Kiss Of Darkness

It was one thing to play at being sexually daring, quite another to feel she was trapped. And alone.

She’d taken a seat on the couch next to a petite, ever-delicate woman of around her own age. But the hand that held hers now might have been made of iron. They had chatted casually at first about the beauty of the countryside and, the way Americans loved to visit more than any other nationality, because they were such legend hounds, not to mention the kooks who thought they were vampires, and, worse, the ones who had convinced themselves they actually needed to drink blood.

The woman told her that she had spent many years living in Amsterdam, had visited the States frequently, and was particularly fond of a village in the Ukraine. Nancy realized, as they whispered and the porn flick played, that her second drink was making her exceptionally drowsy. She wanted to move, to escape a situation that was becoming uncomfortably intimate, but she didn’t seem to have the will or the ability to get up. It occurred to her, in the back of her mind, that the woman had never even mentioned her name.

She’d held Nancy’s hand, smoothed back her hair. Nothing too forward at first, and Nancy had thought she could get the woman to talk about this place and what went on here, information she could write about later. Did drugs flow freely? She hadn’t been offered any. Then again, what the second Bloody Mary was doing to her was more than a little frightening. Her companion began touching her more intimately, and she didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to stop her. The woman’s fingers lingered on her knee, crept up under her skirt. The soft, hot brush of her breath seemed to caress Nancy’s throat and her earlobes, yet when Nancy looked, she seemed to be inches away.

“I…I…I’m not gay,” Nancy whispered.

Her companion laughed softly. “You think you need to be gay to experiment and explore?”

Speaking seemed to take a tremendous effort. “It’s just not…not what…I need to leave now.”

“Don’t run away now. I can show you a good time you’ll remember until your dying breath. Pleasure so exquisite—”

“I have to go.”

“Very well. Go, then.”

The woman wasn’t touching her at all, Nancy realized. She could have risen. There was nothing on earth stopping her.

Except…

Except everything was too heavy. The room was too heavy. The darkness was too heavy.

Her limbs were like boulders.

Fingers teased her hair and throat. A touch so light, so seductive, that she couldn’t help responding to it.

She had to get out. Had to rise, had to run.

“There, on the screen,” her companion said. “Watch. My friend is in this one.”

Nancy stared at the movie.

They had gone from a sex tape to a very different scene, something both far more beautiful and far more disturbing. There was a woman, her every movement languid, elegant. Gossamer fabric floated around the woman. Her hair seemed to swish across the screen like silk. The film was provocative in a way that the simple thrusting and panting that had preceded it hadn’t been. Nancy couldn’t stand, couldn’t protest. She could only watch. She felt tears forming in her eyes and she was suddenly scared.

She thought she heard a whisper, but her companion wasn’t talking, only watching the screen.

Still, Nancy was sure she heard words.

Come, sweetheart. Show me your throat. Let me taste all that life rushing through your veins….

Nancy heard her companion moan softly and turned to find the woman looking at her, so at ease, so pleased.

Like a cat with the canary already between its paws.

“Watch, now.”

And she did, because she had no other choice. Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hear its thunder. Somehow she knew that the woman at her side could hear it, too.

“There.” The woman pointed, and Nancy stared.

There was something dark at the right-hand corner of the screen. A mist, red and black…darkening, becoming…something….

A man. A low-brimmed hat hid his features. He was tall. He walked slowly up behind the woman.

The woman turned. Mary.

A soft gasp escaped Nancy. She tried to form a protest.

“Yes,” her companion hissed. “Yes, soon…”

Mary turned.

Saw the man…and screamed.

On the screen, a door burst open. Jeremy. The man looked up, his face shadowed except for his eyes, which glowed like fire. And he had fangs.

The man was undisturbed by Jeremy’s presence. He strode toward him, laughing.

“Yes,” the woman beside Nancy hissed again.

Nancy turned, and her eyes widened in horror. The woman had changed. She had grown. Her eyes were glowing with a pure fire. And her teeth…were no longer teeth.

They were fangs.

Terrified, sure she was hallucinating, Nancy forced her eyes back to the screen.

The man had reached Jeremy, still laughing. He threw his arm out, his hand connecting with Jeremy’s face.

Jeremy went flying, slamming back against the doorframe.

Nancy’s eyes darted back to the woman. She saw the fire in her eyes, felt her own terror rise. Watched the fangs, dripping with anticipation.

And she could do nothing but weep in her soul. The woman’s touch, her eyes…it was as if Nancy had been stung by a paralyzing spider. She could not prevent her own demise. She could not even cry out, only hear herself scream in terror inside her head.

Then there was a shattering sound. As if someone had burst into Mary’s room through a window. The sound changed everything. Or maybe the arrival of whatever…whoever…had caused the that sound. Nancy felt something stirring in her, a sense of herself, of strength. She stared at the screen. There was someone else in that room now…a presence. Broad-shouldered, tall, dominating. A man, and something about his appearance…

What?

Changed everything. Evened the playing field. Gave her…hope.

He was wearing a large, low-brimmed hat and a floor-length leather trench coat, like an old railway frock coat. And he carried what appeared to be a longbow.

The man moved with the speed of lightning, stringing his bow in a blur.

He stood still for a moment, a bastion against the insanity.