Archive of Our Own

The sun was setting on another failure of a day. I scrolled mindlessly on my phone as I waited for the bus, trying not to think about how I’d completely fumbled yet another interview for yet another job I desperately needed.

We’ll be in touch.

I swiped to the little window that showed my bank balance. $150 poorer than just a few hours ago. The electric bill. I hissed in frustration and shoved my phone in my pocket. I could just make out the sound of the bus approaching so I reached into my bag to look for my wallet, when something moved just on the edge of my vision.

My head snapped up in alarm, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest. Nobody in sight. The bus was roaring nearer and I stepped to the curb, uneasily sweeping my eyes around the empty street. I was just stressed out and jumpy over nothing. I took my seat and tried to calm myself. It had just been a rat or something. Cities had rats.

By the time I was walking up the hill to my building I’d almost forgotten it. Someone was exiting the building as I approached and I sped up a little bit when they stood against the door, propping it open with their body.

“Thanks,” I said automatically, reaching for the door, then slowed when they didn’t move. The front light of the building had been broken for months and he was only partially lit by the angle of the dim light in the entryway. I could make out half of a thin, pallid face, half of the thick black coat shielding him from the winter night, and not much else. When he didn’t move out of the way I awkwardly scooted past him, catching a hint of subtle cologne. He said nothing, but I felt his eyes follow me, and when I had unlocked the door and walked to the elevator, I couldn’t help but glance back, then jolted in shock.

He was still standing in the doorway, looking straight at me. I hurried into the elevator and let out a deep sigh of relief when the doors closed.

It’s fine, just some weirdo. Nobody’s moved into the building recently so he was just visiting someone here. It’s fine. It’s fine.

My heart was still pounding though, and I didn’t relax until I was safely locked in my apartment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t on edge for a while, but as more time passed without him bursting out of a closet with an ax, the thought of him faded. By the time I sat down with my dinner he was gone.

I’d just settled into bed and started reading when the wind suddenly howled outside, briefly rattling the windows. I always thought of scary movies when the wind blew so dramatically, and soon enough my train of thought went back to the strange man. There was something unsettling about him —beyond his behavior, I mean— that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I tried to get back to my book, but after a few frustrating minutes set it on the nightstand and turned off the light. I was just starting to doze off when it hit me. I grabbed my phone and tapped in, “what’s it called when you have different colored eyes.”

“Heterochromia,” I read aloud. It could be genetic, but also a side-effect of a disease. A simple fluke of pigmentation wouldn’t explain his behavior, but being sick might. Wikipedia said it could be caused by certain cancers, and he was very thin, not particularly healthy looking…

I turned off the phone, a little relieved. He could be a creep, sure, but he could also just be ill. Hell, maybe he was just stoned or something. I yawned and snuggled into my blankets, still wary but finally able to drift to sleep.

I spent a couple hours at the computer, applying to job after job after job, getting more and more annoyed at each automated “We’ll contact you if we decide to move forward with your application!” email. I restlessly fussed with my resume, ignoring my growling stomach. I held out for another hour before giving up and going to the grocery store. The fridge was empty and I was sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I was fortunate enough to live just a few blocks away; The day was cold and gray, but getting out of the house always made me feel a little better. There weren’t many people in the store, and I was nearly always alone in the aisles. Just me and the faint sound of Top 40 radio over the store speakers.

Standing in the frozen aisle, agonizing over whether I should splurge on a frozen pizza, someone walked past the aisle and something about their silhouette made me look up. I rushed to the end of the aisle and looked around. An old lady pushing her cart, another woman standing in front of the deli counter. No one else. I kept walking, looking down each aisle until I’d crossed the whole store. My heart was thudding in my chest when I looked down the last aisle.

Empty. I stared into the shelves, trying to catch my breath, feeling foolish. He wasn’t here. My eyes were just playing tricks on me. Even if he had been here, so what? He could just live in the area. I was just stressed out. Just anxious. One weird barely-an-interaction with a stranger and I was so suddenly so paranoid.

When I got home, something stopped me as I went to unlock my door. I sniffed the air, then started to tremble. It’s just a coincidence. It’s just a coincidence.

Subtle cologne.

I didn’t leave the house for the rest of the day, just shut my curtains and watched TV.

I spent another day in front of the computer, ignoring my job search in favor of turning off my brain. Then in the afternoon, an email. I perked up when I read that I’d landed another interview. After months of nothing, two in one week. I nearly cried as I responded.

