Jobs

Act 13 – the Medium/Exorcist Part 4

Why bother looking that good when a mirror doesn’t even carry your reflection? You suck. You really suck. Both figuratively, and literally.

~ Delvina Carlisle

“Oh hell no.”

I still my body, paralyzed at the thought of the man, or rather, the creature standing in front of me. But damn. It’s like he’s standing before me, by my side, behind me, below me, on top of me. Everywhere! I can feel him everywhere, from all possible angles. He’s not like the demons I vanquish. He’s of flesh and blood. But he’s not entirely human either. Wow, what a presence. How come it’s just now that I felt him? My personal space at an arm’s length he seems to occupy, and it’s making me draw breath like I have asthma.

Suffocated.

Yes. That’s what I feel. It’s like he’s sucking the air from my lungs. Well, that’s a good word right there. Sucking. Suck. Suck. He wants to suck me. Oh I know he wants to suck me. I can tell by his eyes.

I can feel the cold touch of panic seep into my veins, chilling my very marrow. Oh Satan, just send me another demon to fʊck. Not this…this…this sucker.

Of all the creatures that dared walk this planet, his kind is what I’m most afraid of. But I’m not gonna let that show. Nah-uh. Fʊck his British accent. I don’t care how sexy it sounds, or how his manly tenor trumps the boys of One Direction put together.

“You have got to be fʊcking kidding me. You guys are—”

“In hiding?”

“Yeah, and I thought you guys are supposed to be in Prague or someplace where it’s mostly dark, and gloomy, and depressing.”

“That’s a very sad thought,” he says, and then he laughs. At me. He laughs at me. At what I said. It’s a deep kind of boorish laughter that only a grown man can make. A man who has probably laughed for centuries at the many faces of mortals who went crying right after they realized what kind of monster he truly is.

And fʊck, instead of his laughter going straight into my ears, it goes straight into the very folds of my v****a, vibrating and flapping and moistening them with arousal, as if the lips of my labia have transformed to become my auditory glands and are now capable of hearing every vibration from the way he laughs.

“Ah you’re funny,” he wipes a lone tear in his eye from laughing too much, “Hmm, what do I do with you?” Oh shít, there’s a small V forming between his brows as he examines me…and it’s so roguishly handsome.

Great. Just great. I’m crushing on a blood sucking nymphomaniac.

Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. I’m the nymphomaniac, because I’m female. He’s a man, so that makes him a Satyriac.

“Uh-ah, don’t come any closer.”

“What?” he smirks, “I’m harmless.”

“Like hell you are, you horny Satyriac!”

He breathes through teeth, “Such venom in your words, my dear.”

His palms are raised in a gesture of conciliation as he approaches, but I’m not about to let my guard down. He wants me soft, conceding, easy to tame. And I’m not gonna give him any of that lady-like crap. Though it’s really taking a lot of effort on my part because all I want him to do is throw me down, spread my legs open, and suck my throbbing clít like a straw to get to my blood.

“I’m well-aware of your personality and agenda you asshole, so don’t you dare lay a hand on me. I’m not a fan of history books, I find them particularly boring. But if there’s anything I got out of the little reading I did back in high school, it’s the knowledge that demon spawns like you are very horny creatures of the night! Horny to the bone! To your very marrow!”

“Whoa,” he reacts, “I just came here to party, and hopefully suck a few hosts along the way then breeze out. I’m not here to get a lecture on history, missy. I’ve been through high school more times than I can count. Just simmer down your rage. I don’t want any trouble.”

I bow my shoulders. If there’s anything I don’t like, it’s having to explain myself to a guy I just met. I’d rather fʊck a man than talk to him. Yeah, that’s a very manly thing to say, but it’s just the way it is, “It’s just that historically your kind is known to have a distinct appetite for s*x…aggressive s*x…the kind that kills. Your kind loves s*x of any nature, whether oral, vaginal, anal…just about anything that has a hole you will fʊck you demonic—” he lifts a brow and I had the decency to alter my vocabulary, “—you, you creatures! It is even believed that in ancient times you guys drill into people’s heads past their craniums just so your kind can skull-fʊck people’s brains, all to prove your authority!”

“Slow down Lara Croft. Again, love, I’m not here to argue. I just want to have s*x, and yes,” he dawdles his head, “suck some blood, too.”

I take a calming breath, and as I exhale I find myself shaking with simmering rage. Damn female hormones. Sometimes it sucks being a girl. There’s just way too much womanly hormones and it makes me talk way too much at times.

I stub the grass with the toe of my boot, “So why are you not in Prague?”

“Goth isn’t my style, pumpkin títs.”

