Flesh, Fangs, and Magic

The Vivienne Vance Confessions

By Ancient Scribe

Chapter 3: Babe at Her Breast

Finding the first set of graffiti was simple enough. It was plastered all over the giant stone pillars flanking the entrance to Eleanor's estate, painted in white, and very much not 'nonsensical'. Eleanor had been wrong: this wasn't graffiti. These were runes.

As a witch I am, of course, familiar with runes. Use them myself quite a bit, though they bore me so. After all the calligraphy involved can be tiresome. I don't know how much time I've wasted in my life having to write and rewrite my runes before they were proper enough to actually work. These runes were far from 'proper' and unlike any I had seen, but they were runes, there could be no doubt. But how could they accomplish anything without being properly formed?

There was only one explanation: they were wild.

I tried to tap into their energy with a quick incantation but was only able to confirm that some disrupting power was there. No doubt they were responsible for knocking out Eleanor's CCTV surveillance and unlocking her gates, but that energy was quickly fading as the rain pelting down washed the paint away.

If they were wild runes, imbuing them with power would require somebody formidable. I doubted even Iriana, leader of the Detroit Coven, would be able to manage it. Eleanor used wards, which are similar, but vampiric magic is a whole other ballgame. No, these runes came from somebody powerful, somebody from this side of the veil, but they were a new player. Someone I'd never encountered.

They'd sure done their job, too. I reached out with my witch-sight before moving into the compound and could tell that not only had they disrupted the cameras but had also shattered Eleanor's powerful vampiric wards long enough for the attacker to slip inside undetected. It seemed impossible, but here we were. As I stood there in the downpour, shivering from the cold, I thought I heard a wolf howling in the distance.

Yeah, this was not an auspicious start to the investigation.

I moved through the gates and headed up the long drive. Halfway to the mansion I came across the first two guards Eleanor had mentioned. She'd said the intruder had "torn through" her guards and she wasn't kidding. These two poor fuckers had not died pleasantly. One had a compound fracture in his right arm, the bone protruding quite painfully, and there was a gooey mess where his face used to be. The second hadn't fared much better, with viscous looking slashed across his chest and a sizable chunk of his throat ripped out for good measure.

I paused there in the cold rain, staring solemnly at the death before me. In my line of work... hell, just by me being me, you see death a lot more frequently than most people do. But it never gets easy, even when the victims are thralls in the service of a ruthless vampire like Eleanor. These two sons of bitches had volunteered to be her playthings in exchange for power. Well, they'd paid the price at the end. And it was likely Eleanor wouldn't remember their names in a week's time.

As I examined the bodies I started feeling sick, and not because of the carnage. I'm a witch, I see carnage quite a bit. No, I was feeling sick because the nature of the injuries suggested a possible culprit I did not want to consider. Thankfully, my dread was ill-placed, as such a creature could never have empowered wild runes.

With no further clues to be gathered here I pressed on. I purposely didn't turn back to face the idling Crown Vic, knowing that its golden headlights were staring at me like stars in the night. From this distance Allan wouldn't be able to make out the corpses, not with the gate and the turn of the drive, but I knew he was watching. I picked up my pace toward the entrance.

There was no need to knock on the tall oak doors. One of them had been shattered, completely obliterated, in fact. When I stepped through its remnants, I found that the inner foyer wasn't in much better condition. It appeared as though there'd been a firefight, with large holes blown into the plaster walls behind me. In front of me were the remains of several pieces of French furniture, seemingly hurled at whoever had been shooting.

"Eleanor?" I called out. My voice was immediately swallowed by the high vaulted ceiling and large empty entryway. There was no response but the pounding on the rain on the roof high above.

I found the gunman I moment later, lying on his back in front of a wall bearing even more graffiti. The victim was the third guard, another thrall, his throat ripped open and head caved in. Blood coated his chest and looked like it had acted as a canvas for the attacker, who used the blood to write yet more wild runes on the wall. These held such power I nearly took a step back.

For a long moment I studied the symbols, shaking my head as I did. How could these hold such power? What manner of creature could conjure up such potent energy?

With some trepidation, I went into the folds of my soaking wet trench coat and pulled out a vial. It was the tracing potion I'd been formulating earlier, before Eleanor had made her appearance at my office. Carefully, I stepped closer to the wall, poured a few drops of the tracing potion onto the palm of my hand, and wiped it directly over the sticky, dark residue of the central rune.

