Blood Dreams-Gothic Horror Story by Salty Vixen

You are about to embark on a strange journey.  A journey that will take you through time and space, from a world of pristine beauty to the horror of modern day evil, seduction and blood sacrifice.

Darklings…

Creatures of the night.  A clandestine race of immortals whom feed upon the night and the life-blood of mortals.  These ancient beings, who have existed since before the dawning of mankind, feel their time is now.

Present Day…

Tess… a somber young woman who seeks solace from the bottom of a bottle, roams the dark pre-dawn streets of Halifax.  She is drunk, a little reckless and desperately alone.

Alone—that is—until she is seduced by an unusual stranger, a vagabond, who alters her life—or what she has left of it—forever.

Now, kissed by death and plagued by the blood dreams, she is cast out into the obscure world of darklings immortals, where she seeks to find her creator and uncover the terrible secrets of a doomed race, only to become the pawn amidst an age-old bitter struggle between two rival brothers.

Seth. . . the mysteriously seductive Lord Darkness, who hungers for the day when his darkling race may rise again to dominate and enslave humankind.  But, will his own seductions resurrect in him a passion and love, like none he’s ever known?

Siris. . . the timeless wanderer, the vagabond, who remakes Tess in his own image.  His only hope is to free humankind from their impending fate and destroy his brother, once and for all.  But, as his feelings for Tess deepen, will he be able to send her and the darkling race to their extinction?

Both need Tess, desperately.  And both will attempt to manipulate her in any way they can to achieve their desired ambitions.

Tess is now confronted with a difficult challenge: to do what she feels is morally right within her soul, or to follow her reckless spirit and forlorn heart.

Each, could mean her destruction. . .  Either, could mean the end for humankind and darkling immortals alike. . .

Only time will tell. . .

***
The twilight sky lay open and angry like a deep purple bruise slashed by red wounds.  The sun slowly dipped into the horizon of black water, smoldering for a moment it seemed before being extinguished by darkness.

Tess leaned upon the rail of the Angus L. MacDonald bridge and gazed down into the inky water of Halifax Harbor.  She took a long swallow of Southern Comfort and winced at the syrupy sweetness as the warm liquid burned down her throat.  The buildings on either side of the harbor were lit from within and the windows stared like vacant eyes.  Their reflection shone upside-down upon the smooth water and Tess felt as if she’d fallen into some strange alter-universe where everything was reversed.  She knew this was only an illusion, but she was not willing to let it go just yet.  Below her, the black water moved like a huge, luminous snake, each reflection of light a glowing scale.  She wondered absently what it would be like to be swallowed whole by a snake.  A lingering suffocation.   Slowly churned and digested.  She shuddered inwardly.

God she was tired.  Just plain fucking tired of everything.  She was tired of this harsh existence that masqueraded as life; tired of scrounging for day old food in supermarket dumpsters; of laying her head at night upon the dirty, rat infested floor of some abandoned building, or in a bed of newspapers between two gravestones.  She was fed up with the struggle of merely surviving, always having to be strong enough, clever enough, tough enough.  She hated having to bum money from strangers on the street corner, or in the park in front of town hall where the business men came to eat their lunch.  She hated their pity, their revulsion, their willingness to ignore her, and their reluctance to understand.  She hated them and what they represented.  Yet, she knew no matter how much they loathed her, most would pay her to have sex with them.  She had learned this early on.  They were all pathetic hippocrates, disguising their vile natures behind the mask of propriety and social acceptance.

But, most of all she was tired of being alone.

A terrible emptiness lay like a festering sore inside of her.  She drank to fill the hungry void with intoxication, but lately it seemed, she could not gorge it enough.  Alcohol could not dull her pain and despair any longer, and the void grew ripe and ready to engulf her.  The snake was ready to swallow her whole.

Tess lit a match and cupped it against the wind to light a cigarette.

“Happy fucking eighteenth.” she said lighting the end of the cigarette as if it where a birthday candle.  She kept the flame cupped in her hand and made a wish.  Give me strength, she mouthed silently.  The wind took the match and it fell down into the darkness, disappearing from her sight before it ever hit the water.