Two days later I was at a bus stop again. The interview had gone okay; not a slam dunk, but I hadn’t totally whiffed it either. I was spacing out, just listening to music as I idly looked around. Glanced at the other people waiting, an old man and a kid with a backpack, doodling in a little sketchpad. Looked down the street to see if the bus was coming and-

Oh, no.

Hands in his pockets, the same long, black jacket unbuttoned and flapping around in the wind, casually walking toward me. He was a little taller than I remembered, and thinner. Dark hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and the wind twisted a curly lock across his face. He didn’t look frightening in broad daylight —maybe even a little handsome, with his sharp jaw and sweetly curved lips— but his dissimilar eyes were unsettling. A cold, tight feeling coiled in my chest when our eyes met.

I looked away immediately, trying to stifle my panic. He stopped a few feet away, turned to face the street as if he was just waiting for the bus too. I closed my eyes in a silent prayer when I heard the bus approaching. I lingered as we boarded, wanting to go on after him so I could sit as far away as possible, but when the old man gestured for me to go ahead of him with a kindly smile, I couldn’t think quickly enough to refuse him.

I sat near the front, close to the driver, and tried to look like I was busy with my phone. His coat brushed against my shoulder when he passed and I smelled it again: the cologne. It was definitely the scent I’d caught at my door. I stuffed my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking.

There was no need to turn around to know he was looking at me. His gaze felt almost physical, like an icy-cold finger running down my spine. When the bus went through a tunnel the light shifted and I saw him clearly reflected in the window. He was leaned back, one arm stretched over the back of the adjacent seat. Long legs crossed knee-to-ankle, body turned toward me. That discomfiting eye-

An invitation, not communicated with words, but understood nonetheless. Hunger. Want. Something feral. Primal.

Dangerous.

Come. You are invited to-

Daylight flooded the bus as we left the tunnel. My head felt strangely foggy and I blinked hard to clear it. There was a blank space where the last 30 seconds should have been and my heart was pounding almost painfully in my chest. My eyes were tearing up but I didn’t know why. The chime sounded for a stop and I heard the quiet rasp of someone’s shoes against the floor as they stood. He walked past again, flooding the air with his scent. He caught my eye for a split second as the bus pulled away, but once he was gone it was as if the air pressure had changed. I was still shaky when I got off the bus a few blocks later, but the cold air felt restorative. The sun was shining on my face, keeping all shadows at bay.

When I woke up the next morning I felt better than I had in weeks. I didn’t remember any specific dreams, only a comforting, welcoming presence. I put some music on while I made my breakfast, singing along and feeling unusually optimistic. As I was puttering around doing some chores, my phone rang.

“Hello?” there was a moment of silence before a low, smooth voice responded. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind me calling. A friend gave me your number,” the voice said, naming the man I’d interviewed with yesterday.

“Oh, uh, okay. What is this regarding?” I said, trying to use my most professional voice.

“I mentioned I was in need of a personal assistant and he offered your name. It was my hope that since they’re going with another candidate, you could-”

“They are?” I blurted out. “I’m sorry, I thought he had spoken with you already,” he said.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers and took a deep breath. “No. He didn’t tell me.”

“Well, I do have some good news for you, then.”

“Yes, you-” I breathed deep again to steady my voice. “You’re looking for an assistant?”

“I recently inherited some property that is in need of restoration. A lot of restoration. It’s a very important project for me,” he paused as though considering his words, “Restoring not just the house, but my family legacy as well. Something for my future children.” There was a hint of an accent on certain words, but I couldn’t place it. He continued on for a minute describing pretty standard stuff: scheduling, travel arrangements, taking calls, taking notes. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“There would be some travel involved, is that okay?”

“Maybe? How far?”

“I work out of my home currently, about an hour and a half outside of the city. Could you commute a few times a week?” When I paused to consider it, chewing my lip indecisively, he added, “Not every day.”

An hour and a half each way wasn’t bad for the area. “That would be fine.”

“Molto bene,” he said, finally placing his accent for me. “Could you start tomorrow?”

It was a pretty nice train ride. Once out of the city, the tracks went through a forest, bare in the late autumn. I tried to make the most of my new commute with a book but eventually just stared out the window and watched the suburbs flash through the trees. At the very last stop, a man in a black car awaited me.

He’d told me that his driver would be picking me up, but it was still strange being chauffeured around. It wasn’t a particularly opulent vehicle, but nicer than any taxi. Probably the nicest car I’d ever been in, actually. It was almost a half hour drive before we went through the wrought-iron gates of the Emeritus estate. They looked new, and I could see fresh, bright red bricks standing out amidst old, faded ones in the wall. Winding down the long driveway I could see landscapers going about their work mowing, pruning, planting, and when we finally got to the house, there were construction sounds from within.

