Читать книгу Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire - Michael Thomas Ford - Страница 11

Something wasn’t quite right.

Philip struggled to get up to his elbows.

What—what the hell is going on here? He shook his head. Everything looked wrong—blurry, out of focus, like he’d been drinking too much. His head was aching—a dull pounding that felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into his left temple. The pleasure was gone, as if it had never been there. I need to get out of here; I’m in danger; something’s wrong; something’s very wrong here…

Gunther dropped down to his knees and grabbed Philip’s legs firmly, lifting them up and apart. Philip slipped off his elbows, lying flat on his back. His erection was fading away.

“No,” Philip whispered, “no.”

Gunther either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He was smiling as the head of his cock found the passage to Philip, probing, pushing, forcing.

Philip forced himself to go rigid, to tighten, to close himself off to the intrusion.

Gunther smiled at him as he stopped. “So you want to play it that way, mein Liebchen? You want it to be rape?”

“No, I want this to stop.” Philip shook his head. “Something’s not right, something…” his voice trailed away as he looked up into Gunther’s eyes, and he was drowning in the blue pools of light. “I…”

His voice broke off into a scream as Gunther forced his cock inside. Philip resisted, squeezing, trying to keep him out.

Gunther smiled. “Rape it is then, mein Liebe.” He reached down and slapped Philip hard across the face.

His ears rang, eyes filling with involuntary tears. “Please…”

“You cannot stop me,” Gunther whispered, then forced himself deeper inside.

Philip’s mouth opened and closed. It felt like he was being ripped apart, torn in two.

The pain, oh, God, the pain…

He felt himself losing consciousness; everything was swimming out of focus; all he was aware of was the pain—dear God, the pain, it hurt so fucking bad; it had never hurt like this before, not even the first time, with his high school English teacher, when all they’d had for lube was spit; this pain was unbearable; everything was out of focus and red, spinning out of control; everything was out of control…

And through the red haze of pain, he could hear Gunther laughing.

Nigel bit into her wrist.

She gasped.

The pain was excruciating at first, exploding into her consciousness like a firecracker. It was piercing, like the time she’d had her nose pierced, and her entire body shuddered at this invasion. For a brief moment she flashed back to when she was fourteen and she was with her then boyfriend—what was his name? You aren’t supposed to forget the name of the one who takes your virginity—what was his name? She was naked and flat on her back, her legs spread, and he was entering her, and it hurt—oh, God, Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, it hurts…

And then the pain faded away and it began to feel better, her entire body relaxing, going with it, and ripples began going out, washing out over her body, ripples of tingling excitement; oh, my God, this is better than ecstasy…

Her wrist burned as though on fire.

She could feel the power surging through her.

Focus, Rachel; you have to focus, Nigel’s voice echoed in her brain.

She let go of the pleasure.

Open your mind, Rachel; open your mind and reach out for Philip.

She wasn’t at first sure what he meant, but then she began to relax, and she felt it—she felt her brain awakening, like it had never truly been awake before.

She felt like she was falling.

Falling.

Images crowded her mind, flashing past her consciousness like a crazed kaleidoscope, one scene blurring into another so quickly that all she could see were vague shapes and forms. Once she saw a woman, naked from the waist up, snakes wrapped around her forearms, standing before an altar with her arms outstretched to the sky. On the altar was a sheep with its throat slit, and the woman was chanting, and she could smell incense burning, and then the image was gone. It was replaced by the sight of naked images in a field under a clear, starry sky, a clearing in the forest, with torches burning. The naked forms were dancing together, lewdly, women grabbing their breasts, men cupping their genitals with their hands; and then just as quickly this was gone, and she glimpsed a naked man chained to a wall, a whip flicking out and raising bloody welts on his back. And then a woman, chained to a stake, piles of wood at her feet; and then the wood was set ablaze by a torch, the flames spreading, and the woman opened her mouth and screamed, a scream so primal and deep, it echoed in Rachel’s soul…

Focus, Rachel; reach out to Philip’s soul.

And she forced the images from her head, conjuring up Philip’s face, his brown hair, his wide brown eyes, the smile with the even white teeth.

And then she saw—

A darkened room filled with shadows. Long white candles, burning in sconces on the walls, flickering. The scent of rose and lilac, mixed together into an almost sickening perfume. A bed covered in satin and velvet, surrounded by sheer white curtains that moved in the breeze. A man on his knees, golden curls tumbling down his naked back, his pelvis thrusting, two legs covered in curly, black hair wrapped around him, and she could see the young man on his back, sweat rolling down his face, his eyes closed in pleasure, raising up to greet the thrusts of the blond man as their bodies joined…

Philip.

Follow the trail, Rachel. You should be able to find them.

She looked at one of the candles, which seemed brighter than the others, burning stronger yet without giving off any smoke.

