. But I am powerless to stop him from strapping the silver monstrosity over my mouth and jaw. The silver sears my flesh, and my hunger gets worse, like claws tearing me up from inside.
My vision blurs. This is too much silver for me. Storm’s footsteps brush the carpet. He comes near my head again, and I expect more silver, though I know not where. Instead, he pricks me on my neck. But it is silver, mixed with some liquid that allows it to pass through a syringe. Storm pushes the liquid into my veins, and my vision goes black. This is pain like I have never known, a fire raging beneath my flesh, destroying me. I cannot move, can hardly think, though my body feels lighter. Has he removed the blanket? Regardless, I remain immobile, the silver poisoning my undead blood. It probably won’t kill me, but I’ll need to feed. I might be too weak to find a meal when this is over.
But this won’t ever be over, will it? He’ll kill me.
Hopelessness adds to my pain.
Then I feel him again, his hand behind my knee, bending back my leg, feeding the vibrations of his heartbeat into my needy body. My vision returns, though it’s once again blurry. Storm is above me, and I hear metal clanking. No more silver! Please no more!
But more silver wraps around my leg, sending fresh pain into my shin and thigh. The silver is a chain, and when Storm’s flesh disappears, the chain remains and my leg stays in its bent position.
Is he…? Does he mean to…?
More touches, more silver. My vision comes and goes. Whenever Storm’s skin connects with mine, I feel almost joyful. Blood is in reach! But I never get to taste it, and torturous pain always follows.
My psyche collapses. Inside the unimaginable pain, I find…peace?
I must be close to death. Mother Lamia gifts me with delirium and calls me to her bosom for my final rest.
Another prick at my throat. I brace for fresh agony, but instead, I find relief. My vision becomes clear again, my body aware. Has he injected me with…blood?
Silver cuffs weigh down my wrists where my hands lie above my shoulders. The chains around my legs keep them bent back. On full moons, I am always naked except for underwear because the silver blanket needs contact with my skin to be effective. But right now, I feel completely naked despite the fabric covering my privates. This hunter, he…
He must mean to rape me. And I have been raped before, so I should feel sick about it, yes? But I don’t. I only hunger.
The muzzle prevents me from moving my head, but I hear rustling near the end table. Then Storm comes back into view. He wears no shirt now, and in my full moon addled state, he is the most beautiful human I have ever seen. He is beautiful regardless, I think, with those lean muscles and that coarse hair on his chest. He kneels before me, his gaze hot and rageful, and rips my underwear away. For a second, I feel no pain because I am fixated on the fantasy of his searing member sinking into my crevice. Dominant humans so rarely want my kind. It has been so long since I’ve had a human…since before my exile, when I still held sway over den slaves and could command them to fuck me.
Storm’s gaze bores into mine, and a crease appears in his brow. “You want this.”
I know he wants to torture me. He wants me feeling violated and shamed before he steals my life, but I cannot—
He drops my silver blanket over my head. I scream through my muzzle as the burning agony engulfs my face, but I still feel it when Storm touches me again—on my knees, my inner thighs, in my crevice. As a member of the undead, my sex organ is perpetually stiff, but I become very aware of it now. I’m lightheaded with want. I think of Storm’s veins, the ones in his throat but also in his member. I could feed from him there.
I burn and ache all over. His heartbeat thuds through my skin.
Spongy bluntness pushes against my crevice, and I scream again, my anguished body shaking. The only moisture at our joining is my sweat and whatever might have leaked from his member, and it hurts, but the pain pales in comparison to the silver’s searing contact. Not to mention the delicious throbbing of his sex organ as it connects with my most sensitive tissues.
My fangs ache fiercely. I wish he would touch me there too.
Storm removes my silver blanket, and I gasp as much as I can given the muzzle. Then he presses his wrist against the metal bars covering my mouth, and I turn into the feral beast he takes me for, hissing and hissing. I feel his heartbeat deep inside me, but his wrist pulses too, taunting me so cruelly that my fangs become wounds. I’d sooner rip them from my gums than continue to endure this, yet I must endure it.
Lamia, take me. But she cannot. Storm gave me blood, and though it wasn’t much, it keeps me strong. Alive.
At last, he takes his wrist from the muzzle. Tears leak from my eyes, and he pulls out and thrusts back into me, out, in…
My lower half buzzes with pleasure, giving me a feeble reprieve from my hunger, but then Storm puts his mouth to my ear.
“It was my blood in that syringe,” he says.
Primal pleasure surges inside me, and something in my mind shatters. Involuntary whimpers and moans shake from me, and as immobile as I am, I reach out with my mind, my heart. It pleases me that his blood is inside me, but I am desperate for more of him, more of his blood, his touch. In this moment, I would even take more silver.
Though the cuffs clamp my wrists, I can still move my fingers. I bend them, imagining sinking my sharp claws into Storm’s strong shoulders and back.
He looks at me, holds my gaze, his throbbing member still moving in and out of me. I try to tell him with my eyes that I need to touch him, that I need his blood. He hates me, but in this moment, I love him. I need him. More.
An emotion I can’t interpret crosses his gaze. He grips my forearm, and I moan. Give me my hand. Please!
