Despite the unfamiliarity swirling my head and body, at least home still feels right. The black, stagnant water of the bayou reflecting the silvery moonlight offers comfort amid its rotting wood and decay.

I crouch on a fallen cypress, replaying what happened in the alleyway. He looked at me like I was more than teeth. Like I mattered. And he was warm. He was…

Don’t.

My fingernails splinter the bark. Warmth isn’t a vampire thing. What’s wrong with me? Am I broken?

Movement distracts me from self-loathing. A frog has hopped up out of the shallows, and I instinctively lash out and grab it. Snap its neck. Lift it towards my mouth.

And stop.

There, peeking from a hole in the log, is a mink. It regards me, perhaps assessing how much of a threat I am compared with the need for the food I hold.

We eye one another. Hunter. Prey.

“Aww, come here, little one.” I wiggle my fingers, dangling the frog and beckoning with the other hand.

It twitches, unsure, its sweet furry brown face offering a curious mixture of trepidation and inquisitiveness.

As it blinks, I jiggle the frog again and hold it out, luring the mink closer.

“Come on, you cute wittle thing. That's it.”

The creature skitters closer. Takes a few more steps before snatching the dead frog from my fingers and perching to gnaw it.

It’s close enough now that I reach out and pet its head. So soft. “You're a cutie pie with those wittle beady eyes. Yes you are. Yes you very, very are.”

Part of me can't believe what I'm doing. Petting food?! Get a grip!

But I don’t stop. I lift, curling it into my chest. It purrs like a cat, and I cuddle it tighter even as it nibbles at the frog.

“I don’t do this,” I mutter to the mink, or maybe myself.

“No, you don’t.”

My head snaps around. Lucene stands stiff, alluring in her skintight bodysuit and scarlet lipstick, emerald eyes wide and searching for explanation. Her mouth twists in disgust. “Why are you coddling that rodent?”

Almost as if my head isn't my own, I shift focus down to the soft critter, barely believing I'm still stroking it. Shame. I feel shame, and it's alien. Unwelcome.

“Shut up,” I hiss, then drop the creature and flee, tearing through the trees surrounding the bayou, leaving a path of broken branches in my wake. I don’t know where I’m going. Just have to get away.

When I'm far enough from the source of shame, I slow and pause in a little clearing, leaning against the bark of a gnarly tree to catch my breath.

Wait.

I'm tired?!

What the fuck?

It's true. My elevated heart rate thunders at the exercise, deep gasps echoing off the damp, surrounding woodland. The sort of noises usually reserved for those times while I drain and fuck my prey.

Has hunger finally caught up with me? Is this what denial feels like? I haven't had a proper meal in days. That vegetarian dude, Chet, doesn't count. He lacked the minerals I depend upon.

The more I think, the more I crave. The rising thirst grows, throat burning, need stronger than ever. I know if I don't get a fix soon, I'll become ill. Won't have the strength to hunt, let alone fly.

I twist my head away, snarling, trying to control it; this eternal curse. But it won't fade.

Thoughts whirl. Bite after bite. Fuck after frenzied fuck. Hundreds of feeds taunt me from across the globe, fangs and cunt inextricably linked as I fuel my entwined needs. Maybe a proper fuck will cure me?

I let the thoughts roll until, gradually, the maelstrom in my head slows. Until only one central thought remains.

Him.

The source. The sole human who might be able to explain it.

I shriek into the night, disturbing a flock of bats high above, drop to my knees among the twigs and earth and, like dark ink pouring from a spilled well, transform and soar up to join them.

We flap and swoop as one, until I break away. Change direction back towards the city. To him, with the scent and taste I can’t forget.

To answers.

~^o^~

For the first time in centuries, I don’t know what will happen next. The break from routine is both terrifying and exhilarating.

It’s the blackest of nights—has to be well past midnight—when I locate his smell, descend and reform, unfolding to stand on the cold, bare earth of the unkempt Holt cemetery. I pause to sniff, chest puffing in the tight dress, accenting my cleavage.

