It's In the Blood (19k words) (Patreon)

An anxious vampire finds his body changing when he chooses to only feed on virgin women. An encounter with an outcast trans huntress helps him adjust to his new station.

CWs: Little bit of misogyny and transphobia but nothing too serious. Light violence and blood stuff as well (it's vampires, babe). Some passing references to vampire mind control, but nothing scary I promise.

As my posts keep getting incorrectly flagged, I will make this explicit: All characters depicted are over 18. This is clear from context!!! But whatever!!!

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All that matters is control.

It was the first thing Marcion Hallicourt remembered learning. Sternly spoken by his father, murmured in unison by his deputies, etched in a dead language beneath the family crest upon the bronze seal that adorned their entrance hall. Imperium omnia praestat.

It was an edict that had steered the Hallicourt family through centuries. Control was key. Control of land, of trade, but most importantly, as the young master Hallicourt learned through many a scolding, control of one's self. You could not bend to your own petty desires. Such weakness led to vice, degradation, and ruin. Marcion had seen this play out before his eyes. His uncle Photis, who lost himself to gambling. The manor groundsman and the stable master, thrown out upon discovery of their deviant relationship. And most tragically, Marcion's own father. He had governed the family's many interests with an iron fist and steely eye until some wastrel temptress seduced him into iniquity. Idle lips loosened by foreign wine poured precious secrets into the woman's wicked ear, and within months their empire was shattered, plundered, and the Hallicourt family fell to pieces not long after.

Now the Hallicourts were scattered across the kingdom, taking refuge in the properties too far afield to be seized by their rivals or the crown. Marcion was the only one to remain. His father had left him with their manor home overlooking the city, and the solemn duty to rebuild their family's glory.

It was a duty Marcion wasn't sure he could fulfil.

For Marcion was weak. He knew this, deep in his soul, no matter how hard he fought to overcome his nature. He lacked the ruthlessness that had guided his father to such success, as well as the head for business, preferring to lose himself in romance novels rather than poring over ledgers. Worse yet, dark desires called to him, desires he knew would be ruinous to his life and his family’s legacy. If he were to rebuild their empire, he would first need to rebuild himself. To master the self-control he knew was so essential.

It was around this time that Marcion learned of vampires.

He had heard whispers, of course. The ghost-story tales of evil, undead men, preying on the life-blood of innocent virgin girls. Marcion had dismissed them as myths, even if the stories lingered with him, especially on dark winter nights. But one night, at a tavern in the city, as Marcion drank foul mead while hiding his face under a hooded cloak, he overheard a rowdy talk at a table of strangers. One of them, a young woman with fiery hair, proclaimed herself a vampire hunter, and she regaled the tavern with stories of the wretched beasts. They had no souls, she said, and no hearts either, cold and unfeeling beasts, untouched by human emotion. There was no hot blood in their veins, they were merely shadows, slipping coolly over the earth, with no purpose but to seek, and take, and grow their power with every passing night.

That, thought Marcion, is just how I should be.

There was more to the stories, mostly about the woman slaughtering said vampires in brutal and violent ways. Marcion would have to watch out for that bit.

It took some time for Marcion to locate a suitable sire, and cost him a great portion of his family's scarce remaining gold. But some months later, his hired scouts had found one, a foreign count as cruel and wretched as any of Marcion’s childhood stories had warned. He sent the count a formal summons on fine parchment in an ornate script. It was the next full moon, as Marcion tossed fretfully in his bed, when he was awoken by a sound like the garbled shrieking of a fox, and the taste of brimstone on his tongue. He rose with a start, to see a pale figure at the foot of his bed.

"You have summoned me," the wraith intoned, "And so I stand before you, and well you may wish we had never met."

Marcion's heart hammered in his chest. The tales were true, down to the word, and yet could never have prepared him for the sight before his bleary eyes. The figure at the end of his bed stood tall, broad-shouldered, in a midnight cloak that left its moon-kissed torso bare. At a distance, it would seem to be a normal man. Yet as Marcion’s eyes roved over its muscular form, he saw that the beast was hairless as a snake, with eyes of gleaming crimson, a proud and jutting nose, and the poise and bearing of a dancer or a master duelist. 

Marcion shuddered in his bed, and took a moment to compose his words.

"Vampire," Marcion said, the barest tremble in his voice, "I seek the power you possess. Make me like you, that the honour of my family name may be resurrected, as you yourself once were."

The creature stared into Marcion's eyes with its own hellish orbs, their blood red glow scouring his mind. It raised a hand, and without any thought of his own, Marcion rose from his bed and came forth, dropping to his knees before it.

"This curse is no power," the vampire spoke, heedless of its own display of mental force, "It is a dread affliction. Until the end of days you will be compelled to feed on human blood, lest your body wither to dust."

"I understand this," said Marcion.

"You will take life from others to sustain your own undeath," the vampire warned, "Excepting no-one. Man and woman, young and old, the innocent and the guilty. This is the way of the vampire."

"I understand this," Marcion said, though his stomach roiled at the idea of feeding upon another man. He may forfeit his soul, but he would not forfeit his dignity. He had that much control, at least.

"This is a journey from which you will not return," said the vampire, and then in an instant Marcion found his jaw clenched in the demon's hand, a grip as firm and cold as tempered iron. It turned Marcion's chin up, forcing his eyes back upon its pale face. Marcion was struck again by the creature's sinister beauty, the beauty of a fine-crafted blade before it plunged into your heart.

"I understand this," Marcion croaked, and the vampire smiled, his lips parting to reveal slick and fearsome fangs.

"Then we shall seal our dread compact," it said, "I shall sup of your flesh, and you of mine. In this I grant you the power you so desire. Well may you wish I had simply killed you while you slept."

At that, the vampire raised its other hand to its fanged mouth and slashed a scar into the soft side-flesh of its thumb. A single pearl of inky-black, more oil than blood, rose to the surface of its marble skin.

Marcion's first thought was to recoil, but it was too late for that now. Too late for him, and too late for the Hallicourts. And so he parted his lips and drank of the vampire's curse, even as the foul beast sank its fangs into his neck, and surrendered to the darkness.

That was not the end of it, of course.

It took days for the vampire's curse to wend its way through Marcion's body, days of agony, of fevered heat and blistering cold. But at last Marcion stood, finding his body hardly changed, yet sharp and cold, and smiled for he knew his mind was the same.

And yet he found himself wanting. His body ached with a powerful thirst, one he knew could only be quenched with human blood. The pulsing need filled his head, and he knew that his mission to restore his family’s empire must wait until he had satisfied his fearsome appetite. 

He fed that night.

As he made his way into town, footsteps silent on ragged stone, the ghost stories of his past echoed in his mind. Vampires preyed on virgins, that was the way of the world. And so that would be his way, thought Marcion, and he ventured into a tavern, this time without the cover of the cloak, displaying his pale and handsome face to all the doe-eyed farmgirls who had quested to the city in search of adventure. They would find it tonight, though not with the ending they desired.

Marcion flirted and spoke with the panache befitting to a being such as he. Any maiden not swayed by his porcelain skin and handsome face could be mesmerised by his blood-red eyes, and it wasn't long until he returned to the mansion with a blushing young woman whose name would soon be forgotten. He whisked her to his bedchamber and leant over her eager body, silencing her giggles as his fangs plunged into her neck.

Her blood was hot and wonderful, pulsing through his empty veins, spreading warmth around his icy body. A pleasant tingle came with it, like tasting sugared limes, and Marcion rejoiced at the wisdom of his plan. He would drain this girl, sating his vampiric thirst, then return to his solemn duty.

But he should not.

The thought nagged at him, like the faintest whisper, a voice overheard from outside the window of a crowded room. He shouldn't drain this girl, not fully. It was wrong to hurt others. It was unkind. You should always be sweet, and polite, and share.

It was a thought that came from nowhere. Certainly his father had never instilled such a philosophy. And yet, there was truth to it. The farmgirl had done nothing wrong. She needn't die tonight, in aid of a mission that would surely take months. Marcion withdrew his fangs from her neck, watching in wonder as they healed to pinprick scars. He would feed again tomorrow, and that would sate his hunger.

For tonight, he would let this girl sleep.

Marcion retreated to another room, lest the girl be frightened when she awoke. The tingling feeling toured his body in rounds, lingering within his chest, his face, and by his belt. In the morning, he bid the girl farewell, with her none the wiser of how close to death she had strayed.

An hour later he was thirsty again, and furious.

How had he given in to his conscience in such a way? His weakness had delayed his family's transcendence by another night. And what if that girl were to find his family’s enemies, and share some secret Marcion had let slip in the rush of their flirtation? It was an unforgivable error, a loss of control deserving of any punishment. Marcion swore that he would not commit such folly again. He would return to the tavern that night, seduce another innocent woman and bleed her dry, as a standard of his ruthlessness.

The next morning, another farmgirl bid Marcion farewell, and skipped merrily to town as he waved from the shaded safety of the doorway.

There was something wrong with him. A sickness that rotted to his core, something even vampirism hadn't fixed. Despite his cruelest intentions, each time he drank from his latest virgin conquest, he would feel that twinge of guilt, that nagging voice that reminded him that the slaughter of innocents was unjust. Each night he would cut his feeding short and retreat to an adjoining chamber, quivering from the ever growing tingle through his body.

This dreary pattern beat on for weeks, and soon Marcion felt his guilt nagging at him even before he began to feed, before the wretched whispers even sounded in his brain. There were other, fouler changes. It seemed his vampiric transformation wasn't over, because Marcion found his body taking an ever stranger form. His skin, already eerily smooth, became softer. Slender fangs were hidden under plump and pouty lips, the capstone of a sweet and winsome face. Weight shifted on his slender form, gathering on his hips, his rear, and most shamefully, on his chest. Worst of all, he felt a sickening tinge to his hunger. With each woman he feasted upon, he felt an odd urge, An urge to feed next upon a man. An urge he crushed furiously beneath the weight of his family’s honour. 

Marcion stuck to his plan with dogged perseverance. He would seduce a virgin, take every drop of blood from her body, and make his father proud! And yet each night he found his resolve faltering, his voice quaking, and his body ever more resembling those of his victims.

One night, Marcion began to don his doublet, and gasped as the heavy garment brushed against the sensitive peaks of his chest. He tossed it aside and ripped open his shirt. He winced as he felt the ruffles tear beneath his fingers, and heard the fine pearl buttons skitter across the floor, but his dismay was pushed aside by pure horror at what lay underneath.

It was undeniable. Marcion had breasts.

At once he fell to his knees, cursing and wailing.

"Demon!" he cried out in anguish, "Why have you laid this curse on me? You have broken our blood contract! Answer for your malfeasance, if honour has any meaning to you!"

At this, a hiss ran through the room, and a shadow on the wall stretched and warped, splitting at last into the form of Marcion's vampiric sire. The diminished Hallicourt heir turned, crossing his arms over his new shame, and glared blood red at the beast.

"My dread progeny," the vampire intoned, then its breathless voice faltered, "You... you have changed."

Marcion let loose all the torment of the past weeks, spewing bile upon the creature that would have reduced a mortal man to ashes. It simply stood in silence, watching him rave with an unreadable expression.

"Worst is what you have done to my mind," Marcion snarled, though his whining tone robbed his voice of any weight, "Those nagging voices as I fed, they were the herald of this indignity!"

The vampire stood unmoved, "Is it not natural that the echoes of your victims’ souls should linger in their lifeblood? I hear such voices every time I feed. Voices of craven thief, of sainted martyr, the myriad of souls I have severed from their earthly form. But I have never let them sway me."

Marcion's face darkened, and he turned away. Weak. He had always been weak.

"But why these changes to my form?" he asked with plaintive voice. He despised the way his fretful tone recalled the tantrums of a petulant child. 

"I know not," said the vampire, "All those cursed with our affliction must endure the ceaseless shifting of our bodies, our changing visage a reflection of our corrupt souls. And yet I have seen no man changed in such a way as you.”

It tilted its head, stroking its chin with a long, gnarled finger, “You say that you have yet to drain a victim unto their demise?”

