Blood Tint ~ Part 4

Blood Tint, Part 4

{Start with Part 1}

Courtesy Remittance Girl“Oh!”

And there, then something happened. I felt the adrenaline rush prickle her. The flight reflex grabbed at her, familiar through decades of experience, but this time, quick on its heels came something else, a hot rush of arousal. I could feel it radiate from her.

It caught all three of us by surprise, I think. It also gave us a bit of pause.

Vampire ‘culture’ as it evolved in the last century has been amusing to watch. They have much almost right, so much so wrong.

There are times it works to our advantage. There are enough fetishists in the world, especially in the big cities, who will happily “play” with us. The roles of seduced victim, blissfully unaware – or at most mildly suspicious – that the games are in fact quite real. Some even pretend to “turn”, something they should be grateful they know nothing about. We make sure to disabuse them of the illusion – keep their lines between fantasy and reality as solid as we can, while taking what we need.

There are indeed very few people who truly know, or recognize us for what we are. Few who live very long, anyway. For a moment, I truly worried that Neave was a closet fetishist, and that her art was a manifestation of a fantasy she knew nothing about. The fact I cared whether or not that was the case was something I hadn’t felt in a while.

“You… you’re real?”

Of course she knew the popular visions.

“Yes,” I said. ”But we’re not like the stories or the movies.

Her eyes were still wide, but there was something else there – her own suspicion.

“I can’t shape shift, or hypnotize you with my eyes.”

“Or you would have done it by now… Yes, I know the game.”

Her voice had a bite of anger now. She had seen, and didn’t want, pretenders.

“This is not a game, Neave,” Daci said.

Neave’s height was about halfway between Daci’s and mine, and as she looked between the two of us, my eyes were drawn to her neck, and the tension there. I could see the pulse, practically hear it-

“Prove it.”

Now it was Daci’s and my turn to look at each other. We’ve been together a long time, Daci and I. A look says a lot between us.

I reached for Neave, bringing a hand around her shoulder and pulling her toward me. I bent my head toward her, lifting her chin with my other hand until our lips met. The well behind her red lips called to me, and I let it. Her body, stiffened at the first, touch relaxed, melting toward mine. My tongue slipped past her lips into her mouth, and hers into mine with a little moan.

Neave’s tongue found one of my fangs, and explored it, sending a shiver through me. She probed it, testing to see if it was real, I imagine. Almost certainly by accident, she pricked herself with it. Be both jumped – her from the tiny sharp pain, me from her taste. I cannot describe what that one drop was like. I sucked it from her tongue, drawing its sweetness into me, and felt an old, long tame beast rattle inside.

Daci’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to focus. I was holding Neave tight to me; almost too tight. She breathed hard, pushing her body toward me, but pulled her head away. I let her break our kiss and stared into her wide eyes. Wonder was there, and the most delicious and strange combination of relief, fear, and yes-

“I want to see more of your work,” I said. My voice was lower, colored by old familiar wants. Not hypnotic, no; but I knew its power.

“My work?”

“Yes, take us to your studio.”

My senses, all fully awake, opened to Neave, the sound of her heartbeat and the rushing through her veins, the red scent and lingering taste of her blood, and her want. All of it.


Daci leaned in close, her other hand on Neave’s back. The three of us made a tiny inward-turned world, already receding from the people surrounding us.

“Us,” she said, her tongue darting out to lick Neave’s ear. The artist’s shudder rippled against me.

{Continued in Part 5}

Categories: Erotica, Monocle, Multi-part Story, SupernaturalTags: , , , , ,


I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.


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