Multiple missing windows, holes in the roof, a sagging gutter —The house would definitely be an extensive project. While I was taking the place in the driver had opened my door for me.

“Oh, thank you,” I barely managed to say before he closed the door, got back in the door, and drove off. “Okay, little rude,” I muttered.

An older woman appeared in the doorway, wiping wet hands on a floury apron. “Hello there, dear. Come on in,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand and introducing herself as Mrs. Richardson, the cook.

Dark hardwood floors, many covered in drop cloths, stretched the entire length of the house. Dusty wainscoting joining peeling wallpaper and dark woodwork arcing overhead, accented by antique light fixtures and small, cobwebbed chandeliers. It had once been an opulent thing, this small palace nestled deep in the woods, but seemed like it had been abandoned for decades.

“Mr. Emeritus wanted me to be his housekeeper too, can you imagine?” she chirped. “Trying to stay on top of all this?”

“How long has this been going? All the work, I mean.”

“A few weeks now. You should have seen the state of it before then! And he’s had so much trouble finding reliable help,” she chattered away as she led me through the house on a quick tour before finally stopping at the library. “Wait in here, dear. It’s the only room in the house fit for visitors at the moment,” she said, smiling apologetically. “Mr. Emeritus should be down shortly.”

The library was at the rear of the house, far from all the work, blissfully quiet compared to everywhere else, and lovely. Huge, sunny windows looking out over a small pond, floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall made from the same dark wood as the floors. A worn out carpet that might have been an Oriental once, now so sun-bleached that the pattern was nearly indiscernible. There was a faded, sagging sofa in the corner with some matching chairs piled nearby, but in the center of the room sat a pair of new leather chairs with a neat wooden table dividing them and an antique lamp stood nearby.

I sat and looked at my phone. No service. No Wi-Fi.

After fifteen minutes I got impatient and got up to look around. For a library it didn’t have many books; Maybe a dozen in all, scattered around twice as many shelves.

A book of poetry, an old religious essay, some old British guy’s account of his time on safari. A small leather-bound book, now a dingy gray but with a few spots that were still maroon. The leather was cracked and dried out in several place. The inside cover had a name written – a large waterstain had left the first name a smeared, unintelligible mystery, but sharp, elegant cursive still legibly spelled out “Emeritus” next to it.

The pages were written in Latin, and when I turned them they started to crumble. Sheafs of paper flapped to the ground as the back cover simply fell off. “Shit,” I whispered, hastily trying to pick it all up again. I was so worried he would come in right as my hands were full of the remains of what was certainly a family heirloom, but he didn’t. No one did. I went back to the chair, not wanting to touch anything else.

Forty minutes since I arrived. I tried playing with my phone for a bit, but I couldn’t stop looking at the time, getting more irritated with each passing minute. I put it away and drummed my fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. I tried to read my book.

After an hour had passed, I went to look for Mrs. Richardson. She’d pointed out the kitchen to me on our way in, but it was empty. I was going to ask one of the workers if they knew where she was when it hit me: The house was silent.

Maybe the workers were just having an early lunch outside? When I opened the front door there wasn’t a soul in sight. The pickup truck that had been parked off the side of the driveway was gone. I slowly closed the door. I almost called out to Mrs. Richardson but stopped myself, goosebumps raced down my arms.

This isn’t right. Leave. Now. I have to leave.

I was reaching behind me for the doorknob when I heard a quiet cough. From the library. I froze in place, my body screaming to run but completely unable. I took a step forward. Another.

No, no, no, we have to go, we need to-

With every step my thoughts grew quieter. At first I didn’t know why I was moving forward, but as I drew closer to the library I started wondering what I’d been so worried about. The door was mostly closed but a beam of sunlight cut into the dark hallway. I slowly pushed it open. One of the chairs had been moved. It was facing the windows, back to the door.

“Come in, cara mia,” the same low voice from the phone.

I moved toward the chair as if through molasses, my feet almost dragging as my body and mind fought for control. His hand was dangling off the arm of the chair. Elegant fingers with skin so pale it glowed in the sunlight. I drew near, sucked in a sharp breath when I saw dark curls. I took another step to the side and he turned to me. A high, thin sound came from my throat as I tried to scream.

He rose smoothly and smiled at me. Not nicely.