“Yes,” Marcion said, eyes downcast.

The vampire frowned a deep and terrible frown, “It is the vampire’s way to act as a harbinger of death, the reaper’s emissaries upon the earth. Perhaps, in failing to kill, you have upset the supernatural order. Well may you wish that you... that you had not done that."

“To cure myself, I must end the life of an innocent girl?” Marcion said. 

“Your prey need not be an innocent,” the vampire observed, “Nor a girl.”

"Then what would you have me do?" Marcion erupted, "Feed upon men, like a deviant fop?"

The vampire arched a hairless brow.

"I would have you do what you will," it said, "And I would have you grant the same to me."

At this, it swung its midnight cloak across its body, gusting smoke into Marcion's eyes. When it cleared, the demon was gone, to the hell from whence it came.

Marcion stared at his empty chamber in horror. His sire was gone, and with it any hope of rescue.

His necessary plan had been made clear, at least. If he could see the night through to a kill, he would cure his womanly affliction. He would, of course, disregard his sire’s sick instruction, and continue to feed on virgin women as befit his station. He need only take control over his tremulous mind, and with that would come control over his body, and over his destiny. He would master his self-discipline yet, and the Hallicourt family would return stronger than ever. 

Marcion sank to the floor and began to cry.

*****

From birth, Thomas Malloxe IV was raised with a singular purpose: killing vampires.

This was the divine calling of the Malloxe clan. Since time immemorial there had been a vampire hunter at the head of the Malloxe family, an unbroken chain of duty passed down from father to eldest son. So young Thomas spent his childhood assured of his destiny. He accompanied his father to meetings of the Hunters' Council. He woke every day at dawn, training in combat and dragging weighted sleds across the fields. His first playtoy was a silver stake, and his second was a straw doll to practice impaling it into.

Thomas loved every second of it.

Except the Thomas part.

At fifteen, Sadie Malloxe confessed her secret to her parents. Her mother welcomed her new daughter with open arms, promising to teach her the ways of the Malloxe women: potion-making, and medicine, and other ways to support their noble hunters. Her father was less than thrilled. Sadie's younger brother Henry was hastily renamed to Thomas Malloxe V, a title he seized with glee. Now it was he who accompanied their father to meetings, and practiced combat with their uncle. He even got her fucking stake.

But Sadie knew that hunting vampires was her destiny. She was so fucking good at it, was the thing. She could hit a moving target with a throwing axe, on horseback, from a dozen yards away. She could identify the wretched undead by the pallor of their skin, their poise, the subtle difference between a real breath and one that drew no air. And she was so strong, her body tall and rich with hard-earned muscle, even as she gleefully tracked the changes granted by the poultice of herbs and silphium root her mother had taught her to make.

Still, she was a girl now, and above all the Malloxe clan cared about tradition. It was only recently that women were even allowed on the Hunters’ Council, the result of a vote her father had fought hard against. Though he begrudgingly acknowledged the women of other hunting families, he maintained that the Malloxe way was for men to hunt, and women to care for the hearth, and refused to make an exception even for the daughter who he had raised as his heir. So Sadie kept up her training on her own time, waking even earlier in the mornings to run and lift and spar with the stablehands, and spending every moment of her free time reading.

The Malloxe clan had a vast library, a trove of knowledge ancient and modern. Sadie had read some before of course, guides to combat tactics and the classic weaknesses of vampires, but there was so much more. Studies of anatomy and apothecary, journals of her ancestors, theories and experiments from foreign philosophers. She read them all, as voracious as the beasts her family had sworn to kill, and she began to develop theories of her own.

Theories took testing, which required time, and resources she would have to beg from her father and uncles. For her sixteenth birthday, she asked for a visit to a foreign temple to observe a philosopher monk's studies of pea plants. For her seventeenth, she asked for a ghoul, one of the mindless wet beasts created when a vampire sired an animal. She received both, and by the time she was eighteen, she had put the final touches on her grand theory. The one that could change everything. The one that would prove to her father that she was a great asset to the Council, regardless of her gender.

She knew her father would hear no word of it. He was too set in his ways. But if she could bring her theory to the Hunters' Council, there would be curious ears amongst its members. She knew many of them, her contemporaries, who she had trained with as a so-called boy, and was sure their minds were more open. Once they had witnessed the fruits of her research, they would side with her, and with their combined persuasive efforts would surely convince her father to change his position.

It was her brother, the appointed Thomas V, who gave her the chance to be heard. He reminded their father that Sadie's eighteenth birthday would have marked her ascension to the council, if she had continued as his heir. She should at the very least get to come along and watch their annual meeting. Sadie hadn't even asked him for help, he had simply raised the point on his own, knowing her passion for the craft.

Sadie would’ve been touched, if she wasn’t fully aware that Thomas-Henry had only invited her to rub her loss of status in her face.

The Council meeting ran long, with Sadie on the edge of her seat, ignoring her brother’s whispered snide remarks. Their father held court, regaling the gathered hunters with the progress of their shared mission in the heartland of the kingdom. Other hunters rose in turn, speaking on their own successes, struggles, and new developments in the field of vampire slaughter.

At last, her father called for any further petition and Sadie stood, hefting her satchel of notes and findings from her research. Her father turned to her in displeased surprise, but duly allowed her to speak.

Sadie surveyed the gathered hunters. Her closest friend on the Council, Isadora Stringfellow, was away on a tour of the north, no doubt massacring vampires by the dozen. But there were faces she recognised, newly ascended to the ranks. Zachary Crowley, Cecily D'Aulaire, and others of her cohort. Sadie drew herself to her impressive height and began to speak.

"Why do vampires drink blood?" she asked.

Thomas-Henry snorted, “Brilliant question, dear sister.”

Sadie ignored him and scanned a sea of furrowed brows. She locked eyes with Dedrick Flambeau, reclined in his seat with his usual indifference, twirling a crossbow bolt in his slender fingers.

"All things must feed," Dedrick shrugged, "Even the dead."

"And yet they're clearly not eating enough," said Sadie, "A vampire can go for two months without feeding, even if their hunger might drive them mad. What other creature can say the same?"

"He's wrong, anyway," drawled Zachary, "Ghosts don't eat. Nor do salamanders."

Dedrick gestured crudely with a lazy finger, "Salamanders eat fire. And ghosts eat, I don't know. Sorrow."

Zachary gestured back, even cruder. Sadie hid a smirk and continued.

"Exactly," she said, "Creatures can draw nourishment from sources other than food. I believe vampires do the same. Perhaps they consume darkness, like plants consume light. The point is, I don't believe this is the reason they drink blood."

"So what is?" asked Cecily, leaning forward in her seat, her rust-brown eyes alight with curiosity.

Sadie took a deep breath. This part would require some explanation.

"My great grandfather, Thomas Malloxe the First, may he remain forever dead, left his journals with us when he passed," she said. There was a murmur of quiet respect when she mentioned the Council founder's name, though her father simply watched her, hawklike and silent. Sadie continued, "In these journals, he sometimes wrote about something he called Blood Correspondence."

More furrowed brows. Vampire hunters really needed to read more.

"The idea that vampires take on the characters of those whose blood they drain," said a quiet voice. Anastasia, eldest daughter of the Tremblay family, hidden as usual in the corner of the room. Sadie nodded encouragingly.

"Exactly," she said, "I've confirmed this theory with my own experiments." She fanned out a series of notesheets and sketches along the table. "I took this ghoul, a former cow, and fed it nothing but rat blood for a month. You can see here how it changed. Look at the pointed snout, the writhing tail. I believe this is why ghouls are usually so shapeless. They'll eat any creature they come across, and so their bodies are mangled in a thousand different directions."

"We are not a Council of Ghoul Farmers, sister," Thomas-Henry said archly.

"Right," Sadie hastened onward, "Blood Correspondence. The thing is, it happens with people, too, even those with no trace of magic in them."

"Sure," Dedrick smirked, "If you eat too many potatoes, you'll become round and ugly."

"As you know from experience," Zachary said.

"Not with food," Sadie said quickly, as she saw her father's temper rise, "But think of how a child resembles its parents. The form is passed down."

"Written in the blood," Cecily breathed.

"Or other fluids, as the case may be," Sadie grinned. Cecily grinned back. Her father cleared his throat and she sped up again, "if you look at this square... er, no, another time. Alright, my point is, there is something in the blood that governs how our bodies grow. And what happens when vampires don't drink blood for long enough?"

"They wither," Zachary said darkly, "And turn to dust."

"I believe that something in the vampiric transformation strips away this... this guide to growth. So the body forgets to age, but it forgets to hold itself together as well. That is why vampires need blood from a living person. This guide in the blood acts as a scaffold, like a stake supporting a sapling. The vampire's body aligns itself to that guide, and holds together for another few months. But that guide doesn't match the one the vampire used to have, not exactly, so it distorts their body a little, just enough to fit. That's why vampires take on the features of their prey."

There were impressed murmurs around the meeting room. Sadie flushed with pride. This was it. The proof that she was worthy to join the council, to inherit her father's position, no matter her gender.

Then her father raised a palm, and the room fell silent.

"Very clever, daughter," he rumbled, "But what use is this to us? There will be no need for such intricate understanding of their diet when the entire race of blood-drinking demons is scattered dust."

"Of course, father," Sadie said, biting back a retort. Yes, why ever learn, or change? "But if this means what I think it does, vampires don't actually need blood at all. The guide they need exists in more than just our blood. If this knowledge is spread, vampires could learn to subsist on bile, or phlegm, or--"

At this her father rose to her feet, "So you would have us lay down our weapons and sneeze into each vampire's mouth?"

"Of course not, but--"

"Enough of this waste of time!" he roared, "Thomas, show your sister out. We will not forsake our ancient battle when we are so close to victory. Unless any of you think there is merit in a foolish girl’s fancies?"

Sadie turned to the gathered hunters in quiet shock. The old greybeards were silent, of course, as she knew they would be. But the younger hunters, the ones she thought were her allies, Dedrick, Zachary, even the other women, Cecily and Anastasia... they all averted their eyes, leaving her standing humiliated and alone. Any loyalty to her forsaken to protect their own interest.

Well. So be it.

She set her gaping jaw firm and gathered her notes. Thomas-Henry stepped to her side, an expression of ecstatic smugness on his face. She slung her satchel over her shoulder and let him lead her out.

They left the granite temple that housed the Council chambers, and stood at the top of its ornate staircase. For some time they stood there in silence, gazing out over the foggy moors. Sadie's jaw was clenched, her hand flexing by her side in rage. It would never be enough, would it? No efforts she put forth would ever be enough for her father to accept her as she was.

After a while, Thomas-Henry spoke, “That went better than I could have imagined.”

Sadie glared at him, “You know I was onto something.”

“Of course, sister,” he leered, “And the next time we find a vampire, I’ll make sure you come along so you can feed him some of your phlegm.”

“Don’t bother,” Sadie snarled, “I’ll find my own vampires to deal with. Whether my theory holds true or not, I know I don’t need help to be a better hunter than you.”

Thomas-Henry laughed, “Oh, I’m sure! Perhaps you should head off now, and begin your heroic journey! The defective heir of the Malloxe clan, slaying her way across the land. Here, I’ll be the first to fund your expedition.”

He reached into his coin-purse and tossed a copper coin to her with a sneer. Sadie caught it between two fingers and whipped it back at her brother’s face.

It hit his tooth with a loud crack, and Thomas howled and clutched at his mouth. He fell to the ground with a clatter of his ceremonial armour.

“Much appreciated, brother,” Sadie said drily. She stooped down and plucked her old silver stake from the sheath at his side. He swatted at her vainly, as she hefted the familiar weapon in her hand with a grin of fond nostalgia. “But it wouldn’t be right to accept your money. It’s time for me to be independent.”

Sadie left her brother groaning on the stairs, saddled one of the horses from her father’s carriage, and rode home by herself. She had supplies and tools to gather, and a mother to kiss goodbye, and stablehands to have one last tussle with. But she had wasted enough time on the foolish lie of family. She would depart that very night, to carve her own path into the world.