She focused on the flame, staring at it until it was the only thing she was aware of; there was no time or space or anything for her but the flicker of the yellow flame as it burned, melting wax flowing down the side, slight black smoke rising from it.

The room faded away from her consciousness, the colors blurring and running, the sunlight in the background melting, darkening, becoming night, eternal night, and then other shapes began to struggle to take form. It was a different room, she could tell; the breezes she was feeling against her skin were no longer warm and soft but rather cold and damp. The scent of lilac and rose was gone; she could only smell grease in the air, grease and fresh horseshit. The room began to take shape. Again there were burning white candles casting their sparse light. There was a gold-framed mirror on the wall. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, again with the satin and silk and velvet, and there were human forms on the bed. She turned her attention away from the candles and looked at them in the gloom, in the dim candlelight, and she heard a horse clip-clopping past outside.

She saw a man from behind, his buttocks clenching and unclenching as he moved his pelvis forward and back. His skin was like white marble, almost aglow in the light of the candles. She turned her attention to the other figure.

It was Philip, lying on his back, his legs spread, his eyes wide open as though in terror. His face was white, and he looked like he was gasping and trying to scream.

The man was between his legs, laughing, cooing to him like a baby in a guttural language she didn’t recognize, and then he pulled Philip’s legs up higher into the air and plunged deeper inside him.

Philip screamed.

Rachel winced as the sound exploded in her head, piercing her soul.

Go inside him, Rachel, she could hear Nigel urging her. Go inside him; find out where they are, before it’s too late.

Inside him? What the hell do you mean by that?

Through his eyes, Rachel.

She willed herself to move in closer to them. Hesitantly she took a step, not sure if she was really there or not, afraid she might make a floorboard creak or make some other kind of noise. There was nothing, no sound, except for the fading of Philip’s scream.

She took another step closer, but she still couldn’t see Philip’s eyes.

Another step.

The blond man stopped moving, cocking his head first to one side, then the other.

He senses me; oh, dear God in Heaven, he knows I’m here.

And she felt terror, beginning deep inside her mind, spreading to every part of her body, and she wanted to scream—

But even as she opened her mouth, Philip’s head turned, and their eyes locked.

And then she was looking up out of Philip’s eyes, up at the strong chest, the round, erect pink nipples, the trail of blond hairs leading from the navel to the thicker patch below, the blue eyes, the blond hair of the stranger, and she felt his enormousness inside her, ripping and tearing at her tissues, invading her, raping her; but it somehow felt so good, and she was beginning to lose herself into the rhythm, the rhythm of his entering and exiting, deepening with each thrust, each thrust going farther inside her; and she turned her head and looked out the window…

And she knew exactly where she was….

Then it was all gone.

She was back, sitting on the steps in front of her building.

Her wrist itched.

She looked down at it, watching the two tiny holes slowly close until they were just pinpricks, and then even that was gone. Her skin was smooth, undamaged, like nothing had ever happened.

She looked at Nigel. She felt like throwing up.

“Excellent work, my dear.” Nigel wiped at his mouth, keeping it hidden from her. He turned his head away from her and slowly stood up, holding on to the railing for help. “There’s still time to save your young friend.”

She grabbed him by the arm. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” He wouldn’t look at her, keeping his face in the shadows. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You need me, old man.” She didn’t even question it. Only a few minutes earlier she’d thought him crazy—now she believed. She didn’t know what was different, what he had done to her, but the abilities she’d used, abilities she’d never known she’d been capable of—she wasn’t about to let go now. “I know exactly where they are.”

“It’s dangerous.” He moved out of the shadows, and she saw his teeth. The canines were longer, sharper than she remembered.

“All the more reason,” she said, “for me to come with you. I can help you; I know I can.”

He looked at her for a moment, then sighed. “I can see you’re determined.”

“Either I come with you or I follow you.”

He held out his hand to her. “Then, come.”

It hurt, oh, God, how it hurt.

“You are mine for all eternity,” Gunther whispered as he continued to pound away at him. “All eternity.”

Eternity.

The word echoed in his mind.

Lilacs. Roses.

He felt himself slipping away again.

You are mine for all eternity, Gunther was saying. They were lying, bathed in sweat, on top of the covers. Philip was resting his head on Gunther’s strong chest, listening to his heartbeat through the skin and layers of muscle. The village priest had told him his feelings for the lord were sinful, but how could a sin feel so good? Surely God would not have made such pleasure possible only for it to be a sin. And the lord loved him; he knew it. Was he not wet from his kisses? Was he not covered in sweat from their love? It couldn’t be wrong; it couldn’t be sin; such happiness was surely his destiny. He was sated, with his lord’s seed inside him, and relaxed, wanting to feel Gunther inside him again.

“Are you ready to join me for all eternity?” Gunther asked. “Our love will never die, mein Liebe. All I want is to spend all eternity loving you.”

