She walked upon the broken stones scraping her nails along the church bricks. The dove flew above her head guiding the way. It was cold here in the shadows. The gothic cross hung haphazardly from the steeple. She had never wanted to come here. Even as a child it scared her.
The wind cut deeply—pushing the flimsy fabric of her nightgown against her chilled skin. The dove cried and demanded she follow. Moss clawed at the hem of her nightdress—making her bare feet slip on the stones. No one had ventured out this way in years. The groundskeeper kept the gates chained, but the lock had been easy to pick.
She saw the soft glow of light warming up the windows as she rounded the corner. He was in there. She could sense him. They’d been small the last time he’d talked her into coming here. They weren’t small anymore.
She paused under the archway to push the old door open, shivering as it creaked on rusty hinges. He looked up from the fire. He watched her with sad blue eyes, his black hair tumbling over his forehead. “You look like an angel.” She shifted her weight uncomfortably, attempting to hide the mud on her feet. She’d never been good enough for him. He held a hand out and welcomed her to his makeshift campfire.
She walked toward him keeping clear of physical contact. The dove’s flapping wings startled her as it perched itself in the eves. The night was thick with nature croaking and buzzing—setting her teeth on edge. “Why did you ask me here?”
He stood up and stroked her arms, moving to outline her breasts beneath the white fabric. He leaned in and kissed her temple and she inhaled his scent deeply. She hadn’t meant to but she couldn’t help herself—he always had this effect on her.
“Have you been out to the graves?” He leaned back to study her face. She shook her head no and he kissed her plush mouth. “Come on, let me show you something.” He pulled her behind him leading the way down the decayed steps.
The air felt colder down by the gravestones. It’s just your imagination, she chided herself. But she shivered all the same. He held her hand in his and drew her over to an impromptu altar. She stopped—the chill seeping into her chest. “What’s that for? What have you planned, Garret?” His beautiful face snapped back to look at her. “Don’t call me that!” He gripped her jaw with his free hand painfully digging his fingers into her soft flesh. Tears welled up and she saw that the rumors were true. He was mad.
Fear lanced her and she stammered helplessly, “I-I-I’m sorry. I forgot.” He relaxed then and stroked her reddened jaw in a tender motion—drawing his knuckles down to graze her nipples. He groaned a little as her body reacted to him. She’d always loved him, but now that blurred with fear and suspicion. He only saw what he wanted to see as he unlaced the top of her nightgown and lowered his mouth to her breast.
“You’re so beautiful, Aria. So lovely…” His lips closed over one tip and then the other, sucking greedily. Her head fell back and she gasped at the contrast of the cold night air and his hot wet tongue. He pulled her to him, licking and biting softly at her breasts. His free hand delved between her thighs and he stroked her core—bunching up her nightgown and searching out her treasure.
She rode his fingers with pure joy, losing herself in the pleasure of his kiss as his lips opened hers and claimed her mouth. Time seemed to ebb and she became aware only of him.
Then she felt the cold slab of the altar.
Her body jerked—rejecting the icy stone. But he pressed her down, pulling her knees apart. His mouth kissed and coaxed her back into submission as he pushed himself into her body. Her eyes rolled back and her body arched—throbbing for him. He drove her over the edge and she felt herself float above them. For a moment it was heaven. But when she came to her senses she realized that he’d tied her wrists to the posts on either side of the altar.
He straddled her hips, his beautiful cock resting on her belly as he used a knife to cut away the last of her nightgown. She lay there naked—her mind reeling. When had he gone mad? Thoughts jumbled in her mind while Garret drew the tip of his knife over her smooth skin. He leaned forward, almost erect again as he whispered against her mouth. “You’ve a dance with Nosferatu, my sweet.” She flinched when he kissed her.
He smiled a most hideous smile. She licked her lips nervously, “Honey…everyone knows that vampires are a myth.” He seemed uncertain, and she thought she saw a bit of the boy he’d been. He put the knife aside, “You won’t think that after tonight. I’m going to give you the gift of immortality and then we’ll start a following.” Aria frowned, “A following?” Garret grinned with enthusiasm, “”A loyal following—an army of vampires!” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers searching out her tongue.
He trailed kisses down her neck, licking and sucking on her soft skin. He brushed her hair back and kissed along her shoulder. Two raised bumps drew his attention and he leaned closer to see what they were. He squinted, “What—?”
Aria used his hesitation to her advantage, ripping her hands free of the ropes, she sunk her fangs into his exposed neck. She drained him and moved to cradle him in her lap. He looked at her in disbelief—his eyes slowly glazing over with death. Tears streamed down her face and the part of her that was still human mourned him. It was clear that he was mad and would have ended up killing countless others. She cleared her throat and stroked his hair away from his brow. “Oh Honey, I’ve already danced with Nosferatu. I bear the scar of his kiss.”