The leader of a clan of one.

*****

When Marcion surrendered his soul to the vampire's curse it was only the third most frightful night of his life.

The second most frightful was the night his family's inner-city terrace was seized by royal guards. He had been struck from his sleep by a horde of furious, screaming men, with crossbows and swords drawn, tearing apart the building and dragging his family from their beds. It was that night when life as he knew it fell apart.

The first was tonight.

Becoming a vampire had bestowed Marcion with an ethereal grace and balance. Yet his legs still trembled as he made his way down the winding cobbled streets towards the tavern.

It was the silence, perhaps. Each step landed in eerie quiet, when there should have been the telltale clack of a heel. It was a sinister discord, and it must be that which had Marcion in such a fearful state.

That and the fact that he was wearing heels.

His shoes were black velvet, arched and elegant, setting his dainty heels atop a narrow spire of ebony. Thin straps twined around his ankle, lacing him into a pair of ladies' evening pumps that felt more like a display piece than practical footwear. There was so little material to the shoes, besides the sole and straps and the pointed toe, that the whole of Marcion's feet would have been on shameful display, were it not for the flimsy set of sheer hose that adorned his quivering legs.

There was no shame in wearing hose. Men wore hose, although for them it was under a set of sturdy breeches. Marcion's attire was nothing of the sort, and he had never been more aware of it than now, as he stepped gingerly atop a curb, lifting the hem of his skirt with shaking fingers, praying that the lacy trim of his silk petticoats was not too scandalously exposed. He quickened his pace, layers of skirts swishing prettily beneath him, and bit his lip, screaming internally. He could feel the boning of his corset drawing in his waist, the wisp of his chemise against his legs, the satin of his sleeves tight and cool against his slender arms, his hair in its elaborate updo bobbing gently above his made-up face. He had never been so terrified, or so ashamed.

He was wearing women's clothes. He was out in public, and he was wearing women's clothes.

The choice was not his own. He was a victim of circumstance, nothing more. A year had passed since the second visit from the vampire who had sired him, the night when he had truly realised the extent of the changes to his body and mind. Things had only gotten worse since then. He had continued his plan, trying again and again to drain a virgin to completion, convinced that the act would be the key to break him from the vexatious cycle. And yet every attempt was a dismal failure. Try as he might, he could not overcome his temerity. He could not bring himself to willingly end an innocent woman's life. Some nights the fretful anticipation was so intense that he couldn't even bring himself to take that first bite, and instead would collapse on the bed, sobbing, while the confused girl gently comforted him.

The comfort was no help. In fact, the more time he spent actually talking to these women, the deeper he had been ensnared by the pitfall trap of empathy. It had seemed so simple before. These were virgins, he was a vampire, it was a cruel and simple calculus. And yet each girl was so unique, each with their own hopes, desires, loves and loathing, their own sense of humour be it silly, sweet or wickedly sharp. It was impossible to class them together, when all they had in common was the fact that they had not yet gone to bed with a man, and that they had made the would-be-fatal mistake of looking in Marcion's eyes.

He couldn't bear to hurt them. And yet he knew he must.

His attempts to feed grew rarer and rarer, until now close to two months had passed without his teeth so much as grazing human flesh. He had sealed himself in his chambers, trying to ignore his twisted plight, to drown out the raging storm inside him by losing himself in his novels. It was no use. The hunger was unbearable, matched only by the guilt that wracked his undead heart. He couldn't hurt someone, but he was starving. It was wrong, it was evil, but he could feel his body coming apart at the seams, his cheeks caving in, his whole form feeling as though it was unraveling in the wind.

He had become a vampire because he thought it would rid him of his shameful desires, but all it had done was grant him another, more powerful and more shameful than all the rest.

So he had bound his swollen chest as best he could, hidden his overlong hair beneath a cap, and made his way to the tavern, where he didn't even make it through the door.

The publican's voice rang in his ears, "Get that bloody kid out of here!"

Did he really look so young? The mirrors in his manor were backed with silver, but he had gazed at his reflection in the tavern's window, and realised that he did. His face, now so soft, full-cheeked and bright eyed, would look just at home on a woman of his age. But for one presenting himself as a man, he appeared as no more a willful teen attempting to scam an early ale.

The publican had stood over him, stern faced and gripping a shortclub. Marcion's lip quivered, and he forced himself to look the looming, frightening man in the eye.

"Y-you should allow me in," he had squeaked, his already feminised voice raised yet another pitch by his humiliation.

The publican had laughed, "Not on your life, little boy. Or is it little girl? You run home to mummy, and don't you dare try and pass yourself off as a grown-up again. You'll only get yourself hurt, you stupid child."

Marcion's mouth gaped in silent horror, and then the publican lifted his club, and he let out a fearful shriek and scrambled to escape, the publican's laughter ringing in his ears the whole way home.

He could not pass as the grown man he truly was, which meant he could not secure the needed invitation to enter a tavern. He would have no way of finding prey, and he would starve, and his family's legacy would end with him, the weak, pathetic failure.

Unless.

By now his form had changed to a nearly unrecognisable extent. His nascent breasts had swelled to large, bouncy handfuls. When he walked they jiggled shamefully, unless he clutched them to his chest, in which case his sensitive nipples would soon swell against his silky palms until he was biting back whimpers with every step. His hips and rear had rounded further, granting him a child-bearing frame that cried out to be bred. He had retained his manly weapon, thank heaven, though the thought of using it in this current state was unimaginable.

He could not pass as a man of age. But could he pass as a woman?

His mother had left much of her vast wardrobe behind when she fled with Marcion's father. He had looked, at first, for something unobtrusive, a set of women's trousers and a blouse with few adornments. But there were expectations for a woman of the social class the Hallicourts had occupied for so long, and there was no room in her closet for practical garments. Marcion had tried his best to compromise, but the result had left him terrified of being spotted as a man in a dress. Even if he could rely on his mesmery to save him from an angry crowd, he would surely wither from the shame alone. No, if he were to feed tonight, he would need to go all out, and become the elegant, upper-class lady such a wardrobe demanded.

So he had done the best he could. He had thought makeup and hair would be impossible, and yet when he sat before the polished steel decorative shield he had taken as his makeshift mirror, he found his hands moving with quick, deft confidence. Although the whispered voices of his victims never lingered for more than a day, it seemed some of their skills had remained, etched into the muscles of his changed body. If there were blood in his veins, he would have blushed crimson with embarrassment as he watched himself apply his makeup like a girl preparing giddily for her debutante ball. At the realisation, his hands snatched up a pot of rouge, and painted the blush upon his cheeks themselves.

He had been forced to dress himself, though, his stolen skills apparently not extending quite so far. It had been a gut-wrenching experience, flitting about his mother's dressing room, comparing skirts and dresses, selecting the perfect pair of heels and feeling every bit the sick effete he had always feared his father saw him as. It wasn't his fault his buxom chest looked so alluring in a tight corset, or that his face looked so pretty with painted lips and darkened lashes. But it was his fault, and his unbearable shame, that he found himself smiling as he dressed himself in layers of lacy silk, chiffon and tulle, and that he squealed with such girlish glee when he found the perfect ruffled jabot to complement his emerald gown.

Perhaps silence was better after all, Marcion thought, as he hurried down another moonlit lane. He must enjoy it while he could.

At last he reached the tavern, his pace slowing to an anxious tiptoe. This was the test of his disguise. If his heart still beat, it would be battering at his chest. He had planned out his character flawlessly. She must be informed by the outfit, and so she would be a sophisticated, high-class lady of good repute. She would stride into the tavern with confidence and an upright bearing, seeking out some timid fresh-faced girl to be her ladies maid, and spirit her away to her manor. Once there, the guise would drop, and Marcion would strike.

The thought of betraying some poor girl in such a way made Marcion feel faint, but his hunger was roaring in his ears, tearing at his stomach, as if it were about to burst through the steel boning of his corset. There was no other way. No other path.

But he would not sully his family name with this act. He had chosen an alias, inspired by the heroine of a favoured novel. A name that conveyed all the essential details of his feminine persona: that she was elegant, well-educated, and, crucially, alive.

Marcion strode forth with a haughty air, and shrieked with fright as he collided with another woman coming the other way.

"Fuck!" the woman exclaimed, her voice gentle yet rugged. She pivoted swiftly, steadying Marcion by the waist. He gasped breathlessly, and the woman's eyes narrowed in concern, "Are you alright, miss?"

Marcion fought to regain control of his racing mind, to corral his frantic thoughts into the character he had concocted. Every synapse screamed at him, she knows, she knows! He barely squeaked out a terrified, "My deepest apologies!" and the woman's gaze softened.

"Don't be sorry, love," the woman said kindly, "I got in your way, that's all. I'm looking for someone, but I don't think that you'd know him."

Marcion ran his eyes up and down her towering body. The woman was tall, taller than he had been even before the changes, and carried herself with an easy confidence that could only be borne by one who felt completely unthreatened by her surroundings. And why shouldn't she be? By the mess of sheaths and pouches on her belt, and the faded red stains on her boots, she was clearly no helpless damsel.

The mysterious woman was dressed simply, in leather trousers and a man's shirt, unbuttoned enough to show a teasing swell of cleavage. Her hair was held in a loose braid, resting casually on her shoulder, and one hand was wrapped in a complex leather gauntlet. But Marcion's gaze fell irresistibly to her face. She was a handsome woman, with a strong jaw and a rakish smile. A scar ran up her cheek to her nose, and another clipped through her left brow, but they served only to add a dangerous allure to her beautiful visage. And then she raised her bare hand to her forehead, brushing aside an errant lock of hair, and her sleeve slipped down her arm, and Marcion almost forgot her face at once.

Her forearm was a grip of solid muscle, adorned with further scars, a testament to a life of hard work and fearsome battles. Marcion realised with a thrill that her whole body was just as muscled, with the swell of her biceps suddenly clear against her shirtsleeves, her thick thighs and powerful calves outlined by her tight leather trousers. This was a woman of incomparable might, and yet so thoughtful as to offer words of comfort to a clumsy stranger on the street.

At once, Marcion felt his character become clear, and eagerly slipped into the role.

"Thank you, kind mistress," he smiled, and curtsied daintily, "I wish you luck in your search, and I thank you for your gracious forgiveness."

"No worries," the woman grinned, and offered a calloused hand, "Sadie Malloxe."

"Oh!" said Marcion, "Er, Vivianne. Lady Vivianne Eastley."

For a moment, he feared that the tall woman might recognise the name Anne Eastley from the romance series he was so fond of, but then she hardly seemed the type to waste her time on such frivolous, girlish pursuits as reading romance novels. Marcion reached for her hand hesitantly, unsure whether to shake it like he would as a man, or to improvise some more feminine greeting. The question was answered for him, for Sadie took him by his delicate fingers and kissed him softly on the back of his hand. Marcion burst into breathless giggles, and Sadie eyed him curiously again, grazing a finger against her lips in silent contemplation. Then she shrugged, bid him farewell, and disappeared around a corner.

Marcion tottered towards the tavern, giddy with delight. His ruse had passed judgement, and from a woman with such evident wisdom and intellect! From there, the doorman was no issue, and he was welcomed into the tavern with perhaps a somewhat leering smile. He curtsied with genteel grace, then hasted through the doorway, his stomach still growling for blood. His smile faded as he entered the tavern's main hall.

The room was packed, thrumming with rowdy guests, hurling darts, roaring with bawdy laughter, and clashing sloshing mugs of ale in salutation. To his shame, his first fear wasn't even being discovered as a fraud. It was the thought of getting ale on his beautiful new dress.

It was sickening, both the thought itself and the act of thinking it. Truly, he must hasten to complete his mission. Marcion hunched his shoulders and slipped between the drunken patrons like a shadow, making his way to the bar, where he saw a rosy-cheeked maiden sitting alone. A quick glance at her hands confirmed that she was unmarried. A virgin, then.

His prey.

