Prey

I don't like to think of them as prey. That feels too cold-blooded. Juliana says that I'm sentimental, but after all, we rarely take their lives. They surrender to us their youth, their vitality, their beauty, a few memories. In return, we gift them with a taste of ecstasy, even if they will recall it only dimly. That, and a lingering darkness. For the rest of their short days, they bear the mark of our touch on their souls.

No, I prefer to consider them as pets, or perhaps as toys. We do, indeed, discard them when we become bored. How many have we lured, over the centuries? I cannot count. Indeed, it disturbs me to think about this, for I cannot summon the face of a single one.

We will hunt tonight. I stand at the arching windows of our flat, watching dusk paint the Vltava in a thousand shades of gray. Across the river, the spires of the castle rise in graceful silhouette against mauve banks of cloud. In the background, Juliana plays Lizst. Her fiery restlessness is apparent in the music. She doesn't want to wait any longer.

Long ago, we learned to sate our physical hunger with the blood of dumb beasts. Yet this was not enough. Gradually we came to realize that we could not survive without tasting the fascination and the fear of human victims. We need their rosy, yielding flesh, their scents of musk and salt, their quickened breathing. We crave the worship we see in their eyes, the willingness, no, the eagerness to surrender their entire selves to our unearthly beauty and power.

We are addicted to the drug of humanity. I find this ironic and somehow satisfying, this understanding that regardless of our invulnerability and near-omnipotence, our destinies are inextricably entwined with those of mortals. I sometimes wonder if God is likewise dependent on man (or vampire). Do we provide the same validation for His existence? Do we assuage the same kind of lust?

Juliana tells me that I am too philosophical.

She is here now, her piano abandoned, gazing out with me at the darkening world. Her jet hair is swept away from her ivory brow. Her ripe lips look already bloodied. Her fitted costume of scarlet velvet transforms her voluptuousness into stylish elegance. She slips her cool hand into mine; her long fingernails graze my palm. She stands statue-still as the true night envelopes the city, but I can feel her impatience. Nevertheless, she waits for me to make the decision.

I am, as always, somehow reluctant. My cravings are as strong as hers, I'm sure, but I try to deny them as long as possible. I don't think that it is guilt or shame that holds me back. Rather, I want the desire to build to a state of fever, of delirium, to the point where, uncontrollable and irrevocable, it obliterates the feeble rustlings of thought.

I am close to that point now.

Juliana raises her bottomless eyes to mine and parts her lips invitingly. When I kiss her, I feel her shimmering pleasure in my own body, heat that warms even our deathly chill. My cock stirs, waking from a long sleep.

"My love," I murmur after an endless drink from her mouth. "Let us go." We don our matching capes, and, hand in hand, stroll through the winding cobbled streets of Staré Mesto, the old town. It is October. A fine drizzle mists against our faces, as though we were walking through a cloud. Light from the shop windows makes golden smears on the damp pavement. The door to some restaurant or bar opens, and we reel like drunkards at the sudden onslaught of warmth, the voices and laughter, the overwhelming fragrance of blood.

Prague makes a comfortable home for creatures like us. Its antiquity dwarfs even ours. Prague swims in its own history. Our clothes of silk, velvet, lace and linen are unremarkable in this city of artists and dissidents. Even in high summer, it is a place of shadowy alleys and hidden courtyards, stone niches and subterranean taverns.

Meanwhile, beneath their Soviet-era veneer of practicality, the Czechs have an irrational, mystical streak that makes them peculiarly susceptible to our power. This is, after all, the birthplace of Kafka and Crazy Prince Rudolph.

Of course, we normally hunt among the tourists, ephemeral beings temporarily released from the constraints of their normal lives. They are ready for us. They float in a sea of possibilities, yearning for adventure, for pleasure, for memories to bring back to the dull world of their everyday existence.

We give them the first two, at least. Tonight the streets are crowded with humanity, but we do not see anyone who draws us. There is a good deal of boisterous intoxication, but little grace. The press in Staromestske Námestí is so thick, the blood-scent is actually oppressive.

"Let's try the bridge," Juliana suggests, steering me away from the square and toward the river.

The ancient Charles Bridge is only slightly less hectic than Old Town Square. In the granite alcoves, beneath the time-eaten statues of saints and kings, street musicians strum guitars or beat out a jungle rhythm on their drums. Vendors hawk glass trinkets, flowers, photographs of dead rock stars. Despite the dank weather, couples stroll hand in hand. Children chase each other across the stony span and back again, unaware of its weighty history.