Snapping my head to the right, his large silhouette leans against the only ornate headstone in the entire place. In Holt, the poor mark their dead with crumbling rock towers or crooked wooden crosses. Weeds have crept up to claim everything.

I step over some strewn bones, rumored to be used in Voodoo rituals. Most say this graveyard is haunted. Bad things prowl here. Worse things than me. Besides a Gulag, it's the last place on Earth anyone would visit, yet there he stands. Brass balls, this one.

“Why are you here?” He turns. Doesn’t seem surprised to see me. I tilt my head to read the etching in granite. “Just paying respects to Buddy, the King of Jazz?”

He smiles. “I do love jazz, but knew you’d eventually find me here. The only circulating blood around, right?” He steps towards me. “And the street party’s not here, so we can be alone.”

“Alone?” I hold my hand up to halt him, then extend a finger, pointing to the ancient oak filled with pairs of glowing red and amber eyes. “You think I’m the only one who smells you?”

He follows my gesture, and the first hint of fear widens his haunting blue eyes. But he remains silent.

“Word spread you’re mine. At the moment, they’re just curious. Waiting their turn. But that could change.” I wave my hand, and a thunderous flapping of wings fills the sky. We both watch the black dots until they disappear into the night. “Now.” I smooth my dress, chest jutting. The illusion of control. “Now we’re alone.”

We settle our gazes back on one another. Hunter and prey. Although he seems unsure which he is. Maybe I’m unsure too. “How did you know I’d be back?”

“You left me hanging in the alley with my dick out. Unfinished business isn't your style.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I told you. I know more than you think. Your kind—”

“What did you do to me? Why do I… feel stuff?”

“All in good time.”

“No! Now!” I bristle.

Maddeningly, he shakes his head. “You don't call the shots. Not any more.” He wags his finger like I'm a petulant child needing a telling off. Maybe he'll spank me. His unpredictability makes me shudder. Drip.

“What is this?” I wave my hand in his direction. “These aren't the droids I'm looking for?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sexy, dangerous and pop culture references.” He gives a theatrical shiver. “I'd better watch my step.”

“Fuck you. So I have a lot of time on my hands.”

“Evangeline,” he scolds. “Be civil. Come here.”

“No, I… d…” but I step towards him anyway. 

“Closer.”

My stare pierces him, and I step close enough the heat from his body crosses the night air. I sense his pulse quickening. Involuntary. Impossible to hide.

“Good girl. What do you want? What do you need?”

I say nothing. Stare him down.

“Fine, I'll tell you. Once is never enough, is it? You need another taste of my blood, and everything after.”

“Just a taste?” I lick one of my fangs. “How do you know I won’t drain you dry, prey?”

He leans into me and whispers, “I just know,” then grabs and twists my hair into his fist. His speed is surprising, but I let him tug my head into the crook of his neck. Fuck! That smell! His blood rushes through the artery against my lips. Mmm.

His voice cracks. “Feast, Eva. Claim what's yours. Take what you need.”

I know I should resist, but my fangs bare on instinct. I snarl. Sink into his flesh, the faint, satisfying hiss of puncturing skin releasing my elixir. My drug. I bite him and suck.

And panic.

It happens again. After one draw, whatever’s in his system rearranges me somehow. I scream, fling my face skyward, the dripping ‘O’ of blood circling my lips, thoughts slowing. Need building; but not for more red. A steady thrum begins. What starts as a single soldier turns into an army marching through my body, from mouth to drooling pussy. It craves attention. Needier for him than my mouth has ever been for blood.

I shove him backwards to the tombstone and press him against it, kissing desperately. He responds. Tongues. Teeth. Sparring as equals instead of the usual power dynamic after a meal.

Normally about this time, a dark swirl grips my mind. Spurs me on. But all I experience is light. Heat. It’s ridiculous. Light and heat in a fucking graveyard. Warmth spreads from the kernel that pilots the voracious sex drive buried in my head, threatening to burn me up like sunshine as it spirals through my body.