The memory of her sweet twentieth loomed in her mind, even though she fought to keep it buried.  She had been living with foster Mom and Dad—what was it the seventeenth, eighteenth?  she’d lost count—for less than two months.  They were the model, middle-class family, nice three bedroom home, two-car garage, a stay-at-home mom who volunteered for Help-Hotline twice a week, and a nine-to-five Dad who mowed the lawn every Sunday.  Three foster daughters, all from broken, abusive homes, all in need of the love and care that they could provide.  To all outward appearances, they had a perfect, happy family.  But, at night, behind closed doors, the reality of their existence was revealed.

That night, Tess found out firsthand why Kerri whimpered late at night through the walls of her bedroom.  What she had imagined to be simple nightmares had turned out to be real life terror.

It happened one night, when she was just about asleep, and the creak of the bedroom door awoke her.  Her foster-dad, Will, entered the room and crawled into bed with Sheila.  Tess could hear Sheila whimper as Will raped her.  She heard his gruff whisper telling her to be quiet.  Tess hid her head under the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds, trying to blot out her terrible discovery, and pretended to be asleep.

The next day, Sheila avoided her, and Will acted as if it were just another day.  Well, it was for him.  This continued for several nights, with Will entering the room, forcing himself upon Sheila as she silently suffered.  Finally, one night, Tess could not take it anymore.

“Leave her alone you bastard!” Tess said through clenched teeth.

Will turned and looked straight at her, an ugly sneer on his face, the bed squeaking beneath him, and Sheila cold and stiff like a broken doll.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he slurred, “Your turn is coming soon.”

Tess was horrified.  She turned over and cowered beneath her sheets, wishing he would just go away.  Soon, his promise was fulfilled.

It was a week later, and the family was celebrating Tess’s twentieth.  It sickened her how casual and normal they seemed during the day.  Sometimes she wondered if she were only imagining it all, like living in a dream-world, except this was more like a nightmare.  But soon her fears were realized.

Will entered the small bedroom about midnight.  The hall light silhouetted his large frame, and his shadow lurched forward as if to grab her.  He had been drinking and the smell of sour whiskey filled the room.

“Sheila.” he ordered, his voice cold and even, “Go sleep with your sister tonight.”

Sheila got quickly out of bed and left the room.  Will closed the door behind her.

Tess was frozen with fear as she lay clutching the blankets up around her neck.  She stared wide-eyed at Will as he stumbled towards the bed.

“Your only twenty. . . but your my queen. . . but your the prettiest, the loveliest woman, that I’ve ever seen.”  Will sang softly, as he plunked down on the bed.

“So Tess, I’ve brought you your present tonight.  I know you’ve been waiting patiently to get it, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.  So, surprise!” he laughed, “Here I am!”

Tess cringed away from him.

“Now, now, my little teen-angel.  Don’t be afraid.  I’m only going to give you what I know, down deep inside you want.  Yes, I’ve seen the way you strut around in those tight jeans, and little titty-teaser-tops.  I bet all the boys at school just want to get inside those panties of yours, and play cunt-finger with ya, huh?”

“Leave me alone!” Tess spat.

Will ripped the sheet down away from her and pinned her arms to the bed.  Tess shrieked, and Will’s meaty hand smashed her in the mouth.

“Shut-up you little tramp.  We can do this one of two ways.” he warned, his sour breath and spittle spraying her face, “You can be a good girl and behave. . .  or I’ll hurt you so bad you’ll wish you did.  And, don’t worry.  There’s lots of ways I can hurt you without leaving a mark.”

He lifted his hand from her mouth, only to replace it quickly with his foul, pulpy mouth.  Tess tossed her head and tried to avoid him, but he grabbed her by the hair and held her head still.  Then his hand was lifting her nightgown, and spreading her thighs apart.  His other hand roughly groped her budding breasts.  He was fumbling with the zipper to his Dockers and in his drunken exuberance, caught it on the material of the pants.

“Fuck!” he spat.

As he struggled with his pants, Tess’s mind became clear with intent.  This would be her only chance.  For a split second, she almost reconsidered the action she was about to take.  But, then her hand reached out in the darkness and grasped blindly for the familiar shape of her Ringette Trophy.  She lifted it heavily, and then, without a second thought, brought it down hard on the back of Will’s skull.  It made a sickening dull thud, and Will slumped forward on top of her.