Pumpkin títs?

“Don’t look at my jugs like that.”

“Can’t be helped. They look ripe for the picking. What size are those?”

I have the decency to blush. And I’m not talking about my cheeks. I’m talking about the red hot polka dot that is my throbbing clít. I’m a hypocritical nymphomaniac.

“Let’s just say I have trouble finding a pair of nice-fitting bras. I blame my mother. She got títs the size of Texas.”

The corner of his lips curl and I feel the inside flap of my v****a curling too, “I’ll bet,” he says, tracing a finger across his lower lip, “I also bet that I might have shagged your mother too at one point in history.”

Such blasphemy. But kinda’ hot.

Ooh, he looks at me with those brooding silver-blue eyes and I feel like my soul is being searched from every corner. His gaze makes me feel like a knapsack turned upside down, spilling all my contents and hidden secrets for him to devour.

I hear the sound of something popping in his gums before I see them. And when he smiles I realize with great clarity that I was right. His kind will never change.

Oh my God, oh Jesus I know I don’t call on your name often because I’m no child of yours, but I’m asking that you give me strength on what I’m about to do. Holy fʊck.

There are chairs everywhere. Some of them made of wood. I just hope they look just as fragile to break and splinter.

In a flash I hurl myself to grab a chair. I splinter it by holding its frame as I slam it onto the ground, leaving me with a sharp trunk of splintered wood in both hands. But before my brain can process what I’m about to do he already has me in his arms. Fʊck! I keep forgetting that vampires move fast.

I would’ve squirmed if it was hot breath pelting down my neck. But it’s not. I can feel the arctic chill in his panting and it’s making my heart rate pick up, “Just a bite. Just one little bite. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

My stomach drops.

I can’t scream even if I want to. It’s like all the air got sucked right out of me.

“Listen,” he whispers, his arms wrapped around me, rubbing my bosoms, “I’m much faster than you think. So drop the wood, sweetheart, if you know what’s good for you.”

I let go of the stakes.

“No one will hear you scream. Or even if someone does, they’d think you’re just getting penetrated in the bushes. And if you so much as make a noise that will rouse attention, I will chop you up and eat you to destroy the evidence. But maybe not before I fʊck you till my díck punctures your heart. Now that…that’s what you don’t want to happen.”

I struggle, heaving against his deathly grasp. Fearing for my life, I lift my knee and bring my heel down his foot, expecting that my little action will bring him to yelp a muffled grunt of agony. But he doesn’t. Of course he won’t. Vampires don’t feel pain.

“You are such a brat,” he murmurs into my ear, “I’m not here to kill anybody. Let alone you. I’m just trying to make you cooperate.”

“Your kind destroyed my family.”

“What?” I capture a distinct softness in the way he said that one word. I heard a drop of empathy somewhere, “What did we do?”

“Your kind killed all of us,” I find myself shouting, “You vampires—”

He pulls me into his body much tighter and in a blur he whisks both of us elsewhere which my body fails to process. His fast movement leaves me dazed, my insides capsizing. He lets me go as I bend over and vomit.

“You left me no choice.”

“You asshole,” I gurgle, bent over, gagging and vomiting on my lunch, “I have motion sickness.”

“You were about to expose what we are! I had no choice but to take you.”

“Take me!?” I hiss looking up, “How charming. You just redefined what it means to say ‘take me.’ You should’ve just told me to shut up. Harrumph…” I bend over and heave a bucket of throw up, “God, I’m gonna be sick. There’s the piña colada I just drank.”

I feel his hands rubbing down my back in an act to bring my wits back together, “Come on now, you need to sit down for a while,” he leads me to a park bench and I realize that we’re way off the map, kilometers from the Hefner Halloween pool party which makes what I’m wearing all the more ridiculous-looking because I’m dressed as the fʊcking tít fairy!

“All I want is your blood. I’m sorry for coming on too strong about my díck puncturing your heart,” he exhales what feels like a heavy burden, “And to think I have perfected it by now.”

“Perfected what? Your skill at kidnapping people to suck their blood?” I snort, “You look pretty skilled to me.”

“No, I mean…”

I look at him and he actually looks normal. His silver-blue eyes mellowing to a more subdued color, and his whole demeanor taking on a sudden mercurial shift towards kinder, “I’m tired.”

“Tired of what?”

“Tired of living through centuries without dying…building relationships that have an expiration date. It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say as a way of comforting him, but then I backpedal, “Actually, no, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Heh, that’s because you’re a mortal. You can choose to embrace death when you please.”

“I’m not entirely mortal. You said it yourself. I’m not entirely human.”