Adrenaline flooded my body, letting me move freely again, but he stood between me and the door and I could only back away until the shelves stopped me.

“How good of you to come,” he said lightly. He walked slowly toward me, a swaying grace to his stride. He put his hand on the shelf next to my head and leaned close, then touched his other hand to my chin. His mismatched eyes bore into me as he drew closer, making my heart pound, stopping with an inch between our noses. His eyes flicked down to my neck, my lips, then back to me. He smirked at my terrified whimper and said, “You and I are going to play a game.”

A deep primal fear surged, finally making me run. I ducked under his arm and bolted to the door, tore down the dark hallway as my heart pounded in my ears, reached for the doorknob-

I was yanked back by my collar and hands cold and strong as iron wrapped around my waist. I shrieked as I was lifted off my feet, I kicked and clawed and struck with all my might, but he may as well have been made of metal. I screamed for my life as he carried me back to the library, as easily as one would carry a kitten. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped me into one of the chairs, then put his palm against my heart to keep me in place, and spoke.

“Sleep.”

A sky streaked with orange, pink, and purple greeted me when I opened my eyes. The colors of sunset. I jolted upright, immediately aware that my hands and feet were bound. I twisted around in my chair to scan the room; I was alone. I started gnawing on the rope, trying to work my hands free while there was still time, before he-

“Welcome back,” his voice came from the doorway behind me. Soft footsteps approached. He patted my shoulder, ignoring my flinch, and set two glasses down on the table. He sat down across from me, crossed his long legs, and nudged the water toward me, taking the wine for himself.

“You’re thirsty,” he said. “Drink.” It wasn’t a request.

“Are...are you going to kill me?” my voice was tight and shrill, almost a squeak; I couldn’t hide how terrified I was, and it seemed to amuse him.

“That depends.” He looked me over, his eyes lingering on my trembling lips.

“O-on?”

“How much fun you are,” he shrugged, then pushed the water glass closer. “I’m not going to poison you.”

“H-how...why would I believe that?”

“I wouldn’t poison my own food,” he said. So calmly.

“You’re going to eat me?!” I whimpered.

“Not exactly.”

I took the glass with hands shaking so badly I could barely drink. When some spilled on my shirt he leaned across the gap between us, resting his weight on the arm of my chair, then took the glass from me and gently tipped it between my lips. When I finished he set the glass down on the table and stood over me, waiting for me to look up at him.

He took a drink of his wine, leaving his lips parted once he’d swallowed. He ran his tongue across his teeth, and I saw them. Not teeth.

Fangs.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said.

I could barely hear him over the roaring in my ears. It can’t be, they’re not real, they’re dental implants or something but they’re not real because they can’t be real they’re not real they’re no- “I would pay attention, my dear.” He sat down and took another sip.

“W-what are y-” I stammered, unable to get the words out. He waved his hand dismissively. “There’s more important questions to ask. You want to live, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I want to live.”

He smiled, just flashing his teeth, “Good.” He set the wine down and smoothed the cuffs of his shirt.

“In a few minutes, I’m going to untie you, and you’re going to run.”

He searched my eyes, making sure I was following. “Your bag, with your phone and shoes, is currently hanging on a hook next to the front gate. It is not hidden, and you will be able to see it easily, even in the dark. If you get to your bag, you live.”

“And you...you’ll be…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m going to chase you.”

“And if…” I swallowed hard, struggling to hold back tears. “If you catch me?” When he smiled this time there was a hunger in it.

“You lose.”

I looked down at my hands, and after a moment whispered, “Why me?”

“You’re a pretty girl and you’re desperate,” he said simply. “Not many people will travel to the secluded home of a strange man for something that’s too good to be true. Even fewer women will.” It stung hearing my foolishness laid out so plainly.

“Has anyone ever won?” I asked quietly. He said nothing, just smiled again.

I couldn’t hold back the tears any more. He went to one knee in front of me and brushed a finger across my cheek, almost tenderly.

“Coraggio, cara mia.” He started untying my feet, “Either way, it will be over soon enough.”

I saw him smirk a little when I whimpered, a trace of it remaining on his lips as he untied my hands. He reached around the side of my chair and brought out a shoebox. I flinched when he touched my leg, but he was just putting sneakers on my feet. He squeezed my foot as if checking the fit and tied them snugly.

He moved back to his chair and reached into his jacket, pulling out a silver cigarette case and lighter. “You get a headstart,” he said, waving a cigarette. “I stay here until I’ve finished this. You may want to use the restroom first. I’ll wait.” He sank back comfortably in his chair and stretched his legs out, flicking the lighter open and closed. When I didn’t move he raised his eyebrows and nodded meaningfully toward the door.

