Vampire

While I wait for Hannibal to start …


Title: Faizel 02
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: vampire, supernatural, dark, mm
A/N: This is how I started this monster. I’m not sure if I want to leave this as the beginning, or insert a different scene. I’m not sure. Thoughts?

Sometimes Ewing wondered if they had invited a devil into their midst. Because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Charlemagne was possessed. And the devil was named Faizel. Charlemagne’s darling love. The mysterious vampire that had appeared from nowhere to steal Charlemagne’s heart and rearrange the natural order of the world.

Ewing personally thought of Faizel as a booty call gone wrong, though he would never say it aloud. He valued his life too much.

Charlemagne wanted to keep Faizel secret, and Ewing was willing to go along with it. Because honestly, how could he even explain someone like Faizel? The guy scared the ever living fuck out of him, and that was no lie.

“Are you certain this is how you want to do things?” Deacon asked in her “I’m a complete hard as nails Law Officer” voice.

Ewing fought to keep still where he knelt on the hardwood floor along with the other low level vampires. It was pretty boring, but he wasn’t one to battle the status quo. He didn’t want to get tortured and killed.

Isadore had been summoned by Prince Lucian, which meant they’d been forced to accompany her to display her level of awesome to the rest of the Lords and Ladies. They were each showing off how powerful and bad ass they were, which meant uncomfortable outfits and unnatural poses for their followers.

It was a relief to look across the banquet hall and see the other retinues; some of those guys had it really rough. Ewing didn’t even want to think about what was up with the guy with the weird metal clamps on his face or the chick with the fish hooks through her nipples. All he had to do was wear old fashioned clothes and serve imaginary tea; that didn’t seem so bad in comparison to what those other schlubs had to put up with.

Seeing that everyone was focused on the drama unfolding in the middle of the room, he risked stretching his back and cracking his neck before getting back to his frozen position. He even dared to lick his dry lips a minute later.

Back when he’d been human he’d fantasized about what it would be like when he was Turned. He’d imagined lounging around wearing cool clothes. He’d imagined driving fancy cars and owning the city and everyone in it. Instead, he dressed like a complete hose-bag and catered to a woman that made his testicles shrivel. She was hot, with long waves of inky black hair and eyes that seemed to have been permanently rimmed with heavy black kohl. She was also hardcore pathetic, though she expected them to do whatever she wanted.

He’d thought being a vampire would mean freedom. Instead he’d been forced into the life of some old lady’s permanent bitch-boy. His place in the Hierarchy was so low he didn’t even get to sit in a chair–he spent his time kneeling with his palms to the floor.

He wasn’t jealous of Charlemagne’s higher rank though. That guy was in a much worse position: he actually had to sleep with the old broad whenever she wanted. Isadore was sexy, but Ewing had no desire for her. Which was probably the reason why he was kneeling on the floor rather than standing behind her throne-chair all mannequin-faced like Charlemagne was doing.

Stuff was getting loud and there were angry words being said. Law Officer Jenny Deacon was looking for some missing girl and she’d requested that Prince Lucian gather all the master vampires in the city so she could question them. She seemed to think the girl was in an Enclave somewhere, and of course all the vampires knew which one because none of them could keep a secret.

Ewing had never realized Deacon was so arrogant. Storming the Prince’s Citadel and demanding answers as though Lucian were a peasant. She was lucky Prince Lucian had the hots for her, because Law Officer or not, he would have torn her apart if she were anyone else; Ewing had heard the stories. But she was so raw to the job that she probably thought she could take on a Prince.

Charlemagne thought she was an idiot, and Ewing couldn’t help agreeing.

Ewing risked a peek, and there that expression was on Charlemagne’s face. He had to muffle a snort. Most people would have thought Charlemagne’s face was blank, but Ewing knew the guy better. There was an extra bit of arch to Charlemagne’s brows and a barely smoldering flame in the back of his eyes. He was holding back a sneer through sheer force of will.

Charlemagne played his role perfectly, but Ewing knew how much he hated to have his time wasted. He had to put up with it from Isadore, but Deacon was only human. Charlemagne would never be indecorous enough to step out of line in public, but Ewing could tell he wanted to.

