Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Le Vampir Damyan ❯ Waste not, Want not ( Prologue )

Le Vampir Damyan

Prologue—Languedoc- Roussillon, 1703

The cold winter moon rose that night, its pale light dimly illuminating the scene. It was a small meadow surrounded by a plethora of trees, from which the soft hoots of an owl could be heard. Small bats flitted through the air, catching smaller insects for their waking meal. They were undisturbed by humans, as they were located a fair distance away from the nearest village of Montpellier.

It was the perfect hiding spot for their kind.

One of them flew downward at the sound of rustling from the trees. As it touched the ground, it took on the form of a beautiful woman. Her thick black hair fell to her mid-back and coal-colored eyes searched the area for the intruder that she knew was there. She was clad in naught but a tight-fitting ebony slip, which just barely covered her.

Out of the forest walked a gangling young man who appeared to be no older than fifteen years of age. He held a dagger in his cut right hand, and his mid-length mousy hair fell messily into his frightened grey eyes. He looked wildly about him, as though looking for a pursuer. His eyes lit upon the woman before him. She stared back unblinkingly, her red lips curled seductively as her nostrils dilated slightly as the smell of his blood leaked from the wound on his hand.

“Are you lost, boy?” she purred, stepping closer.

“No, my lady, I am not lost. I was…was trying to hunt,” he replied slowly, watching the older woman walking ever nearer to him, taking notice of the way her breasts bounced with each step she took. She noticed that his voice still cracked slightly, and sidled up to him until she was pressed against his lean form, noting the immediate response in the warm pressure against her stomach. She smiled indulgently at him. It had been far too long since the last time.

“It is dangerous to hunt in these woods, especially at night,” she told him, her breath slightly chilly upon his lips and her hands coursing their way lightly down his covered arms. Even through the cloth, it was evident that goosebumps were developing.

She could feel his blood racing under her wandering fingertips. He was trembling slightly, and sweat was becoming visible upon his brow. The pressure on her stomach increased nearly tenfold as her lips pressed forcefully against his. Involuntarily, he moaned as she drove her long tongue into his mouth. The woman felt herself beginning to become aroused as well and rubbed up against him, trying to relieve a bit of the ache building up in her womb. His trembling fingers moved without rhythm up and down her slim back before moving forward to grasp one of her voluminous breasts and squeeze it slightly. Becoming braver as he heard the woman sigh in pleasure, he began to massage them both softly through the silken material with his large farm-worn hands. Groaning, the woman leaned her head back.

“Oh gods, don't stop,” she gasped. The boy smiled mischievously as he moved his hands to the hem of her slip. In one fluid motion, he ripped it off of her and couldn't help but take pause at the sight before him. The moon shone on her bare skin, giving her an ethereal glow. Her breasts were moving up and down with each breath she took, their nubs hardened in anticipation. A thatch of black hair was visible between her legs, hiding her precious jewel. The boy had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Lie down,” he said throatily. The woman complied, lying flat out on the dew-covered grass, legs parted. He pulled off his shirt and pants, revealing a well-sculpted chest and a very large erection. He kneeled over her and pressed an open mouth over her left nipple. She shuddered in pleasure as she felt his tongue swirling over it, making it impossibly harder, and she let out a guttural moan as he moved to the next one. His lips next moved down her stomach to her thigh and back up and down again. Finally, his mouth found her jewel and, tentatively, he licked it.

“Gods!” the woman screamed to the heavens as she writhed in pleasure. He smiled at her reaction, pleased that his ministrations affected her so much, and bit down gently before going over her jewel soothingly, tasting a bit of her juices that had leaked forth. She moaned loudly as his tongue worked magic on her sex.

Suddenly, his eyes were over hers, a questioning look in them. She nodded, and he plunged deep into her, making her back arch. He remained still for a moment, allowing her to get used to his size before pulling out slowly and shoving back in. She met him halfway, and they became locked in a pleasured dance, her sharp nails digging into his back with each thrust until the burning sensation in her stomach got to be too much. Her walls closed around the boy's member and her elongated teeth bit hard into his pulsing neck, piercing the vein as she drained his blood.

A fleeting look of terror and pleasure crossed his face as he grunted in pain, feeling his life passing from his body to hers. Letting loose one feeble ejaculation, his shriveled body collapsed on top of the vampire's. She smirked at the lifeless corpse, the boy's blood still dripping from her red lips.

“Honestly, I would have thought you had more in you, considering your size. Ah well,” she said to the body, pushing it off of her, “I suppose you can't have everything, can you?”

As the woman stood up, yet another bat flew down to join her. When its feet touched the ground, it became a man who appeared a year or so younger than she, with short black hair and a very pale visage. He looked down at the drained body.

“You just had to kill him, didn't you, Chloe?” he said sadly, shaking his head. He thought the boy looked familiar, but he couldn't place him.

“His blood was much too tasty to pass up, Damyan,” Chloe said, licking her full lips, “And he wasn't bad to rut with, either.”

“Old habits die hard, eh Chloe?” Damyan replied, referring to when Chloe had been a whore in Charlemagne's court, before she had been turned by their `mother,' Antoinia. He closed his hazel eyes with a sigh of mild frustration before opening them again suddenly and staring at the boy, finally realizing where he had seen him before.

“What is it, Damyan?”

“That…that's Daviot de Chandelle,” Damyan said, horrified.

“And you're going…where, exactly, with this?” Chloe asked unconcernedly, quirking a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the man.

“He'll actually be missed, you idiot! His father is the mayor of Montpellier,” Damyan swore furiously at the woman.

“Well now, isn't that just a pity?” Chloe said sardonically, eyes becoming glazed over with boredom. A resounding slap echoed through the clearing, followed swiftly by a feminine hiss of rage and pain.

“You may not care who discovers our family, Chloe, but I do. I at least want to protect them,” Damyan shouted, his eyes flashing black in his anger.

“And what am I supposed to do? Live off of insects and the occasional tramp that comes my way? I think not!” Chloe seethed, fangs bared in annoyance.

“That's better than risking all our lives by killing a main village figure. They will trace his body back to us when they discover the marks on his neck and then they will kill us all. Or have you forgotten the fact that our own mother was murdered by a silver stake through her heart?” Damyan ranted, eyes blazing with a livid fire.

Chloe looked at him crossly, “You say that as though they will find the body. Well, they won't, because I am still quite hungry.”

Then, setting upon the corpse of Daviot de Chandelle, Chloe proceeded to tear the skin off the bone and smile as the boy's blood dribbled down her chin.

After all, waste not, want not.