I stood slowly, expecting him to pounce on me immediately, but he just watched me with amusement on his angular face. I closed the door behind me. Breathed shakily into the darkness, looked at the front door. Every instinct told me to run immediately.

“Your time starts when you exit the house,” he called out, then added, “That doesn’t mean I’ll wait forever.” I could hear the lighter flicking open and shut, open and shut, the sound only fading when I closed the bathroom door. I used the toilet and blew my nose. Suppressed a new wave of crying.

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “This can’t be happening.”

But it was. I had to accept it if I wanted to live.

I stepped into the hallway. The metallic clink of the lighter continued. The front door was miles away, reached in mere steps. I took a deep, tremulous breath and reached for the knob. As soon as I opened the door, I heard him call out again.

“See you soon.”

I braced myself, took a deep lungful of the cool evening air, and launched myself out the door. I bolted down the driveway, almost slipping as I went through a curve, then another, desperately trying to think. I knew following the driveway wouldn’t work. Its winding path would easily double the distance to the gate, and it was gravel besides. I tried to remember where the gate was and orient myself, then leapt off the path into the wooded area that made up most of the property. Mrs. Richardson had said the entire estate was 12 acres, but most of it was back behind the house.

My lungs were already on fire; I had to stop. I rested against a tree, bent over and gasping for breath, grabbing the stitch in my side and trying to ignore the metallic taste in my mouth. My legs were already shaking so badly that I wasn’t sure how long they’d support me. Even when I was an athletic little kid, I was never good at running. Wasn’t built for it. It was hopeless.

My head snapped up suddenly. A noise. My skin prickled as I listened intently, trying to identify it. It had to be him, obviously, but how could he move so quietly?

Because he’s not human, he’s not natural. Nothing about this-

I heard it again. The sound of something stepping through mostly-damp leaves. Closer than before. My legs twitched, desperate to run, but if I moved now he would see me immediately. He might not know where I was yet. I heard a long, raspy exhalation off to my left, like he was just letting me know where he was. I pressed my back against the tree and held my breath. A movement in the corner of my eye.

He was moving past me, maybe 100 feet away. He wasn’t sneaking or skulking, for all intents and purposes he was walking completely normally, just in near-silence, like his feet didn’t even touch the ground. He stopped in a clearing and looked around, then raised his head and sniffed the air. He looked in my direction and my blood ran cold. His horrible empty eye was glowing in the faint moonlight as he scanned the trees. Then he kept walking away, silently slipping between the trees until I lost sight of him. Any doubts I’d had about his nature —about whether or not those fangs were real— were gone. I pulled my sweater over my mouth to muffle the sound of me basically exhaling my entire soul from my body. He had walked toward the gate. Between me and freedom.

You can do this. You have to do this.

But now I’d be walking toward him. Would it make more sense to make my way back toward the house? Or cut across the property and try to circle back to the gate from an unexpected direction?

“Not many people will travel to the secluded home of a strange man for something that’s too good to be true.”

Had the others tried doubling back? Had all of them just sprinted straight to the gate? I crouched down and hugged my knees, shivering. I breathed out silently, relieved to see it wasn’t cold enough for my breath to steam. Maybe I could just hide.

Did any of the others try to hide? There were some pine trees scattered among the bare oaks, but I didn’t know if I could climb a tree without him hearing, and even if I managed, I might just die of hypothermia. Almost no leaves anywhere, just bare branches and cold ground. Hiding was out of the question.

He could simply be waiting for me at the gate, ready to pounce, but that didn’t feel right. That wouldn’t be fun, and that’s what he seemed to-

“Where are youuuuu?” he sang, maybe a few hundred feet away. Off to my right now, circling back behind me. “I’m going to find you, bella ragazza,” still sing-song.

A cold bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck, and I finally moved. I stooped over and started creeping from tree to tree as he continued to call out for me, never sounding any further away. I passed a thick tangle of shrubs and saw it: The light at the gate shining my salvation in the dark.

I choked back a sob and my eyes filled with tears as I continued forward, as quietly as I could, then froze.

He wasn’t calling for me anymore.

I backed up against a tree and listened, but couldn’t hear anything other than my heart pounding. It wasn’t far now, but too much for me to safely sprint. I swiveled my head around, desperately scanning. Nothing.

Move. Move. You have to move. MOVE.

I crept to the next tree, waited and listened again. Repeat. Repeat. I could see the fence now. I took a deep breath and braced myself to run.

