Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire. Michael Thomas Ford

you, my lord,” he replied, raising Gunther’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. “I will do anything you ask, my lord, my master.”

      And Gunther rose to his knees, a smile on his face, raising his right wrist to his mouth.

      For a moment he saw Gunther’s teeth—long, sharp, pointed, tearing at his wrist. And then the blood was flowing from the wound he’d made—bright red blood, trickling down over Gunther’s hand, and the bleeding wrist was offered to him.

      “Drink from me and join me for eternity.”

      He looked up into Gunther’s smiling face, and saw—

      The teeth.

      Long. Sharp. Pointed.

      Not human, oh sweet Jesu, not human.

      He’s a demon. The priest was right.

      Philip moved away from him.

      Don’t be afraid, mein Liebchen.

      Philip got to his feet, backing away from the bed, from the bed where he’d committed sin in the eyes of God, where he’d allowed a demon to take him the way a man takes a woman.

      Gunther held out the wrist.

      “Join me for eternity.”

      And Philip backed away from the bed, shaking his head, his body trembling with fear as he crossed himself, then turned and ran to the window, not thinking in his terror, fervent prayers rushing through his head, driven by terror.

      “No, Maxi, no!” Gunther screamed, and sprang after him.

      And he backed away and felt the back of his legs against the window frame, and he felt himself falling backward just as Gunther lunged toward him, his arms outstretched; and he was back and through the window, praying as he fell, fell, fell…

      And then he hit the cobblestones…and as he felt his life leaving him, he kept praying, Forgive me, Jesus, for turning my back on you and committing a sin; forgive me; don’t cast me down into Hell with creatures like this one….

      And everything faded to black.

      He opened his eyes.

      Gunther threw his head back and howled as his body convulsed with his explosion, and Philip’s own long-delayed orgasm went, his seed splashing and spraying into his face, over his chest, his entire body rocking as his balls emptied. Then, both bodies spent, Gunther slowly removed himself from inside Philip. He smiled down at him. “Mein Liebe…” he whispered.

      Philip slowly pulled away from him. “What—what are you?” he whispered. He slid off the bed and found his feet, wondering what he was going to wear, knowing his clothes had been ripped to shreds, just knowing it didn’t matter—he had to get out of here.

      Gunther reached over and stroked his cheek. “I offer you an eternity of love, my beautiful little one.” His wrist rose to his mouth. “I offer you eternal life as my companion, my love, my life.” Then he tore at his wrist, until the blood was flowing over his fingers again—dark red and rich, thick blood. “All you have to do is drink, mein Liebe, and then we will be together for all eternity.”

      “N-no.” Philip backed away from him, away from the bed of nightmares, aware of his nakedness, aware of the bloody wrist being offered to him.

      “DRINK!” Gunther shouted, leaping off the bed and pinning him against the wall, shoving the wrist into Philip’s mouth.

      Philip’s eyes went to the balcony doors. Heaven help me, he thought as he struggled, as the blood filled his mouth.

      It was strangely sweet.

      “There.” Rachel pointed to a balcony across the street. They were standing under a streetlight in the thick mist. She shivered. The street was completely deserted, lifeless. Flickering shadows danced on the curtains. The balcony doors were open. “That’s where they are.”

      Nigel smiled at her. “Thank you.” He kissed her hand.

      “I’m going with you,” she insisted, grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing. “You need me.”

      “No.” He shook his head, effortlessly pulling his arm free from her grasp. “Too dangerous, my dear.” He gathered himself and leaped gracefully up to the balcony in one motion.

      Rachel stood for a moment and then crossed the street. The gate to the wide carriageway was open, and she ran inside, her shoes clicking on the pavement as she looked through the mist for the door that led inside the building. It was locked. She tugged on it, then pushed before giving it up. I have to get inside. She removed her shoe and smashed a windowpane, reaching in and unlocking the door from the inside, then opened it and ran up the stairs and into the apartment. She heard a scream from the end of the hall and headed that way, toward an open door. Flickering light came through it.

      “There’s no sense in sacrificing this young man, Gunther,” Nigel was saying as she reached the door. He was standing in the balcony door. “This is between us, maker and creation. Let the boy go.”

      She glanced quickly into the corner Nigel was facing. The blond man was holding Philip in front of him. Philip was naked, eyes closed. His mouth was smeared with blood. He looked barely conscious.

      “Leave me in peace, old man,” Gunther sneered. “This is now between me and the boy. He drank willingly.”

      “Let the boy go.”

      “Never.”

      Rachel reached for a candle.

      Philip swam in and out of consciousness.

      He was vaguely aware of being held from behind, that he was standing and voices were swimming around him, but it was all just noise; nothing made sense; the noise wasn’t being shaped into any words he could understand; his brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Images flashed through his mind…images that made no sense to him…He saw a woman, naked to the waist, snakes wrapped around her forearms, standing before an altar, her arms outstretched to the heavens. He saw a young man, wearing a loincloth and dirty, grimy, covered with welts and bleeding cuts, on his knees, his eyes swimming with tears.

      He saw Gunther riding on a magnificent black horse.

      The images came faster, too fast for him to see them as anything but a blur.

      Voices.

      Chanting.

      His body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside. The fire was pumping out of his heart, spreading through his veins. Sweat was pouring from him, his skin slick and wet and damp.

      Fire—everything was on fire.

      His mind, oh, God, his mind…The flames were there, burning through his brain.

      What did he do to me?

      And he could still taste the sweet blood, the sweet liquid…

      God help me, I want more.

      Rachel threw the candle and said a quiet prayer for her aim to be true.

      It hit the wall behind the blond man, showering sparks onto his skin and hair. He screamed, letting go of Philip, who fell to the floor.

      The scream shot through her mind, through her consciousness, into her very soul. It drove her back out of the room and against the wall, slamming her into it, knocking the breath out of her. Her eyes swam in tears, stars dancing outside her vision. She slid to the floor, pressing her hands over her ears to try to blot the scorching sound from her soul.

      She smelled it, the burning, and its cloying sweetness gagged her.

      She threw up.

      Philip was vaguely aware of falling to the floor.

      It burns, he thought, his entire body in agony. Will it ever stop?

      In the far distance he could hear someone screaming, an unearthly