From the minute he Woke for the first time as a lesser vampire, Ewing had known the best he could hope for was being a master’s lackey. His place in the Hierarchy had been set by his biology and there was nothing he could do to change it. Charlemagne though, he was one of the lucky ones. He was of the master class and Ewing had never seen him hit his limit. He was strong enough that Ewing wondered why he took orders from some masters that were obviously inferior. Yet Charlemagne would just bow his head and do as he was told. It was weird.

There was a loud crash and a load of screeching and Ewing found himself caught up in the show. The boring posturing was over and it was time for some action. He was reluctantly entertained.

The nobles had broken up into various cliques encircling the room, leaving the main floor open. The first time Ewing had seen it happen, he’d felt like he was back in high school being herded into the gym.

Isadore was next to Felix, as he was her Patron. They were seated on large throne chairs with their personal entourages around them. The lower level vampires were at parade rest in bunches around the thrones. Ewing was supposed to keep his head facing forward, but that didn’t keep his eyes from moving. He just had to be careful not to catch the eye of any of his “betters.” He wasn’t fond of being punished.

Deacon was standing facing Prince Lucian with one gloved hand knotted in the hair of a vampire man, her gun pointed at the side of his head. “Are you gonna try anything stupid when I pop this guy?”

There was an amused lift to Prince Lucian’s lips. “You may do as you wish. You are the Law. It is your job to punish him, is it not?”

“Good. As long as you remember that, I won’t have to come for you next time.” There was a slight ripple of outrage through the room; she had dared threaten their Prince.

Lucian’s laughter was a rich, touchable thing. “You are bold,” he said, like it was a good thing and not something that regularly got people killed. Ewing wondered if Deacon knew how much the Prince indulged her and how rare that was. Probably not. People like Deacon usually took adoration as their due.

“You are bold, Jenny Deacon, like a well-honed blade.” Prince Lucian waved his hand. “Take him as you like, my gift to you.”

Her snort of derision wasn’t exactly subtle, but Ewing didn’t think she cared. She had been disrespectful before and the Prince had never said anything about it, so now she acted as though it were her due.

That was a stupid kind of ballsy right there, but from what little Ewing knew of Jenny Deacon, she wasn’t the kind of person to ever back down. She was the lunge-lunge-lunge forward kind of woman that always thought she was going to come out safe on the other side. She didn’t realize she was jamming herself headfirst into a meat grinder, and Prince Lucian controlled the crank.

“Who’s that guy?” Ewing asked out of the corner of his mouth. He’d never seen that vampire before in his life, and he’d made it his business to know anyone even the least bit important.

“No idea,” Paris said. He was a tall redhead with dark bronze skin that looked like he was covered by one giant freckle. He could be a funny guy, but there were shadows in his blue eyes that spoke of the kind of life Ewing didn’t even want to think about.

Paris had belonged to several different masters before he’d found himself in Isadore’s control. He’d even said it before, that he didn’t mind her as a master because things could be so much worse. The look in his eyes had made Ewing understand more about where he was coming from than he was ready for.

“Glad you’re not going to stop me,” Deacon said, and pulled the trigger.

There was a dull pop and the splash of shattered brain and bone being sent across the marble floor. The vampire she held didn’t even have time to realize what was happening before he was dead.

“Well, that certainly was very … messy,” Prince Lucian said, completely unbothered by the death of a vampire he didn’t even know. “Are you happy to have gotten that out of your system?”

Deacon’s smile was shark-like. “It felt good.”

“Ah, and did you get what you wanted? Did you somehow figure out where the girl you’re looking for is, before you killed him?” Prince Lucian sounded amused. He was sitting on his throne with his legs crossed. The cut of his trousers made his legs look about three miles long. He had neatly trimmed golden blond hair and an intelligent looking face, though there were depths to his hazel eyes that showed his age.

“I’ll find the girl,” Deacon promised. She turned an accusing stare toward the other nobles. “If you know anything, you’re better off telling me where she is now. I wouldn’t want to have to cut my way through to the truth of the matter.”

“Well,” the Prince clapped his hands, “I hope you have fun finding your truth.”

“This is going to be messy,” Paris said, low-voiced.

Ewing jerked a quick nod. “Might be a great time to take a vacation somewhere far away.”

Paris snorted. “A woman like that would chase you across the world.”

Watching Deacon threaten a whole room full of vampires, Ewing had to admit that Paris was probably right. There was no hole deep enough to hide from her vampire slaughtering ass–she enjoyed her job way too much.