His hands are on me, clutching my back. Slithering down to hike the dress. Clawing at the satin that covers my dripping sex, yanking it aside. I scratch at him too, lips working overtime against his, smearing blood.

In the struggle, he somehow frees himself. The dull pressure of his raging erection meets wetness, swabbing once, twice. Then in. I gasp into his mouth and lift my leg, bare sole grinding the granite by his hip as we set up a furious rhythm, stirring the dead in their coffins.

Nails clutch at skin, breath mingling, hips separating and slamming together. Void. Filled. Void. Filled. I stretch around his girth and bury my face in his neck.

It’s incredible. Intense. The same brutal fucking I crave, but everything is somehow different. Not just the sex; the fulfilment. Not his power or the endorphin rush of his huge cock filling me; his physicality. It's him. Actually him I need. First time since, well, since I became a vampire back in London, England, during the reign of James I.

But vampires don’t need anything besides blood and sex. Do they?

I'm questioning everything in my head, knowing that something is wrong deep down, yet don't ever want this to stop.

The breath leaves my body in staccato bursts as he ploughs. By this time, my heart's usually racing, and I'm fangs deep in the delicious crimson river of my prey's neck as I ride him to oblivion. But the thirst has evaporated. My pulse remains slow. Under control. All that’s left is irrepressible lust.

Centuries-old images play through my mind like video vignettes on ancient movie stock. A foreign summer breeze dusts my calves as I dance and swirl and fuck through endless meadows, peppering the fields of fresh flowers in my wake with pussy juice that drips with each thrust.

Then I'm in a barn. A hayloft. Devouring the cock of the muscly stud who tends the horses before he hauls me up by my hair and turns me away from him. Shoves my cheek against the wooden slats and pins me there. Nothing I can do but claw the wall with onyx nails as he slams into me, knocking the breath from my body with every savage lunge of hips I crave against my ass.

My thoughts journey the world. Being eaten in Paris, spread against the Louvre’s glass pyramid. Feasting in a Mexican favela. The rooftop of a Tokyo skyscraper. It's all there. Unlocked and in slow-mo free fall.

I let the scenes play out as my climax builds. Crests. The mystery man with his intoxicating scent and Voodoo blood is near too, growls forming in his throat.

With primal energy, I throw my head back and haul in oxygen as the fireworks in my cunt ignite, gripping his thick shaft in a rhythmic ballet that he meets with his own groans and pulses.

The orgasm is so intense I sense tears, but choke them back at the last moment, heat thrumming my core, joy riding its wake.

We grind in ever-slowing circles as our orgasms ebb. I don't even know I'm holding him so tight until I let go, and a bunch of red crescents form and bloom on his shirt. Lowering my leg, he slips free. Our juices ooze down my thigh, and I snap the satin in place to contain them, eyeing him as he tucks himself away.

The clarity remains, and I stare.

“What. The everlasting FUCK was that?”

He smooths his shirt, oblivious to the claw marks. Says nothing.

I tilt my head. “I'm serious. Who the fuck are you?”

Running his hand through the tight curls, he offers a disarming smile. “I'm Adam. And I haven't been totally honest with you.”

“No shit,” I spit. “Why can't I feast? I'm hungry.”

Except… almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie. He lets the realisation sink in. Simply eyes me. “Are you?”

I look away. Then whip my attention back to him, my voice a ghostly whisper. “What have you done?”

“Evangeline.” His tone is even, eyes piercing. “You're never going to be the same again.”

He lowers himself to the ground, spreads his legs, and pats the ground as if summoning a timid animal. “Sit with me.”

I don’t know how I let him do it, but sit where he indicated. He rests his hand on my bare thigh by the hem of the dress and strokes. Pets me like I did that mink.

He begins, “I’m a scientist. No… more of an altruist. I want to help humanity reach its highest potential.” His voice takes on a faraway cadence. “Admit it. The world is out of control. Tyranny. Wars. Suffering. We're bleeding the planet dry, turning on each other. That's not the path to longevity. We need love, empathy, and social bonding.”