“Anything for you, my lord,” he replied, raising Gunther’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. “I will do anything you ask, my lord, my master.”

And Gunther rose to his knees, a smile on his face, raising his right wrist to his mouth.

For a moment he saw Gunther’s teeth—long, sharp, pointed, tearing at his wrist. And then the blood was flowing from the wound he’d made—bright red blood, trickling down over Gunther’s hand, and the bleeding wrist was offered to him.

“Drink from me and join me for eternity.”

He looked up into Gunther’s smiling face, and saw—

The teeth.

Long. Sharp. Pointed.

Not human, oh sweet Jesu, not human.

He’s a demon. The priest was right.

Philip moved away from him.

Don’t be afraid, mein Liebchen.

Philip got to his feet, backing away from the bed, from the bed where he’d committed sin in the eyes of God, where he’d allowed a demon to take him the way a man takes a woman.

Gunther held out the wrist.

“Join me for eternity.”

And Philip backed away from the bed, shaking his head, his body trembling with fear as he crossed himself, then turned and ran to the window, not thinking in his terror, fervent prayers rushing through his head, driven by terror.

“No, Maxi, no!” Gunther screamed, and sprang after him.

And he backed away and felt the back of his legs against the window frame, and he felt himself falling backward just as Gunther lunged toward him, his arms outstretched; and he was back and through the window, praying as he fell, fell, fell…

And then he hit the cobblestones…and as he felt his life leaving him, he kept praying, Forgive me, Jesus, for turning my back on you and committing a sin; forgive me; don’t cast me down into Hell with creatures like this one….

And everything faded to black.

He opened his eyes.

Gunther threw his head back and howled as his body convulsed with his explosion, and Philip’s own long-delayed orgasm went, his seed splashing and spraying into his face, over his chest, his entire body rocking as his balls emptied. Then, both bodies spent, Gunther slowly removed himself from inside Philip. He smiled down at him. “Mein Liebe…” he whispered.

Philip slowly pulled away from him. “What—what are you?” he whispered. He slid off the bed and found his feet, wondering what he was going to wear, knowing his clothes had been ripped to shreds, just knowing it didn’t matter—he had to get out of here.

Gunther reached over and stroked his cheek. “I offer you an eternity of love, my beautiful little one.” His wrist rose to his mouth. “I offer you eternal life as my companion, my love, my life.” Then he tore at his wrist, until the blood was flowing over his fingers again—dark red and rich, thick blood. “All you have to do is drink, mein Liebe, and then we will be together for all eternity.”

“N-no.” Philip backed away from him, away from the bed of nightmares, aware of his nakedness, aware of the bloody wrist being offered to him.

“DRINK!” Gunther shouted, leaping off the bed and pinning him against the wall, shoving the wrist into Philip’s mouth.

Philip’s eyes went to the balcony doors. Heaven help me, he thought as he struggled, as the blood filled his mouth.

It was strangely sweet.

“There.” Rachel pointed to a balcony across the street. They were standing under a streetlight in the thick mist. She shivered. The street was completely deserted, lifeless. Flickering shadows danced on the curtains. The balcony doors were open. “That’s where they are.”

Nigel smiled at her. “Thank you.” He kissed her hand.

“I’m going with you,” she insisted, grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing. “You need me.”

“No.” He shook his head, effortlessly pulling his arm free from her grasp. “Too dangerous, my dear.” He gathered himself and leaped gracefully up to the balcony in one motion.

Rachel stood for a moment and then crossed the street. The gate to the wide carriageway was open, and she ran inside, her shoes clicking on the pavement as she looked through the mist for the door that led inside the building. It was locked. She tugged on it, then pushed before giving it up. I have to get inside. She removed her shoe and smashed a windowpane, reaching in and unlocking the door from the inside, then opened it and ran up the stairs and into the apartment. She heard a scream from the end of the hall and headed that way, toward an open door. Flickering light came through it.

“There’s no sense in sacrificing this young man, Gunther,” Nigel was saying as she reached the door. He was standing in the balcony door. “This is between us, maker and creation. Let the boy go.”

She glanced quickly into the corner Nigel was facing. The blond man was holding Philip in front of him. Philip was naked, eyes closed. His mouth was smeared with blood. He looked barely conscious.

“Leave me in peace, old man,” Gunther sneered. “This is now between me and the boy. He drank willingly.”

“Let the boy go.”

“Never.”

Rachel reached for a candle.

Philip swam in and out of consciousness.

He was vaguely aware of being held from behind, that he was standing and voices were swimming around him, but it was all just noise; nothing made sense; the noise wasn’t being shaped into any words he could understand; his brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Images flashed through his mind…images that made no sense to him…He saw a woman, naked to the waist, snakes wrapped around her forearms, standing before an altar, her arms outstretched to the heavens. He saw a young man, wearing a loincloth and dirty, grimy, covered with welts and bleeding cuts, on his knees, his eyes swimming with tears.