“Do you think we’re going to be here much longer?” he asked.

“Why don’t the two of you shut the hell up?” Gladys whispered. She’d been Turned in the 1940s, and though she was smoking hot, her name was still very retro. “I don’t want to have to stand around while you get your asses reamed out by the Mistress. I’ve got plans for later.”

Ewing pressed his lips tight together and Paris jerked his back straight where it had begun to sag at the shoulders. Neither one of them wanted to end up on the receiving end of a bunch of bad feelings.

It was one of the worst things about Isadore’s idea of punishment. It felt like being trapped in his crotchety grandma’s house, standing in a line with his sisters and cousins as one of their number was yelled at while they were forced to listen to the crazy. Isadore didn’t get quite as frothy at the mouth as Grandma Hillary Robinson, but that didn’t mean a whole lot when the discomfort was about the same. Getting lectured at was bad enough, but afterward there was the ragging from the other minions. Depending on the seriousness of the misdeed and the amount of time lost, there could be weeks of hard feelings.

Embarrassing Isadore in front of the other nobles was the kind of screw up where he would be better off running for the hills because it would be a never ending torment. It was better to just behave until they could finally get out of here.

Ewing glanced toward Charlemagne and caught him subtly checking his watch. He wanted to get out of here as much if not more than the rest of them, as Faizel was waiting for him at the secret apartment for their regularly scheduled booty call.

There was no trace of impatience on Charlemagne’s face, he was just as blank as always, but Ewing knew the guy was probably counting down the seconds until he could flee the scene and get back to his little love nest and the psychopathic killer waiting inside.

Faizel made Ewing’s skin creep, but Charlemagne loved the guy to a terrifying degree. It was hard to tell how far Charlemagne was willing to go, but Ewing had a fear that it was all the way.

Ewing winced and held back a yelp as a lash of pain shot through his nerves. He forced himself not to move, to hold himself completely still and put a look of attention on his face. Desmond would give him another nerve lash if he made a wrong gesture, and no one else in the room would see anything happen.

That was the thing about vampire life that he didn’t think he was ever going to get used to, the fact that everything was about appearances. It was all posturing and looking good in front of crowds. It was like dealing with the worst parts of high school and not having a graduation day to look forward to.

The guys in the trenches with him were trying to keep their heads down and not make waves, while the higher ups were clawing their way up the ladder, all desperate to be at the top. He’d learned to meld into the background and keep his mouth shut unless he was asked a question. And he was grateful not to belong to some of the other masters.

He’d asked Tamlin if he’d wanted to have a spike implanted in the head of his dick. The guy’s response had involved the words “fuck” and “no,” and Ewing had walked away with the knowledge that if he was ever traded to another master, there was no way he wanted that master to be Benton Lamoux. The sick fuck.

Isadore was more annoying than anything else and he was happy to stay off her radar as just another nameless minion. He was available for fetching and carrying, but it was nice not having to worry that she was going to call him up for sex and violence.

Being called in to face all the other minions and their masters put his life in perspective. His worst nights didn’t involve even a quarter of the horror that some of these guys faced every minute. The body mods alone were nightmare inducing.

He zoned out on Jenny Deacon smacking around a female vampire he’d never seen before. As a method of intimidation it didn’t do much for him, and all he felt was annoyance that his time was being wasted.

I can’t wait to get out of here
, he thought. This is awful. And afterward the Mistress is going to want to “Discuss her feelings” for another two hours. Ugh.

/EXCERPT

Faizel 02 at Amazon

For some reason I can’t log in to my LiveJournal with Semagic. I’m hoping LJ is down. I would lose my mind if I couldn’t use my Semagic to post to LJ.

Anyways, here’s two things by me:
Allen the Alien
Harsh Buzz

*

Watching the episode of Futurama where Fry is basically ET to Lrrr’s son’s Eliot. This show always gets me thinking and is like total inspiration fuel.

Now my mind is filled with the idea of a human lost on an alien world being taken is as a pet for a Predator-type alien. Even though the alien–Allen–is from a culture that totally lives in harshness every day of the week, he believes that he needs to take care of his human properly. Which means lush comfort, gourmet food, baths, tummy rubs, just a thoroughly pleasure-filled life. Allen even takes his human to a swap, where unbonded humans are gathered together for Owners to look at. Allen brings his human and they walk around to find a proper mate for the human.

