Читать книгу Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire - Michael Thomas Ford - Страница 9

Royal Street was deserted.

The mist swirled around them as they walked past parked cars covered with round beads of condensation, the windows fogged up on the inside. The street was silent except for the clicking of their heels against the cracked and tilted sidewalk. The trees they walked beneath dripped, the leaves rustling and swaying in a breeze Philip felt as a cold wet hand on the back of his neck. He shivered.

“Cold?” Gunther asked, squeezing Philip’s hand tighter with his own, which felt cold and almost a little clammy. “Don’t be nervous,” Gunther said to him, smiling, his red lips parting. “You’ve done this before.” He pushed Philip against a streetlamp, pressing himself between Philip’s legs. Philip felt Gunther’s hard cock through his jeans as Gunther moved his hips, pressing his lips against Philip’s neck, his tongue darting out, twirling circles against the base of his neck. It tickled a bit, and Philip’s own cock began to thicken and harden.

Philip’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, his eyes closing and a growl beginning deep in his diaphragm. Oh, yes, take me; fuck me right here in the street; nobody’s watching; rip my pants open. He pressed his own crotch against Gunther’s, but Gunther pushed him back against the lamppost easily.

The satin sheets, the flickering candles.

Lilacs and roses, their heavy perfume clogging his nostrils…

“Come on,” Gunther whispered, “it’s not much farther.”

Philip gulped air as Gunther pulled back from him, his cold hands enveloping Philip’s as he smiled at him. Philip looked deep into those oh-so-blue eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them again, the blue seeming to draw him in even deeper as he gazed into their depths.

Gunther led him farther down the street, pulling gently yet urgently.

Something doesn’t feel right, Philip thought, yet he followed willingly. His need was too strong to resist—the need to be naked with this beautiful stranger who might be a little dangerous, to feel Gunther’s huge cock inside him, to be with a man who wasn’t paying him, a man he wanted for something besides the cash in his wallet. Instincts finely honed from years of being a hustler were warning him, going off like sirens inside his head. There’s something not right about this guy; something’s wrong here…

They reached a carriageway, and Gunther let go of his hands to punch in the access code. The door buzzed, and Gunther swung it open, smiling at him. He held out his hand. “Maxi, come with me.”

Philip closed his eyes.

The doors to the terrace were open, a gentle night breeze making the heavy red velvet curtains dance. He could smell the roses in the garden below. Gunther was on top of him, piercing into him, the pain becoming pleasure as he entered, thrusting into him, and he opened his mouth to let out a scream; but he couldn’t breathe, the thrusts coming deeper and deeper, filling him, the pleasure, the thrill, the joy of it all coming in a rush; he’d never felt this way before, and his balls were aching, his own cock hard as Gunther drove deeper into him, his eyes coming open and looking up into Gunther’s oh-so-beautiful face; and Gunther was smiling down at him, promising him eternity…

A cab went by, and Philip opened his eyes.

What the fuck is going on?

“You’re remembering.” Gunther smiled at him, pulling him close into a tight embrace, squeezing him until his back cracked and popped. “As I knew you would.”

His eyes…Philip stared into their blueness and felt them piercing into his soul.

“Come on.” Gunther pulled at his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Rachel could feel wetness under her arms as she pulled the door open. I must be crazy, she thought, fingering the switchblade in her jacket pocket. This is by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done; they’re going to find my body in pieces in a swamp…

“Ah, there’s no need to be frightened,” the old man said. His voice was soothing, calming. He was wearing a black trench coat with a matching fedora pulled down low so she couldn’t see his eyes in the misty light thrown by the streetlamps. “You won’t be needing your switchblade, but I am glad to know you are not so foolish as to venture out without some protection.” He sat down on the steps, patting the space next to him with a black-gloved hand. “Here, sit with me, or we could go for a drink, if you’d prefer?”