Another sickening thought, but being amongst the living had awakened Marcion's thirst, and now his throat ached for sustenance. He took a seat by the woman's side, carefully arranging his skirts as he did so.

"Evening, love!" brayed the barman, "What can I get ya?"

"Nothing for me, please," Marcion said primly, and turned to the girl who would be the final meal that presaged his ascension.

"Ah, come on, gorgeous!" the barman's voice rang loud and boastful in his ear, "I'll make you a cocktail that'll have your legs spread by midnight."

Marcion turned with a start, wilting as his gaze fell upon the barman's expectant leer. It was unfair that a man so crude should be so good-looking. His face was chiselled, but his cheeks were flushed and ruddy from a hard night's work behind the bar. Marcion could feel his body heat from across the counter, no doubt healthy with hot, fresh blood. He propped an elbow on the bar and a tendon flexed within his stubbled neck. Marcion realised to his shock that he had started drooling, and clapped a hand over his painted lips in alarm.

The barman guffawed, "I'd say that's a yes. Coming right up, you wanton woman."

He turned and busied himself with his concoction, while Marcion sat frozen in abject horror.

He felt a gentle hand on his arm, and turned numbly to see the poor virgin looking at him in concern.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" she asked, her vowels rich with northern tone, "Are you sure you're in the right place? This is a travellers’ bar foremost, and it can get mighty rough for a... a more refined type, like yourself."

Marcion parted his lips to correct her, to start with the imperious tone befitting Lady Vivianne Eastley, but he could scarcely get out a word before he found himself quivering too hard to speak.

He was going to kill her! She was so kind, so compassionate, yet even now he could feel his hunger rising, urging him to sink his cursed fangs into her gentle neck. Shame and desire raced fiercely in his heart, and instead of speaking he simply burst into tears.

"Oh, you poor thing," the woman soothed, "Come here, darling. Let's get you some fresh air."

She guided Marcion to the back exit, leading him to the quiet of the alley behind the tavern. Her comforting hands on his narrow shoulders only made him cry harder, his shaking body setting the ruffles of his dress aflutter.

"What's your name, darling?" she asked, "I'm Raquel, I herald from the north."

"L-Lady Vivianne Eastley," Marcion sobbed, all attempts at gravity abandoned.

"Sweet little lamb," Raquel cooed, “This is very much not your scene.”

She wrapped her arms around Marcion and held him, gentle but firm, and let him cry against her shoulder.

*****

Sadie leant against a chimney stack and sighed. Another fruitless night. 

This city had meant to be a brief stop on her journey, a place to gather supplies before she continued to the north. But then she was trading stories with a beautiful woman at a tavern, who told her about a strange encounter she'd had the previous winter. A wealthy man, who had met her at this very tavern, invited her back to his manor, and bid her farewell the following morning with a foggy memory and the strangest scars on her neck.

Sadie was pretty sure she wouldn't need her years of study to recognise those scars.

And then other women had chimed in, echoing the story, sharing their own experiences with the rakish fiend who seemed to make this tavern his hunting ground, and Sadie had sighed and forked over the coin for another night's stay in the tavern's cramped guestroom. On the bright side, the woman she'd been talking to quite eagerly spent the night. Even better, she departed the next morning without a fuss, saving Sadie the trouble of escaping the affections of a besotted suitor. 

Her life had no space for such a partner. Since her betrayal by her Council peers, she had been strictly independent, moving from town to town, defeating any vampires she came across, and continuing her research when she had the chance. Some would find such a life to be lonely, but not her. No, she had no need for any hangers on. Occasional dalliances, sure, she had needs like any other woman, and had been pleased to find no shortage of pretty girls who were extremely accepting of her differences. But it didn’t pay to stay long. Into town, take care of business, and move on within the week. 

But she had been here for over a month, and still no sign of the local villain. The monotony was starting to get to her. Usually Sadie waited inside the bar, keeping an eye out for any suspicious patron who might be a vampire on the prowl. At least in there she was able to ease her boredom by drinking and flirting with pretty girls. But earlier tonight, she had struck out, and things had gotten extremely awkward, so she had made an excuse to leave. And now here she was, watching the tavern from the rooftop across the alleyway. Like an utter creep. 

Perhaps she was getting desperate. For a moment, Sadie had even thought that adorably shy little rich girl, Vivianne, might be a vampire. She certainly had the complexion for it, plus the coldness of her hand. Then again, rich people used all kinds of crazy cosmetics, and petite little things like her were always cold. More importantly, Sadie had never met a vampire anywhere near as timid or deferential. Vampires typically reeked with the smugness of immortality, and you just couldn't fake a trembling lip like Vivianne's. She was certainly no predator.

No, it was pretty clear why Vivianne had stood out to her. For one, she was a gorgeous young woman in a beautiful gown. For another, Sadie was pretty sure they were, well, the same type of girl.

Poor little thing. Sadie had met several women on her travels who had gone through the same journey as her, and it often wasn't an easy path. Especially for someone as delicate as Vivianne. 

Perhaps, if there was no sign of her quarry within the next hour or so, Sadie would find Vivianne again and see if she needed cheering up. Or warming up. She knew a method that could provide both, and would be more than happy to share it with her…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the tavern's backdoor opening. Two women emerged into the back alley. The taller of the two she recognised as Raquel, the very woman she had left the tavern to avoid. The other one was unmistakably a sobbing Vivianne. 

Raquel spoke gently to her, then held her in a comforting embrace as she cried herself out. Sadie looked away, largely out of respect for their privacy, and maybe just a little bit out of jealousy. She could've done that. She gave good hugs too, if she took off a few of her concealed weapons first. 

After some time, Vivianne's crying died down, and there were more soft murmurs. In the quiet, cool night, their voices echoed in the alleyway, and Sadie couldn’t help but overhear. 

"I promise, I am not always so undignified," Vivianne said shakily, "I fear my emotions are at a raw edge at the moment, as I... I haven't eaten in a while." 

"It's alright, darling," the other woman reassured her. Sadie rolled her eyes. Yes, she recalled Raquel was fond of pet names. Raquel continued, "Do you want to get something to eat?" 

There was silence for a long, tense moment. Sadie surveyed the street again, in case the vampire was waiting to crawl out from under a flagstone. At last Vivianne spoke, with a strange and sinister tone. 

"Yes," she said, in a voice of quiet finality, "I must feed."

Sadie's gaze snapped back to the two girls, eyeing them like a hawk. Vivianne was still nestled against the larger girl's shoulder, but as Sadie watched, the little lady drew back and opened her pretty lips wide. 

"I wouldn't!" Sadie called sternly from the rooftop. 

The two ladies looked up with a start. Sadie raised a hand in greeting, while the other slipped quietly to her toolbelt.

“Oh!” Vivianne darted from Raquel’s arms, flattening herself against the wall as if hoping to camouflage within the shadows. Her eyes were wide with surprise and oddly, a faint relief. She quickly moved a shivering hand to wipe a sheen of salivation from her lips. 

"Sadie?” Raquel glared up at her, displeased with the interruption, “What in the Great Mother’s name are you doing up there?” 

Sadie ignored her and drew her grapnel from its holster. She hooked the gripcord to her gauntlet, then slung the end around the chimney and stepped off the edge of the rooftop.

The two girls gasped as Sadie fell, and now that she was listening for it she knew her suspicions had been correct. Vivianne gasped like a vampire, the breath of air returning from her lungs unchanged, as crisp and cold as it went in. 

Sadie skipped down the stone brick wall of the alleyway, the grapnel’s treated rope whirring against the reinforced leather of her gauntlet. She tightened her grip as she neared the ground, slowing her descent until she left the wall with a casual step. With a flick of her wrist, the grapnel released and the rope fell in spirals by her feet.

It was, perhaps, a needlessly theatrical entrance. But Sadie was well-versed in the use of her grapnel after many expeditions up and down the spired castles and sunken lairs in which vampires commonly made their homes, and descending a wall was second nature to her. Also, sure, sometimes it paid to be a bit theatrical while pretty girls were watching. 

Even if one of them was a vampire. 

Vivianne's eyes were as wide as saucers, and as Sadie stepped forward she shivered, her eyes darting from Raquel's neck to the sheathed blades on Sadie's hip. 

“Why are you joining us, Sadie?” said Raquel, “Do you have more obscenities to share?”

"I think Narratt was looking for you, Raquel," Sadie said, flashing her a look she hoped said clearly enough that the lady should make a fast exit, for her own good. 

Raquel narrowed her eyes, “Is that right?”

“It is,” she said, “I think he said it was a matter of safety.”

Raquel’s lips parted, clearly readying a comeback, but she must have caught the meaning in Sadie’s words, and remembered her line of business. She kissed Vivianne on the cheek and disappeared into the tavern with a hurried farewell. 

Sadie looped her grapnel over her shoulder and approached Vivianne with caution. She cursed her earlier foolishness. Of course the pale young lady was a vampire, and from the looks of her, and the fact she was so on edge, she hadn't been fed in quite some time. 

A timid vampire. Well, well, well.

This is what Sadie had spent the last month waiting for, and the wise move was to slay Vivianne where she stood. Her fingers grazed lightly upon the handle of her silver stake. And yet...

Despite her vampiric nature, it was hard to truly see the anxious girl before her, nervously twisting in her elaborate emerald gown, as any kind of real threat. It would be a shame to deprive the world of such a beautiful creature if there was some other possible solution.

Sadie slipped an arm around Vivianne’s waist. The gorgeous vampire yelped. 

“It was Vivianne, wasn’t it?” she asked, “Or do you prefer Lady Eastley?”

“Er, well,” Vivianne stammered, clearly flustered. Her eyes darted to the door through which her prey had disappeared, then to the sheathed weapons on Sadie’s belt, then up to her eyes. Then the subtlest dip down again, although Sadie couldn’t tell for sure if she had been glancing at her throat or her breasts. Sadie smirked and lowered her hand calmly to Vivianne’s hip. The girl shivered and looked up at her with guilty eyes. 

“Lady Eastley would be the most proper,” Vivianne said, “Though I… I would not harshly protest if you wished to be more familiar…?”

There was an adorable tinge of hopefulness in her voice, her doe eyes wide and shining with just the barest tinge of crimson.

“My lady, I would be honoured,” Sadie grinned, “In truth, that was why I came down in such a hurry. I was afraid Raquel would steal you away for herself.”

Vivianne giggled, covering her sweet lips with a delicate hand, “A valid concern, of course.”

"Then maybe you could set my mind at ease," Sadie purred, leaning close to Vivianne's ear, "And join me in my guestroom tonight."

Vivianne’s eyes lit up, but then fell dark again, her pale brow creased with concern. A hand drifted to her navel, rubbing anxiously at her tight stomach. She was hungry, Sadie could tell, and yet she seemed conflicted about eating. Still, Vivianne’s gaze hardened, and she nodded and allowed Sadie to lead her back inside 

Sadie guided the vampire through the tavern and up the stairs to her guestroom. She paused at the door and smiled back at her, playing every bit the clueless mortal.

"Shall I invite you in?" she offered. 

"If you do not think it improper," Vivianne batted her dark eyelashes. 

"Then please, my lady, come in," Sadie smirked. She opened the door and ushered Vivianne inside, her hand returning to her toolbelt behind the foolish vampire's back. 

"Oh, this place is... homely," Vivianne offered awkwardly, looking about the dingy room.

"It's temporary," said Sadie, 'Just while I'm in town for business."

"What business are you in?" 

“The family business,’ Sadie said darkly, “Though I have struck out on my own in recent years.”

“I see…” Vivianne said softly. She toured the room, gliding through the gloom with fluid, eerie grace. Her fingertips brushed against the crude wooden armoire. There was a painting on the wall, which the rough engraving in the frame proclaimed to be a portrait of the publican’s cat, Catlin. Sadie had found it childish, but Vivianne cooed over it, turning back to her with a wide smile. “Isn’t it cute?” 

“I suppose,” said Sadie, “I’m not very sentimental.”

