Love Bite

I awoke just after sunset and stretched luxuriantly. Some of my kind sleep in coffins, either from a sense of tradition or because they think it is cool, but I have always preferred soft matresses, velvet curtains and satin sheets. I enjoy the finer things of life and see no reason to change my habits in my altered condition.

I yawned, stretched again and rose from my bed. I sleep naked and spent some time studying my body in the full length mirror I had hung on the bedroom wall. I saw a mature body that still had the lustre of youth, with well defined muscles and dark, shoulder length hair. My eyes glowed with a faint golden sheen in a face that still passed for thirty-five. My teeth were even and perfectly white, my incisors barely noticable. Vanity has always been one of my weak points.

I dressed slowly in a casual Armani suit and wondered how I would spend the evening. I glanced at the clock on my dressing table and saw that it was a quarter to five. I love the winter because it gets dark so early and light so late. As I combed my hair I decided to head into central London and wander the streets, going where my mood took me. I headed out into the night.

An hour and a half later found me sitting in my favourite coffee house watching the world go by. I don’t drink coffee, of course, but I do like to inhale the delicate aromas of freshly ground beans and cinnamon rising from my cup. I had spent the best part of an hour wandering the streets of London, from Covent Garden to Piccadilly, enjoying the proximity of so many lives as they went about their business. An existence such as mine can be very lonely and I like to surround myself with people so that I can feel part of the hustle and bustle of life. Of course I have to disguise my true nature from those around me, otherwise they may turn on me.

As I sat at my table my eyes were drawn to a young woman sitting in the far corner of the room. There was an indescribable sadness to her face that was both beautiful and disconcerting at the same time. I studied her more closely. She was petite in build with auburn hair reaching to her shoulders and high, round breasts. Her eyes were brown and she dressed smartly but casually in a skirt and jacket ensemble that was obviously designer made. I still couldn’t make out why she seemed so sad and fragile so I expanded my senses and looked at her again. That was when I saw the illness radiating from her frame, literally burning her up from within. And yet despite her obvious discomfort there was a nobility about the way she accepted her suffering and refused to feel sorry for herself, and an awareness of how much of life she would never experience.

That decided me. I have often wondered why I behaved as I did that night. Was it an act of compassion on my part, or was I simply overcome with loneliness and desire for a mate? Whatever the reason, I walked over to her table, coffeee in hand, and flashed her my most winning smile. “May I share your table?” I asked. She glanced around the half-empty coffee shop, looked back at me and replied, “Why not?” with such a sad look in her eyes that my heart nearly broke. We sat in silence for a few moments and then she spoke again. “You haven’t touched your coffee”. I looked at her and grinned. “I never drink…coffee,” I replied. She frowned as if trying to remember where she had heard a similar phrase before, then shrugged. “What’s your name?” she asked. “Sebastian," I replied. We shook hands.  “I’m Mary”. Gently, I asked her, “How long have you been ill?” A look of alarm passed across Mary’s face and she asked, “How did you know?” “I have a certain…expertise in such matters,” I replied. “How long have you got?” “A few months,” Mary said, and then her story came tumbling out of her; the initial diagnosis, a course of painful and ineffective treatment, her boyfriend walking out on her when she told him (“Because it was all about him, you see”), and her final resignation to her fate. After Mary finished she looked as though a burden had been lifted from her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know why I told you all that. It’s not your problem, after all. I suppose I just felt like telling someone.”
“That’s alright,” I replied, “but tell me one thing more. Would you like to be free of your illness?”
Mary smiled. “Can you work miracles?
“Something like that,” I said.
Mary’s frowned and she burst into short, harsh laughter. “Did someone put you up to this? Is this this some kind of sick joke?”
“On the contrary,” I replied, “I have never been more serious in my life.”
Mary stood up to leave. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re playing at but this isn’t funny.”
I  realised that I had overplayed my hand and should disappear before I drew too much attention to myself. Instead, I did what I had been taught never to do. I allowed Mary a brief glimpse of my true nature.

