George blinked, mouth numb with fear. “I mean, I can’t hit you, Miss. It wouldn’t be right. Why, you’re a lady! A man should never hit a lady…”

Her hand lashed, slapping hard across face.

Long nails raked across nose, drawing thick red lines.

She twirled in front of him, a mad banshee wail let loose as she slapped him again.

Again.

And again.

He staggered back each time until pressed against a dead tree trunk. Unable to retreat any further. Blood slick down cheeks. Wild eyes rimmed white with terror.

She pressed against him. Pushing him hard against rough bark.

“Hit me, George.” Pleading, her voice was almost a childish whine.

“Please, Miss…”

Hissed; “Fight!”

A mad sob tore loose as his arm lashed out on its own. A backhanded blow which connected across the side of her mouth and rocked her head back. Back so far, her eyes aimed to the sky where a flash of lightning peeled back the dark underbelly of cloud across the horizon.

Thunder quickly followed.

Thunder which rolled in the spaces between her insane peals of laughter as she crashed against him. Eyes, ablaze with furious desire. Glorious red lips wide and open. Fangs drooling blood. Her own blood from the cut inside her cheek.

A cut he’d inflicted.

He cowered against the tree, curled arms up to protect himself.

“Miss,” he cried. “Forgive me, Miss. I didn’t mean to!”

She grabbed his coat. Pulled his mouth close to hers. Lust steaming her breath. Moaning against his lips; “Do it again.”

“I can’t!” Wracking sobs whipped him harder than a lash. “Please don’t make me. Don’t make me do it.”

“You must fight me, George.” Snarling. A cat toying with its mouse. “You must!”

He made a half-hearted attempt to knock her off him.

The vampire’s hands seized his wrists and he wrestled, crazed mind unable to comprehend the torn emotion of not wanting to hurt her and the feeling of being completely and utterly overwhelmed by her inhuman strength.

Locked in her grip, he pulled.

Harder.

Jerked his weight to break free.

Couldn’t.

Her tongue wet lips. Smeared red which swirled inside her mouth and drooled down off chin. She released one hand and raked her nails across his face. Down the side of his neck. Not deep, but enough to peel more skin and let blood flow.

Head darted in.

Her tongue licked the rough skin beneath his jaw and she threw herself back in ecstasy as his blood burned into her mouth.

“George,” she growled, disappointment clear in her tone. Body undulating in a way which made him want to be sick. “George, if you don’t fight me, I will tear you into small pieces. You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’ll do it?”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“I believe you, Miss.” And he did. In the corners of her eyes, he saw the hatred there. The contempt for his weakness.

Tears blurred his vision as he understood there was no chance he would survive the night. None at all. He froze in front of her.

And she pounced as lightning flashed again.

She was too fast for him to block. Her small fists beat at his chest. Unexpected strength pounding all air from his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

She came in quick, head snapping toward his cheek. Instinctively, he jerked his head aside, and her fangs latched onto his ear.

Just above the lobe.

Shook her head. Like a dog with a bone. Tore.

He felt his ear rip.

Felt cartilage snap and break.

Felt skin stretch.

Could feel the swollen heat as his blood spat loose.

Agony washed his brain. Cleansed the fear. And turned it into desperation.

He had to escape.

Had to get away.

She was going to kill him. Vasilja’s fog loosened its grip as the need for survival pulsed through his body.

And his fist came up without thinking.

Cracked flush against Senka’s chin. His other ploughed into her chest, above her breast. Sent her cartwheeling backward. Both blows drew surprised yelps from her fanged mouth.

“What in God’s name are you?” Clutching at his ear, he felt blood flowing quick. Hot between his fingers. Swelling flesh. Pain.

Senka grinned at him, fangs bright and sharp. Eyes wicked.

“That’s it, George. Fight!”

She flung herself at him again. A rabid ball of tooth and nail.

And he used fist and foot. Kicking. Punching.

Shoving himself away.

Felt a spark of hope as air whistled between them.

Released!

Headed toward the forest. Running. Snow kicking up as he ran.

Could hear her laughter behind him.

Hear her breath soiling the air.

Horror beat holes in his heart as he ran. He could remember seeing a farm not far from the road. It had looked deserted. Maybe he could break inside. Maybe he could hide in there.

Or find a weapon.

Something he could use to keep her away.

“George,” she called. “Don’t run, George. Stand and fight. Fight me. I’m just a girl, remember? Just a girl. You can beat me, George. You want to beat me, don’t you? I know you do. You want to push me to the ground, George. Push me there and hold me down. You want to taste me. Why are you running? I don’t want you to run. I want you to fight me.”

“You’re not a girl at all,” he flung back at her. “I know what you are! You’re a vampire!”

He felt a flash of pain as her claws cut through his coat and into his back.

Screaming, he launched himself harder through the twisting path of trees.

It was hard to see.

There was such little light.

His eyes were as wide as they could ever be, but it was dark. Too dark.

Hit an overhanging branch. It cracked across his forehead. Knocked him down.

He had to scramble to make it to his feet. Managed just as she ploughed into him from behind. They tumbled together, locked inside her cruel embrace.

The vampire’s clawed hands drew him close. Legs wrapped around his torso.

Gripping him.

He thrashed as hard as he could but couldn’t get free.

Shoving at her with everything he had, but she only pulled him closer until her mouth was against his cheek.

Her wet tongue flicked out.

Tasting him.

She rolled him through mud until he was on top of her. Pulling his head down in a perverted semblance of a lover’s embrace. His face buried in the crook of her shoulder.

Her tongue lapping at his ravaged ear.

He could hear each wet rasp.

Feel her breath. Cold against the ruined skin.

He struggled to push her away. Tried to lift himself off her body.

But her grip was beyond mortal strength to resist.

As he was about to give up, he felt a sharp pain and then his arm popped free of her embrace. He choked a cry of hope.

Raised it high, fist clenched.

Satisfied of her demonic origin. Content to pound her face. Pound it and pound it until there was nothing left of her skull.

His fist came down.

Her arm flashed, fingers wrapping mercilessly around his wrist. Holding him there. Frozen in the motion of attack.

“It’s too late, George,” she said. Softly now. So soft it seemed she was someone else. “You had your chance. I gave you that. And you disappointed me. Look at you. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. And I’m going to do to you what you deserve. I’m going to tear you apart, George. I’m going to bite you. Bite you so deep. I will taste every last drop of your blood. It’s mine now. All of it. I don’t have to share you. Not with Hailwic. Not with Vasilja. You’re mine. All mine.”

“Please don’t. Please, Miss. Let me live.”

“It’s alright, George.” Fangs flashed by lightning. “You can scream now if you want. At least you do that well enough.”

He did.

He screamed.

And screamed.

Even as she began stripping the cloth so she could bite into his chest. Bite into his shoulder.

Even as she tore his arm from its socket. Wet crunch of bone, pop of cartilage, and slippery tear of meat combining into one long awful crunch.

As she drilled clawed fingers into his belly and ripped him open.

He screamed.

Until there was nothing left of him to scream.