Anniversary

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A short encounter between two vampires.
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phalcomb
phalcomb
1 Followers

The candles burned brightly over the heavily laden table. The small rooms that they took as their own were filled with the smoke of incense and warm still from day's long embrace. Tonight was a special night, a time of remembrance and of purpose. Every year, on this night, the same ritual occurred. They had been together as family for so long now. Father and daughter, mentor and student... the list of relationships they had shared over the years was long but always intimate. Tonight was the 40th anniversary of their meeting. The night that would be their last together in their quiet little home.

Jacques was dressed finely in his suit and tie... the collar fastened tight around his throat. On this night especially, he liked the appearance of true nobility to be upheld. He had painstakingly pressed and folded his handkerchief, tied the tie in a perfect knot. His shirt was crisp and black, without even the hint of the age that it displayed. He wished he'd thought to save and preserve the shirt he'd worn that first night, but it had been lost years ago.

Cecile was dressed as well in her fine clothes. Tonight, she had chosen a white ankle length dress, simple but regal looking on her forms. Her hair was tied back in a complicated knot, done by a local hairdresser who happened to be a devotee of theirs. It had taken three hours to get the hair just right... trying both the stylists skill and Cecile's own patience in the process. But she would let nothing stand in the way of impressing her Papa on this most special of nights.

As was their tradition, a local devotee was there with them as well. The lady was dressed in less finery than either of them. They had explained to her that tonight would be a special ritual. Tonight they worshipped their ancestors, who lay beyond the crossroads of life and death. Jacques had explained to her that she was to help prepare the meal and then join them in the celebration.

Such explanation was hardly necessary however. The faint scar on their companion's neck held testament to the fact that she had been involved in this dance before. In fact their 'servant' Marie Louise had played this same role in the last three years of their celebration. She alone among their Circle of devotees understood what both Jacques and Cecile were. She knew that she could trust them both with her life, as she did every year at this time. It was a sacrament and testament to her loyalty that they allowed her this close.

The meal progressed in regal fashion. Glasses and plates filled with food were placed in front of each participant. Both Jacques and Cecile sat looking at their companion, watching her savor the flavors of the dishes. All the food was chosen for both its taste and its sensual qualities. Fresh fruits and breads from the local bakery. Scallops cooked in a light wine sauce. Fresh salad filled with the green growing things of the bayous around their small haven. All these foods and more were indulged in by Marie, who knew that the enjoyment of the meal itself was just as important as the companionship they shared.

When the meal was nearing its end, a bottle of wine was taken from its place of storage. This wine was hard to find, getting harder every year. It was a 1969 Beaune Clos des Mouches by Joseph Drouhin, a fine red wine that had held some acclaim in the mid 1970s. Jacques had chosen it for this ritual because of its French origins and the fact that their first 'companion' together had preferred the taste to the others available. Marie savored the flavor of this most sapid drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol make her cheeks flush. While she finished her second glass, the three talked of the coming day and the journey they would undertake. Marie knew it would likely be the last time she would celebrate this night with them and wanted to make it as special as possible.

Jacques rose from his chair and stepped to the side of Marie in one smooth motion. He assisted her in standing and then led her into the bedroom that served as Cecile's place of rest. More candles burned here as well, and the bed was sprinkled with Florida water and saffron. On the bedside table sat a blade, long and sharp, worn clean and shiny from years of use. He placed Marie on the bed and knelt before her like a timid young man about to propose marriage. Taking her hand, he pulled up the sleeve of her simple dress to expose the flesh of her arm.

Two small scars ran some distance down her forearm near her wrist. Each was well healed, having received good treatment and loving care after the fact. Jacques reached for the blade on the bedside table and began to gently run the point up and down her arm. The skin stood at attention where it passed. Marie was so used to this by now that she only really felt anticipation and not fear. The first cut was over before she even realized it, pain filling her body with a longing for Jacques' loving Kiss. They both heard Cecile gasp slightly behind them as the mystically charged blade gave her some of Marie's life blood in the process of opening her like a ripe fruit. It helped to quench the thirst of Jacques beautiful daughter and helped control the hunger that they both felt at that moment.

