In his treatise on the nature of horror as an artform, the philosopher Noël Carroll applied an Aristotilean lens to the manner in which humans engage with the simulated emotion of fear. As such a lens is wont to do, he came to the conclusion that humans use horror as a teaching tool for how to deal with matters of the unknown and mortifying. Rather than running through every possible life threatening scenario, fears take on more ambiguous schemas that can be retrofitted onto new encounters. This was why Carroll reasoned that all monsters embody an impurity that arises from the principles of interstitiality and categorical contradictoriness. Like nuclear science, this impurity can be boiled down to ‘fusion’ and ‘fission.’ Fusion involves the combination of two or more mutually exclusive beings or concepts into a hybrid entity, or grafting incongruous traits onto a single entity. Fission, on the other hand, is when the identity of a single creature is separated into segments along temporal, spatial, or metaphysical planes. The former creates a “monster” through revealing the inhuman potential within a human behavior, while the latter cuts along similar lines by removing the artifice around the monster that was already there.
These were the thoughts running through Laura’s head when she and Audrey stepped back through the doors of the Saperavi City Library. Millie was there waiting for them. Mother. Master. Mentor. Monster. It was hard to discern exactly what she was to Laura. What was clear to her, however, was that her queen was meant to be busy all evening. Yet, here she was, a looming fortress buttressed against the check-out desk. Her half-shaded eyes balanced amusement and expectation. Whatever her business had been—as she was always tight-lipped on such matters unless she required your direct involvement—had apparently finished early.
Fantastic.
“Hello mother,” Laura wiped her face free of any incriminating condiments before bidding her greeting, “how are you tonight?”
“Laura.” Millie kept her eyes pinned to Audrey like a prized butterfly, “I’m pleased to see you up and well, young Audrey.”
“Uh, yes, thank you ma’a- Millie, thank you, Millie.”
There was no need for the attunement of a lover in order to see that Audrey was terribly uncomfortable in Millie’s presence. It may have been just her social anxiety. It might also have been a testament to the sharpness of her instincts. Laura hadn’t known her prior to being claimed, but she had found enough nuggets of wisdom hidden within the bowels of the library to grasp why and how Millicent Tepes became queen of vampires. Unlike the usual human equivalent, it is not a title bestowed through breeding or shrewd landholding. In truth, empress was perhaps more analogous. The queen sits at the top of the food chain, entitled to all titles and spoils, acknowledged as dominant amongst even the most ruthless and insane. She has no need for realpolitik, for even a force of millions could not make her kneel. Traditionally, the queen has first right to sire whoever she wants and then divest the scraps to everyone else, though Laura supposed that didn’t mean much anymore. Even in the slow going free-for-all they were orchestrating, Millie saw not a dent but an expansion in her power. There had been queens renowned for their wisdom. Queens exalted for their cunning and prowess. Even a queen of perfect beauty and benevolence who remained eternally beloved. Millie, witch of the white rose stained red, was the scarlet queen feared for her appetite.
“I was under the impression that you had some pressing business to attend to,” Laura held her accusatory stare like a readied harpoon.
“Oh, I did,” Millie examined the stiletto nails of her threadbare fingers, “but I came back ahead of schedule to confirm your bride’s recovery. You really must take better care of her, Laura, she may be precious to you but that does not entitle her to you and you alone.”
“I know, mother, she’s not a chihuahua.” Laura bristled at the implicit threat, squeezing Audrey’s hand as a totem against it, “she’s an intelligent, capable woman. But not all of us are like you. We each need time and care in order to fend for ourselves, and I know that she will be strong.”
“That’s certainly true,” Millie tented her gloved hand on the counter, “I trust you with quite a lot, but you will still require guidance from myself and your sisters for some time. I might simply suggest that your Audrey, who we have all briskly come to adore, would also benefit from our tutelage. You say she is not a pet or a child, and that’s quite right, but you can’t hope to maintain her as a solitary rose bereft of the garden.”
“I’m not trying to separate her or keep her to myself!” Laura’s upper lip trembled and she expelled searing air through her nostrils, “but these circumstances forced us to accelerate everything, before I had the chance to even try and tell her what was going on. Can you blame her for being confused? Can you blame her for being scared of you? Can you blame her for being scared of me? Fuck, I mean, can we at least quit talking about her like she isn’t in the room alongside us?!”