It’s kind of like a dog park with stalls set up along the fences. All kinds of things are sold there, from humans to smaller pets like dogs, cats, turtles, etc. (Maybe the aliens have conquered Earth and every creature is their pet?)

Allen could see the way Gerston tugged at the collar with his forepaws and gave him a warning swat on the back. One sky blue eye rolled toward him balefully, but Gerston had quickly learned how to behave. “There will be none of that, good sir,” Allen said sternly.

Gerston made a whining sound of unhappiness and Allen huffed a laugh. “Now now. We’re here to pick you up a treat. There’s no reason to act so rudely to me.” Allen tugged the leash and Gerston was quick to go to heel, following along in Allen’s footstep as they traversed the animal park toward the human enclosure.

As they got closer, Gerston jerked to attention when he saw where they were going, all the humans gathered within the fence. He made an excited sound, like amazement and laughter and a bit of fear.

“Don’t worry now,” Allen said. “I’m not going to replace you. We’re just here to get you a friend.”

He led Gerston to the fence and they walked along it, examining the humans inside. There were at least twenty of them huddled in groups around the enclosure, some of them rather humorously covering their exposed genitals. There was no clothing before a human was purchased and registered; it made it easier to differentiate the males from the females and there was no way the seller could hide any health concerns.

Suddenly one of the humans barked high and excited and ran to the fence, nearly touching the forcefield, which crackled warningly. He was a larger than normal human with black hair on his head and face and between his legs, his skin a deep brown color marred by a silvery scar across his abdomen. Still, he was a handsome looking beast.

Gerston made an excited yip and tugged at Allen, rolling his eyes so pleadingly that Allen huffed a laugh and took him closer to the fence. He got to watch Gerston and the other male eye each up, yelping and barking and waving their forepaws at each other. It was oddly delightful.

“So this is the one you want, is he?” Allen looked around until he caught the eye of the stall manager and clapped his hands to catch his attention. The man hurried over with a jangle of keys, a clipboard in his hand. “I want that one.” Allen pointed at the male human Gerston seemed so taken with.

“Oh, sir, I don’t think that one would be right for you at all. He’s a rough sort and you seem to be a rather delicate fellow.”

Allen could see the way the other man looked at him, the judgment being made behind those slit yellow eyes, and he grit his teeth and took it. He knew how he looked; most times it pleased him to be admired, but Traditionals had a tendency to look at him as though he was shit beneath their heel. From the gelled back sweep of his blue-black mane to his bespoke suit jacket, vest, and trousers, he was a Modernist to the core. Wealthy, handsome, of noble birth, but troubled to be a gadfly, most likely a disappointment to his family and a black sheep amongst his old school friends.

He straightened his spine and stared down his nose at the man.–How dare such a vermin judge him?–“I will take the black topped one. Arrange the paperwork. I don’t have all day.” At the rolling sound of his vowels and pheromone rush of Command, the creature hastened to obey.

Allen didn’t like to Dominate those lesser than him. He wanted to believe in the freedom of everyone, no matter how unlikely, but there were some times when he simply couldn’t take it anymore. His natural inclination was to own every situation he was in and that included anyone of lesser birth–he was a noble–and when he could no longer suppress his nature that’s what he reverted to: the noble child of ten thousand generations of noble children. There were very few Lessers born into his family line, and that had become a mark of pride for his Genome.

Watching the man rush around at his command, Allen couldn’t help savoring the thrill of power, though he wished more than anything to feel bad about it. And that’s what he always felt bad for instead, the fact that he had no conscience of his own. He was as amoral and terrible as his mother.

I will do better, I promise, he thought.

He looked down at Gerston, his faithful pet, and reached out to stroke the human’s head, letting the long auburn locks flow between his fingers, black fur mixing with human hair. It was his desire to be a better person that had brought him to the decision of getting his own human. He’d never been one for pets before, but the books all suggested the company of an at least Level Three organism to promote a healthy mental state and nurture a compassion toward weaker beings. He hadn’t believed it could possibly work, but he’d developed a fondness for Gerston that brinked closely to being love.

“Oh look, here comes your friend,” Allen said. Standing with Gerston at his side, he watched as the stall manager walked his new human to him on a plain brown leash. The human had been dressed in a loose black smock and slippers. He walked with his head up and his shoulders back, brown eyes looking around interestedly.

