Chapter 7 Elias
826 Words
Diary Entry – 25/12/1920
It has been a year.
A full year since I became one of them.
I possess a heart, yet it does not beat. I breathe, but no air fills my lungs. I can eat like the living, but all I taste is ash. The void remains—deep, unrelenting.
Blood is survival.
The throbbing pulse of a terrified human beneath my touch used to quicken mine, though mine beats no longer. Their fear—their helplessness—once warmed me. Enticed me. It gave meaning to the beast I had become, a creature parading in a man’s skin.
There are many things I can no longer do.
But s*x is not one of them.
Perhaps it’s my final tie to humanity. The last act that makes me feel anything close to alive.
Tonight, I met a woman.
Not just any woman.
A witch.
Claudine would be furious—seething, if I hadn’t already walked away from the grave she carved for me.
The witch knew what I was the moment our eyes met. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Her scent—smoke, jasmine, and something ancient—stirred something long buried inside me.
She did not fear the undead.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt seen.
I must find her again.
⸻
Present Day – 2025
Like all vampires, I sleep through the daylight hours. The sun does not turn us to ash as the old myths claimed, nor do we sparkle like gemstones in its glow. But it does weaken us.
We are children of the night for good reason.
The darkness hides our sins.
It lets us feed.
It shields the predator within.
At least… it used to.
Now I feed from blood bags.
Pigs’ blood from the butcher when I’m desperate.
The taste is irrelevant. It’s the hunt I miss—the pulse, the chase, the dance of death in moonlight. Feeding now is no different than a lion tearing into a cold carcass, stripped of the primal thrill.
I feel the sun rise outside, its warmth kept at bay by thick stone walls and blackout curtains. I close my leather-bound diary and place it carefully back on the shelf.
My bedroom, far beneath the surface, is both sanctuary and prison. Crystals line the walls—charms of protection and early warning. The energy hums around me like a second heartbeat.
At the room’s center, a bed worthy of a king dominates the space. Black silk sheets, tucked with surgical precision, shimmer beneath the soft glow of a dim lamp. A plush doona drapes across the foot, eight pillows piled like armor at the head.
Humans, for all their flaws, perfected the art of bedding.
Once, I slept in a coffin out of tradition. I told myself it was comfort.
But compared to this… the coffin may as well be lined with nails.
I strip off my shirt, the cool air whispering across my skin, and slide beneath the sheets.
Sleep comes quickly.
No thoughts. No torment.
Just the pull of unconsciousness.
And dreams.
⸻
At first, it’s dark. Familiar.
Then I’m thrust forward—lurching out of an alleyway like a specter risen from the grave.
My hand is around a woman’s throat.
She is pressed against the brick wall, head tilted slightly, presenting her throat like an offering.
But she is not afraid.
No.
Her almond-brown eyes stare into mine with unshaken resolve.
She wants me.
I can feel it.
It pulses through her skin, through her blood.
Excitement, not fear.
Her lips part, wet and plump, and she licks them slowly as if daring me to bite. Her hair—thick, long, and wavy—falls around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, and she shifts under my grip like she belongs there.
Her body is soft, but her energy is fierce.
She is not prey.
She is temptation.
The pulse in her throat beats steady beneath my hand, and I’m torn between desire and destruction. My fangs ache, my hunger blooms—but it is not just for blood.
I lean closer.
Her breath ghosts against my mouth.
She does not flinch.
She leans in, too.
And just as my lips graze hers—
I wake.
⸻
I sit up, chest tight, the silk sheets twisted around my legs. The room is still, save for the soft hum of enchantments in the walls.
The dream lingers.
Her eyes.
That pulse.
The curve of her lips.
It was her.
The woman from last night.
Who is she?
No vampire. No witch. Not quite human either.
Something ancient hums inside her, barely veiled. Something powerful.
And I felt it.
In her touch.
In the calm she brought.
In the restraint she awakened in me.
There was once a time I would’ve torn her open just to feel alive.
Now… I’d rather know her name.
And I can’t decide which is more dangerous.
- Writer