“I had a cat, once,” Vivianne said softly, “Dear Mitsie. She was good to me. On cold nights she would lie atop my belly and warm my heart as well as my bed. My father was not so fond of her… nor the weakness she fostered in me…”

Her voice faded as she gazed sadly at the painting. Sadie couldn’t help but to sympathise. She understood how lonely a vampire’s existence could be. But again, she had rarely seen a vampire anywhere near as sensitive as Vivianne. 

She could feel her stake hanging heavy at her hip. This would be a perfect time to strike, ending Vivianne’s undeath while her back was turned. But instead, Sadie found herself talking. 

“I had a horse,” she said. Vivianne turned, her eyes keen. 

“Like a pony?” she said eagerly, “Er., not that I have any interest in…but forgive me, in fact I do! Being a lady myself. Was she pretty?”

Sadie repressed a smirk, “He was a stallion, bred for battle and pursuit.”

“Oh,” said Vivianne, failing to suppress the disappointment in her voice. 

“But he was pretty, yes,” Sadie said, “And he was a great riding partner. On the hunting ground we were perfectly in tune. But my father took him from me and gave him to my brother and on their first expedition, he rode my poor horse into a snare and…”

She trailed off. Vivianne looked up at her with tearful eyes.

“That poor horse,” she said softly, then reached out, her graceful fingers taking Sadie’s hand in a tender caress, “That poor girl.”

Sadie eyed her warily. She had honed her observational powers to a needle’s point over the years, becoming a master at interpreting body language. It was essential when dealing with vampires, whose thralls were often undetectable if you weren’t able to read the subtle signs of coercion, the fraudulent smiles on their entranced faces. The skill leant itself well to detecting other secrets, lies and manipulation. Yet she saw no trace of artifice on Vivianne’s girlish face, only a pure-hearted concern, and a deep empathy for the trials of Sadie’s youth. 

Trials that were long in the past. Trials that Sadie had overcome. Trials that were no longer worth dwelling upon. 

“We all go through hardships,” Sadie said gruffly, pulling her hand from Vivianne’s grasp, “I wouldn’t be the woman I am today otherwise.”

Vivianne grimaced and turned away, her shoulders hunching, “Nor I.”

Sadie’s hand dropped to her belt. There, there was that body language more typical of a vampire. The tensed muscles, the flexing jaw. 

“There is nothing for it but to steel yourself,” Sadie said, deftly loosening a buckled flap and reaching inside, keeping her eyes on Vivianne all the while. “In the end, we have to do what must be done.”

Vivianne's shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head in sorrow, "I understand this."

Sadie withdrew her hand, the cool metal heavy between her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Sadie," said Vivianne, and then she whirled around and lunged for her, fangs bared and eyes awash with tears. 

But Sadie was ready, and she whipped her hand forward and snapped the binding collar around Vivianne's neck, then slammed her against the wall.

*****

For a moment the two of them stood in silence in that dingy bedroom. Sadie’s hand was tight around the vampire’s throat. The veil had been lifted, and their true intentions made clear. 

Sadie's eyes narrowed in steely satisfaction. The sigil on the binding collar glowed a gentle red. It was a tool of her own design, custom enchanted by a hired mage skilled in transformation magic. With it in place, Vivianne would be unable to shift her form, and she wouldn't have to worry about the frightened girl turning to smoke or shadow and wisping away in the night. There was time now to talk like adults. 

"Help! Help!" the vampire screamed, "I have been taken prisoner!"

Marcion had no knowledge of binding collars, or Sadie being a vampire hunter, or really anything whatsoever that was going on. All he knew was that a very strong, very scary woman was pinning him to the wall, and she had a belt loaded with weapons that she surely knew how to use. 

He cursed himself a thousand times over. What had become of his plan? How had he found himself in this room, with this woman, with her hand around his throat? He was a fool, a weak and short-sighted fool! He had followed her to this sealed chamber, somehow swept up in some romantic fantasy. And now, the punishment for his stupidity would be his permanent erasure from the mortal plane. His body would be turned to ashes and scattered in the wind, and along with it any hopes for his family’s restoration. 

"Vivianne--" Sadie started. He smacked at her powerful hand, kicking his dainty feet and flailing with all his might. 

It was no use. Perhaps at his strongest he would, just barely, be able to hurt her, but in this diminished form, after weeks without feeding, he was as frail and weak as a lamb. He thrashed his head from side to side, yelling at the top of his undead lungs.

"Vivi!" Sadie snapped, and when that had no effect she snatched a stake of pure silver from a sheath on her belt and held it to Marcion's throat. At once, he stopped his desperate wailing and stared at her with big, fearful eyes.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" Sadie asked drily. 

Fear struck deep into Marcion’s heart. She was mocking him, mocking his pathetic disguise, mocking the deformity of his body as though the changes were his own choice. She must have thought him a deviant of the highest order. Which he was not! He was not!

“I am no girl!” Marcion cried, shaking his head desperately, “I am a man! I am Marcion Hallicourt, and I am the proud son of the Hallicourts, no matter how I may appear!”

Sadie hushed him again, her shushing hand still holding the stake, its vicious point looming terrifyingly close to his icy skin. 

"It's alright," she said, gazing beseechingly into Marcion’s eyes, "I understand. I'm the same as you, a woman born into the body of a boy. I won't judge you for it."

It took a moment for Marcion to register what she had said, but as soon as he did, his screaming began with greater fervour than before. Sadie sheathed her stake and clapped her gauntleted hand over his mouth, but Marcion at once started snapping at it with his sharp little fangs until Sadie had to pull back. 

"Freak!" Marcion howled, "Disgusting, filthy deviant! You are sick! I've been kidnapped by a sick, murderous man in women's clothing!"

"Enough!" Sadie shouted, her voice sharp with fiery intensity. At once her stake was in her hand again, and she slammed it forth at a blistering speed. Marcion shrieked with fear and turned his head, but it was too late. 

The stake speared into the wooden frame of Catlin’s portrait, the merest hair’s breadth from Marcion’s face. 

Fuck, Sadie thought. So much for timid. 

The vampire girl, or boy, as he apparently was, stared up at Sadie with an unmistakable expression of revulsion. She grit her teeth. She had suffered enough of this in snide undertones from her shit of a brother. She would not put up with having it screamed at her by a fucking vampire. 

She took several deep breaths, gathering her thoughts. She had thought that maybe Vivianne would be a good candidate, a vampire with a clear moral conviction, who might be willing to try something new. But if Vivianne was just an act, a pragmatic disguise employed by this Marcion boy…

It was only then that she noticed something odd. Each time she breathed out, Marcion would shiver, ever so slightly, as the puff of hot air brushed his cheek. 

Sadie smirked wickedly. Perhaps he was a perfect candidate after all.

"I think you're lying to me, vampire," she purred, tracing a finger along her captive's cheek, "I know men, and I've never seen a man with such a pretty face..." her finger ran down Marcion’s neck and teased along the lace of his jabot, "Or such a pretty dress..." and now her hand fell to the vampire's jutting chest , "Or such a carefully padded--"

Marcion was already beset by a thousand warring sensations, hunger and guilt and fear and shame, but it wasn't until Sadie's hand roughly squeezed at his chest that he realised one of those feelings was arousal.

"Don't-- ouh!" he choked on the word, a clumsy, strangled moan rising unbidden from his throat. 

Sadie's eyes widened in shock, and then she grinned wickedly and squeezed again, dragging her thumb deliberately over Marcion's throbbing nipple. He whimpered desperately, thrashing and squirming, clutching at Sadie's grasping hand.

"No, no, oh!" he squeaked. He clutched desperately at Sadie's teasing hand, trying to wrest control even as she pinned him to the wall by his collar. "Sadie! You must… you must not… Sadie!"

"Where did these come from, I wonder?" Sadie teased, "Has a naughty vampire been drinking too many pretty girls?"

"Unhand me!" Marcion whined, wrapping his little hands around her thick and solid wrist.

"Do you know what happens to silly little boys who don't eat a varied diet?" Sadie leered, "They become the pretty girls they love so much."

Marcion’s eyes snapped wide, his milk-white skin turning somehow even paler.

“W-what?” he choked, “That… that is a lie! You are trying to deceive me with some sick fabrication, that is not…”

Sadie laughed, “Oh, it’s very real, little vampire. Believe me. I have met many vampires, and have seen the way their form was influenced by their diet. But I have never met a so-called man who looked anywhere near as girlish as you.”

"It wasn’t my fault!" Marcion protested, "I refuse to feed on men! I would sooner die than partake in such deviance!"

"Hmm," mused Sadie, "So repulsed by something most vampires find unremarkable. Why is that, Vivi? Is it because you're afraid? Is it because you already had thoughts of supping upon warm and naked men before you were ever turned?"

Marcion screwed up his face in pure denial, shuddering and gasping as Sadie cruelly circled his nipple with her skillful finger.

"No, nooo," he lied, "I do not... I would not... please..."

Sadie flicked his poor, teased nipple cruelly, then released her grip on his collar. At once a heel buckled on his velvet pumps and he crumpled to the floor, his petticoats in frothy puddles around him. If he had half a mind, he would have sprung to his feet and fled, kicking those accursed heels off as he ran. But he was too in shock, panting for breath he had forgotten he didn't need, and before he could react Sadie had taken hold of the rope she had used to descend from the rooftop, and wrapped it again and again in intricate loops around his wrists.

Sadie grabbed the knot and yanked the quivering vampire to his feet again. Even now he looked stunningly pretty, with his hair a mess, his lipstick smeared, and the many silky layers of his underskirts embarrassingly exposed and askew. All the more humiliating if he really was a man, as he earnestly seemed to believe, but Sadie had little suspicion of that anymore. 

The poor thing was shaking like a leaf, but any sympathy Sadie might’ve had was tempered by the foul words he had spewed, not to mention the threat he posed if left unchecked. He would need to be taught, and to do that, she would need to show him the folly of his current path. 

"Look at you," Sadie said, keeping her voice cold and haughty, "You're pathetic. Weak."

Marcion’s eyes flew open, burning with defiance. 

"I am not!" he insisted, "I am powerful beyond imagination. I am night and death incarnate. I am vampire!"

"You're not powerful," said Sadie, "You're starving. You gave up your life to become a needy, grasping little creature, sucking desperately for sustenance like a baby."

"That’s not true," Marcion said weakly, but his resolve was clearly faltering. 

"You're a slave to your thirst," said Sadie. 

"No!"

"You are," she said, "It controls you, like all vampires."

"No, no, no," Marcion whimpered. 

"Then show me," said Sadie. Marcion’s eyes darted to her throat and she laughed, "You wish, thirsty little thing. No, I'll test you my way." 

At that, she plucked her stake from its lodging in the portrait frame and stabbed it through the knotted rope, pinning Marcion’s hands to the guestroom wall, high above his head. 

With both of her own hands now free, Sadie drew her hunting knife from its scabbard, and slowly, carefully, nicked a fingertip against its point. She tilted the knife towards the captive vampire, and watched as Marcion’s nostrils flared desperately, his mouth already watering at the mere sight of the red smear at the blade’s tip. 

Sadie twirled the knife idly between her fingers, then flung it aside. It whistled through the air and struck cleanly into the thin pole of a coatrack across the room. Marcion groaned at the loss, that entrancing smear of blood now gone, crushed into the wood instead of soothing his poor, dry tongue. Perhaps if he broke free he could run to the coatrack and lick it clean, could suck the blood from the grain like a woodlouse. He tugged futilely at his bonds and wailed in anguish.

Sadie grinned wickedly. She was enjoying this very much. She had sparred with vampires before, even had a twisted flirtation with a certain amoral countess, but she had never found any quite so fun to tease as Marcion.

She raised her pricked finger slowly to Marcion’s nose. A single fat drop of deep red blood welled up from the wound, shining wetly in the lanternlight. 

"Resist temptation, princess," Sadie said, "Show me that undeath is a power, not a weakness."

The drop of blood sat at the end of Sadie’s finger, glistening like a polished ruby. Even now it swelled further, threatening to burst, to gush out over the bounds of her flesh and run dripping, hot and pure, to spatter on the floor. 

