sanguineangels (36 page)
Gillian smiled, bringing her fingers to her mouth and licking each one slowly. The coppery taste was almost blissful. “Just as I remember, Jax,” she said. “So sweet…but cold.”
“We’re finished here!” Jax screamed, turning to run up the stairs to his townhouse and coming face to face with Seth.
“No, friend. We’ve only just begun.” Seth growled, grabbing Jax’s shirt collar and jerking him off the ground.
Jax struggled as Seth pulled him in, sinking his fangs into the space above the pulsing jugular vein. He drank deeply, taking it fast to silence the screams of the man who writhed in his grasp. Gillian grinned, her eyes flashing in the dark as she watched her lover feed on Jackson. Within seconds, she could see the strength returning to his hands and the color returning to his features. She walked toward them, noticing how Jackson’s eyes had grown dark and glazed over. They seemed to plead with her. He reached toward her, begging her to spare his life.
“Poor Jax…” she purred, taking his hand and kneeling before him. The blood from Seth’s bite ran down his chest, collecting in a small puddle in the center of his chest. She leaned forward, licking it up and shivering again. “The predator now becomes the prey.” Sliding her hands down, she pulled at the button on his jeans until it popped. Jackson’s eyes grew wide and he struggled weakly. Pulling the heavy fabric aside, she exposed the skin of his hip. With a growl, she bared her fangs and bit down into the sensitive flesh. This time Jackson did scream and raised up, but Seth pulled him back.
Gillian kissed the corner of his pelvis, following the subtle slant toward his cock. She was surprised to see that in his panic and dying that it stood at attention, hard and ready as if waiting for a lover. How fitting that the betraying member should be his undoing. She purred again, making sure that both men were watching as she found the pulsing vein at his groin and sank her teeth in deeply. She remembered what Seth had told her. The killing bite must be deep.
The two vampires tore and bit at his flesh, opening a new gash when one went dry. After what must have seemed an eternity, Seth pulled back. “Stop, Gillian. Stop now before you take his death!”
“I want to see him die.” She growled. “I want to see the light leave his eyes. To kill him as he killed me.”
Seth rose, shoving Jackson’s limp body aside. The man was still alive but just barely. “To drink the last drop is to drink you own death, you stupid girl! Let him go!” He stumbled down the steps, reaching for her, but she hissed and slapped his hand away.
“Leave me be, Seth!”
“You’ll die!”
She looked down at Jackson. His eyes were still open and staring. He was dying, nearly dead, and he knew it. For a moment, she felt sorry for him, but not much. He had killed her that night, days ago. God, had it only been days? But fortunately Seth had been there to resurrect her. There would be no such mercy for her former lover. Leaning over, she brushed her lips across Jax’s. They were cold and still like the lips of a marble angel. Pulling back, she felt him exhale, relieved that he would be left in peace to die. “You stole my heart, Jax.” She sighed tearfully.
Gillian turned back quick and slashed once more at his chest with her razor sharp nails. This time she pushed them through layers of skin, sinew and bone until the palm of her hand could feel the pulsating muscle of his heart. The beat was shallow, but still there. Jackson’s eyes, wide with pain and shock, watched as she gripped the organ tight in her fist and pulled it out through the crude hole in his chest. Then they faded, the last thing they saw being a beautiful vision of a goddess, bathed in blood. Taking back that which was lost.
“It’s only fair that I should steal yours.”
****
Seth watched in morbid fascination as Gillian rose to her feet, still holding the bleeding heart clutched in the palm of her hand. She stared at it, a slight grin twisting her features. The shadows danced and played around the wide pools of her eyes, making them look sunken and hollow. She turned, walking toward him. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone street, pounding out a measured adagio. As she passed him by, he reached for her, taking her wrist and pulling her against his chest. The smell of the blood was overwhelming, and he was still so hungry.
“Gillian…” he whispered, kissing the drops of coagulated gore that had splattered across her cheek. She sighed, relaxing into the embrace. “Are you alright?”