I twist my head to gaze up at him as his fingertip draws circles on my inner thigh. “I have longevity. I've seen it all. The cycles. The so-called progress. Nobody learns.”

“Exactly. But nor do you. You hunt. You feed. You fuck. That's not progress. You're treading water and my lab work can give you a way to shore. A purpose.”

“I have purpose.”

He lets the comment hang. We both know it's not true.

“Lab?”

“Below The Spotted Cat. You know it? The drifting jazz helps me work.” I nod and he taps my thigh as if to a beat only he can hear. “I started with blind mole rats. Territorial and aggressive. Injected them with a serum to amplify the neuro pathways connected to those positive traits, and to suppress aggression. You know what happened?”

I blink. Settle against his chest, parting my knees so his fingertip can continue drawing shapes that send shivers a few inches north to my leaking mess of a pussy.

“They began nurturing their young. Sought out others in the tunnels. Slept in social piles. For over a year, I injected them, recorded the results, and then stopped. And their behaviors continued. Their brains had been rewired, chemistry altered!”

The lightbulb starts to flicker on in my head, but I still need to hear him say it. His voice keeps my pulse steady despite his hands sliding up to my breasts. Caressing. Kneading.

“Your kind was the next step in my testing before I could even consider whether human trials were worth pursuing. If I could fix the dark emotions within you—selfish, gluttonous, all-consuming, tendencies—just think what your lives could become.”

His word “fix” triggers me to shift. Stiffen. He turns one wrist upward and lifts it to my mouth. “Another drink?”

Fuck! That scent! I can't resist latching onto his flesh and sucking. Just a few drops, becoming used to the sparks it releases in my head, relaxing back against him as he finishes. “You'd be eternal ambassadors for both species. Fuck the politicians. You'd be the true leaders. Show them all.”

Understanding surfaces. The syringe. “In the alley. You injected yourself with the serum.”

“Yes. A top-up. The tests were going well, but you're stronger than the others.”

*And now I'm infected.”

“Yes. It's temporary at first, but it will rewire you over prolonged use. I can synthesise it. A near endless supply.”

I should snap his fucking neck. I can’t. I'm too relaxed.

His hand slides down, returning to my thigh, and slips beneath my dress. I spread my knees further, and he cups my sodden pussy through my ruined panties.

I’m writhing, but get the words out. “What if I don't want reprogramming?”

He doesn’t answer, snaking fingers into the crotch of the sticky satin. His fingers are warm and settle the noise in my head.

“Tell me. Do you like these new feelings?”

“I… I think so. But part of me wants to kill you.”

He chuckles. “You won’t. You feel warmth now.” He begins finger-fucking me. “In time, you’ll desire closeness. And sex will be better. More meaningful.”

His free hand grazes my face, and I lean into his touch. And mew like a fucking cat.

“You’ll enjoy craving something besides blood. This is what should be addictive. Gentle touches. Compassion. Empathy. Connections. Love.”

What am I doing? I’m not the next rodent he needs to fix.

I gasp as he picks up speed. Jaw drops open as his thumb anchors my clit, and he starts tugging my pussy up off the ground. My hips arch into his touch, and I sink into his embrace as he curls his fingertips, our cum mixture squelching into the night, excitement building, building until my breath shortens, thighs clamp his hand, and I exhale through my nose, the climax engulfing me.

More heat. More light. I could get used to it.

Slumping to the cold earth between his legs, I woozily drift. Process. His fingers slither free, and he offers them for me to suck clean.

As my juices enter my system and the sexual fog clears, clarity replaces it. But I'm stricken. Can barely move. Like I'm some rare metal, and he's a magnet.

I fight the thoughts invading my head. Try puncturing my lower lip with my fangs. Maybe pain will wake me from whatever this is? Anger won’t come unaided.

Vestiges of strength surface. A faint glimmer. But it's enough.

I shove his hand away...