A twig snapped behind me.

I lunged forward with a shriek, surprise making me stumble immediately, tried to run...

A cold, hard hand wrapped around my arm, using my momentum to swing me off-balance. I slammed into a tree so hard that I saw stars, staggered a few steps, then was knocked on my back.

He was on top of me immediately, straddling my stomach, laughing giddily as I screamed and clawed at him. I tried to slap him, scratch, punch, kick, anything I could do, sobbing, “no, no, no, please, God, no,” but he easily slapped away my hands, a wicked laugh pouring from him the entire time.

He grabbed my wrists and pressed them into the cold ground on either side of my head, then brought his face toward mine, his cool breath puffing against my skin as he licked his lips. Then he moved his mouth to my neck, and with his lips brushing against my ear, whispered,

“You lose.”

“Please, God,” I whimpered, and he rocked back to a sitting position, pulling my hands to rest against his chest. He looked down at me with a sneer, his eye blazing imperiously.

“Your God isn’t here, bella ragazza. I am. Maybe you should reconsider who you pray to.”

I choked back a sob as his cold lips brushed against my wrist. He ran his nose along the fragile skin, inhaling deeply, his eyes rolling back beneath fluttering lashes as he bit into me.

He drank, ignoring my screams, seemingly lost within seconds. He dropped my other wrist to better hold me against his hungry, feeding mouth, mirrored trickles of blood running down my arm and his chin. I was trying to squirm away, desperately clawing at the ground when I felt it.

I swung the softball-sized rock against his temple. He let out a pained grunt before collapsing to his side.

I scrambled to my feet and immediately stumbled, light-headed, into a tree. I tried to run but all I could do was push myself from tree to tree, tripping over roots, sobbing as the light on the gate grew closer.

“Please, God, please,” I wept as I tripped again. I was almost to my feet when I felt the icy grip on my ankle jerk me backward. Strong arms around me, lifting me up, carrying me back into the dark woods as I shrieked and kicked. He dropped me to my knees in front of the bloody rock and pushed me over onto my side with his leg. It was over.

The only thing I could do now was tearfully look up at my end. A wash of blood ran diagonally across his face, and unlike the rusty traces of my blood that streaked down his chin, it was so dark it looked almost black. His hair was a wild nimbus around his face and the breeze stirred the bits of forest floor caught in his dark curls.

He crouched on all fours and moved his body over mine, so close our chests touched with each of my terrified breaths. I turned my face away as his drew near, squeezing my eyes shut and just praying it would be fast. I whimpered at the feeling of his lips against my ear.

“Davvero divertente,” he murmured. Then he laughed, gently, and nipped at my earlobe with his teeth, making me shudder. “E delizioso.”

He ran his nose along my jawline and I felt his cool breath against my exposed neck, “Your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird” he sighed, “beating its little wings against the glass.”

“I’m scared,” I managed to whisper. “I don’t want to die like this.”

“Pensi che stai per morire?” He pulled away from my neck and cradled my cheek, softly, almost tenderly, ignoring my flinch.

Then he kissed me.

I jerked my head away, shouting, “What- what are you doing?!” outrage granting me the will to start hitting him again. I tried to shove him away from me but might as well have been pushing a brick wall. He grabbed my leg to still my kicks, pressed down onto me, pinned my wrists again. I thrashed against him and he just watched me with his head tilted to the side, his expression somewhere between curious and amused. I was tiring, slowing, when he rocked his hips into me, peering intently into my eyes. He...he was hard.

“What-” I gasped, and he smiled with a different sort of hunger. “Why the fuck-” He silenced me with another kiss, and a flash of heat through my body kept me from stopping it for just a moment. I turned away again, whimpered when he ran his lips to my neck and moved his hips again, making sure I knew I wasn’t mistaken: he was hard as the rock now coated in his blood. He wanted me to know.

“You think you don’t want it?” he said in a low voice, catching my earlobe with his teeth.

“I know I don’t,” I said shakily. Not as confidently as I would have liked. An amused exhale, then he removed a hand from my wrists and brushed along my neck, his fingers tracing my collarbone before moving to my heart. He lingered for a moment, feeling the hammering in my chest, before drifting across my breast, grazing a stiff nipple through my sweater and moving down. His pinky finger slipped under the waistband of my pants before he stopped.