He saw Gunther riding on a magnificent black horse.

The images came faster, too fast for him to see them as anything but a blur.

Voices.

Chanting.

His body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside. The fire was pumping out of his heart, spreading through his veins. Sweat was pouring from him, his skin slick and wet and damp.

Fire—everything was on fire.

His mind, oh, God, his mind…The flames were there, burning through his brain.

What did he do to me?

And he could still taste the sweet blood, the sweet liquid…

God help me, I want more.

Rachel threw the candle and said a quiet prayer for her aim to be true.

It hit the wall behind the blond man, showering sparks onto his skin and hair. He screamed, letting go of Philip, who fell to the floor.

The scream shot through her mind, through her consciousness, into her very soul. It drove her back out of the room and against the wall, slamming her into it, knocking the breath out of her. Her eyes swam in tears, stars dancing outside her vision. She slid to the floor, pressing her hands over her ears to try to blot the scorching sound from her soul.

She smelled it, the burning, and its cloying sweetness gagged her.

She threw up.

Philip was vaguely aware of falling to the floor.

It burns, he thought, his entire body in agony. Will it ever stop?

In the far distance he could hear someone screaming, an unearthly sound that echoed in his brain, curdling his soul with its anguish and anger.

He tried to open his eyes, but the lids wouldn’t obey his command.

The fire in his blood seemed to die down.

Is this, then, death?he wondered as he lay there, unable to move. Am I dying? Is that what this is? Death? What did he do to me?

He smelled scorched skin, the nauseating smell of burnt hair.

His canine teeth began to ache, his gums aflame with raw pain.

He slid his tongue over his canines.

They were longer, sharper.

Pointed.

Rachel crawled to the bedroom door.

She smelled smoke.

She looked inside.

Nigel was standing, blocking the balcony doors.

The blond man was engulfed in flame. He was screaming as he dashed about the room, trying to smother the flames by rubbing himself against the wall.

Tuck and roll, she thought, how stupid are you?

As though he’d heard her, he dropped to the floor and began rolling, and the flames went out as quickly as they’d begun.

He stood up.

“I will destroy you, old man!” he shrieked.

Nigel just stood, staring at him, his hands in his pockets.

With a cry, the blond man sprang at Nigel.

Nigel ducked to one side. The blond man reached the balcony and turned back to look at Rachel. She covered her mouth with her hands. His face was blackened, his hair burned away. He looked like something out of her worst nightmares. “You will pay, young bitch.” One instant he was there; the next, he was gone.

Nigel began to weep.

“N-Nigel?” she whispered.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, wiping the tears from his cheek. “For decades, I have tried to kill him, and I can’t do it. I am a failure.”

“Rachel?”

She turned her head as Philip stood up—although he didn’t really seem like Philip anymore. She looked his nakedness up and down, her mind racing, trying to figure what was different, what was wrong with him.

The wall behind him burst into flame.

“We have to get out of here.” Nigel beckoned to them both. When they didn’t move, he said, “Hurry.”

They followed him out onto the balcony. Black smoke followed them out. Nigel placed an arm around each of them. “Close your eyes,” he said softly, and they did. Rachel let out a gasp when her feet left the floor, and then she landed gently on the sidewalk across the street. She opened her eyes.

The building was engulfed with flames. She heard sirens in the distance, the sounds of people shouting and running. “Let’s go back to the apartment,” she heard herself saying, her mind not really working out of anything other than instinct.

The sun rose outside her window, dissipating the fog. On her bed, Philip slept.

“He will sleep for several days while his body completes the change.” Nigel lit a cigar.

“So, what now?” Rachel looked at his peaceful face. It seemed paler but somehow more solid to her than before.

“I can’t leave him.” Nigel shook his head. “He’ll have to come with me.”

Rachel looked at Nigel. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, my dear, that I can’t permit.”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said simply. “You heard Gunther. He threatened me. And do you really think he won’t come back for Philip?”

“There is always a choice.”

“No. Not anymore.” She gestured to Philip. “He wasn’t given a choice. Neither was I. When you came here looking for me, you took away my choices.” Her voice shook. “You have to make me one of you.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“You said yourself, you couldn’t kill Gunther.” She went over to the window and looked out. “He’s out there somewhere, and he wants Philip. You said it yourself: he’s a rogue, who kills. The three of us—together we can stop him.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do.” She remembered the visions, the music in her head. “How do we know Philip will be able to do what you couldn’t? Can you keep him safe?” She looked out the window at the gloomy sunshine. “And can you protect me?”

Tears spilled down Nigel’s face as he bit into his own wrist.

He offered it to her.

And she drank.

Outside, the rain began.