“It’s sick that you like this.” He’s breathless—from the exertion of fucking me only or also from his own pleasure? “None of your kind ever likes this. What would they think of you, enjoying yourself on a hunter’s cock?”
They already look down on me. What does it matter?
“Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll keep you as my slave. Taste of your own medicine, you disgusting creature.” He spits on the bars of my muzzle, and the saliva drips through and into my own mouth. That shattered place in my mind undulates with pleasure. Only his blood on my tongue would be better.
His thrusts grow more violent, and I’m keenly aware of my sex organ again. As a vampire, my testicles have shrunk and hold no semen, but my privates still like to be touched, and I still experience orgasms. I have one every time I feed. I have never reached my peak without feeding, but will I now? The pleasure enveloping me is so strong I nearly forget the moon.
And Storm still looks at me. I feel his gaze like a lover’s touch, not a rapist’s. There is something in his eyes that calls to my most damaged places.
He rubs my forearm again. “I’ll let you touch me, and you’ll be grateful.”
I tell him yes with my eyes. But he must know I will claw him. I won’t be able to stop myself.
Yet he removes the cuff. At once, I clamp my hand on his back and dig my claws deep into his skin. He bares his teeth but does not punish me nor stop fucking me, and I delight in the sticky warmth of his blood on my fingers.
Despite how it burns, I rub his blood on my muzzle, and I lick the silver bars. I can barely taste the blood with how the metal sears me, but I can’t stop.
My addled brain finds sense, and I put my claws to his throat, intent on piercing his jugular, but he grips my hand and shoves it back to the floor. He keeps his grip there, though, and we intertwine our fingers. I can’t help but dig my nails into his hand, and he winces but doesn’t break the hold.
“I think I’ll keep you.” He puts his mouth to my ear again. “You obviously don’t have a den. No one will miss you.”
He is correct.
“I’ll keep you in a cage. Take you out when I—need to—blow off steam.”
I close my eyes, head swimming with what he’s telling me, body humming with his skin against mine.
“You’ll forget what life’s like without a muzzle. But you’ll have my blood inside you. Can’t have my fuck slave dying on me.” He lets out a moan against my ear, and I ache deeply for him. He is all over me, but I’m empty everywhere but my crevice. I need his blood. I need him to soak me under my skin.
Fresh tears trickle past my temples, yet my orgasm builds. I clench my bound thighs around him and squeeze his hand as his thrusts grow erratic, driving his pulse deep into my bowels. After a while, he thrusts into me and stays there, and his cock pulses and twitches inside me. He growls against my ear as his hot cum spills into me.
It is too much. My pleasure peaks, drowning out my pain completely for a few blissful seconds as I jerk uncontrollably against the hunter’s sweaty, muscled form.
Perfect, my idiotic mind whispers. Safe. Home. But then Storm takes his hands from me, pulls his wondrous member from my crevice, and punches me in the chest.
“I should kill you for this!” He shows me his injured hand, the one I dug my claws into. The blood glistens in the moonlight, taunting me.
I cannot say sorry, but I would hardly mean it. Will he bring me to my final rest after all?
Storm puts on his trousers, then goes over to his pack and comes back with a set of gloves. They’re fabric except for their silver tips. I don’t fight him as he fits them over my claws even as they make them ache dully. That pain is nothing compared to where silver touches my flesh.
He removes the chains from my legs, and I revel in the feel of his hands on me as he unfurls my limbs. I still long to drain him, but I am weary.
“You’re beyond fucked-up. The others fight me even after I rape them, but you can’t be raped, can you?”
I can, though. By older vampires from my birth den with nothing to give me but cold sex organs ramming into my unwilling crevice. “We are your elders. You shall service us,” they would say. Not my sire but the ones who made me leave. “All you do is mope now that your precious sire has gotten himself killed. It is unappealing, runt.” If my sire had known they were raping me, he would have gotten us exiled sooner. But it isn’t as though we could have started our own den. One must be of a certain age to fulfill the requirements for such, and my sire was young. I feared for our safety if we had gone out on our own.
Little did I know we were not safe at all.
Storm hooks my wrist cuffs together so that my arms are bound in front of me, the silver burning my stomach. I cannot hold them up from my flesh. Perhaps I would find the strength to move with a feeding, but I doubt Storm will give me enough blood for that.
He puts cuffs on my ankles and hooks those together too. I whimper, losing my resolve with each fresh lick of pain.
“You won’t make me feel sorry for you.” Storm wraps his hand in gauze. “I’m letting you live, which is more than you deserve.”
My fangs still hurt. I close my eyes and listen to Storm’s heartbeat, imagining him passive and willing beneath me. I have full use of my hands, my legs, my teeth. He tilts his head back, baring his pulsing jugular, and I—
A pinprick at my throat pulls me from my fantasy. The pain of this injection is far worse than the last time, the silver taking my vision immediately. I’m screaming, I think, but I can’t control any part of myself. Then a second pinprick steals my voice, and I burn and burn and wish I were dead.
“This is how I like your kind,” Storm whispers in my ear. “Powerless.”
He lifts me from the floor, but even his skin fails to comfort me. All I know is numbing pain, then eventually rough fabric and the harsh thud of a lid over me. He’s put me in the trunk of a car.