My magic rushed into the fresh blood, and my vision suddenly went white.

A violent sensory rush flooded my brain, so intense it made my stomach drop and my knees buckle. I didn't see a face, nothing distinguishing, but the imprint was suffocating. It was a wave of wild, primal energy. Thick with the scent of wet earth, crushed pine needles, raging rivers, blinding storms. I felt the thrill of the hunter and the panic of the hunted.

I felt the terrifying, alpha dominance of an apex predator. It rocked me to my core. It wasn't witch magic, and it certainly wasn't vampiric. It was more ancient than I'd guessed, and was pack-bound. It was also fueled by a burning, generational hatred for everything Eleanor represented.

Werewolves. Just as I'd feared. But I'd been right: it wasn't the urban, desperate packs that lurked in the abandoned assembly ruins. Not the kind of lupines I'm familiar with. This was an Alpha. An ancient one from beyond the city.

The sheer raw ferocity of the werewolf's aggressive energy poured straight through my hand and into my veins. Because I'm covenless, I don't have the standard filters a sisterhood provides to block a psychic surge. The alpha magic acted like a massive hit of pure adrenaline, making my heart race and my skin flush hot.

It sent a sudden, heavy spike of raw, unadulterated arousal straight down to my core.

Yes, arousal. The adrenaline, the surge of emotions, the fear... these sensations did it for me. Don't ask me why but danger and heat and terror all get my juices flowing. And now my thighs clamped together as a thick wave of wetness bloomed between my legs, and my breath let out a needy gasp.

"Do you sense anything?"

The voice drifted down from the sweeping grand staircase. It was smooth, cold, and entirely oblivious to the horror surrounding us.

I snapped out of the vision, stumbling back a step, trembling as Eleanor materialized from the darkness of the second-floor landing. She had changed out of her evening gown. The beautiful vampire was now wearing a silk, crimson robe that pooled around her bare feet. Her pale skin caught the faint light filtering through the high windows. She looked like a marble statue brought to life.

She was a breathtaking sight: tall, lithe, and devastatingly curvy. Between the volatile wolf-adrenaline screaming in my blood and her sheer physical beauty, my throat went completely dry. My body was operating entirely on instinct now, my inner slut practically clawing at the surface as I stared at the loose tie of her robe.

This night I'd gone from arousal from a dead vampiric aura, to the very much alive aura of a horny 20 year-old, to the savage aura of an ancient, primal Alpha... and now back to her. Warmth was spreading up from between my legs and burning away the chill of the rain and cold night.

Goddess, what is wrong with me?

"Your wards didn't fail, Eleanor," I breathed, my voice thick and smoky as I wiped the blood and potion from my palm onto my jeans. "They were ripped open by an Alpha. An ancient, wild Alpha. This sigil on the wall? It's a pack brand, but a general one... an all-encompassing one. This one claims all lupines as his pack."

"Fascinating," Eleanor said, sounding bored.

I frowned. She wasn't taking this seriously. "Julian wasn't taken by some rogue snatch-and-grab thief or a rival walking corpse. A werewolf invaded your domain, one with real power. One from beyond the city. This was a brazen attack, and you're vulnerable now."

"I think you've got a war on your hands."

Eleanor descended the stairs with a slow, predatory grace, her dark velvet eyes locked onto mine. She was silent until she reached the final step. "A war? Don't dramatize, Vivienne," she said. "If it is a lupine, it's a minor inconvenience. A dog biting off more than it can chew.

"And darling? I hired you to find my thrall, not to worry about my safety."

"A minor inconvenience?" I gestured sharply to the torn body on the floor, the combination of fear, wolf-aggression, and burning lust boiling up in my throat. "Three of your guards are slaughtered, Eleanor! Your favourite little pet is gone, and the magic dripping off this wall is strong enough to choke me! It has rendered all of your protections mute. Do you realize the staggering amount of power it takes to do that in an elder's sanctum? You're entirely exposed, and you're acting like you're some untouchable queen of the city!"

"Oh, but I am the queen of this city, darling," she hissed.