“I can hear the flow of your blood, bella ragazza. I can hear your heart as clear as a drum. Up here-” he planted a soft, wet kiss on my neck, “You’re scared, yes, but here…” He brushed his finger against my skin; I felt my cheeks burning, and heat elsewhere. “Please let me go,” I whispered, ashamed of the growing ache I felt, unsure if I was more scared of him or my own body.

“Is that what you really want?” he purred, sliding another finger along my waistband. His lips were moving along my jaw, his cool tongue grazing my skin and making me shiver.

“I...I…”

“Your pulse here,” another finger slipped across my skin, “So much stronger. Why is that? Hmm?” When his lips reached the corner of my mouth he nudged my chin to look at him. To look right into his pale, glowing eye as he smiled and asked, “Why can I smell how wet you are?”

I squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment but couldn’t stop a soft little moan from escaping. Soft, cold lips pressed against mine again, and even though I did turn away eventually, it was reluctantly. It was what I should do.

Not what I wanted to do.

His hand left my pants and dragged along my body before he slipped his tongue into my mouth and squeezed my breast. Just for a moment he caught my nipple between his thumb and finger and squeezed, his lips curving into a smile against mine as I moaned. He grabbed me more roughly as our mouths joined more urgently, pinching and tugging at me, grinding his hips against mine.

He pulled away suddenly, grabbed the front of my sweater with both hands, and effortlessly tore it open. I gasped at the sudden cold, again at the feel of his teeth when he took my nipple in his mouth. My pants were being unbuttoned, and then his hand slipped into my panties. Cool fingers spread me apart, then slid further down until he was inside, entering me so easily, and when I groaned in pleasure he bit down on me a little harder. He worked his fingers in and out, breathing soft laughs every time I moaned and clenched around him.

He pulled his fingers out, slickly dragging them across my clit, then out of my pants. He leaned away from me, sighing happily as he dipped his fingers into his mouth, looking for all the world like a hedonistic Roman emperor being fed grapes. He greedily sucked on his fingers for a few moments before going to his knees, where he practically ripped my pants off, then my panties.

He had barely touched my thighs before I spread my legs for him, and he grinned triumphantly at my willing hunger as he hurriedly unlaced his pants. In the moonlight I could see the head of his thick cock glistening with precum as he stroked himself, foreskin rippling over his length. He let out a hungry growl as he looked down at me, spread open and totally exposed, grabbed my leg and pressed against my cunt-

This is crazy. This is crazy. What am I doing? Why am I-

He growled again, from deeper in his chest this time, when he pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, the feeling of fullness, the cold. He slid into me, all the way in, barely waiting a heartbeat before he started thrusting in and out of me. He grabbed my hips, pulling and angling me up, plunging even deeper.

My eyes were closed, head thrown back, letting the sensations wash over me: his hips slamming against me, his balls smacking against my ass as he drove his cock into me, his fingers digging into my skin, promising bruises to come. “Fuck,” I gasped, the shame of enjoying it diminishing with each surge of pleasure, “Harder,” and he obliged, before surprising me with another kiss, snapping me out of my own head as our tongues rolled against one another. He still felt colder than a normal man, but he was warmer to the touch now, both inside and out, and I wrapped my arms around him, digging my nails in and making him groan against my lips.

His movements became almost frantic and he hammered into me a few more times before thrusting hard, holding himself balls-deep inside me as he gasped against my shoulder and emptied himself. He breathed raggedly against me for a moment before sliding out and immediately moving his head between my legs.

His eyes fluttered back into his head when he tasted me and I twisted my fingers into those dark curls, glossy in the moonlight, holding him tightly in place. He pushed his fingers in and out again, licking his cum off his fingers before trying to push his tongue inside me to lick me clean. I’d never had a tongue inside me before and it didn’t feel particularly amazing but the sight of him burying himself in me, intoxicated by our mingled fluids, sent a shockwave rippling through me.

He pulled away to pant for air and I gripped his hair to pull him back. When I felt his tongue again I started grinding against his face, using him as wantonly as he had me, the sounds coming from him communicating that he enjoyed it as much as I had. He held his tongue where I needed it and fucked me with his fingers, sighing with pleasure whenever I would dig my nails into his scalp.

“Oh, dolcezza,” he groaned, “Dolcezza, mi dispiace tanto, I-”

“Quiet,” I breathed, “Just...fuck-” He pulled his tongue away, hissing when I pulled hard on his hair.

“Mi dispiace,” he panted again, “Try not to move around too much, perdonami,” then bit into my thigh before I could question or protest it. I cried out in pain and shock, tried to pull him loose but he was locked onto me. He lapped at my blood, breathing out a deep, rumbling growl, lost for a few seconds before curling his fingers inside me and working them harder. I felt his fangs release but still he drank.