“Laura-” Audrey choked her name out as she used her free hand to gently pull on Laura’s hand, “you’re crushing my hand, baby.”
She looked down to her beloved’s fingers stiff and bulging in her iron grip, her fingernails a lilac hue that indicated complete lack of circulation. Pistoning her arm back, Laura recoiled with the force of her own guilt. For the moment neglecting Millie’s looming presence, she retreated to the sharp corner of a low table, cowering away and covering her mouth. Her heart was a fluttering moth stung by the light that it coveted.
“Oh no…” Laura felt her eyes welling up for a second time that night, “I’m sorry… I can’t… I keep…”
“Hey, it’s alright, I’m not that fragile,” Audrey wiggled her fingers to demonstrate their vitality before pressing them to the palm of Laura’s hand, “just be careful baby. I will, ‘least until I really do know my own strength.”
“Mmm, wise words,” Millie approached with the gait of a prowling pantheress, flowing around Audrey like a chill wind before placing her leather-clad hang onto Laura’s shoulder. Control and affection were found in equal measure within that iron squeeze, eliciting a sharp wince before it was begrudgingly accepted. “It seems that I have overstepped my bounds here and created an unfavorably tense atmosphere. Truthfully, I was waiting for your return so that we might spend some quality time as a family until sunrise.”
“Oh great, ‘quality time.’” Laura glared at the hand of her mother as if it were a particularly fuzzy spider, taking Audrey’s hand with tentative enthusiasm.
“That sounds nice.” Audrey bared her best earnest grin while her arm trembled like a cornered rabbit.
“I managed to recover a few good bottles of vino, kitten, and I think a drink or two would serve you well.”
She wasn’t wrong, it would probably do her some good to unwind, even if she was never taken with alcohol as an alluring vice. Millie, of course, only drank wine that was expressly fermented with a vice to which Laura found herself increasingly dependent. An addictive personality was just part of the deal. She had expected that it would’ve been easy to kick smoking alongside mortality, but in situations like this she craved to hold something in her teeth and let her troubles concentrate into it, even if she knew that her tongue would blister at those carcinogenic particles. It was only a matter of time before Audrey caught her trying to bum a cigarette off of Bobby, disappointment spread over her angelic features like a funeral pall. She wondered sometimes if Millie allowed him to keep smoking just so she’d want it more, which in turn meant Laura needed more blood in order to curb her desires. The queen’s manipulations were deep set and often inscrutable. This strange woman who had plucked her for some hidden appeal Laura could not see in herself. Who glided across the floor and up the rotting wooden steps of the Eastern tower staircase without even a light squeak from the soles of her heavy boots. Audrey was noticeably winded from ascending six flights of steps that led into the upper loft of the reading room. On the other hand, Laura was moderately grateful for the pace of their journey, since it kept the heights from arousing her mild acrophobia.
The loft was half the size of the greater room, which could have housed a modest basketball court, and came two-thirds of a way up the five colossal windows that were each draped in long white sheets. The moonlight filtered through in pale, ghostly buttresses that clawed across the floor, while the loft was illuminated by a bevy of lamps that lit up a half circle of sofas and recliners that cast slatted shadows on the walls behind them. Stacy was wedged into the corner of the longest sofa, enjoying the culminating pages of her ghastly little French pulp. She could recall that Audrey was a fan of musicals, but at least she never mentioned any interest in that melodramatic drivel. Bobby stood off to her side with a music stand facing away from the artificial light, holding its viola by the base and neck, keeping the bow downward cast as it scanned through the shrouded pages of its songbook. It's one exposed eye glinted like a silver dollar, lending the surgeon a subtle feline aura. Besides the viola, there was an unplugged amp and two other latched instrument cases next to him, which Laura knew housed his electric bass and a cello. Bobby simply had a thing for strings.
“Aw, this feels right,” Millie swept her arms out in the center of the loft, “this will be our last restful night for the foreseeable future, but what is the worth of our efforts if we cannot cultivate our hearts and minds in each others’ company?”