In less than a blink, she closed the distance between us. "Perhaps not its ruler. But I am its queen," she whispered. The temperature in the room plummeted to zero, freezing the hot sweat on my skin and turning the damp rain on my coat into frost. She loomed over me, her fangs lengthening just enough to gleam in the dark. Then her hands gripped my shoulders with a bruising, terrifying force that pinned me in place.

"And you will remember your place, covenless. You take my money, you do my bidding. Do not mistake our history for equality."

The personal jab, the icy arrogance, the suffocating weight of her dead aura. It all collided with the volatile, aggressive wolf-fury still humming in my nervous system. The sexual friction that had been building since she first crossed the threshold of my office hours ago finally snapped like a tightly wound wire.

"To hell with your money," I growled.

I didn't back down. Our eyes locked, mine smouldering, hers quite calm and even amused. That infuriated me all the more. And then, driven by a reckless, self-destructive need to break her composure, I grabbed the neckline of her crimson robe, pulled her downward, and slammed my mouth against hers.

It was an explosion of pure energy. Eleanor let out a sharp, low gasp against my lips, her aristocratic ice instantly melting into a desperate, ravenous hunger. Her lips were freezing, but the kiss burned: violent, bruising, and deeply demanding. For all her high-society posturing, the monster inside her wanted to consume me. Meanwhile, the thrill-seeking, sex-crazed witch in me wanted nothing more than to let her do it.

How long had I been wanting this? For as long as I'd been denying I wanted it and. Years. For years I had secretly wanted to know the taste of a vampire's lips. And now I wanted much more than just that.

Before I could fully process the wet, fierce heat of her tongue, the world blurred.

Vampire speed is a terrifying thing. In a single, breathless second, the ruined parlour vanished. There was a dizzying rush of wind, the sharp sound of tearing fabric. Suddenly I was flat on my back, embedded deep into the plush mattress of her massive, four-poster canopy bed on the second floor.

The transition was violent as it was utterly intoxicating.

Eleanor hovered directly over me, completely naked, her crimson robe discarded somewhere in the shadows. Her dark hair fell around her face, her eyes dilated so wide they looked entirely black. Beneath her, I was completely exposed, too. In her feral haste, she had ripped my fresh red blouse and my jeans completely to shreds, leaving the fabric scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. The only thing she hadn't touched was my dark leather trench coat, which still hung loosely off my shoulders, pinned beneath my arms against the sheets. Had the spells protecting it kept it safe, or had she known what the coat means to me and resisted the urge to shred it, too? I didn't know. At that moment, I didn't care.

The contrast between us was stark. Eleanor was deathly pale, smooth, and ice cold. I was flushed, my skin burning hot as my covenless magic surged directly to the surface, responding to her proximity like a furnace. All of my protections were scrambled and confused, feeling both under attack and not. The raw magic of it was only amplifying my wanton desire.

She leaned down, her cold breasts brushing against mine, sending a violent spike of electricity straight down my spine. Her breath was ghostly against my ear as she wrapped her fingers into my hair, pulling my head back to expose the pulsing vein in my throat.

"Are you ready, Vivienne?" she whispered, her voice a dark, commanding purr that left no room for refusal. "Are you ready to learn what it feels like to be with an immortal?"

My heart was hammering against my ribs, a chaotic, beautiful human rhythm that she devoured with her ears. I looked up at her, at the beautiful, deadly creature, and realized I didn't care about the danger. I didn't care about the wolves, or the Veil, or the carnage downstairs.

I didn't even care about that life-changing night five years ago. I cared about nothing but this.f

"Shut up and touch me," I gasped.

"Not until you beg," she said, her voice taunting, teasing. Her fingers hovered over my breasts, close enough so that I could feel their cold chill and turning my nipples into hard icicles.

"Eleanor...," I whined. Gods, I didn't want her to make me do it! I'd given consent; I clearly wanted this, but she wanted more from me.

A low, guttural laugh. "Perhaps we've made a mistake," she mused.

"What!? Oh, fuck you!" I cried, my dignity dissolving at the prospect of this ending prematurely. With a whimpering cry I caved. "Please, Eleanor, for fucks sake, fuck me already! Please! Pleeaaassseee!"

She seemed unmoved.