She thought about his answer for a moment, her thoughts racing so quickly that he couldn’t follow. “I’m free,” she replied. She held the glistening organ up to the light so he could see. “This is all that’s left of him.”
Seth held out his hand, and she placed it in his palm. It was warm, the blood still encased in its walls lending a heaviness. “Funny…not as fragile as we might think,” he said. “What do you want to do with it?” he asked, carefully placing it back in her hand.
“Exactly what he did with mine.” She turned her palm over, dropping the heart on to the ground beneath their feet. Taking one last look, she stomped down with the chunked heel of her boot until the last of Jackson’s black blood ran into the cracks. Then, linking her arm through Seth’s, they walked away. “Let’s go home.”
The End
About the Author
Alexandra Christian is an author of erotic and paranormal romance and horror. In case you don't know what that means, she writes about not-so-nice girls getting it on with out-of-this-world heroes. Vampires, werewolves, selkies, angels and demons--and that's just recently! Her first novel, Hellsong, was published with Sugar and Spice Press and ever since, she's been working her sweet Southern ass off to churn out as much sin and debauchery as possible.
She lives in a small town in South Carolina, the same town she's lived in her whole life. The rich Southern culture, fried foods and a healthy dose of superstition have colored her personality and writing style. She lives with her extremely tolerant husband, author Tally Johnson, and their epileptic wiener dog, Murphy.
Since Hellsong, Lexxx has written several other pieces of erotic paranormal romance and horror that include five short stories and another novel. Sanguine Kiss is her first book with Purple Sword.
Visit her online at:
www.lexxxchristian.wordpress.com
My name is Brenna.
The heaviness of the atmosphere rolled around my tongue, lingering in my nose like a fine vintage of wine. It was a hot, humid day. Clothes stuck to every inch of skin, and a sane person hungered for a shower after the slightest exertion. Traces of spices and sweat clung to the fragrance of the day as exotic food was prepared on every corner. Even a hint of magic wafted on the day’s aroma. Spells had been cast to bar intruders and ignite passionate love affairs.
As these scents carried me into consciousness, a slight breeze blew through the Quarter, pulling the bouquets of the day with it. My nostrils flared at the odor on the back of the wind: the wet, dark, musty smell of death and an oncoming storm. Death was part of the culture here, always lingering like the ghosts in the city. Rain came often, but never lasted more than an hour or so, making this place more like a tropical paradise than a bustling city. Even the downpours couldn’t keep the sightseers from exploring the small shops, as well as admiring the balconied apartments in the Quarter. Many were small oases, housing lush plants, which allowed the inhabitants to escape from the cameras and voyeurs. I inhabited one of these sought-after lodgings, but kept the windows shuttered so the sun couldn’t creep in and disrupt my slumber.
I rose, yawning as the heaviness of sleep had not yet left me. Darkness caressed my naked form while the whirling fan cooled my bare skin. Stretching, I urged my body to rise and face the night. I opened the shutters to see the sun painting hues of purple and pink in the hazy air, signaling the fast approaching blue-greens of twilight. I smiled. This was the scene that had greeted me for years. I flicked on the light. I shielded my eyes from the sudden illumination until my pupils adjusted.
I admired my body in the bureau mirror. The overhead lamp gave my milky skin a jaundiced tint that contrasted against the pink of my nipples. My appearance attracted both sexes; it was something in the pheromones. The sex of my partners didn’t matter. I only wanted the ones who could fulfill my desire.
The jasmine-touched breeze danced through my apartment as the coolness of full night blossomed like a moonflower inside my chest. I stretched, now entirely awake as the sluggishness of the day fell away like a misty shroud. The moon’s silvery light already warmed my skin. Its blaze had replaced the sun in my memories and the power of it ignited my heart, night after glorious night.
Staring at my body a moment longer, I realized tonight was not the night for me to turn into Narcissus and be captured by my own beauty. I had eons for that. My gums ached, and hollowness filled my insides. Tonight I’d dress to kill, so to speak. I donned a black velvet dress, black thigh-high stockings, and black Doc Martens.