Jacques lips and tongue traced lines around the bleeding temple that was his servant's wrist. The sacrament had almost leaked out onto the bed clothes when his tongue finally caught the first drops. His lips enveloped her fine dark skin, the fangs in his mouth barely piercing the flesh around the sacrificial wound. He had enough contact so that she felt the pleasure of his Kiss, but not enough that she would be mortally wounded by his teeth. As he drank slowly, the scents of the room changed dramatically as Marie's own perfume was added to the mix of incense and potions spread before them. Her arousal was not only evident in the scent of her body but also in the sounds from her throat. Moans escaped her as she began to quiver under Jacques touch.

Careful not to take too much, not to hurt this beautiful creature who gave her life so willingly to her Houngon. Jacques eased her back on the bed and wrapped her arm in a bandage of fine cotton. His deft fingers tying off the wound to insure that Marie would be safe until their return. Now, sated and filled with the life of his servant, Jacques eyes turned to the eager face of his most beautiful mon petit. He always found it amazing how, after years without needing to breathe, Cecile's breath still subconsciously came faster when she watched him feed like this. He could not help being aroused himself when she reached out her hand to him and beckoned him to follow her to his own bed chamber.

"Come Papa, come show me that you still remember the price you paid for your friendship.", she cooed to him in her soft voice.

"Ma chere, must you always make your pleasure and life sound like such a burden on me?" Jacques said with slight exasperation. "You and I aren't truly father and Childe, but you have made me happier than any other person ever could."

Long years together made the need for speaking unnecessary to them. Cecile led them into the room with the long double bed that they so often shared. This room, unlike the others in the house, was not lit by anything. Even the moon was hiding tonight, her dark face invisible to the naked eye and cloaked just as the two were. Jacques brought Cecile up short and turned her to face him. This, too, was long and ago a ritual that they had begun to follow. Each movement had become almost like clockwork, an old familiar dance. Tonight, however, they both knew that things would be different.

Cecile, the mask of civility, the vision of loveliness, for one brief moment held in her eye the look of a feral predator. In nights past, she would have carefully unbuttoned the shirt, untied the tie but not tonight. Jacques had just enough time to steel his flesh before he was thrown by his little girl the five feet across the room to the bed. She must have been using what little blood she had to make herself strong for that throw. As he moved to protest, she placed a finger on his lips and straddled him as he attempted to stand from the bed.

"Papa... please. I want you to take me. I want you to make me feel for one moment like he did the night before we met."

Jacques was about to protest but then a scent reached his nostrils. The scent should not have made him hunger like he did, and in truth it would not if it had been human blood he smelled. Cecile must have used her blood to quicken more than her strength he thought as her warm, deliciously wet body slid naked against his pants. He could smell many things in her blood... the nights they had spent together. The flavor of her last meals. The sorrow and longing that was contained within it. He could even get a small hint, a fleeting echo of a forgotten memory. The scent of Pomet, his friend and his lover. That last realization was all it took to completely break through the bonds of his self control. Knowing he would hate himself tomorrow for losing control tonight, he gave into the beast that raged within him.

Normally when one of their kind was enraged, it was a sight to behold and a terror for any who got too close. But sometimes, with a bond as deep as the two shared, the beasts of their souls could be coaxed to the surface without attempting to fight and dominate one another. They could work in unison, as they did now, to shred clothing and not flesh. The sound of ripping fabric and the scent of blood filled the air even more fully as his own body responded to his mental command, wiling blood into things that had not been engorged in many long decades.

As the last shreds of fabric left his beautiful little girl's body, Jacques felt his beast growl inside his head at the vision before him. Her beautiful breasts were small, not over large but round and full. The use of her blood to arouse her womanhood had also done some other little things, returning the blush of the living to her form. Her skin was still paler than normal, but its colors were rich and dark, light and beautiful. Her nipples stood erect, another side effect of the desires she had stoked in her body.