For a moment, Tess lay unmoving, strangled sobs exiting her throat, Will’s dead weight all but crushing her.  The realization of what she just had done suddenly hit her, and all she wanted to do was flee.  She didn’t know if he was dead or alive.  She didn’t care.  She just knew she had to leave now, and go far away.

She had fled that night, taking with her a duffle bag stuffed with some clothes, never looking back.  The awful memories of that night haunted her still and always would.

Tess gazed out at the lights mirrored upon the water.  They blurred from the tears that filled her eyes.  She had often tried to tell herself that this, this was better, but she knew she’d been only lying to herself.  It was still the same ugly world.  And she was still alone, a refugee of pain and emptiness and sorrow.  She had to escape.

She gulped down the last of the sweet, strong liquor and let the bottle drop to the dark depths below.  She took a deep breath and looked fiercely at the black water.  She felt the fear fluttering in her belly as she tried to gain the courage to do what she had to do.

Tess climbed over the rail and stood on the perilous edge face out, her arms clinging to the rail.  The fog had slowly rolled in from the sea.  Now it drifted lazily beneath her, beckoning.

That’s it. . .  just fall, little one, she heard it say.  Fall down, down, and I will catch you, and lay you down to sleep.  Do not be afraid.  I am waiting.   She knew these thoughts that were invading her mind were not her own.  Yet, she felt compelled to listen, to obey, as if she were in a deep trance.  One arm slipped from the rail and she jerked forward hanging dangerously from one arm.  A sudden panic seized her as she gazed down.  The fog seemed alive, calling to her, whirling with long tendrils that seemed to be reaching up to snatch her away.

This is not how I want it to end, she thought, as she pictured her bloated body washing up on shore.

“I can’t!” she screamed, tears rolling down her face.  God, she was so weak.  She swung around, gripping the rail with both hands and scrabbled back over to safety.  She sat down on the ground next to her duffle bag, her head between her knees, her fists clenched, tears of frustration rolling down her cheeks.  Her fingers wove through her long, black hair and she pulled it hard. Y et, she couldn’t seem to punish herself enough for her weakness.

Finally, she stood, gathered her heavy bag, and began to walk back towards the Halifax side of the harbor.  She felt totally numb now, emptied and drained.

High above, sitting upon the girders, the darkling watched.  The small lone figure of the woman was suddenly illuminated by a passing vehicle.  She was perfect, just what he’d long been searching for.  He had waited a long, long time to find her.

He followed her silently from above, scrabbling along the girders like a spider.   Soon, little one. . .  Soon.

***

Sunday morning.  That frail, fading time of quiet twilight.  Halifax lay desolate beneath a blanket of dank grey fog.  Slate mist lingered close, hugging the inky asphalt like a cool damp lover, whispering promises of
bittersweet lust.

Tess sauntered down the dirty narrow street, black boots scraping harshly against the naked pavement, echoing down the barren alleys.  Sewage water—dank and murky—flowed up from the open grates and flooded the gutters.  An empty chip bag floated by like the wilted sail of a child’s newspaper boat, down past rusted steel to the underworld below the city’s asphalt roof.  Down to a murky river of human waste, where rats dominated like greasy-haired pirates over their soiled treasures of used tampons, dull syringes and latex rubber condoms.

She stumbled drunkenly over a litter of beer bottles smashed in the gutter and fell to her knees.  As she pushed herself from the damp cobblestones, staggering slightly, she attempted to brush the bits of gravel and glass from her knee through torn fishnets.

Despair clenched her heart tight, making it hard to breathe.  She felt so alone; lost and so utterly alone.  It hurt too much to think of it—that terrible desperation—so she drank to fill the hungry void with
intoxication. Yet the void lay open and raw like a fresh wound, ripe to engulf her.

Tess slumped down upon the cement stoop of an old, abandoned building.  Easing back on leather-padded elbows, she stretched her long lean legs out before her.  Absently, she picked the drying scab on her knee beneath the torn fishnet, and watched as fresh blood seeped up to form a perfect crimson droplet.  Such a beautiful color.  She poked her finger into the blood and smeared it over her full lips.  Her tongue snaked out to sample the rich dark flavor.  She loved the taste of it, the thick cloying texture, the way it clung to her gums, and tingled along her taste buds.  She felt a dizzying euphoria sweep over her.