We join the throng, heading toward the Malá Strana end of the bridge, where streetlights shrouded in mist beckon the walker into a new maze of dark and twisted lanes. Scanning the faces we pass, we seek that spark that will tell us this is the one. When we catch their eyes, most people react with confusion and the beginnings of fear. Hurriedly, they shift their gaze elsewhere.

Occasionally, we'll note the dilation of pupils, the quickening of breath, that indicates desire. Tonight, though, only a dowdy matron and a skinny old man respond in this manner. The woman blushes when I rake my eyes over her thick figure. The man stares back at me, almost defiant. They want us, but we don't want them. Juliana and I are particular. Only the ultimate in beauty will suffice.

At the same moment, she and I notice the couple, locked in an embrace in the middle of the bridge. It is hardly a chaste embrace, either. Though they are fully clothed, their manner is more appropriate to a private bedroom than a place of public gathering. He grips the hair that flows down her back like liquid moonlight, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth. Her hand grasps the bulk at his crotch, and she has one leg hooked around his legs. Her miniskirt has ridden well up her thigh, revealing creamy skin as pale as my own and inviting shadows beyond. My groin swells and aches, as I imagine her white fingers caressing me instead of her lover.

I turn my eyes to Juliana. Her eyes glitter and her lips are parted. One hand, hidden in her cloak, idly strokes her breast. She feels the weight of my attention, and looks up, her whole face alive with the excitement of the chase. I don't even need to nod.

They kiss for what seems like an eternity, oblivious to the curious or outraged stares of the passers-by. Oblivious to us, their nemesis and destiny, quietly awaiting our opportunity. Finally they break for air, and find us there, before them. Our eyes capture them. They do not look away.

In the midst of the crowd, we four are enveloped in velvet silence. Only our eyes speak. The girl is flushed, her blouse half-unbuttoned under her jacket. Her eyes are the aching blue of twilight. Her lips are bruised strawberries. I can see the pulse at her throat. In fact, I can hear her heart, still racing from her lover's kiss, spurred faster by my brazen stare.

I am deliberately crude as I look her up and down, letting my eyes linger on her small breasts, raising my eyebrows at the damp-darkened spot where her thighs meet. She is not cowed. She licks her lips, unconsciously arches her back so that her nipples poke through the fabric that hides them. She is simultaneously a creature of angelic grace and a lewd whore offering herself to me.

I am entranced. But, so, I can tell, is she.

Her partner has been snared by Juliana's potent gaze. He is as dark as his lover is fair, with luxuriously curly black locks and olive skin. His sharply-drawn cheekbones and stubborn chin contrast with his delicate mouth. Those full, girlish lips part in eagerness as Juliana throws her cape back over her shoulders to reveal her dramatic décolletage.

The familiar sight of her marble throat and alabaster breasts makes my cock swell to fullness. As for the young man, he seems on the verge of falling to his knees on the slick stone in front of my glorious and terrifying consort. She holds out her hand, palm outward, as if to halt his descent, then after a moment, offers it to him. "Good evening," she says. Her alto voice is melodious and hypnotic. "Welcome to Prague." In her smile, so full of promise, only I notice the gleam of razor-sharp teeth.

The man shivers despite himself when her chill fingers grasp his. He shakes his head, as if rousing himself from a dream. "Um... good evening. And thank you." He seems to want to extricate his hand, but Juliana holds him fast.

"I am Juliana, and this is my husband Philip. We would be pleased and honored if you would allow us to show you our city."

"Well... that is very kind of you, but we really need to get back to our hotel. We're leaving very early tomorrow." He is drawn to us, clearly, but also wary.

"Just one drink, perhaps?" I address myself to the girl, letting my voice caress her, inviting her to imagine more physical blandishments. She blushes and finally drops her eyes, unable to bear the heat of my concentrated attention. "We could take you to the Excelsior, one of the grandest and most historic hotels in the city."

"It's not far from here," Juliana adds, already taking the man's arm. "An easy stroll."

"Oh, let's go, Dan," the woman pleads, clearly aching to touch me. "After all, we're on vacation."

"Your honeymoon, is it not?" I add archly.

"Yes, you're right." Dan laughs nervously. "How did you know?"

"One only has to look at you," purrs Juliana. "You're obviously very much in love."

In fact, Dan looks besotted, but more with my wife than with his own. Meanwhile, I cannot imagine a new bridegroom being pleased by the lustful looks I am receiving from his bride. But they are already under our spell; neither of them seems disturbed.

"I'm Lisa, by the way," the girl adds, "and this is Daniel."