Jacques trousers were not so much unfastened by this beautiful beast as they were torn and ripped. She felt his engorged body under her and could not help but stroke it gently with her hand. The scent of blood coming from the tip made her body long to latch onto it with her delicate fangs. She fought the urge to feed and slid up to take care of other desires. He slipped inside her blood drenched body and was consumed to the hilt by the thrust that followed. She was such a remarkable sight to him there, straddling his body.

Cecile's body looked tight, strung like a fiddle string turned twice too much. She could barely control herself enough to make love to Jacques like she truly wanted to. On this night, if on no other, she wanted to feel as if she was being made love to. By the man who had become her father when her 'real' father had abandoned her in youth and then her father in darkness had abandoned her as well. She wanted this man who truly loved her more than anyone else in the world. And she wanted him to know that tonight, of all nights she loved him too.

The feeling of control slowly waned as their bodies continued this primal sanguine dance. Many of the Kindred did not realize the depth of feeling that could be revived in the body when it was quickened with the blood. Each movement was like a note in a symphony that rang out clear and bright. The touch of his fingers bringing a melody to her lips. The enveloping warm depths of her body calling him like a favorite hymn. The sacrament they shared going on for minutes or hours unknowable as their minds were lost to the pleasure of each other.

As feelings built in each of them, it was Cecile who first crossed the final, unspoken boundary of their most holy night together. Leaning forward, she set her soft lips upon Jacques mouth, the tip of her tongue gently tracing a line between them, parting them gently. She kissed him deeply and fully, feeling him shudder slightly as the edge of her sharp teeth nipped his tongue as it danced with hers. She trailed small, blood tinged kisses down his face, moving across his neck to settle herself against his shoulder. For one small moment, all movement and activity stopped as small tears of blood welled up in her eyes.

"Papa, please promise to never leave me. Promise to protect me and guide me always as you have", she whispered in a voice almost childlike in its innocence and sincerity. Her lips quivered against the skin of his shoulder as a single blood tear dripped onto his skin.

"Le sang est la vie, mon cher. Just as your blood flows in my veins does my blood flow in yours", Jacques said, lowering his mouth to her own shoulder as well, "Though I was not fated to bring you into the life we now share, I was gifted by all that is holy when I took you in."

Almost as one body, fangs entered into flesh. The feeling of pleasure from their lovemaking was taken to new plateaus by the sharing of their vitae, their life. Like the ourobours, forever consuming to make it whole, no end could be found to the circle they had become. One life given while another was taken, again and again, each drink building the passion between them into a furious storm. The shuddering of their bodies together as their climax built was not only one of the flesh but of the soul.

As one their bodies locked together in a tight, rigid embrace as the orgasm overtook first one then the other, as if its flooding pleasure was carried through the blood. The senses were filled to bursting as both her mouth and her womanhood was given sacrament with his deep, rich powerful blood. For one single moment, this raging climax to their evening filled everything in their universe. Then as quickly as it had come, the feelings began to mute again. Their muscles began to lose the steel cable tension that had developed at the height of the orgasm. Gently the fangs were withdrawn from flesh as Jacques cradled Cecile in his arms.

During that moment, Jacques realized that he loved Cecile. He did not just love the idea of her, or the idea that she was his lost love brought back from the other side. He loved her, the woman lying here in his arms. Now, more than ever, he felt the weight of the task that they were about to undertake pressing down on his soul. Thoughts bubbled to the surface of his mind unbidden, a flood of emotions that he was unable to quell in his current condition.

What would happen when they found Pomet? What would happen if she should look upon her Sire's eyes and realize how hopelessly and madly in love with him she still was? Would he be forced to let go the only thing in his life that truly gave it meaning? And if that were the case, would he survive the loss?

"My love?" Cecile said, noticing his dark expression.

"It is nothing, mon petit. Just a memory of a thought of a tragedy." he responded to her concerned look. "Sleep now, ma chere. Tomorrow we begin our long journey. We'll need all our strength and a bit of luck too. But I swear I will help you find what you seek."

phalcomb
phalcomb
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