Marcion was drooling like a dog. 

He clamped shut his mouth, clamped shut his eyes, would have clamped shut his nose were it within his power. And yet his body was trembling, down to his core, with a fearsome, desperate hunger for Sadie’s warm blood. Even worse, the hunger was not the only lust he was wracked with. He could feel his nipples pressed hard against the soft cups of his corset, his manhood straining desperately at his skirts, and could only pray that Sadie was somehow unaware. 

How had it come to this? How was it possible that a vampire was desperate to not drink human blood? How was it that Marcion’s sanity hinged on not indulging his greatest need? But he knew he must resist, no matter how much his stomach howled at him, no matter how much his throat ached, parched and dry. To give in to his hunger would mean acknowledging his weakness. It would mean confirming that Sadie was right, that she understood Marcion better than he did himself. It would mean having to face those dark desires he had kept so hidden…

A fresh wave of scent reached Marcion’s nostrils, a coppery briny tang, and he lunged mindlessly for Sadie's finger. She yanked it from his reach and laughed cruelly, leaving Marcion straining uselessly at his ropes, gasping with tormented frustration.

"Poor girl," she cooed. She popped her finger between her own lips, sucking away the blood with devastating casualness. Marcion sobbed at his captor’s heartless denial. 

He had failed. He had fallen at the last hurdle, as he had fallen at all the hurdles before. 

"Please," Marcion begged, "I have learned the error of my ways. Please let me go, and I pledge to live a life of... of whatever piety I can manage..."

"That's the thing," Sadie hummed, "I don't think you can manage anything at all. I think you're just a helpless little spoiled princess. Without someone to help you, you fall apart."

She plucked at the sleeve of Marcion's gown and he flinched, as if the risk of damage to the pretty fabric was the worst of his concerns. 

"I'm not helpless," he whimpered. His poor arms were beginning to ache from being held over his head, and his knees were trembling from exhaustion. Heated, squirming feelings roiled in his belly, arousal and hunger tangling together, becoming enmeshed. His painted lips pouted, parted, begged silently for Sadie to have mercy. 

"So command me to let you go," Sadie smirked, "It should be simple for a vampire as powerful as you."

Marcion felt like a fool for not having considered it himself. At once he locked his gaze upon Sadie’s steely eyes, desperately trying to steady his mind, to summon the crimson clarity of purpose he needed to mesmerise her. 

"Let me go, Sadie," he whispered, his voice shaking. He tried again, with all the eldritch power he could muster, "Let me go!"

Sadie went silent and still.

"Yes, master," she droned, and for a moment Marcion thought that he was saved.

Then Sadie's mouth twitched oddly, and laughter came pouring out. 

Sadie laughed until she could hardly breathe, as though the mere thought of Marcion trying to control her was the most wonderful comedy she had ever heard. He wanted to melt into the floor, to simply wither to dust as he should have done all along. And yet, the sight of the powerful, muscular woman standing over him, mocking him, taunting him… why was his body so alight with desire? It was confusion, that was all! Fear and hunger blurring in his brain, tricking his senses. He was not a deviant. Despite it all, he was not…

Finally Sadie stifled her last giggles and smiled at him condescendingly. 

"That was so cute, princess," she said, "Like a little puppy barking at a thunderstorm. You really thought you could command me, didn't you? You thought that a tiny little helpless thing like you could control a real woman like me."

"It should have worked..." Marcion whispered pitifully.

"Oh, but Vivi," Sadie purred, "How can you impress your desires onto another's mind when you don't even know what it is that you want? Because you clearly don't want me to let you go. You want to stay right here, tied up and helpless. My pretty little plaything." 

Marcion froze, unable to formulate a response even as Sadie leaned in close, into biting range, and whispered into his ear.

"It's okay, princess. I would be honoured to play with you. And I think you would enjoy it very, very much."

To his horror, Marcion realised Sadie was not just leaning in. She was pressing against him, pinning his body to the wall with her own, and as her body heat overwhelmed him, even the thought of escape was unimaginable. With all his willpower he managed only to twist his hips, to desperately turn his pelvis from her before she felt his straining manhood.

She couldn't know. He couldn't let her feel it. All this humiliation would pale in comparison if she found...

"What's this, princess? Trying to hide?"

Sadie's body, warm and womanly and powerful, pressed against his own, her breasts against his own shameful pair, her muscular thighs against his curvy, squishy hips. It felt heavenly, but he couldn't take it in for a moment because her hand was tracing a path towards his cock.

It had never been an impressive size, and the changes had only brought disaster. He had shrunken, night by night, until his manly weapon was barely more than a little nub. Sadie's finger pressed through the layers of his skirts and brushed over the hidden tip. He squeaked with fear and stimulation, but to his surprise she kept going, tracing in circles as though searching for something more. 

"Sadie?" he ventured softly.

"What?" She asked, then her jaw dropped at his guilty expression, "That was your cock? That miniscule, useless thing?”

He nodded fearfully, and she cackled ,"You really were born to be a princess, weren't you, Vivi? Imagine trying to live as a man with that pathetic little button. Does it feel nice for you to play with, at least? Well, let's find out."

Her finger traced back to his button, as she had called it, and she began to stroke and pet it in gentle circles. It was the most any woman had ever touched him there, and she was playing with it like he was nothing more than a girl.

And yet he found himself straining ever harder, pressing his little nub against her fingers, gasping and whimpering with pleasure. This was no way for a man to behave… and yet… and yet…

"Ohhh," he moaned shamefully, "Sadie... It feels so good..."

"Do you want more?" She offered. He nodded frantically and she grinned, "Then admit it. Admit you are a helpless princess, with a worthless little button-cock, and that you are too weak to control your hunger.”

Marcion’s eyes were wide, pleading for another way, but his hips were thrusting desperately, begging for more pleasure from Sadie’s masterful fingers. 

“Admit all of this,” Sadie said, her voice low and ragged, her eyes gleaming with lust of her own, “And I will feed you, and make you come.”

Marcion’s still heart leapt. He would be fed? She would provide him the blood he had craved for so many nights? And she would… she would bring him release, as well?

What price was dignity?

"I am a helpless p-princess," Marcion whimpered. 

"And?"

"And I have a... a useless little button-cock," his stomach twisted as he said it, hurting all the more because he knew it was true. 

"And?" 

"And I am too weak to control my hunger," he whimpered. 

She was right. She was right about it all. He was weak. He had always been weak. He would always be weak. Even if he could somehow manage to restore honour to his family name, he would never be able to pass it on, for what wretched woman would ever have child with such a worthless failure of a man?

"What is your name, my dear?" Sadie purred. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, but the answer was clear. 

"Vivianne," she said, and Sadie smiled as she reached out a stern hand and tilted up her chin.

"Good girl," she cooed, "Now open wide for your first course."

Vivianne opened her mouth as wide as she could, already salivating eagerly for just a single drop of blood from Sadie’s fingertip. But instead, to her shock, Sadie merely leaned over her with a cruel smirk, gathered her saliva, and let it drip into Vivianne’s open mouth.

And it was wonderful.

The drop landed thick and wet in Vivianne’s tongue, coating her little pink tongue with hot, viscous fluid. Soothing warmth spread through her cold and aching body, reigniting nerves that had faded and frayed without their scaffold. Vivianne gasped and swallowed desperately, instantly opening her mouth for a second helping.

Sadie grinned, "There's more where that came from, princess. But you'll have to beg for it."

Vivianne didn't hesitate, "Please! Please Sadie, please mistress, I'll do anything, anything for another drop from your wonderful lips"

Even to her own ears she sounded like a desperate fool. But if she must be a fool to receive more of the wonderful, life-giving warmth Sadie had infused her with, it was a deal she would make one thousand times over. 

Sadie laughed, "Very well then, princess. But beware, a single bite and I take this all away. Understood?"

Vivianne nodded keenly, her mind already awash with memories of that wonderful drop, warm and wet and tasting of Sadie. She could hear a voice in her head, what she knew now to be the lingering echoes of her the souls from whom she fed. It was Sadie’s voice, and it spoke of dominance, and yearning, and a passionate ardor that thrilled Vivianne to her core. 

And then Sadie kissed her.

Vivianne squealed with shocked delight, instantly kissing back with full force. Her tongue licked desperately at Sadie's own, their lips locked air tight. Vivianne sucked desperately, thirsty for any fluid she could get. She could feel her body healing, even if she didn't understand it. Sadie was saving her.

Sadie pulled the stake from the wall and tossed it aside, thwacking into the coatrack beneath her knife. Vivianne’s hands fell free, though still knotted together with rope. At once, Vivianne flung her bound arms around Sadie’s neck, desperately pulling her closer, slurping at her kiss, grinding her little nub against Sadie's leather clad thigh through the silky fabrics of her skirts. She whined fitfully, overwhelmed by joy and arousal, and Sadie's hands moved to her plush behind, squeezing and groping at the smooth curves of her bottom, sending further tingles of pleasure through her body.

Sadie pulled back, breaking the kiss and drawing a wordless, keening whine of longing from Vivianne's lips. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," said Sadie, "And then I'm going to feed you, a way you've never been fed before and will never be able to forget."

Vivianne gasped breathlessly, but she didn't argue as Sadie released the knots around her wrists, spun her around, and pushed her against the wall.

"Please be gentle," she begged, "I have no experience with… with matters such as these.”

She bowed her head in shame, and Sadie had to stifle a laugh at the idea that her confession of virginity was any sort of a surprise. 

"I’ll treat you as you deserve, princess," Sadie purred, as she lifted the frills and ruffles of Vivianne's skirts, exposing her round and luscious bottom. She laughed, "No panties, my pretty slut? Were you waiting for me?"

Vivianne's cheeks burned pale, hot with embarrassment despite her bloodless face. There had simply been no option. She could hardly borrow a pair, and under her voluminous petticoats her nakedness should never have been noticeable. And yet now she found herself thrilled that she'd had no choice, eagerly rewriting history in her mind so that she had dressed this way on purpose, to provide easy access for her human lover. 

"Yes, mistress," she panted, "Just for you. Only for you." 

"Good girl," Sadie purred. She didn’t remember ever asking Vivianne to call her mistress, but she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed it. She lowered her leather trousers and drew a vial of lubricant from her toolbelt. She slathered it over her cock, then worked some into Vivianne's tender hole, hidden sweetly between her gorgeous, juicy cheeks. By the time she was ready, Vivianne was shaking worse than ever, heels rattling against the floorboards, smooth and slender legs straining desperately to thrust her bottom up, out, offering it to Sadie to use for her pleasure.

Fuck, this felt good. Sadie had fought dozens of vampires, and in the flow of battle had forced several to their knees, to surrender, to try and convince them to forgo their violent feasts and take another path. None had ever agreed to even try. She had thought that it was hopeless, that the grand theory she had dedicated years to would be nothing more than irrelevant trivia about vampire biology. Yes, vampires could feed on sources other than blood. But what was the point of knowing that if none ever would?

But now here was Vivianne, beautiful, trembling Vivianne, slurping desperately on Sadie’s tongue, offering her pretty little hole for Sadie to fill, eager and ready to try anything Sadie suggested. 

It was time to test her theory. 

At last Sadie took position between the anxious vampire’s legs. Vivianne was so excited she could hardly stand still, and Sadie had to place a firm hand on her hip, buried under the mountain of petticoats piled roughly on Vivianne's desperately arching back. With her other hand she took hold of her own stiff cock, then pressed her waist against Vivianne's rear and released her grip, letting her cock thwack up against Vivianne's most private parts.

Viviane squealed with surprise, a sound which soon shifted to a moan of delight.

"Oh, Sadie! That's so... Oh gosh, it's so big. Your cock is so big! I can't... It's so big, so long and so thick, and, oh, so perfect in its shape. I need... I need it... Oh, mistress. Oh, mistressss!"

Vivianne's words trailed off into a needy whine as she rocked her hips, rubbing her sweet little button along the shaft of Sadie's long, thick cock.

"So good," she panted, "it feels... so good... oh, mistress... I need... I need it..."