"Charmed," I say, lightly kissing her proffered hand, before tucking it into the crook of my arm. She looks as though she might swoon. With its cherry wood paneling, shaded sconces, and leather-upholstered banquettes, the Excelsior bar is a perfect setting for our seduction. Nervous and excited, Lisa and Daniel chatter away about their voyage, the sights they have seen and the places they have been. They quickly dispose of their glasses of fine Moravian wine. We order them another round. We want them fully relaxed and fully aroused.

Meanwhile, Juliana and I take occasional sips from our own goblets. The sweetness contrasts with the well-remembered salt-and-rust flavor of the wine that runs in the our mortal companions' veins.

Lisa is seated beside me on the bench. Her bare thigh presses firmly against mine. Every few minutes, her hand flutters shyly across my lap, only to skitter away. Eventually, I catch hold of it, and cup her palm around the bulk of my cock. She begins to stroke me, slowly at first, then with increased animation as she senses my response.

I brush my fingers lightly along her skin, just above her knee. She gasps and wriggles against the leather. The fragrance of her musk mingles with the aroma of old wood and well-tanned leather.

Across the table, Juliana huddles close to Daniel. Neither of her hands is visible. I can imagine what she is up to. The young man has startled, desperate look of a rabbit confronted by a snake.

The conversation has sputtered and died. The only sounds are their breathing and their sighs, and increasingly loud to my ears, the beat of their hearts.

Lisa leans her head back against the wall, her eyes closed, overwhelmed by my touch, which has become more insistent and bold. Unconsciously, perhaps, she bares her slender neck to me. A single pearl is embedded in the succulent flesh of her earlobe. In the subdued light of the bar, her skin has a warm ivory hue, like one of those delicate, obscene Japanese miniatures. I can see the slight stirring as the blood surges beneath it.

Hunger washes over me; I bite my own lip with the effort of controlling it.

Juliana senses my crisis. "Shall we retire to our flat?" she asks. "We'll be far more comfortable there." The question is completely rhetorical. At this point, our chosen victims would follow us anywhere.

They stumble like sleepwalkers as we lead them back to our lair. We urge them on with soft words and brief caresses. The rain has ended; the cold moon rides high in the night sky, wreathed in tatters of cloud.

In the antique openwork elevator, Juliana takes Daniel. When she fastens her mouth on his, he does not struggle. She releases him only when we reach the fifth floor. Lisa watches in fascination as a red droplet drifts down Daniel's chin. I lean over and catch it with my tongue. This first taste of him makes my heart race. I struggle for control.

Inside our apartment, Juliana glides about, lighting the candles. Our guests stand bemused in the middle of the Oriental carpet, waiting on our will.

I stand in front of Lisa's slender frame, looming over her. She is as fragile as one of Prague's famous glass figurines. Once again, I fight against the urge to crush her to me and drain her dry. "Kneel," I order her, more roughly than I should.

She does not mind. She obeys me instantly, sinking to her knees with a grace that would bring tears to my eyes if I were not so full of hunger.

I unbutton my trousers and loose my penis. It is as hard, as cold and as heavy as marble. Lisa leans forward eagerly to engulf me with her mouth. She shivers when her lips touch my chill flesh, but she does not withdraw. Instead, she bathes me in boiling hot saliva. She wraps her tongue around me like living fire, sucks me as though she'd like to swallow me whole.

My unnatural organ is literally like stone, and I know that it will hurt her, but that doesn't stop me from ramming it into her mouth again and again. She seems to welcome the pain, tilting her head and dropping her jaw so that she can accommodate my whole length. I am not usually so cruel, but my hunger tonight has a new edge, a desperation that is both frightening and intoxicating.

Her lips are bruised and torn from the force of my thrusts. Sexual desire and blood lust feed each other. I grab her silken mane and pull her head away from my cock. She looks disappointed. But her mouth is no longer enough for me. I want her cunt, ripe, juicy, engorged with her desire.

"Lie down," I hiss, pushing her onto the carpet. She hastens to follow my instructions, pulling her skirt up around her waist and spreading her legs wide without being told. Her shaved pubis is shockingly bare. She reaches down and holds her cunt open for me in lewd invitation. Her whorled depths gleam wetly in the candlelight. They are a rosy, bloody hue.