I can see a faint smile, “Yeah, your blood smells amazing. It’s special.”

“I exorcise demons for a living.”

“Ah…an enchant…a witch.”

“Call me whatever. Just not witch. Witches need rhinoplasty. I don’t.”

“You’re a funny girl.”

“Nah, I’m boring.”

“Will you look at that,” he croons, scooting to move closer beside me, sharing my personal space, “I think I’m actually starting to like you.”

“Don’t get too attached. You said it yourself. It’s exhausting to build relationships you’ll just leave behind.”

“I know.”

“But you know,” I find myself saying, “I wish I can live on forever,” I admit, and he regards me thoughtfully, “I know what’s waiting for me after all this,” I gesture at nothing in particular, “Well, whaddaya know. I can’t believe we’re finally talking. You’re really fʊcked-up aren’t you?”

He smiles, and his smile’s really handsome, “What makes you say that?”

“One minute you’re like ‘I want to suck your blood’ then the next you’re this charming douche—”

“Charming?”

“Yes, charming.”

Lines that I didn’t get to notice are starting to crinkle at the corners of his eyes. And it makes me realize that he must have turned vampire during his late twenties or early thirties, “How old are you?”

“Oh, I’m really old.”

“No, I mean…right before you turned vampire.”

“Oh, right, yeah, before I became a blood-sucking demon you mean. Well, I was a stone’s throw away from celebrating my thirtieth. What did you think my age was?”

“Right about the same.”

Now that I have the time to ogle, I can truly say that he’s something of a charmer. And with my consciousness floating back into my soul, I can see how Gaelic his features are. He almost looks Irish but not quite. What I’m getting is a little Viking. Like a handsome, put-together Barbarian.

It’s hard not to touch his face, and so I draw my hand near his cheek which makes him pull back a little, “Hey, I’m harmless too,” I whisper and he calms and I caress his face, “I never touched a vampire before. You have a wrinkle-free face as if you’d long ago been set free of earth-bound worries. It’s fascinating.”

I notice that he’s breathing rather odd, “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m just a little weak. Haven’t had blood for weeks.”

I’m not a good Samaritan, but at times I surprise myself, “You know what, screw it,” I pull my hair back to expose my neck, “Bite me.”

“But what if I suck you dry—”

“Just bite me. Come on do it before I change my mind.”

I didn’t know what to expect. All I know is right at this moment I’m about to give myself up to someone in a way I never had before. Sure I had fʊcked many a demon. Had almost all p***s shapes and sizes pushed inside me and in every known orifice. But this one…this experience, is all new to me. And I never would have thought I can—

Aah! The fangs sink into my flesh and it sounded like a set of teeth biting into a succulent apple.

I can feel the rush of blood leave my body through the small openings his fangs have made, and they’re drawing blood at an alarming rate. But it’s also soothing. Oh my…now I understand the appeal of having a vampire suck your blood. It’s…it’s exhilarating. I can feel my pulse spiking and slowing down and it’s like having a shot of an addictive drug, “What’s your name?” I ask.

I feel the retraction of the talon-like fangs as he pulls up, “My name is Nathan. Nathan Drake.”

“Nathan...”

“Yeah?”

“Can you also suck body fat?”

“Why?” I hear the smile.

“I wanna get that new pair of skinny jeans at Macy’s. Can you do me a favor and liposuction a little bit of my fat around the waist?”

“Heh, sure thing, love…” the quiet laughter in his voice gets replaced by fangs that suck, and in my mind, as I keep playing the way his voice sounds, I cannot help but feel that there’s more to Vampire Drake than meets the eye.

“I will get to the bottom of you,” I wrap my arms around him as his sharp incisors deepen, sucking pints of my life force.

“Oh baby, I know you will.”

“Shut up, bloodsucker.”

His fangs draw away and he looks up at me, blood trickling the sides of his mouth, “Can I have more, please? I’ll suck the fat, too.”

“Just one more minute.”

“Okay, a minute more.”

I pull his face close to mine, “Ravish me. I want you to make me feel so filthy I’ll need a long, hot shower right after.”

“What’s your name?”

“Delvina. Delvina Carlisle.”

“Yes, Delvina, I’ll suck you until you’re filthy and in need of a long, hot shower.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” I whisper as his mouth lowers, his fangs popping into my skin and I feel the slow kind of drain I’m becoming addicted to. All the while I keep playing the whiskey-smooth quality of his voice that makes me wanna rub my c******s all over his face.

Author’s note: Don’t hyperventilate just yet. There’s still Part 5 to Delvina Carlisle’s story. Lol.