Sadie stroked Vivianne's hip and warned her gently, "Not like this, princess. You need a proper fucking, a nice long cock inside your juicy little arse, to put you in your proper place."

"Yesss mistress," Vivianne moaned, prompted by nothing but her own aching desire, "Fuck me... pump your cock inside me… flood me with your perfect seed..."

Sadie smiled and kissed Vivianne on the cheek, then obliged her sweetly, pressing her cock's fat head against her trembling lover's tender hole. Even there, in the furrow between her cheeks, she was icy cold. No matter, Sadie thought as she pressed forward. She would soon warm her up. 

"Mistress, oh!" Vivianne gasped, 'Oh, mistress, so big! I can feel it stretching me... I do not... I do not know if it will fit, mistress, I... I feel... Is it good for you, mistress? Does it make your cock feel good?"

"It does, princess," Sadie purred, and Vivianne whined with satisfied pride, "And I promise it will feel good for you too, if you keep being soft and sweet and take my cock like a good girl."

"I am a good girl," whimpered Vivianne, who had been fiercely proclaiming her manhood less than ten minutes earlier, "I’m your good girl, mistress. Your big cock feels so...”

"Just like that," Sadie murmured. Vivianne really was being very good, keeping herself soft and pliant for Sadie to press inside. She pulled out and pressed again in slow and patient movements, opening Vivianne up the tiniest fraction further each time.

"Mistress," Vivianne whimpered, "It... It hurts a bit..."

Sadie stopped moving and brought her lips to Vivianne's cheek again. The nervous little vampire was being so brave, and suddenly Sadie felt an unfamiliar urge to soothe her, to protect her, to keep her safe from fear and pain. 

"You've done so well, my sweet Vivi," she said softly. Vivianne whimpered needily and Sadie kissed her gently on the cheek. "You're being…" and she hesitated, her thoughts now perhaps less wholesome, but Vivianne whined again and Sadie released her words in a slow, warm hiss against her ear, “You’re being such a perfect, submissive little vampire slut.”

Vivianne shuddered with pleasure and pushed back, pressing her poor bottom down further on Sadie's rigid cock. She let out a low moan and pulled herself away, then pushed again, as deep as she could go. Sadie smiled and kissed her again, grazing little nibbles along Vivianne's neck and cheek and ear. Her lover whined and shook with pleasure and pain, her bottom slowly adjusting, learning to accept Sadie's thick cock, learning that it belonged inside her, until at last Vivi was thrusting back and forth as fast as she could, slapping her plush cheeks against Sadie's muscular waist.

"I... love...this... so... much..." she panted, each word interrupted by a wet slap from her fleshy cheeks, soaked in lubricant, and sweat, and precum.

"Does it feel good?" Sadie teased. 

"So good!" Vivi whined. 

"And to think," said Sadie, "You were so insistent on being a big, strong man. So sure you could control your desires."

Vivi whined, covering her face in embarrassment.

"Oh, princess, it was cute," Sadie giggled. "So funny seeing you act that way, when all along you were born to be my slut. You tried to play seductress, but I seduced you. You tried to mesmerise me, but now you obey my every command. And, sweet vampire girl, I have something else for you to try."

And with that, Sadie clutched Vivi tight, thrust her cock as deep as it would go, and bit her, a hard sucking love bite, right on Vivi's neck.

"Oh!" Vivi squealed, "Oh, mistress! Biting me! Ah! Biting... Mistress is biting... Oh, mistress, I... I... Ohhhh!"

Vivi's hips squirmed frantically, bucking and twisting but unable to escape her merciless impalement on Sadie’s cock. Sadie sucked harder on the submissive girl's pale neck, and all she could do was flail and whimper as her tiny nub squirted a pathetic little puff of white smoke, the worthless issue of an impotent, blood-starved vampire. 

"Cumming..." Vivi gasped, "Mistress, I... I'm sorry... I came... Your cock.. your lips... I did not have the strength..." 

Sadie released Vivi's neck and smiled, gently tilting her head so she could see the poor girl’s pretty face, tired and pale and smeared with ruined makeup, "It's alright, princess. You've done such a good job. I’m very, very proud."

Vivi's eyes shone with happy tears, but her lip trembled, as it so often did, "Mistress, I would help you reach your climax... but I feel so tired...and my legs are sore...*

Sadie laughed at her poor lover's helpless moaning. She wasn't even pretending to try and fix her own problems, the adorable submissive thing. Sadie withdrew her cock from Vivi's bottom, eliciting another sulking whine, and helped the sweet girl turn around. Vivi's skirts fell back around her legs and she swished them wistfully with her hands, listening to the silky sounds they made. 

"Are we done, mistress?" Vivi said softly, her eyes wet and mournful.

Sadie examined her cock, surprised to see it was slick and clean. But then of course it was – she was with a lover who didn’t eat. 

Sadie smiled and kissed Vivianne gently on the forehead, "Not yet, my love. Lift your skirt for me, princess."

Vivi plucked her skirts gently between her delicate fingers, lifting them in a graceful faux-curtsey, showing off her fine legs in her silky, lace-topped stockings. She let out a little squeak as Sadie's hands stole up under her skirts again, grabbing her bare bottom and hoisting her into the air. She flung her arms around her lover's neck and held on tight as Sadie moved her into position. Once again, Sadie's thick cock was pressed against Vivi's tiny little dot, and she squirmed with embarrassment at the humiliating contrast. 

"Sadieeeee," she whined, "I do not wish to see…"

"Look at me, princess," Sadie said softly.

Vivi's eyes fluttered open and she gazed into her lover's eyes, a blissful smile spreading across her pretty lips. 

Sadie rocked her hips, dragging the shaft of her cock across Vivi's little nub, all the way up, and then all the long, long way back down

"Do you feel that?" She murmured. Vivi nodded slowly, their eyes still locked to one another. "That's what a real cock feels like. Because I have a real cock, and you..." She pressed firmly against the little button, "Have a tiny, adorable, little clitty."

"I know, mistress," Vivi whispered, still trembling with embarrassment and arousal.

"No good for anything but this," Sadie smiled, rubbing against her again. Vivi shivered. "You will never fuck a girl. Never get a blowjob, or even a handjob. Never impress someone with your cock, never tempt someone with the bulge in your trousers. That little clit is all you have, a silly toy for a sweet princess to play with. Aren't you glad you have that instead of a real cock?"

Vivi squeezed her eyes tight, like that would block out the shame. Only, for the first time that she could remember, there was no shame to be felt. It was true, the useless button between her legs was a sad excuse for manhood. But what use had she for manhood? She was no man. She was no Hallicourt, even. She was Vivianne Eastley, and she was free. 

A wave of blissful relief crashed over her, and she opened her eyes, smiling beatifically up at Sadie.

"Yes, mistress."

Sadie beamed back at her. Something had changed within Vivianne, she had seen it, seen the way her tense little muscles had relaxed, seen her smile a way she hadn’t before. Was that her doing? Was she responsible for making the little vampire so happy? If so, everything was worth it. All the fights she had been through, the lonely weeks of travel through harsh wilderness, even losing her inheritance, it was all worth it just to put that smile on Vivianne’s face. 

And to fuck her.

"Hold on tight, my love," said Sadie. She moved her cock into position, then simply released, letting gravity take the lead and plunging Vivi's aching bottom straight down onto it, sinking all the way to the hilt in a single stroke 

"Oh, Sadieeee!" Vivi squealed, "Oh mistress! Your cock! So deep!" 

Sadie lifted her again, then brought her down fast, slamming Vivi down as she thrust her own hips upwards. Vivi wailed in frightened pleasure, but Sadie didn’t relent, fucking her hard against the wall as she squeezed her soft legs tight around Sadie’s waist. Her arse was like magic, like it had been made just for Sadie, but even that achingly wonderful feeling paled in comparison to the enchanting, ecstatic noises her lover was making, the rapturous fanged smile on her face, the beautiful sight of her little round tits bouncing up and down. She kept fucking her, losing herself in the pleasure, until at last she felt her cock swell and kissed Vivi again, her breath ragged, and growled, "I'm going to cum."

"Inside me!" Vivi begged, "Please, please cum inside me, mistress!"

Sadie smiled cheekily, "That's the whole point, darling."

Vivi looked at her, confused, then gasped as Sadie moaned and pressed in deep. Her cock swelled and released, again and again, pumping waves of thick, hot cum deep inside Vivi's body.

Vivi’s eyes went wide, and she could barely feel it as her own tiny penis squirted another wasted, ghostly spray into empty air. 

Sadie's kisses had been an awakening. 

Her cock had been like a glimpse into heaven.

But this? 

The feeling of Sadie cumming inside her, filling her with her seed, the boiling heat that spread through her body from her very core, the tingling racing up and down her skin, the wonderful, incomparable closeness of having the fruits of Sadie's love splattered against her insides...

Vivianne had never felt more full.

In every way.

*****

"My great great grandfather called it Blood Correspondence," Sadie explained.

Vivianne laid her head upon a stack of lumpy pillows and watched blissfully as Sadie paced the room, gesturing eagerly as she explained what had been happening to Vivianne's body. 

It was all a bit overwhelming. Sadie was speaking at a mile a minute, touching on pea plants, and ghouls, and a Council that she seemed very displeased with, and it would have been hard to follow even if Vivianne's head wasn't still reeling from being so thoroughly fucked. 

Gosh, had she ever been fucked. 

"...but this guide, this scaffold, it isn't only present in the blood..."

Vivianne stretched her aching legs, grinning a wicked, fanged grin as she felt a trickle of Sadie's seed slip from her well-fucked rear. Oh, she would have to take care that it didn't stain her chemise. But then, there were so many other pretty underthings she could buy, so many dresses and heels and jewellery...

Perhaps all the talk of princesses had gone to her head. 

"...and I have records, notes from when I was testing this theory as a girl, and you can see a clear trend in the changes..."

Vivi snuggled into the pillows and tried to keep up. It was hard to stay focused, though, Sadie was just so beautiful, somehow even more so when she was engaged in such a passionate lecture. Vivianne couldn't help but imagine Sadie as a professor at some great college, perhaps in a tailored coat and a pair of spectacles, and with Vivianne as her misbehaving student...

Focus, Vivianne! This was her biology, after all, or the magic underpinning it, and it was of clear importance for her to absorb Sadie's teachings. Although it would be even more rewarding to absorb more of Sadie's...

"Vivi? Are you listening?" 

Vivianne smiled sheepishly up at her, "I am trying, my darling. But I am ever so tired. And this bed is so very comfortable."

She nuzzled into her pillows, sighing helplessly. In truth, the bed was not particularly comfortable. The pillows especially were unforgivable, and Vivianne had refused to even touch them until Sadie offered to wrap her shirt around them to protect Vivianne's delicate senses.

Sadie's shirt may honestly have been dirtier than the pillows themselves, but it had two quite wonderful benefits as a pillowcase. For one, it carried a strong trace of Sadie's sweaty, womanly scent, a delightful addition to any pillow. For another, being so occupied meant that it was unable to fulfil its prior role in covering Sadie's torso, and so she had been delivering her lecture with her chest almost bare, save for the short stays supporting her breasts. 

Sadie sighed and leant back against the wall, crossing her arms. Vivi couldn't help but lick her lips at the alluring sight of Sadie's muscular core, and the wiry trail of hair leading temptingly into her trousers. 

"I suppose it's been an eventful night," Sadie mused, and flashed Vivianne a teasing smirk. Vivianne giggled. Yes, eventful indeed. 

She would stay Vivianne, she had decided. It had happened somewhere in amongst it all, between the pleasure of her own climax and the ecstasy of Sadie's. A door she had worked so hard to keep closed had sprung open, and all her shameful desires had sprung forth and been satisfied at once, and no longer seemed so shameful anymore. The door had closed again, but this time with Vivianne firmly on the other side. And she had no intention of going back.

There was a world of beautiful potential ahead of her as Vivianne, and it seemed obvious now that it had always been there. It was just that, like any vampire, she had needed somebody to invite her in.