I kneel between her thighs, trying to catch my breath. Looking around the room, I see Juliana sprawled naked on the couch. Daniel, equally naked, is on his hands and knees with his head buried in her crotch. I can see the muscles of his shoulders and buttocks flex as he thrusts his tongue into her. She is writhing and moaning, twisting frantically at her nipples, her sharp fingernails making red crescents on her milky flesh. It occurs to me that I would like to see Daniel's cock, as I slide my own into Lisa's welcoming cunt. She moans with delight, her inner muscles clenching around me with amazing force. The irresistible force of lust, I think, slamming into her, feeling the quivering waves of pleasure I am producing. She grips me with her thighs, reluctant to release me when I pull out for my next stroke. She wants everything I can give her, all the power and the beauty and the violence.

I am a bit more in control now, however. I suppress the urge to split her open, thrusting deep enough to thrill her, but not to damage her. She thrashes beneath me, giving sharp, unearthly cries each time my cock buries itself in her sex. She is close to climax, I can tell, and I decide to give her what she craves. Pulling out of her, I lean down and take her clitoris in my teeth.

Her whole body clenches and then releases. She screams, wailing like a wounded animal. Her sex juices and her blood gush together over my tongue. I drink deeply, feeling the echoes of her pleasure rippling through my own body. My cock throbs with the rhythm of her fading contractions. I sense her confusion and her joy. She is wholly mine, if I will only take her.

Sitting back on my heels, I gaze with fresh longing at her exquisite body, still twitching on the carpet. I suddenly realize that the room is very quiet.

I glance over to the sofa. Daniel lies crumpled on the floor at its foot, breathing deeply, his eyes closed. I notice his eyelashes, surprisingly long and lush for a man. His cock rests half-erect in its nest of black curls. Its dusky length carries the scarlet marks of Juliana's teeth. Blood-tinged semen pools pink on his abdomen.

My consort kneels next to his motionless body. Her hair is a raven-hued tangle down her back. Her eyes shine like black diamonds. I rise and go to her, press my smeared, sticky lips against hers. We share the flavors of our respective victims. She gives me the bitterness of Daniel's come. I offer her the ocean-musk from Lisa's depths. We mingle their blood on our tongues. They say that husband and wife become one flesh, but I can taste the difference between our two newlyweds.

"Perhaps we should allow them to rest for a while," Juliana murmurs, unbuttoning my shirt.

"Perhaps," I say, weighing her luscious breasts in my hands as she continues the process of undressing me. "But I don't believe that we are finished with them yet."

"No, of course not," she responds, easing herself onto my erection. "I want to spend some time with Lisa. And I believe that you will quite enjoy Daniel."

We begin to move together. Her sex is cool as the moon, wet as rain. It sends sweet chills up my spine. I am silk and steel inside her. We are a well-lubricated machine, stroking and twisting in an intricate, precise rhythm. I hold her to my chest with all my strength, arching myself up into her, my knowledge of her responses almost an instinct after our centuries together. Likewise, she does not need to think as she ripples around my cock, generating waves of sensation that start in my belly and radiate to all my extremities.

Her hair hangs in my face, fragrant with the scent of gardenias. Her nipples graze my lips before she teasingly pulls them away. We climb together the well-worn path to pleasure, to that plateau where we both hover, washed in mutual delight.

That is as high as we can go, however. In our transformation to immortality, we gained unearthly beauty, superhuman strength, hyper-acute senses, psychic power, the ability to fascinate and command. Not to mention, irresistible sex appeal and unlimited sexual stamina. But we lost, it appears, the capacity to experience that final cataclysmic release that distinguishes the congress of mortals. This is another irony, which I contemplate during the long nights of Juliana's and my existence. For, as much as I adore her, I cannot bring her to climax.

Tonight, even as we make love, I feel the sadness of this. I clasp her in my arms, feeling the tears prick my eyes. Juliana senses my melancholy, but she is more pragmatic than I am. She nips at my earlobe. "Never mind. Just fuck me, Philip."

So I do, going on and on as only we can, trying to enjoy the experience, but actually envying our poor prey.

Soon, we will rouse them and play with them some more. There are still many hours left to this night. Perhaps I will part those taut buttocks of Daniel's and bury my cock in his tender bowels, then lick the blood from his torn flesh. Perhaps Juliana will use her skillful tongue to tease poor Lisa until the girl begs to be taken, then give the girl a taste of her sharp-nailed fist. Maybe, before we extinguish their memories, we will require Daniel to fuck his horny young bride, while I feed him my cock and Juliana sits on Lisa's face.

Perhaps, when they come, we'll feel the echoes of their ecstasy, strongly enough to free us from the craving. At least for a while.

For to be honest, I am tired of the hunt. I would prefer to live here above the ageless city with my Juliana, surrounded by her Mozart and her Bach, free from temptation, released from the addiction.

Juliana tells me that we are predators by nature, and that I am a hopeless dreamer.

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