Allen smiled. His new human was beautiful, muscular and healthy with glossy black hair. He would be the perfect complement to Gerston, who was slender and delicate boned; everyone would admire Allen when he took his humans for a walk.

*

RAW FEED: Harsh Buzz [vampire, mm]
Author: Harper Kingsley
Rating: mature

There was something to be said about that moment between Waking and Sleep when it felt as though the world was rushing back into his lungs. The word he might use is “Disappointing.”

To feel life take over his dreaming mind and slip back out of the memories he imagined he’d once lived, it made reality all that much more painful. All those beautiful moments withering and falling away, dying petals falling away in a flurry of bright and dark.

Then he is himself alone. And suddenly that’s not so bad with awareness rushing to fill the emptiness. This is his life, his world. No longer a slave to the passions of others, he is the master here and no one can deny that.

Marmalee rose from tousled sheets, stretching his arms high above him and feeling the smooth press of muscles against his skin.

This was his moment now. His time.

There was no one to stand against him. No one that would dare to stand against him.

Padding barefoot into the bathroom, he twisted the knobs above the claw-footed tub, letting the hot water free. He added a drizzle of scented oil, breathing deep the scent of flowers and spice.

As he stepped into the bath, he heard the hushed whisper of the bedroom doors opening. His four personal attendants stepped in with their demiguise trailing after them, their eyes kept low in deference.

Marmalee said nothing as two attendants came to the tub and stepped in, kneeling in the water to wash his skin with soft cloths and massaged sweet smelling shampoo into his long, crimson locks.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be pampered. Gentle touches felt strange after centuries of rough handling. He had started out his immortal life even lower in the Hierarchy than these servants.

There had been no laws to protect him and no one to care. He’d wrapped his hurt and misery tight around his heart and turned it into the strength necessary to rise through the ranks and stake his claim as a Master. He had refused to be a victim, and his reward was at hand.

After bathing, he was dried and powdered, his skin shining and smooth. He was dressed in leather and silk and spiderweb lace. His hair was coiled around wire artifices until it was an elegant art and he was as beautiful as he was deadly, looking neither male nor female, but something lingering in-between.

“You look beautiful,” LaFavre said.

Marmalee gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you. You have done well.” A kind word here and there earned better loyalty than cruelty and indifference.

Stepping into his soft-soled shoes, Marmalee smoothed his hands over his stomach and strode from the room. The evening’s entertainment would be starting shortly and he had never been one to be late. Never to his own party.

Bodyguards flanked him as he left the private portion of the Palace for the public areas. They rode the elevator up with him and kept a close watch as he surveyed the party preparations.

His butler was handling things with all the adroit skill of his top notch schooling. Hollings had displayed such brilliance at organizing the Palace staff that Marmalee was considering turning him into a Demiguise in a few years. It wouldn’t do for the Palace butler to appear too young, just a bit of age to distinguish him, and Edward Hollings would be perfect.

“I’m pleased,” Marmalee said.

Hollings didn’t even twitch at Marmalee’s sudden appearance next to him. He merely dipped his head in respect. His breath ghosted against Marmalee’s sleeve, rippling the fabric. “Prince-Elect. We have done the best we can, and the result has been very good so far.”

“You’re humble, how adorable.” Marmalee laughed and clapped his hands. There had been some question about his decision to hire a human, but he had been impressed by Hollings; not just how the man appeared on paper, but the man himself. Hollings was unflappable.

“The first guests should be arriving within the hour,” Hollings said.

Marmalee nodded. “Thank you for your hard work this past week.”– He lightly poked his finger against Hollings just to feel the solid muscle.–“You’ve done a truly beautiful job.”

Hollings’ thin lips turned up in a smile. “It was my pleasure, sir.” There was a definite thrill to be found when dealing with someone so competent. There wasn’t a single hair out of place and Hollings had the serene confidence of a master of his profession.

Marmalee gave him another smile before drifting off to check things for himself. He’d always had a perfectionist streak.

An Elderly Lady is Up to No Good at Amazon

Post thumbnail

"Faizel" by Harper KingsleyTitle: Faizel
Author: Harper Kinsgley
Genre: mm supernatural, vampire
Word count: 10,400
Rating: Adult

Available as KDP Select. If you’ve got an Amazon Prime membership, go read it for free.