Tears literally came to my eyes. I tried again: "Oh please, please... fuck me, I need it, I need you! Please don't leave me like this, I'm begging you, please!"

Never had I sounded so pathetic in my own ears. But it's what she'd wanted to hear. Eleanor's freezing hands slid down my torso, her fingers digging ruthlessly into my waist as she pinned my hips to the mattress. Every touch of her dead skin felt like a brand on my overheated body, creating a dizzying, torturous contrast that made me writhe beneath her. She slid her leg between mine, her knee pressing firmly against my aching, hyper-sensitive pussy. I let out a loud, uninhibited moan, arching my back as the friction sent a wave of pure pleasure straight to my brain.

She leaned down, her mouth dragging along my jawline before her teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my neck. Warning bells went off in my head but they were nothing compared to the screaming desire for more rushing through my brain.

Eleanor wasn't going to bite me. She wouldn't actually feed on me. Surely she knew when I begged to be fucked it was to be fucked, not fed upon. But then I saw the animalistic expression on her face, like a starving hyena, and I vaguely wondered if I hadn't just signed my own death warrant.

She bit down. Death warrant confirmed.

The pain only lasted a moment and then... ecstasy. My whole body went rigid, my eyes wide. I let out a long, soft breath as I felt my lifeforce flow into this monster's mouth.

This is it, part of me realized. I had given myself willing to an immortal corpse and this would be the price. She was about to drain me dry and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't even struggle now that her toxins were in my blood. All I could do was lay there as an orgasm overtook me and I felt my blood spilling into her mouth.

I was going to die. But at that moment I didn't care. The pleasure was too great. I wanted it, wanted her to feed on me. Wanted this orgasm to last forever, wanted to be her nourishment. She could feed on me forever and it wouldn't be long enough.

And feed she did. Her lips stayed locked around the gash she'd made in my skin and my hot blood continued pumping into her mouth, even as her thigh slowly rubbed me between my thighs. My whole body felt as sensitive as my clit just then and when she ground her thigh hard against my pussy once more, the orgasm still rattling me was replaced with yet another, one that was as blinding as it was all-encompassing.

I gurgled and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. My arms, suddenly free from my coat, wrapped around her. One hand on the back of her neck, holding her close to mine, practically forcing her to keep drinking my lifeforce.

My covenless magic flared out in blind, spastic waves. The glass panes of the bedroom windows rattled violently in their frames, and the heavy oak bedframe groaned under our shifting weight. I heard something electrical pop. There was shattering glass, groaning wood. I heard my heartbeat slowing, I felt hers increasing. My flesh was growing colder, hers warmer. I felt an orgasm that would never, ever end.

I was completely surrendered to her. All my defiance gone. I was her pet, her plaything, the babe at her breast. My hands gripped her pale, smooth shoulders, my legs wrapping tightly around her waist to pull her closer. The dopamine-heavy rush of her dead seduction was overwhelming. Her cold fingers slid lower, replacing her knee and finding the slick, burning heat between my thighs. She gently, then forcefully, then gently dipped her fingers into me. Hers was a perfect dominance that had me crying out her name. The entire universe had narrowed down to the breathless, frantic friction of my burning skin against her ice.

Then her head came up with a gasp and my blood dripped from her wide open mouth, dripped across my tits, my face. She gulped in air and then quickly leaned back down and lapped at the wound in my throat, sealing it closed with her vampiric saliva as her fingers brought me to another devastating climax.

We were at the absolute, dizzying height of it all, my breath mingling with hers in the dark as my body quivered and begged for more.

Then the real world crashed back through the walls.

HONK!

Because all of my senses were turned up to eleven in my hyper-aroused state, the sound was deafening, like an explosion between my temples.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONKHONKHONKHONK!!!

It was the Crown Victoria's horn.

Eleanor froze instantly, her body going rigid above me. Her fingers still inside me, she made a soft purring sound. "Your boy," she whispered.

The thick adrenaline of the passion was replaced by a cold, sickening dread. Allan wouldn't hit the horn like that unless he absolutely had to.

"Allan," I gasped, my voice trembling as the wail of the horn pierced the midnight rain.

I scrambled out from beneath her, my bare skin shivering as the room's chill hit me. I desperately wrapped my heavy leather trench coat around my naked body as I bolted for the stairs.

End of Chapter 3