Stacy nodded without raising her eyes from the page and Bobby shot Audrey a reassuring smile before swiping through a few more songs. Eventually, she settled on a haunting melody from Astor Piazolla. Millie draped her titanic form over the rest of the sofa, her proportional breasts barely constrained by her open silk shirt as she stretched out those taloned hands in a forty-five degree arc. One foot rested in Stacy’s lap, which she simply rested an elbow upon, while the other tapped along without a sound to the trilling notes. She took a wine bottle from the adjoining table, whose label was too faded for Laura to read. Sticking one of her nails into the cork, she twisted and unstuck it with one swift motion. The drink she poured for Laura was just a shallow rain puddle in the glass, while the one she gave herself bulged against the rim and threatened to spill up until Millie subdued it with a kiss. Audrey and Laura sat down together on the adjacent couch, Laura acting as a buffer between the contrasting personalities.
“I’d offer you a flute, Audrey, but I think that we should be careful to avoid a repeat incident.” She sipped away at her preferred libation, “you know, Laura truly is hopelessly enamored with you, it almost seems unfair that you must try and measure up against the romantic effigy that she had constructed. I can see the appeal of your pretty, round face, which cuts a painterly quality in this low glow, but I must admit it’s difficult to impress a woman of my age with looks alone. She has also proclaimed you a prodigious reader, so I must assume you’re at the very least familiar with the work of Simone de Beauvoir?”
“I read some of the Second Sex in undergrad, but I mostly remember the broad strokes.”
“That’s fine, darling, it’s been half a century since I read her, it’s just that what she wrote stuck with me like a thorn in my hand. There is no real place for women within a world of men, but we are only able to see ourselves through the eyes of that world. You, Stacy, and myself are not considered ‘real women’ by that word, instead we are just ‘failed men,’ yet Beauvoir’s writing reveals that the ‘real woman’ is simply an illusion. There is no actual, positive account for what a woman is, just an expression of lack for the second sex which is not male, which is not default, which is not normal. Possessing a uterus does not make you any more ‘real’ than being thin or having a youthful face, because all of us are to be considered ‘failed men’ by accident of birth. In parallel, our kind are considered ‘failed men,’ that we have given up our souls to the weaknesses of the flesh, becoming violent husks merely imitating consciousness. The secret, Audrey, is that there is no singular ‘soul,’ to perfectly imitate life is indistinguishable from life, and the only meaningful difference between us and the ‘living’ is that we have the humility to embrace our nature as bloodsoaked beasts driven by dark desires. The most heinous evils of humanity do not arise from giving into that animal nature, instead they each arise from the pretension of superiority over instinct. Every man has a shadow self, a double-soul that hides from the light of day and preys upon those made weaker by circumstance in order to pay tithes to the needs of their ego self. Turning is a natural process. It is the fusing of those two souls and, in doing so, annihilating them both to create something new.”
“I think I can see what you’re saying,” Audrey leaned further over the cushion, clearly engaged with the sermon that all other inhabitants of the room had already heard several variations of. “A lot of my experiences as a woman have revolved around chasing expectations that I would never expect anyone else to have to meet, cis or trans. If I were to consider any part of me my ‘shadow self,’ it’s probably the part of me that sticks in the back of my mind, the part that slips out to tell me that I’m never good enough, that slinks away from women I find too attractive and then turns around to pounce on anyone who I can perceive as lesser. That part of me isn’t gone though,” her eyes hovered on Stacy for a moment, “and I haven’t felt all that different or ‘new’ except in a few rare moments.”
“You’ve barely been awake long enough to take a breath, young one, and soon you’ll be so awash with newness that it’ll feel like drowning, up until the point it becomes more familiar to you than all you’ve known before. Existence is a cycle, a wheel, it is the nature of a wheel to turn. It turns once, but that cannot preclude it from turning again. Only at the point of death is there true unity, but once death passes your new self must live and must have an opposite as all real things do. This is why I consider the classification of ‘undead’ at least a partial misnomer. Certainly, we aren’t ‘alive’ according to conventional reasoning (yet our hearts beat regardless), but our relationship is far more complex than just that of a mother who commands us or rejects us. It is the fate of our kind to die many times over, and to each time discard what is no longer necessary. To make room for something new.”