EXCERPT:

He was a handsome stranger in painted on pants and Chuck Taylors. His dark brown hair curled around his ears in enticing tousled waves. He had rich olive skin and a straight nose with perfect nostrils. He was built in lean lines and looked like he should be an endearingly dorky guy, completely oblivious to his own good looks.

Except he walked like a predator. He tried not to, but his hips insisted on falling into their natural position when he didn’t concentrate. An arrogant, rolling walk that caught and held the eye, luring in his prey.

He’d always been so well-known that he couldn’t have pretended to be anyone other than himself. He was more easily recognizable than the Master. The name FAIZEL was synonymous with power and prestige. He was always near the top of every Most Wanted list the Resistance put out.

He’d always enjoyed playing with the Resistance. Hunting them down and spoiling their plans had been endlessly entertaining. It was why he’d never just completely exterminated them all the way the Master wanted.

The Master was talking synthetic blood and genocide. He had wanted a world completely devoid of normal human life. The Phageless would cease to exist and only the New Breed would remain. He wanted a world of rules and restrictions, a totalitarian empire with himself at the top.

Faizel enjoyed being powerful, but he wanted the thrill of the hunt. He was young and virile and he’d been Reborn without a soul. But he still remembered his human days and all that burning hate and rage was still there, bubbling under the surface of his skin.

He’d killed most of the people that had made his living life so miserable in one wild spree of blood and viscera. After that though… he’d spent enough time around the Master to realize that he didn’t want to live in that sterile, cruel world with only his own kind for company.

He hadn’t been able to stand it.

He had secretly begun to sabotage his own mission plans so there were weaknesses able to be exploited by a clever but desperate human. He’d sifted out the weakest of the Resistance to leave the best behind, separating the wheat from the chaff.

Then he had waited and enjoyed being able to toy with his new playmates. He was going to kill them, but he built them up first before he hunted them down. He loved that sweetest first sip of panicked blood, packed with all of that desperate will to survive. It made his heart sing.

 

He slid through the crowded club to one of the tables at the front. He sat down with such a charming smile that the women already there giggled and gave him flirty welcomes. He smiled but didn’t really interact, just nodding his head here and there when they spoke to him.

Faizel gazed up at the main stage and absorbed the sight of a supernatural cabaret show. It was like Rocky Horror Picture Show with even more garters and lace; there was a bit more skin showing, and both men and women wore short-shorts and a mixture of glitter and glamour.

Dancing and singing men and women, some entirely human while others stretched and bent with supernatural ease. Here and there one of the dancers would flash a mouthful of fangs as they playfully “menaced” their delighted audience. Their faces would twist and turn into a monstrous mask of bulging bone, glaring yellow eyes, and a double row of teeth that were nothing but jagged points.

Money was offered at the end of each set and a pretty girl with flaxen curls and a smattering of glitter on her cheeks went around with a cloth bag to collect the cash. She was wearing a flirty red skirt and a black crop top vest that revealed a toned stomach and a sparkling silver bead dangling at her navel. She wore high-heeled gladiator sandals that crisscrossed up her shins to just below her dimpled knees.

Faizel fumbled in his pocket for a few crumpled bills. He stuck them in the bag quickly so no one could get a good look at them in case money was different here.

Vampires sure were.

He was utterly fascinated by their monstrous faces and the claws he thought he’d spotted amongst them. They were like a mix of human and animal. Even when they weren’t trying to be frightening, their mouths easily shaped snarls.

He was utterly captivated, his eyes trailing up and down the beautiful bodies on display, but what he was really drawn to was the feral nature of them. They were apex predators, of that he had no doubt, though he had to wonder why they were so intent on living amongst the humans, working with them. The idea of it intrigued him.

Faizel had been suppressing his Allure from the minute he’d fallen out of the glowing portal and discovered that he was in a world not his own. The air had smelled different and there was the caressing vapor of distant, strange Power.

His first impulse was to ride in under the radar, to look around for himself and see what kind of world this was. And so far he had been very pleased.

There were vampires here, though a much different kind than he was used to. He could practically see the souls binding them to their bodies, and though their faces turned to those of monsters when they let their Hunger show… they were human on the inside. Beautiful, fragile humans.

He had never seen anything so entrancing. He wondered how hard it was to break them, these dancing, singing, oh-so-human vampires.