“I’ll stand, thank you.” She didn’t move out of the doorway. Something about him, she thought, isn’t…

“You fear me?” He laughed, genuinely delighted by her fear. He smiled at her, patting the step again. “There is no need to fear ME, my pretty young girl. I’m harmless, nothing but an old man who wants to spend some time talking to a pretty young girl. Is there anything more innocent?”

Yeah, right, and my name is Courtney Love, she thought. “What do you want?”

“Are you sure you won’t sit? Ah. He shrugged, holding his hands up. “I promise you will come to no harm from me.”

“What do you want?” she repeated.

“I want to save your young friend’s life, Rachel.” He lit a cigar. “You don’t mind if I enjoy this, do you? Surely you won’t deny an old man one of his few pleasures.”

“Save his life?” This is crazy this is crazy go back inside…

“It’s a long story.” He gestured with his cigar. “Are you sure you don’t want to go someplace warm to talk? Someplace more public, where you might feel safer?”

“This is fine.” She shivered. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” He pulled an old pocket watch from his coat pocket. “All right, five minutes.” He puffed on the cigar, making a contented sigh. “Did you look at the card I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what a nightwatcher is, my dear?”

“No.”

“Ah, how things change.” He shook his head. “No nursery rhymes? About nightwatchers guarding the night, to protect small children from the evils that lurk in the dark? Ah, well.” He shrugged. “The sun rises and sets, the world keeps turning, and things change.”

“Four minutes,” Rachel said, glancing at her watch.

“Ah, yes, a woman of her word—five minutes she offers, and five minutes exactly. Not a second more, not a second less.” He gave her a smile. “In which case I will have to share with you the Reader’s Digest condensed version; otherwise we would be here all night…and I fear we don’t have that kind of time in any case.” He put the pocket watch on the step beside him. “It doesn’t surprise me that you—or anyone else, for that matter—have never heard the term ‘nightwatcher’ before; although at one time we were indeed the subject of a popular nursery rhyme. Very few know about us.” He looked up at her. “We are a very ancient order, and it is our job—our mission, if you prefer—to protect the human race.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?” She took a step back. Here he goes, off the deep end.

“It is our job to protect the human race from what you would call vampires—well, not just the vampires, but a vampire is what concerns the two of us—and your young friend, Philip? Is that his name?”

“Vampires?” That’s it, she thought, stepping back inside the door. The man is obviously nuts; I’ll go upstairs and call the police. And lock my door, forget this ever happened; this is crazy…

“Come back!” he commanded.

Against her will she stepped back onto the steps, pulling the door shut behind her. She heard the lock click into place. What am I doing? Get back inside! She reached into her pocket for her keys, her hands shaking, not just from the cold—she was frightened, frightened of this crazy old man, however harmless he looked.

“You think I am mad, do you not?” He flicked cigar ash onto the sidewalk. “What do you believe, Rachel? Do you believe in God?”

“I—I guess.” Her mind flashed back to her childhood: being dressed up and dragged to church; the priests in their fabulous gowns and hats droning on and on; the mass; the kneeling, up and down; the choir singing; the approach to the altar to take the wafer, the body of the Lord; crossing herself in front of the altar; lighting penny candles and saying prayers; wearing the medal of her patron saint around her neck; sunlight coming through stained glass. She’d stopped going when she was sixteen, when it all began to seem stupid and pointless to her.

“Then surely you must believe in evil.”

“Evil? Like Satan?” She laughed, remembering the horned devils of Halloween just past, gay boys wearing red Speedos and black fishnet hose, plastic pitchforks in their hands, and little red horns attached to their foreheads.

“For there to be good, Rachel, there must be evil. It is the nature of all things. For every thing, there has to be an opposite, for balance. If there is good, there must be evil.”

“I don’t understand.” She sat down beside him, curious despite her mistrust. “What does Philip have to do with any of this?”

“I am explaining myself poorly.” He looked at his watch. “And I only have three minutes left.”

“Tell me about Philip.”