Stacy rolled her eyes, picking up on the spiritual undertones of the otherwise literal description of her state of being. Considering her earlier musings, Laura wondered how to properly categorize her sister as a monster. In one sense, she obviously met one of the most well-established archetypes. She really was the poster child of feminine beauty, to the extent that she could empathize with Audrey’s jealousy, which then concealed the fangs and claws of a direwolf. A succubus. A siren. A femme fatale. A neovagina dentata. In the fusion between an ideal of seduction and a bloody predator, both sides came together to produce an even greater allure. Pursuit of la petite mort under the constant threat of her older sister. Her face emphasized this central fusion through sites of fission, with her eyes acting as the most immediate signifiers of her inhuman tendencies. Laura’s eyes only revealed her when she expressly exercised her abilities, but Stacy’s blinkers always stayed on. Perhaps that was because she was always making an effort, straining herself to maximize her own potency. Then there was her mask, a cap on the needles she used to feed or inject her boundless lust. Through feigning modesty, this only served to increase the sweetness of her poisonous song.
“Another interesting concept from Beauvoir was her reasoning for the root of lesbianism. She took a decidedly Freudian approach, stating that attraction to other women manifested from a desire to be with the mother, rather than to supplant the mother in the eyes of the father. The lesbian wishes to eliminate the father entirely. Another psychoanalyst, Juliet Mitchel, returned to the subject of a mother’s power without the same pathologization of homosexuality. She posited that there was a law of the mother distinct and often in opposition to the law of the father. Children compete with each other for the approval and recognition of their mother, but since killing their siblings constitutes a disqualifying taboo, they must sublimate that impulse into other avenues for domination. This inspires in you a drive to prove yourself worth, either spiritually, materially, or through the creation of your own progeny. I have no mother, but I do understand what she means. For the gift of my existence, I take my role and responsibilities as a mother to be my highest calling.”
“You don’t have a mother?” Audrey gripped at Laura’s thigh, “my mother died a few years ago, before she really got the opportunity to know me, but I loved her a lot. I really valued the connection we had with each other, so I’m sorry that you couldn’t experience that.”
“I had a human mother.” Millie tipped another glass down her throat before returning to the bottle for a refill, “we were never close. The relationship you have to the woman made you is a sacred one, but I was not turned through proper means. A man made me his servant, his slave, until one night I stole his heart from his fetid chest cavity and ate it. Behind the bluster of his title he was weak and cowardly, so I took his name and his blood and made it strong.”
“I guess I don’t really have a vampire mom either, heh,” Audrey winced with a nervous chuckle, “I just drank what Laura put out in front of me, and here I am.”
Laura let the wine linger on her lips before inviting the warmth to singe her throat. The rich, acrid flavor of the alcohol mixed with the syrupy, intoxicating spice of blood lit up within her belly. Her mother knew her too well to pour only up to a third of the glass. Her heightened metabolism meant she would never suffer a long hangover, but her blood was also more absorbent. Downing a whole bottle likely have left her sleeping blind in a pool of her own urine. Millie drank at least that much every night, on top of her evening meal, and Laura had never even heard her slur her words.
Bobby was too involved in her rehearsal to pay the ongoing conversation any mind. She was a monster quite different from, but ultimately complimentary to, Stacy. Still attractive, but contravening the dictums of traditional femininity. It was impossible to conceal her monstrous form, for even under a heavy cloak it would only further accentuate her unnatural silhouette, yet within her open display she acquires a special elegance. A surgeon is a hybrid of artist and technician, and Bobby perfectly exemplifies both. A master of fusion and fission who studies to preserve or improve the flesh. The scars that mark her person are also symbolic of her profession, an open exhibition of the malleability of the body. All the more appropriate that she and Audrey made a special minority among the figures present. Neither of them could handle the cruelty of hunting for themselves, and they certainly did not enjoy the intoxication of killing. Laura knew herself too well to deny that she was a sadist.
“You do have a mother, Audrey. Her name is Sophia.” Millie adjusted the thin slices of glass that sat in the intricate borromean design of her spectacles, “she was a Madonna, and no one can tell you the true extent of her strength because none would dare to harm her. She feasted on the pale blood of the moonlight and died upon the sword of her own beloved. You are her one and only daughter. For she brought on an age of plenty and fed her people from her own breast, she refused to choose anyone to be the child of her blood except one she constructed within her own womb. I’m sure you’ve seen fiction of halfbreeds born from copulation with a human, but like so much of their paltry representations, mistruths are melted together with simplified facts into a swamp of unintelligible nonsense. To be brief with such a gruesome subject, the blood is greedy, and it does not distinguish between a zygote and any other parasite.”