My gaze fell on the things I would need to complete my disguise. A contact case and scattered makeup: everything I needed to fit in better. From the lot, my tarot cards called to me. I smiled, wondering what Fate had in store for me tonight. Mentally, I checked my schedule and knew I had no clients to read. No one to tell a husband was cheating, or a sickness was devouring them, or a fortune would be lost in the stock market.
I smirked at the thought of how easily I peered into the minds of my clients, divining their futures and reading their emotions. After one session, they always came back. I had a good reputation, unlike the phony psychics who lined Jackson Square. Hotel managers and local occult shops referred tourists to me. I loved unearthing secrets from my unsuspecting clients.
I studied the cobalt backs, admiring the golden stars. I had owned them for years. My right hand passed over the line of cards, automatically settling on one in the middle and then another at the end. Energy sparked between the cards and my palm. I pulled those two cards to see how the evening would progress and to give me a glimpse into the more distant future. The first card I flipped was the Lovers. It signified I would meet someone to spend eternity within the next couple of nights.
Yeah, right!
I giggled, wondering who my next conquest would be.
The card normally meant the beginning of a meaningful relationship, but this night I interpreted it as a lustful tryst card. I doubted anyone would spark my emotions. It had been years since I had known love. I didn’t remember what it felt like to have warmth in my heart, to let someone have complete access to my innermost sanctum. My nature demanded solitude; I couldn’t have a partner who might discover my secret, so I stayed away from the commitments and found other ways to pass my nights.
My mouth watered as I thought of all the willing partners I had been with. Sex made me remember what it was like to be alive. It gave me an excuse to feel, and I had as much as I wanted. Sometimes it overwhelmed me. Ah, but who was I kidding? One could never have too many good fucks.
Laughing, I turned my gaze to the other card.
It was the Ten of Swords, the true Death card of the deck.
Great,
I thought.
Utter and total destruction
.
I doubted I’d literally be pinned with ten rapiers. My true demise would not be so horrible; it probably meant inner turmoil in the coming week or so.
Yes, that had to be it. I sighed inwardly, knowingly the suit of swords also meant mental stress. The card could mean I was near the end of my worries.
Customers weren’t calling me to divine the stars for them. As a rule, business came in spurts as disasters struck the customers I entertained. Their money didn’t matter to me. They just kept me busy and helped pass the long nights I lingered in. I glanced down at the cards once again before throwing them back in the deck. I wasn’t too concerned. Even though the cards predicted my future, I forged my own path, not letting Fate govern my journey through life.
Moving the cards aside, I applied my makeup so I could blend with the goth crowd. The dark and misunderstood were a thriving part of New Orleans, drawn to the city’s ancient heritage and otherworldly grittiness. Many of them applied white paint, molding acrylic fangs to their incisors; moving among them was easy for me. It seemed a crime to wear a suit and tie and lead a normal life.
But what was normal anyway?
I put on a few lines of black kohl to accentuate my evergreen eyes. Contacts hid the real color. Next came the cranberry-red lipstick. Every time I wore it, men swooned over me, wanting—hoping—to fuck me. I only took a few up on the offers and wondered if tonight would be one of those nights. Many goth boys counted on pain to bring them to pleasure. I prided myself on knowing the right points to pinch and massage to get them to come. Some liked their asses beaten plum-ripened red. Only then, as they begged, did I give them their desire. Others preferred their dicks in my mouth, my tongue working the shaft while my teeth held the head in place.
These were only some of my many secrets. If I revealed them all, what interest would they have in me?
I sighed. I looked semi-normal, a cross between a bleached porcelain doll and the bride of Satan. I was perfect.
The energy of the tarot cards played against my arm, sending tingles across my skin. Tempted to pull another card, I paused. The night called.
I smiled one last time, checking my curved fangs to see if they were lipstick free. They were. Tonight was going to be fun. I could feel it.