“Philip is in grave danger.” He looked at her, patting her on the arm. “A vampire wants him—a very powerful vampire. A vampire who is evil.”

“There’s no such thing as vampires.” It was an automatic reaction, one taught by rote, like “the sky is blue” or “the grass is green.” There’s no such thing as vampires or ghosts or werewolves or witches. She rubbed her arms and shivered.

“Oh, there are, Rachel. You can be sure of that. Vampires are not a creation of superstitious minds. They are very real, and when they are evil, they can be very dangerous. Most humans go their entire lives without encountering anything of a supernatural nature; others are not so fortunate. And your Philip has attracted the attention of one.” He reached into his pocket and removed a golden locket. He clicked it open and passed it to her. “Does he look familiar to you?”

Inside the locket was a miniature photograph of a young man, wearing clothes from another period. His hair was long, curling gently at the shoulders. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt underneath, open at the collar where a small cross hung at the base of his throat. At his neck. His face—she gave a little gasp.

“It’s Philip.” She stared at him, wrapping her arms around herself to keep from shivering.

He took the locket back and snapped it shut. “No, my dear, that is a portrait of Maximilian Hesse, the younger son of a German count before the Franco-Prussian War.”

“He looks like Philip.”

“Which is why Philip is in so much danger.” He sighed. “Over a hundred years ago, a vampire by the name of Gunther von Gittelsbach fell in love with Maxi Hesse. And young Maxi loved Gunther in return. They lived an idyllic life together, loving each other the best they could. And when Gunther…” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “When Gunther felt that Maxi loved him enough, he offered the gift of immortality, revealing his true nature to him. When that happened, Maxi killed himself.”

Rachel began to shiver.

“And Gunther went mad with grief. He became a rogue, killing humans, torturing them, killing members of our order, who had been instructed to destroy him.” He reached out with a gloved hand and took hers. “I’ve been trailing Gunther ever since. He has to be stopped, you see. It is our job—our holy mission, if you will—to protect the human race, not kill members of it.”

“You’ve been after this guy for over a hundred years.” This is crazy, her mind rebelled. This can’t be happening; this old man is a nutcase—probably should be locked up somewhere; this is crazy; I need to get back inside and away from this nutcase before…

“And now he wants your young friend. He has never, you see, forgotten Maxi; it’s actually quite sad, really.” His voice trailed off, and he watched a cab go by. “Romantic and sad. Gunther wants to give him the gift of immortality, to make a companion for all eternity. He doesn’t want to be alone, even though that’s part of our existence—loneliness. Loving humans—mortals, if you will—is a mistake. Mortals die, you see, and we go on.”

“This doesn’t make sense.”

“I assure you, I am not insane.”

“Like you’d admit it.”

He opened his mouth, pulling his lips back, baring marble white teeth. The canines…

…were long and pointed.

Gunther unlocked a black wrought-iron gate and pulled Philip inside. He pushed him up against the brick wall. He pushed Philip’s arm up over his head, pinning him, bringing his mouth to the base of Philip’s neck, kissing, licking, biting, taking little nibbles of the soft skin there.

Oh, yes, Philip thought, his body beginning to tremble, take me now; take me here; I don’t want to wait anymore, as he brought up his left leg and wrapped it around Gunther’s. His hands drifted down Gunther’s back, cupping the hard, round ass, squeezing, his excitement growing.

Gunther tore Philip’s T-shirt at the neck, ripping it down, shredding it, exposing Philip’s hairless torso. Gunther’s mouth hungrily moved down to Philip’s nipples, biting them, teasing them with flicks of his tongue.

Philip closed his eyes and moaned. Oh, yes, this feels so fucking good, yes…

“My beautiful Maxi,” Gunther whispered, “I’ve waited for you for so long.”

Philip gasped as Gunther’s teeth clamped down on his right nipple. He looked down, seeing the blond head, watching the tongue darting out and licking the blood bubbling slowly out of his nipple. He heard muffled voices, footsteps, two people walking by on the other side of the gate, the splashing of water from the other side of the dark tunnel they were inside, Gunther hungrily lapping at his nipple as though nursing. His body trembled. His cock and balls were aching, demanding release.