“So even if I had a womb, I couldn’t give birth.” Audrey sunk back into the cushion, shrinking herself down, “‘goddess of fertility’ must refer to like, fertility of the harvest, as if I’m gonna grow a plump bloody pomegranate. Well, ain’t the first time something stupid’s gotten my hopes up.”
“I suppose it is bitterly ironic,” Millie seemed wistful, almost sympathetic, “but I hope with time you come to realize that you can and will be a mother, and a wonderful one at that. I would hate to see you succumb to the same obsession as Sophia. It’s said that she found some terrible means to achieve gestation, and after only one night of passion with her bride she had already gained the swell of an expectant mother. Though it grew quick, it remained within her belly for decades, during which her kingdom was stricken with famine. The neonate was just far too ravenous. The circumstances surrounding her ultimate demise are a subject of debate and the inclinations of the particular storyteller. Some say she chose oblivion when she saw that all her hard work had crumbled beyond repair. Others say that she was devastated to learn just what kind of beast her child would be. Still others say that she discovered that the only thing which could sake its hunger was her entire being. Regardless, Sophia ran herself through the heat on her bride’s glass claymore, leaving herself paralyzed while she gave birth to a true beast twice removed from any resemblance to humanity. It then ate its mother and its bloodgorged placenta before sequestering itself into the dark bosom of the night.”
Then there was Millie herself, the devouring mother, the towering midwife to apocalypse. She was not the first goddess of the thirst, but she was the most resilient custodian of her domain, that or her enemies were all too weak. Every other incarnation of bloodlust had been snuffed out quickly, before they had the chance to ascend the throne. Her hunger could never be sated, only abated, and it was contagious. She could suss out your starving desires and then wave a steak in front of you until you’ve become little more than a drooling stray. She was terrifying beyond any petty monster, she was a woman fused with a force of nature, an embodiment of the violent necessity within the hearts of all carnivorous creatures. The very fact that both their hunters and their pet covens had failed to kill her, deluding themselves into thinking her a neutralized threat, was an omen for the end of the world as they knew it. In a sense, Laura was the daughter to all of them, a sapphic antichrist brought about through their sugar, spice, and everything nice.
“I guess I can understand what drove her to that.” Audrey bit at her thumbnail, “so what about Marcus and Dove, do you know anything about their… parents?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Wait, you don’t?!”
“Sophia and her story are well-known throughout our kind, to the point it may as well be a bedtime story. The ritual and the wheel, even I can’t tell you exactly where they come from, only that they are a part of Laura’s book. It seems reasonable to postulate that the other two wells of blood came from older queens as well. They may not even be terrestrial in origin, if what they say is true that the blood came hurtling on a comet.”
“So you’re telling me that you not only killed my friends,” Audrey tapped her foot like a stenographer on the carpeting, “but you made them into things you don’t even understand.”
“Audrey-” Laura rubbed at Audrey’s thigh in an attempt to calm her. The music burnt over like a cauterized wound as Bobby looked over to Audrey, intersecting the sight line of Stacy.
“Oh, when you put it that way, I suppose I did.” Millie sat up and leaned towards Audrey to better meet her gaze, “or, more accurately, I had my beloved daughter and your doting bride do it for me. Because she understands that I’m the rightful owner of this world, and in due time you’ll kiss my feet in gratitude, thanking me for my grace in proving you a place in the new order. You’ll realize, as Laura has, that I have made you something greater, rather than an aimless mouse puttering around who would sooner sell you for scrap than bother to learn your name. Still, I find myself appreciative of this obstinate display. It’s nice to see you have at least a little bite to you, I was worried that the ritual didn’t take with how docile you’ve been.”
“Mrrrrgh…” Audrey slowly arose from her seat, growling in such a way that only caused Millie’s amused smile to grow hungrier.
“I think,” Laura sprung up and placed her hand on Audrey’s shoulder sleeve, putting herself between her love and her mother, “that it’s just about time we head to bed.”
“Oh, you’re no fun tonight,” Millie shifted her weight towards Stacy, draping her arm around her shoulder as Stacy leaned into her mother’s chest. “You both should really learn to lighten up, stress can take years off your life. Mehehehe. I’m not so cruel as to spoil your first night awake, and clearly our pretty Audrey has some pent up energy she needs to expend before daybreak. I can sympathize. You two are free to return to your quarters. Bobby. Stacy. You will be accompanying me to mine.”