Barrington Street, once so familiar, became suddenly strange, as if she were seeing it for the first time.  She gazed at the soot-darkened buildings—buildings darkened by age; darkened by the explosion that long ago had rocked the harbor and added to Halifax’s tragic underwater graveyard of sunken ships off the coast.  History seeped out of the dark crevasses between the huge granite stones.  History?  Or was it ghosts—she couldn’t be too sure.  Halifax had so many
ghosts. . .

An eerie sensation of being watched crept inside of her like an unwanted splinter lodging deep under her skin.  She squinted up at the building across the street.  For a moment, she was sure she had glimpsed a dark silhouette behind the dirt-streaked glass.  Then it had vanished.  She laughed uneasily, yet, the feeling of being watched persisted. . .  something lurking in the shadows. . . watching her. . .  waiting. . .   A ghost?  She shuddered.

Tess hugged the reassuring weight of the biker jacket around her shoulders.  She glanced down at her knee.  Suddenly, the blood was too red.  Her vision reeled and she experienced a sweeping nausea.  She placed a cold palm on her face, trying to hold on to reality, and breathed in deeply.  Slowly the swirling colors behind her eyes faded back to grey.

God, how she craved a smoke!  She bit the loose skin from around her nail bed, studying the blood that began to seep from it, and sucked it absently from her finger.  This nervous habit often soothed her, but now it only made her hungry.

Her gaze shifted to the shadow of movement in the corner of her vision.  A dark, lean form emerged from a narrow alley.  Wraith-like it hugged the mortar and brick under the cover of dense fog.  It seemed an apparition of the mist, wavering slightly, its solidity weaving in and out of the grey gloom.  Maybe it had been a ghost.  Alarm needled the back of her neck.  A rush of adrenalin flooded through her.  Yet, underlying that was her curiosity. . . and a strange sense of relief; as if this ghost would become her salvation.

Then he materialized out of the shadows and stood physically before her.  A vagabond, not a ghost at all.  Silently, he observed her from under a loosely curling mane of hair.  Wispy strands fell down to veil observant eyes.

The vagabond approached her slowly, sensing her apprehension.  He crossed the street with long, casual strides, his boots treading confidently forward, soundless in their advance.  Long arms hung limp and skeletal from his tattered flannel sleeves.  Faded jeans boasting thread-bare knees molded to his legs and hips.

He stopped before her, poised with one hand on his hip and his pelvis thrust forward like some bohemian god.  Tilting his head to the side, he revealed the intensity of his gaze.  The corner of his full mouth raised in a lopsided smile that hinted of sarcasm.

Tess wiped the moisture from her upper lip with a shaky hand.  Okay, ghost.  She thought.  Here I am.  There is nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. . .  Except to take me away from this life, and
that I welcome.

His grin broadened sheepishly, as if he read her thoughts.  Then his icy glare fell back on her, penetrating her deeply, exposing her, and she shivered.  His eyes were like glaciers, deep and ancient.  They seemed wise beyond his years.  And something about them made them appear unnatural within his smooth, boyish face.  His eyes were like that of someone who had seen too much. . . felt too much pain. . . known too much sorrow.  They were just as she imagined hers often looked—just like how she imagined a ghost’s would be.  Perhaps they both had the souls of past sorrow.  Yet, he was real—flesh and blood standing before her. . .  If not a ghost, then what?

Shifting his hips, he placed his boot on the stoop beside her and leaned close, engulfing her in shadow.  She caught his sweet, musky scent, like a unique brand, like wine, blood and sweat. Ghosts didn’t sweat.  He was close now.  Tess felt the chill that emanated from him like a cold, dark tomb.

The vagabond pulled a slim joint out of his pocket and smiled at her knowingly.  It was cleverly rolled, like a tiny present, the length smooth and straight, the ends neatly folded.  He held it up like it was a magical
talisman, and searched her eyes silently asking for a light.

Tess fumbled for her wooden matches with awkward fingers.  The match struck once, twice—increasing her expectation to panic—then burst forth a blue spark.  She watched the flame sizzle a bit, as if time had slowed, and crawl up the sulphur tip to explode into a cool yellow flame.  His tongue snaked out to wet his lips as she offered up the match, her cuticle still raw with blood.