He heard his heartbeat pounding inside his head again.

He closed his eyes. And…

Candles, casting shadows.

“I love you,” Gunther was saying, smiling down on him, sweat beading on his face, glistening in the flickering light. They were both naked, and he could feel the soft, silky sheets against his skin, sensuously caressing him, the softness of the bed shaping to his form. The windows were open, and the breeze coming through them was warm and soft, felt almost like gentle kisses on his skin.

What—what is happening to me? he wondered, opening his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. Gunther’s tongue was trailing down his torso, licking at the faint trail of blood. The nipple had stopped bleeding, was healed. His entire body stiffened, and an involuntary groan escaped through his lips. Gunther smiled up at him, his mouth smeared with blood. He’s so beautiful, Philip thought, so beautiful; no one has ever made me feel like this before….

Gunther stood up and pressed his mouth to Philip’s.

Philip tasted his own blood. Metallic and coppery, but somehow sweet.

His cock was aching, begging for release. He reached down and undid the top button of his jeans. His hand brushed against Gunther’s crotch, the huge cock straining against the denim fabric and the buttons.

It was so big, porn-star big. Can I handle that? Philip wondered, imagining how it would feel inside him, sliding in and out with the urgent need to reach its inevitable conclusion, and he wanted it; he wanted to feel it inside him, feel it filling him with its need and size and girth; he wanted to put his mouth on it, to lick it, to nibble on the head, to run his tongue along its tender and sensitive underside, to suckle on his balls and make him crazy with desire, to make Gunther moan and cry out with pleasure.

Gunther cupped Philip’s crotch, and Philip moaned again.

“Liebchen,” Gunther whispered, “I want to make love to you all night long.”

Philip swallowed. “I’d like that.”

“Come,” Gunther said, taking his hand. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” He pressed his lips against Philip’s again, his tongue darting into Philip’s mouth, and Philip grasped it with his own mouth, sucking on it until Gunther began to growl low down in his throat.

He pulled Philip along into the courtyard beyond the carriageway.

“You—you’re a vampire.” This is insane; this can’t be happening to me, Rachel thought, her mind reeling from the sheer unbelievability of it all. It must be a dream; I’m dreaming all this; the pot put me to sleep and I’m just having some kind of weird dream caused by the weird mist and the darkness and my overactive imagination. She started to rise, to get away, to go back inside and back to her apartment.

“You have nothing to fear from me.” Nigel said, his voice soothing. “I am sworn to protect human life.”

“You drink buh-buh-blood.” She started shaking; she couldn’t help it; even as she willed herself to stop, she couldn’t; the chill from the mist seemed to have penetrated her soul, as though she would never be warm again.

“Yes, I drink blood.” He patted her hand. “Please sit. I can compel you to do so, but I would so much prefer you choose to do so.” He smiled at her as she sat back down. “Yes, our hearts are not capable of producing our own blood, our own life force, so we must borrow blood from your kind to live. That’s all. It doesn’t require much, you know—and we don’t have to kill to get it.” He shrugged. “It only takes a moment, and those we take it from don’t even remember giving it. I could take some from you right now—although I don’t need any at the moment—and all you would remember is having this conversation, uninterrupted by anything so crass as a giving.”

“Giving?”

“That’s our term for it. Come, my dear, relax. I can assure you, had I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.” He smiled at her.

“Comforting to know.” She hugged herself, and the shaking stopped; she felt somehow calm.

“I wouldn’t have revealed myself to you if I didn’t need your help.”

Rachel stared at him. “If you’re so powerful, why do you need my help?”

“Alas, there is no such thing as ‘all-powerful.’ That is reserved merely for God, and God is very jealous of his privileges.” He reached over and took her hand. His hand was cold as ice, yet she allowed him to keep hold of hers.