"I didn't even get to tell you about the ghouls," Sadie muttered.

"You told me about the ghouls, dearest," said Vivianne, subtly sweeping a hand across the sadly empty expanse of the bed beside her. 

"Only in passing," Sadie frowned, "I had many more experiments on ghouls. I fed one ghoul nothing but chicken's blood, and it turned from a goat into a hen."

"It does sound intriguing, sweet Sadie," said Vivianne, now not-so-subtly patting the mattress to beckon Sadie over, "And I would love nothing more than to listen raptly as you entrance me with all manner of science in the morrow. But for now, will you not join me?" 

Sadie glanced at the door, "Perhaps you need time alone to rest."

"Sadie Malloxe," Vivianne said sternly, "You join me in this bed at once, or you will find yourself very quickly with my lips clasped to your neck or your cock, and in either case I will suck you dry!"

Sadie turned back, her face a picture of surprise. Vivianne clapped a hand to her mouth in shock and fell back on the bed, kicking her legs in a fit of breathless giggles. 

"That is not the vampire I deflowered ten minutes ago," said Sadie. 

"I'm sorry!" Vivianne giggled, "But I have some vixen's echoed thoughts in my head insisting that pretty little vampires need to be bred, and at the moment I'm inclined to agree!" 

Sadie shook her head ruefully, "Insatiable."

"As though it's my fault," Vivianne scoffed, "While you stand there in your leather trousers, bosom straining at your stays, a loose curl of hair hanging rakishly over your soulful eyes..."

"Alright, enough," Sadie laughed, and she took off her boots and joined Vivianne in bed, climbing upon her, trapping the petite girl beneath her muscular body. Vivianne hummed in appreciation and ran her hands worshipfully along Sadie's brawny arms. So soon after feeding, her touch was light and warm, and her cheeks blushed pink with arousal.

"I really was listening," Vivianne murmured softly. 

"Is that so?" 

"Yessss..." she squeezed at Sadie's bicep, eyes glowing with greedy crimson light as she felt the firm corded muscle within. She smiled up at her, "Enough to know that I should be expecting some fine muscle of my own soon enough."

Sadie hesitated, and Vivianne took the opportunity to wrap her dainty arms around her neck and pull her in for a kiss. Sadie acquiesced, meeting the vampire's eager little tongue with her own, swirling about her in a warm, tender dance, mindful to avoid the sharp points of her fangs. She pulled back, and Vivianne swallowed deeply, then let out a soft sigh of satisfaction. 

"I wouldn't count on it, princess," she warned.

"Oh?"

Sadie sat back on her heels, running her eyes along Vivianne's body. She really was gorgeous, her beauty even more visible now that she was in just her underclothes. She had stripped out of her gown, corset and petticoats soon after Sadie's climax, whining desperately that she was burning up, that her body had been set aflame by the divine heat of Sadie's lustful spend. Sadie had found it a bit dramatic, though admittedly very flattering. 

She was practically nude now, the delicate curves of her legs only enhanced by the gauzy dressing of her stockings. Her innermost layer, now her outermost, was a chemise of some decadent, silky, tantalisingly sheer material. It clung tight to her supple breasts, her full and juicy hips, and to her needy little clit. Vivianne's hair had fallen from its elaborate design into a mess of dark curls, but she still wore her jewelry -- including, most significantly, the binding collar around her neck.

Sadie nodded meaningfully, and Vivianne raised a curious hand, blushing when she realised, "This?"

"A binding collar," Sadie explained, "It seals you in your current form. I put it on you so you wouldn't turn to shadow and escape..." she slid forward, pressing her leather clad bulge between Vivianne's legs, "Before I could have my fun."

Vivi's smile widened, "And what fun it was. So I shan't become like you? No matter how often I partake of your wonderful gifts?"

"Unless you'd like me to remove it," said Sadie.

"And if I were to put it on you," Vivianne said, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "And claim you with my vampiric bite... you would remain uncorrupted?" 

"I haven't tested it," Sadie mused, "But as I recall, you weren't the one doing the biting."

Vivi's blush deepened, and she brought a hand to her neck, tracing the red mark where Sadie had bitten her, had freed her from the shackles of virginity. 

"And this, then, oh knowledgeable scholar," she teased, "Did the collar protect me? Or will my body be marked forever by your vicious bite?" 

"The collar doesn't protect from injury," Sadie said, "But I don't think I bit you quite hard enough for that, anyway."

"Hmm," Vivianne mused, "You will have to refresh it each night, then, lest I am coveted by another woman of your persuasion."

Sadie's smile faded. 

It was tempting to say yes. To fall into Vivianne's arms, bury her cock in her luscious arse, and let their passion become the stake she built her life around. But it would only end in heartbreak, as did any attachment. 

"I will leave this city soon," she said, "I am needed elsewhere. There are other vampires across this kingdom, and few of them are gentle enough to leave their victims alive."

"And you will..."

"I will slay them, as I have slayed many before," said Sadie, her tone firm and harsh. 

Perhaps Vivianne ought to have been frightened. No, certainly she should have been frightened, trapped in place by a woman who had killed many of her kind and could end her eerie unlife in an instant. All it would take was for Sadie to grab her by the throat with her iron grip, take her blade, tease it feather-light up Vivianne's body, slicing cleanly through the silk of her chemise and leaving her quivering and exposed...

But this was no time for such sensual fantasies. She could see the sadness in Sadie's eyes, hidden behind a shield of detachment. And she could hear a voice in the back of her mind, a voice she recognised was not her own. A voice that urged her to leave at once, before she had the chance to be hurt.

Vivianne's dead heart ached. 

"Have you done this with many others?" she asked, gesturing to their waists, where Sadie's hot womanhood pressed against her own, "Any vampires, I mean. Fed them in this way."

"No! I always hoped I could try it, but this was my first time really putting it to the test," said Sadie, her eyes alighting again with eagerness to expound on her research. Vivianne suppressed a grin. She really was quite adorable when so engaged. 

"So I'm your first," she purred, "As you are mine." 

"I feel like many vampires would take well to it," Sadie said, gesturing again as she got worked up, "My mother trained me in healing, the non-magical kind I mean, and there are many medicines that are most effective when applied, well, the way I did to you. Minus the fucking, obviously. And so I always thought, knowing that any fluid had the same restorative effect as blood, it only made sense that if I could just convince a vampire to take it up the arse..."

Vivianne shook her head in disbelief, "And none took you up on this kind offer?"

Sadie grimaced, "Sadly not. All the ones that I encountered turned to violence pretty much as soon as we were alone together. I had almost given up, and resigned myself to just killing, like my father before me. But then I met you, and I could tell that you were different."

Vivianne sighed. Yes. She was different. She was weak. As many wonderful things as she had come to accept about herself tonight, weakness would always be her defining aspect. 

"You were kind," said Sadie. 

Vivianne blinked, "Oh?"

Sadie smiled down at her, "Compassionate, even after death. Unwilling to kill, even when I could see how starved you were. You don't see such kindness often in a vampire. Or even in a living person."

Kindness. Vivianne had never thought of it that way.

"Nor do you often see a vampire hunter so defined by their desire to help vampires live," she smiled. 

Sadie turned her head with a grimace, "I really should go."

"You are a remarkable creature, do you know that?" Vivianne said softly, "So intelligent, so strong..."

Sadie rose to move but Vivianne clutched her by the wrist, pulling her back. 

"Vivianne..." 

"So beautiful," she purred, "So caring..."

"Vivi, I must..."

"So utterly ravishing," Vivianne growled, her other hand moving to Sadie's waist, caressing her weighty cock through the leather of her trousers. Sadie hissed. "So perfect in every way..."

"Vivi..."

"So fearsome on the outside, with your sturdy arms, and your gorgeous scars, and your vicious, taunting words," Vivianne smirked, "And yet all those nasty things you said to me were so carefully crafted, were they not? So precisely aimed to help me blossom from the coercive shell in which I was encased. Had you dreamed of this, sweet Sadie? Of finding a boyish damsel to rescue, to save another from the hardships you endured?"

"Vivi, I... I need to go..." said Sadie, but Vivianne could feel the hesitancy, the barest gentle tugging from a woman who could have brushed her off in an instant had she truly desired. 

Vivianne squeezed her cock in a firm and supple stroke, and pulled Sadie closer, catching her lips in a fierce kiss. Sadie submitted to her passion, kissing Vivianne deeply with a murmur of soft desire before the vampire girl pulled away. 

"You are a good person, Sadie," she said softly, "I want you to stay with me."

Sadie winced, the formidable woman looking vulnerable for the first time Vivianne had witnessed. Perhaps the first time in years. 

"I am needed elsewhere," Sadie whispered, "I have a calling. I will not... I will not let my failings keep me from my life's purpose..."

Vivianne's heart ached, seeing the hurt in Sadie's eyes. She could not heal her tonight. But she would try her best, no matter how long it took. 

"Then you may leave in the morrow," she said, "If that is what your duty demands. But you will visit me again. Within a month."

"Vivi..."

"You must," Vivianne said firmly, "You must. I need to feed, do I not? And if not from your perfect cock, I will have to pick from the loutish men in the tavern below us. The barmen entreated me to spread my legs, do you know? If you do not visit me, I will be forced to allow it."

"Somehow you don't seem displeased by the idea," Sadie said drily. 

Vivianne blushed, "Well, perhaps. It would be a shame not to sample the range of flavours available, after all. But I do need you, Sadie. And I want you. Say you will visit?" 

Sadie's stomach roiled. Making such a promise would only open her to disappointment, would only mean more pain when Vivianne grew tired of her. But as she gazed down at the beseeching eyes of the little vampire, as her plaintive voice echoed in the quiet room, and, alright, the eager hand on her cock helped too, she found herself unable to resist. 

Vivianne had mesmerised her after all. 

"I will visit," she said, and leaned in to kiss her again. 

Vivianne stopped her with a pale finger on her lips. 

"Regularly," she insisted. 

"Regularly," Sadie nodded. 

"Once a month at the least," Vivianne said firmly. 

"Vivianne..."

"Sadie!"

"Very well," she sighed. She could feel herself falling deeper into the warm snare of attachment, but somehow she was unable to resent it. She smiled, "I will come once a month, like the moon."

"Oh, I'll settle for a single monthly visit," Vivianne grinned, "But you'll need to come several more times than that."

Sadie grinned back, as Vivianne tugged eagerly at her trousers, "Then let's get started."

**********************************

Author's Note:

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it! And oh my god, a huge thanks to the beautiful Elle, without whom I never would have gotten this finished. She also came up with the title!

I've been MIA for a little while so I'm behind on my recommendations I fear. Lucy is very keen on her friends new story Seeing Double, about an absolute disaster repressed egg who finds a magic mirror that can turn him to an exact replica of his girlfriend. I've only read the first chapter so far but it seems very intriguing... and likely to get very dark and fucked up and evil... but will also involve her kissing hunky guys, so it's impossible to say whether it's good or bad. Lucy has a new oneshot of her own, which is very sexy even if it does give me the willies a bit case the main character's sexuality is magically changed in it (there's a hint to this in the title: I Got Magically Transformed into a Straight Girl and My Best Friend Wants to Shag Me?!?! Not my thing I'm afraid but it might be yours! And I'm kind of a Desi Arnaz type, y'know, so I had to give it a shout out.

I also just started reading A&J: Mountains and Moonlight by Amelia_Johnson on Scribble Hub. It's already incredibly cute and romantic and I'm so keen to read more! It's an egg4egg romance (wait, sorry, no, Ansel and Jason are definitely normal cishet guys) and it has this really beautiful kinda soft, sweet, dreamy vibe to it. Or maybe I'm just sleepy. ANYWAY. I loved Amelia's last story, Rule Number One, and apparently this whole story is already written and just waiting to be uploaded! So you won't have to wait months for sporadic updates, like SOME authors I could mention!

Amelia also gave me some very helpful notes on this story, so shout out to her <3 Also hop in the Discord if you wanna see me tryna write a hot dumb story about a threesome. I think that's all from me, bye babes!