He wrapped his other arm around my thigh and pulled himself closer. His tongue, warmed by my own blood, returned to my clit, spiraling in tight circles, flicking and flowing as my blood continued to trickle out of me. He switched back, taking another taste of my punctured flesh, dragging his fingers inside me, pushing up, letting out a breathless laugh as I writhed and whimpered under him.

The next time his tongue returned, his free hand pressed hard against the wound, making me hiss, but it was easily ignored when he sucked my clit into his mouth, rapidly tapping with his tongue, pushing me closer and closer to the edge until it finally exploded from me.

He let out a little grunt of pain as I nearly broke his nose with my jerking hips, but when my thighs clamped around his head and trapped him in place, he continued to swirl his tongue around me eagerly, only slowing when I did.

When I finally went limp and released him, he pulled his fingers out and I sighed at the emptiness, tipping my head back to look at the moon. I hadn't seen country dark in years; Even relatively close to the city the sky looked incredible.

“There’s so many stars out here,” I breathed. When he didn’t say anything I looked down and saw him kneeling between my legs with his fingers in his mouth, something like sorrow on his face.

“It is beautiful out here,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed steadily on mine. He crawled over me and pulled at one of my legs so it lay across his back and I moved the other to wrap around him fully. He took me in his arms and nuzzled into my neck, sighing his already-cooling breath against my skin.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured. He squeezed me tightly and whispered, “Mi dispiace tanto, amore. È colpa mia.”

“You said that before, ‘dispiace tanto.’ What does it mean?”

He took a deep breath and quietly said, “Spero tu possa perdonami. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for wha-”

“Sleep.”

I was told I’d been carried into the ER by an as-yet-unidentified man. On the surveillance camera footage he’d hidden his face behind me on his way in, gently set me down in a chair, then briskly walked away down a corridor. When he started walking away from me a nurse had immediately run over, calling for security, and the tape showed a guard running only a few seconds behind him. The hallway had a camera blindspot around a corner and in the few moments nobody had eyes on him, he vanished.

The police told me other people had gone missing over the past few weeks, and they seemed to think I’d been the intended victim of a serial killer operating in the area, but they couldn’t understand why he not only let me go, but had taken me to a medical facility. Why he had dressed me in warm, freshly-laundered clothes.

In an overly-medicated and somewhat hysterical moment I told them he drank my blood, that he had hunted me, that it was all a game to him, but as soon as I made the mistake of using the word “vampire,” the cops exchanged a look and suddenly decided they should wait until I was more clear-headed before continuing their questions.

Skin under my fingernails, saliva all over, semen inside me; more than enough DNA to convict him, they assured me. They didn’t bother asking if he had raped me. It was taken as a given. I didn’t correct them, though the word weighed on me. It wasn’t what had happened to me, it wasn’t what we did, but I didn’t know what to tell them.

Willingly fucking the man who chased me through the forest —who hunted me— and enjoying it...How could I tell anyone? They brought something for me to sign —Yes, the man on the tape lured me to his house. Yes, he was the cause of my injuries. Yes, he had intended to kill me— and I signed it, a bitter taste in my mouth even though I knew he’d never be caught, never be made to pay for what crimes he did commit.

The doctor told me he hadn’t given me an STI, which was nice, I guess —though I'd have to be tested again later, and that I'd been given a prophylactic to prevent pregnancy. In the dim light of my room, I looked at the IV in my arm, the bandages covering where I’d received a blood transfusion, the dark purple bruises on my wrists, unmistakably finger-shaped. I pulled up my gown and looked at the thick bandage on my thigh for a minute before pulling it off. I could only see two of the four puncture marks but the bruising spread far beyond the bites.

I touched them gingerly, remembering his mouth so close by, guiltily savoring the memory. A nurse had described the extensive bruising on the back of both thighs. He fucked me so hard his hips left a mark, and she looked at me with pity in her eyes.

How could I ever tell anyone?

When we first spoke on the phone he’d briefly mentioned that one of the reasons he wanted to restore his home was to create a legacy. For his future children.

Does a prophylactic work if the man is undead? I didn’t know if it would be so easy as that.

The sweet scent of fresh flowers woke me in the morning. A bouquet next to my bed with a small envelope propped up against it. I smiled as I reached for it, assuming it was from my sister, maybe a friend.

Then I saw my bag lying behind the vase. I opened the card with trembling hands.

Sharp, elegant cursive simply read:

See you soon.