He cupped the red ember in his hands and inhaled the pungent smoke, holding it for a moment before releasing it in slow rings that circled her head.  The aroma was intoxicating; the marijuana mingling with his distinct male essence.

You are mine, Tess.   She had heard the thought clearly, like a hypnotic whisper in her mind, yet his lips had never formed the words.

She swayed.  The moist heat of desire flooded between her legs.  She pressed her thighs together, aware that his gaze had suddenly focused there, as if he could smell her essence.  His gaze lingered uncomfortably, even as her blood began to race in her veins.  She could feel his desire as he looked at her, and any apprehension she had felt before quickly vanished.

Tess was drawn to him; yet it was unlike any craving she had ever felt before.  Never had she been so aware of her own sexuality.  She yearned to touch him, to taste his lips, to feel him filling her.  It made her feel vulnerable and reckless, but at the same time she knew she would not be harmed.  She was aware that she felt no fear now, even though she knew she should.  But, something about him made her feel wanted and safe.  There was something so deeply intimate that had passed between them, something only they could share.  He was like an opium dream.

He pressed the joint to her lips.  Eagerly, she sucked the wet tip and felt the warmth of the drug float through her.  She closed her eyes, her sooty lashes fanning her cheeks like dark shadows.  As she inhaled the pungent smoke, her mind clouded with a dizzying euphoria pushing a lazy drum of blood through her temples, in a marijuana haze.

She felt his hesitant fingers brush the hair back from her face, then slowly outline her brow, her cheek, her lips.  As he drew away, her mouth quivered and a small, silent gasp escaped her throat.

His hand enfolded hers in a cool embrace, that was both strong and gentle.  He pulled her towards him and led her down the shaded alley behind the abandoned building.

The back of the structure lay in ruin with faded brick and grey mortar crumbling loosely from the walls.  Draped high above them, a corroded fire escape hung perilously, threatening to unhinge itself and come crashing down.  A steady ooze of dark water crept down the wall from broken eves, staining a long rust smear like dried blood upon the brick.

The vagabond pressed Tess back against the cold stone, the weight of his body firm against the length of her.  He urged her jacket from her shoulders and wove his fingers through her silky hair, his palm gently
cupping the back of her head.  He smiled down at her.  This close, his eyes didn’t seem so remote, so cold, and as she gazed into them she felt as if she were falling deep into his soul.  He bent his head slowly, his mouth gently brushing the soft fine hairs on her earlobe.  Tiny electrodes of excitement sizzled through her.

Tess tugged the loose brown curls that fell against her face, pulling him close.  His hair smelled sweet and fresh—not like a street person who couldn’t afford a shower—not like the street-waif goth-boyz she was used to.  He was all man.  His smell, his touch, his body close to hers made her forget all about her short, if unsavory past attempts to find love.

His lips were soft against her neck, his tongue moving in slow, wet circles.  God, how she craved to taste his kiss.  As if reading her mind, he pressed his mouth firm against hers.  A gasp escaped with the parting of her lips as his smooth tongue probed her soft mouth.  His kiss was dark and bitter-sweet.

Tess arched up against him, as his tongue traced a lingering path down the pulse of her neck.  His teeth scraping faintly over the flesh.  Beneath, she felt her pulse jolt.  The bold caress stirred a renewed sensation of fearful anticipation.  If not a ghost, then what?  Yet, she no longer cared, or, perhaps more truthfully, she really hoped for the worst.  She wanted him to take her—all of her—even her life.  The romantic image of her death made her cling to him more desperately.  A corpse could not feel pain.

She moaned at the feel of his palm pressing against her crotch, rubbing, teasing, then with a savage fury he tore open the crotch of her hose.  The cool air was a shock to her bared flesh.  He guided her hand down to his erection, and Tess fumbled clumsily with his zipper.  Oh God, but he was hard—like a stone serpent.

He grasped her fleshy buttocks and lifted her easily, impaling her on the smooth hard length of his cock.  Tess stiffened, but as be began to rotate his hips, plunging deeper, deeper, she cried between clenched teeth,  “O. . . yes. . .  harder. . .”

They ground together frantically.  Each time he slammed into her, the breath was forcefully knocked out of her lungs.  The back of her skull knocked back onto the bricks with a dizzying intensity, yet she was oblivious to it.  His supporting hands cradled her ass cheeks, long fingers meeting in the hot wet crevice of her pussy lips as he spread them apart.