“Okay.”
“Yes, mom.”
Audrey seethed as Millie ran her gloved digits through Stacy’s hair, goading the impulsive neophyte. Laura kicked herself. She should have expected this would happen, because this was how Millie behaved towards anyone who caught her interest. She poked and prodded at any potential weakness until she could identify an exposed nerve, which she would then press against until her victim inevitably lashed out. Up until tonight, Laura had been her favorite target, and she fell for the routine every time even though she recognized that her anger was futile. Millie could be tender, even compassionate, but she insisted on breaking all of her toys so she could rebuild them better to her liking. That was her intention for her daughters as well as the entire world.
Laura stared straight into Audrey’s pupils, her thoughts thoroughly greased to slip from one mind into another. “It’s not worth it, you’re just playing into her hands.” Audrey’s gaze narrowed, and for a nanosecond Laura truly feared that her girlfriend might toss her over the couch in order to get at her mother. But the fires within her were quelled just enough that she caved to Laura’s touch, allowing her to turn her around and escort her out of the room. Once they reached the stairs, Laura swore Audrey must’ve caught a glimpse of Millie’s playful two-fingered wave.
“I hate her, Laura,” these were the first words out of Audrey’s mouth as soon as they closed the doors to their own room, “I hate the way she treats you, I hate that she doesn’t give a shit about the consequences of her actions, and I hate the idea of having to live with her.”
“That’s… fair.” Laura sighed, unable to conjure anything better to say.
“Why do you put up with her? Why would you go along with all of her demands?”
“She is a lot, but we do want the same thing, at least in broad strokes. Eventually, you’ll get used to her, and by then we’ll be free to make our own home and do things how we want to. If it helps, just think of her as a particularly hostile professor who is nonetheless providing vital instruction.”
“Laura.” Audrey stood her ground, “I’m not going to help you do whatever the hell you’re planning if she is in charge.”
“Well…” Laura slipped both her hands around Audrey’s, “would you help me if I promised that no one would be in charge, but where we can make sure everyone has what they need and can live how they want in peace?”
“That- Maybe I’d want that, but that’s clearly not what Millie’s planning for us.”
“Forget about her for a second.” Laura brushed a lock of Audrey’s silken hair behind her ear. “You’re a goddess Audrey, and you’ve been a goddess since the day I met you, so if anyone can make a better world then it’s you.”
“Hmm…”
Laura leaned up to kiss Audrey. She flinched for a moment, her lips curling with uneasiness, until she leaned back in to return the kiss. The weight of her full lips wrapped Laura tight in the abundance of love.
“I promise-” Laura whispered as she broke from the kiss. “We will create a place that you want to live in, a place where you can be yourself without fear or question, where we can both be happy, and whether or not Millie can accept it will be my problem.”
Audrey nodded softly and pressed Laura against her chest. The two held each other as close to their hearts as they could reach, years and years of unspoken feelings passing between them through the membranes of skin and muscle and fabric. Laura recalled the first time they had ever felt one another like this. It was the one and only time Laura’s parents had let Audrey come to one of their family parties, during their senior year of high school when Audrey’s mother had first been hospitalized. Laura was sure that her parents had decided that Audrey was day and didn’t see her as a real threat to their pride and joy. They ended up hiding in her dad’s study, away from the attending family acquaintances that terrified Audrey and whom Laura had already come to despise. All they had was Laura’s phone for entertainment, so Audrey showed her the first part of the JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure anime, Phantom Blood, until the phone ran down its battery completely. Laura had teased Audrey for being into a show with pretty English boys, and Audrey had laughed it off, but after an hour they were both enraptured. Laura had laid up against Audrey’s chest and she had tentatively hovered her hand over Laura’s belly. That was as far as either of them could manage as anxious and confused kids.
Now there was something else between them, an electricity that made the short hairs on their arms stand on end every time they touched. The way Audrey clung to her told Laura that she felt the very same need for her that coursed through Laura’s blood. Laura guided Audrey with another kiss, this one longer and more probing, until they reached the front edge of their bed. There were still bloodstains on the side of the sheet, but even with its rusty brown color the lingering aroma only served to enhance the thick, humid atmosphere of their coupling. As if her body was little more than pretense, Laura hoisted Audrey up by the back of her thighs and set her lying down on the bed. Seven years later and neither of them were ignoran to passions between women, operating with pointed minds, even if Audrey’s new body was effectively virginal.