She sat down again with an audible thud and looked at me with wonder in her eyes. “What are you?” she managed to ask. “The ultimate predator”,  I replied with a fierce grin, “but don’t be frightened. I mean you no lasting harm.” Mary swallowed. “I’m not frightened, really I’m not, but I am surprised. I thought that…your kind did not exist.”
“Most people are unaware of us and for the most part we prefer it that way. We would surely be hunted down and destroyed if too many knew of our existence.”
“I see that.” Mary paused, thinking hard. I enjoyed the way her brow furrowed in concentration. “You said that you could cure me. What did you mean by that?” she demanded.
I took her hands in mine, impressed to find that they were steady as a rock. “Imagine living for ever, with no pain, no suffering, no disease or old age, preserved with all your beauty until the end of time. That is what I offer you.”
“And the price?”
“Is well worth paying,” I reassured her, and meant it.
“My illness?”
“Would never trouble you again.”
“I don’t know…I’d have to think about it.”
I smiled reassuringly. “Of course,” I said. I wrote out my address and gave it to her. “When you’re ready, this is where you can find me.”

It was three days before Mary turned up at my apartment, drunk as a lord and very apprehensive. I ushered her into my living room and sat down opposite her. “Well,” she said, “here I am.”
“Here you are. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No,” she replied, “but it’s better than the alternative.”
There was silence for a while, then she asked, “Will it hurt?”
“A little, yes, but the pain soon passes.”
“Why me?”
“What do you mean?" I asked.
“Why did you choose me?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “There was just something about you that I responded to, deep down in my soul.”
“I see. Well, are we going to do this or not?”
“Lie back,” I said, rising to my feet and approaching her. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
Mary relaxed into the sofa she was sitting on and closed her eyes. I knelt beside her and brushed her hair from her neck, exposing her jugular vein. “Are you sure?” I enquired. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Do it !” Mary commanded urgently.
I pressed my teeth against her throat and bit down in one smooth motion. Mary arched her body and cried out in pain, then relaxed once more as the powerful anaesthetic in my bite took hold. I drank deeply, and as I did so Mary’s entire life entered my being, every memory and emotion she had ever experienced flooding into my consciousness. The beauty and sadness of her short life treatened to overwhelm me with grief and I found myself crying. Experiencing Mary’s soul was the most profound experience I had ever had.
I was so lost in the moment that I almost forgot that she was not for feeding. I jerked my head back and slit open my wrist, pressing the wound to her lips. She didn’t need any prompting from me and drank hungrily, taking back the blood that my body had transformed as eagerly as a baby drinking its mother’s milk, which in a way she was doing. As I started to feel light-headed I realised that she had taken too much from me and ripped my wrist from her mouth. As the wound healed  Mary lay back and sighed with ecstasy. “That was soooo good”, she murmered.
“You will transform now,” I told her. “When you awaken you will be reborn into a new life.”
I carried Mary into my bedroom and gently laid her down. Her eyes closed and she looked peaceful, as though one of Botticelli’s angels had fallen from heaven into my apartment.
“Don’t be afraid,” I whispered to her. “I’ll watch over you until you awake.”
She smiled at that. “I think I love you,” she murmered, and then she died.

Mary awoke the next evening and smiled at me. "How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Hungry," she replied.
"We'll eat soon," I said.
Mary stood up and went to the window, surveying the night-time streets. "Everything is so much more vivid," she noted. I went to her side and looked out into the darkness. "Your senses are enhanced," I explained.
"Uh-huh," she responded.  "I never realised the night could be so beautiful."
"I have so much to show you," I whispered. "First, I need to teach you how to hunt."
We went out into the night and I showed her how to select her prey from the flotsam of London, the derelicts and addicts who would never be missed. I explained how to open her soul to them so that she drank not just their blood but their lives. She was an apt pupil and by the end of the night she required no further coaching from me. When we returned to my apartment we made love in a hectic whirl of emotion before settling down to sleep. As I lay there next to Mary, listening to the dawn, I contemplated the life we would share together, this wonderful creature and I, and soon fell into a contented sleep.