The vagabond lowered his mouth to the swell of her breast to taste her salty flesh.  His growl deepened into a savage rumble that vibrated through her. His sharp teeth pierced the soft mound of flesh to the artery deep below.  At last, just as she had feared and desired, he would take her life.  Not a ghost, but a vampire!

Tess saw violent red explode behind her eyes, like the sun radiating through the thin translucent skin of her eyelids, revealing the intricate web of veins enclosed by vermilion hues; expanding, encompassing her entire being in a heated agony.  Remotely, she felt her pulse quicken, as her blood passed between his possessive lips in hot jerky spurts.  Her mind became suspended on the eclipse of intense pleasure; the darkened alley conjuring a red ocean of passion enveloping her.

Intense fullness surged within her clitoris arousing her to tormented agony as a piercing cry erupted from her.  She stiffened, then went limp, as the delicate tissue of her arousal streamed with pleasure.

The vagabond ejaculated an icy stream of come into the warmth of her womb.  Tess became paralyzed with a numbness darker than death—trapped under miles of glacial ice and eons of volcanic dust, embedded like a prehistoric fossil—trapped in time.

Her pulse slowed, beating the last seconds of her life.  An black shadow
swallowed her, shrouding her mind.  She knew death then, the bottomless abyss sucking her deep into its rapture.  It was not what she had imagined.  It was not the nothingness, the escape she had hoped for.  It was so much more.  And, yet she found the realization of this not unpleasant.  It was beautiful, glorious, beyond mortal words.  It was a feeling of total oneness with the universe.  A dark warm comforting place, like a mother’s womb.  And she could feel the pull of all matter and energy around her like tiny motes of darkness, swelling, holding her.  She did not feel alone anymore.  At long last, she felt whole.

His tongue found her cold parted lips and penetrated deep to feed her with his kiss of eternal life.

Drink my darkling.  My Tess.  His thoughts whispered to her though the tender void, as his dark ancient blood mixed with her own flowed into her mouth from the neatly pierced holes he’d made in his own tongue.  Her throat spasmed, and she swallowed the blood.  It tasted of stale cobwebs and dark earthen places that never saw the light of day.  The blood rushed into to her, pumping inside of her like the beat of a heart.  She fell out of the darkness, away from the warm embrace of death.  Yet, she brought a piece of it back with her.  She felt her body once again around her.  The blood of his knowledge fed her, and with it the natural inborn instinct of the darkling immortals.  She caught glimpses of other lives, yet they were so fleeting, so fragmented.  She hungered for more.  She drank with an insatiable blood lust that left her delirious.

Her numb flesh awoke with a mixture of pleasure and pain; bursting free of its mortal chrysalis like sharp shards of icy sensation.

“Enough, my darkling.” he whispered and gently, he pushed her away.

Tess opened her senses to a new and wonderful night, with colors exploding around her in a vibrant mosaic of light and shadow.  Her ears overflowed with a musical chaos, subsonic impulses riveting through her in waves of energy.  Virgin odors invaded her senses, leaving her desperately weak and nauseous with their onslaught.  She thought that perhaps acid had been slipped into her drink.  But, she knew that was not true.  This was not an hallucination.  The vagabond was for the moment forgotten, as she struggled to make sense of the confusion of her newly awakened mind.

She knew only the strangeness of her new inner sight, the wonder and rapture of her new existence.  It was as if she’d been only an empty shell her entire life, an empty vessel awaiting fulfillment.

The sounds of the night beckoned to her, car engines fleeting by, the soft breaths of dreamless sleep, TV’s buzzing their off-the-air drone.  These sounds swarmed her like a plague of locusts.  The air was thick and alive, smelling of salt and sea and decay.  It wrapped its wispy arms around her in suffocation.  She choked back a sob as the most profound mixture of emotions sought to overwhelm her.  Immense elation to the point of insanity. . . a deep and horrible sorrow that threatened to crush her under its weight. . . and deeper still, lurked a terrible vengeance that wished only to break free, to ravage, to destroy, to fill its dreadful hunger. . .

Yet, these feelings were fleeting and quickly evaporated with the rush of new stimuli.  If she did not emerge soon, she would die.