“So, there is a God?”

“Of course, my dear.” He smiled at her again. “And there is a Satan—everything is in balance, remember? Lucifer Morningstar, the most beautiful of all the angels before the fall, God’s favorite. His beauty surpassed all others—still does, I am sure.”

“Uh-huh.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And you need my help? Right. Like, what could I do to stop a—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word; it was all too nuts, crazy; there was no such thing.

“Gunther is powerful, Rachel, strong in his evil.” Nigel stroked his chin. “I can sense him, but I cannot find him. He can block my mind from seeing him, from finding where he is. I know he is here, in New Orleans…but I cannot see where he actually is.” Nigel sighed.

“So, why come to me?” Rachel shook her head. “I mean, none of this fucking makes sense, Nigel, but why me?”

“The other day, when I arrived, I saw you in the coffee shop, talking to a young man.” He closed his eyes. “And I knew. I knew it was your friend he was coming for. I sensed the danger he was in—and then he turned and I saw his face, so like Maxi’s, and I looked into his eyes…and saw into his soul.”

“His—soul.” She began twisting a lock of her hair in her hand, tugging it to make sure she was awake and not in a dream state.

“Yes, Rachel, his soul. The soul never dies; it moves from body to body, from life to life.” He looked into her face. “You do not follow.” He sighed.

“Reincarnation?”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, and she avoided his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Everything in balance, remember? There must be balance. God gave humans free will. Are you familiar with the concept?”

“Free will to choose between good and evil, yes.” Sister Mary Angelique’s voice came to her unbidden, from across the years, from Sunday school catechism classes: “And God gave us free will, to choose to either serve God or serve Satan. We always have a choice, to sin or to be true to God’s will. To pursue earthly treasures, the pleasures of the flesh, or bow to a higher power and wait for the reward that comes when we go to heaven.”

“You are Catholic, then? Good.”

“I haven’t been to mass in years.” She shrugged. “The priests don’t exactly approve of my lifestyle.”

“Because you love other women.” Nigel laughed softly. “Yes, the followers of God have never truly understood that all God cares about is the ability to love, rather than who you love. Perhaps someday—but the human race is still in its infancy. So you are familiar with the concept of Purgatory?”

“Yes.”

“Another one of the errors of the church.” Nigel swept with his hand, encompassing the street. “Earth is Purgatory, Rachel. The soul comes back, over and over again, trying to achieve a state of grace in order to be admitted into Heaven.”

“So there’s no Hell?”

“Other souls, Rachel, return and retain their evil; unrepentant—until anything that is pure and good is destroyed and they can be admitted to the gates of Hell.” He shrugged. “Everything in balance, my dear girl. Just as a soul with the stain of sin on it cannot be admitted to Heaven, an evil soul with some purity, the ability to love, cannot be admitted to Hell.”

“And you’re saying that Philip is Maxi?” She stared at her hands. “Which is why this Gunther has come after him.”

“Their souls are linked.” Nigel folded his arms. “Only Gunther is a vampire who chose to serve evil.”

“Linked?”

“Just as yours is linked to Philip’s.” Nigel sighed. “All souls are linked to other souls. Have you ever met someone you immediately were drawn to? That you felt you’ve always known, even though you just met?”

“Well, yes.”

“Linkage.”

“But if Gunther is a vampire, I don’t see how—”

“Gunther was human once.” Nigel sighed. “He was human, and he loved Maxi before he became a vampire.” He rubbed his eyes. “It was one of my biggest mistakes, Rachel. I thought I had made Gunther understand that when he accepted the gift, by becoming a nightwatcher, he would have to let Maxi go. How was I to know? How was I to know that the only reason he wanted to become a nightwatcher was so that he and Maxi would be together for all eternity?”

“How did he become a vampire?” She knew the answer.

Nigel looked at her. “I created him. One of my greatest mistakes. Which is why it is my responsibility to destroy him.”