Laura crawled up along Audrey’s side like a prowling jungle cat, unbuttoning Audrey’s jeans and removing them through a series of tugs while Audrey pried and kicked off her sneakers. It wouldn’t have been a challenge for Laura to simply rip the garments apart like strands of gossamer, but it felt sweete, more harmonious, to take things at a deliberate pace. She kissed at the pale skin of Audrey’s ankle, trailing along the shapely, swelling muscle of her calf, then the soft, round, and rosy flesh of her thighs. Out of her peripheral vision she could spy Audrey’s arousal, her offhand rubbing the crevasse between the thigh and pubis with her thumb. Through this motion Laura was able to coax out a low moan.
“Mmm” Audrey placed her hand down against the band of her hipsters, “can we… avoid this part, baby?”
“Of course,” Laura rose up from between her legs, balancing on her fingertips to kiss Audrey’s neck, “I’m here to make you feel good, sweet girl, and your body is a fine instrument tuned to play all number of gorgeous melodies.”
“Hehehe” Audrey giggled at Laura’s seductive purr, “I’ll follow your lead, maestro.”
Dragging her knees forward, Laura pressed her lips harder against the sensitive epidermis, her hands kneading at Audrey’s sticky sweet curves. Her right hand reached behind Audrey’s back and took her ample cheek in a firm, possessive grip. The other hand pressed into Audrey’s pert, sensitive breast, using her thumb to flick her nipple. Laura delighted at the sharp, needy winces they elicited. Audrey draped her arms around Laura’s neck, preparing herself for more intense stimulation. Laura, playful as a kitten, began to suck on her neck flesh in a cupping vacuum, only allowing her fangs to graze but not pierce the flesh. Audrey emitted a long, high-pitched mewl that resounded throughout the cavernous chamber. This was no doubt audible beyond their thin walls. Neither of them cared.
“You want it?” Laura broke the suction, causing Audrey to nod into her shoulder, “then beg for it.”
“P-please?” Audrey whimpered.
“Please what?”
“Please bite me, my love!” She rasped.
“Good girl~”
Laura reared her head back, admiring the hickey was already turning a royal shade of purple. With a nudge she bid Audrey move her head to expose the other side of her neck, her eyes those of a lovesick puppy behind her fogging glasses. Laura gave another peck, summoning up a tiny whimper, before plunging her into her beloved’s veins. Audrey yowled like a struck dog, clawing into the threads of Laura’s shirt to keep her stuck fast. It was clear that Audrey still didn’t know her own strength, a flash of searing pain spreading from the remaining scar tissue on Laura’s back. She quickly disregarded it, too absorbed in the precious liqueur. A confectionary ambrosia, caramelized through the heat of passion, calming her nerves like a soothing balm. It was a more refreshing beverage than anything she had ever drank, more vital and crisp than springwater, yet just as nourishing as a thick broth. It was the fountain of youth, the holy grail, the honeyed mead of valhalla all distilled into a single woman. The blood of everyone she had drank up to now had subtly distinct flavors and inspired different emotions in Laura. Some provided a euphoric high, some redoubled her thirst, some disgusted her, and some acted as an aphrodisiac. Audrey’s blood was not restrained to just one effect, it was a cornucopia of flavors: desire, adoration, joy, comfort, peace, and, above all else, a need to share it.
Laura broke away and lapped at the two gashes in Audrey’s neck as they rapidly healed over. She rolled over to admire her work. Audrey panted in the throes of afterglow, a still growing stain on the front of her panties. With three gentle fingers she lifted up Audrey’s chin, meeting her lips with blood still painted on. Rather than a demure smooch, Laura let her long tongue snake around Audrey’s, flooding her mouth with iron rich saliva. Audrey received it graciously, drool bridging their mouths together as Laura held her head and caressed her cheeks. Breaking the kiss, Audrey looked delirious, and Laura only found it more adorable everytime she got the privilege to see her face smeared with blood.
“It’s time to sleep, babydoll” Laura drew down her lids.
“Mmm, sweet dreams.”