“Breathe!” a voice urgently called against the distance.  It was vaguely familiar, and she wanted so to heed to it.  She became suddenly aware that someone was shaking her, willing her to breathe.  She sucked in a gasp.  The air burned her lungs and tasted of static.

Tess coughed up blood, sputtering.  The comfort of strong arms embraced her, and a tender hand stroked her head.

“There, there, Tess.”  the voice crooned, “You have made the journey back from the land of the ether.  You belong to me now. . .  Always.”

Tess felt the pressure of lips upon the swell of her breast, as the tiny puncture holes began to heal, evaporating like water droplets into mist. She opened her eyes.

She saw him now, as if for the first time, so strangely handsome, the pale halo of light radiating from his face within the dark cloud of hair.  His mouth was smeared with her blood, so red, so erotic against the pale ivory flesh.  His feeder teeth were perfect miniature tusks against the pink of his gums.  Damnation! But, he was beautiful!  Had she even noticed before?

Tess looked up to the sky, her gaze piercing the fog, so that she could define the stars, magnify them, and photograph them in her mind for all time.  The sky lay open like a purple bruise, seeping with the approach of the dawn.

Together, they slid down the brick wall, coated in the fine mist of morning dew.  Tess felt the mingling of their sexual pleasure run down her inner thighs, perfuming the air with the musty scent of  blood and come.

Reluctantly, he let her go, untangling their weak limbs.  The vagabond stood.  He remained so completely still, that Tess thought he had solidified into a marble statue before her very eyes.  She could sense him probing the grey twilight—searching for what—she wasn’t sure.  The hairs rose on the back of her neck.

He turned then, becoming animated once more.  He lit a cigarette and inhaled, savoring the flavor, then passed it to her lips.  His eyes were filled with a deep sadness as he watched her.  She knew then that he was leaving her.  A terrible ache of abandonment filled her with panic.

“I must leave you now, my darkling angel,” he whispered through slightly parted lips as he brushed a tear from her cheek with soft fingertips.  “Tess, you must be strong.  There are things that only you can learn now, things I can not help you with. . .  You must see with your own eyes, and you must know these things as one who has experienced them. . . But, I swear to you. . .  I will come for you. . . when you are ready.”

“But wait!” Tess began, but her protest was cut off by his look.

“You must trust me Tess.  Believe me when I say, my love is yours for all eternity.  You are my darkling angel.  We will meet again, but I must go now.  Staying will only bring you danger.  And, already, I have tarried long enough.”

“But, when—when will I see you again?” she whispered hoarsely.

Soon.

***

The sky behind him began to blush with the approaching dawn.  Tess watched as he turned away and retreated, back into the shadows of darkness like the night creature he was.  He faded back into the fog, his boot heels crunching on the loose gravel the only sound of his passing.  Then silence.

The golden orb of daylight rose slow and steady over the decaying landscape of soot-blackened buildings; tangerine rays burning idle holes through the shifting sway of morning mist.  With it, rose the excited chirping of sparrows, fluttering out from their roosts in the overhangs.  Seagulls began to circle overhead as far as the horizon of ocean and sky.

Tess imagined the aged stone structures crumbling down around her, freeing the dust of an earlier century to blanket the air—setting the ghosts free at last!  She gulped the first salty breath of morning.

A shaft of sunlight filtered down into the alley, where she stood, striking her in the face like a physical blow.  The hot white pain seared through her, as she thrust her hands up to shield her face.

She instinctively leapt out of it’s scorching path, and landed at the top of the unstable fire escape.  She broke the rusted lock quickly and opened the steel door, sliding into the abandoned building as it closed behind her.

Tess skipped over the mottled patches of sunlight on the bare wooden floor as it streamed through the cracks of boarded-up windows.  She plunged downwards into the bowels of the decrepit structure.  Into the damp, murky cellar she fled, where a foundation of stone and earth awaited.  Light was unable to invade the crumbling stillness of this dark tomb, yet Tess found she could see easily with her keen, new vision.  To the far side a slanting ridge of rock and dirt crumbled down from decaying walls.

Tess went towards it, then dug into the moist ground.  She was soon buried beneath the cool forgiving soil.  At once, a lethargic slumber overcame her, the sleep of  the dead, and with it, the dawning of the Blood Dreams. 

***