Rome, 397. The evening was cool and clear and it found Evander honoring Bacchus, the god of wine and fertility, by drunkenly plowing the lush furrows of twelve lovely whores at a brothel not far from the Hall of Justice. Constantine may have made the Jewish sect the new order of the day, but there were still a few who remained loyal to the gods of old.
He was standing at the window, resting, thinking how pleasurable it would be to fuck them all again, when the spy slipped into the room, silently slit the throat of the prostitute he’d just bedded while she slept and grabbed him from behind, all before he could say “Quid facis?”
The last things he experienced were the deadly breath of the Visigoth, the terrible pain in his throat, warm blood flowing over his skin…and the cold…sliding, sinking, taking him down into blackness.
And then he woke up…
##
Bohemia, 1378. “Doctor” Vladimir (that was not really his name) was called again to the small village just a few miles from his home. The old woman’s deathly pallor indicated poison in the vital sanguine humor. There seemed to be an epidemic of this occurring in the village.
“Just a little slice of the vein, Mrs. Ichoroff. We will drain this terrible infection out through your blood.”
When the pan was half-full, Vladimir took it outside to empty it. When he returned, Mrs. Ichoroff noticed how flushed and warm his face appeared, where before it had seemed pale and cold.
It was a cold and bitter winter night.
Mrs. Ichoroff mentioned this curious fact to a neighbor once she’d recovered and the Good Physician heard whispers behind his back when he next visited the town.
Mrs. Ichoroff had a sudden relapse and died within the week.
The doctor was never seen again.
##
London, 1891. Evander Eternae found himself many years and miles distant from his origins. He’d spent the last several months tracking a nocturnal creature almost as bloodthirsty and savage as himself, if not as an efficient or accomplished a killer. The idiot regularly left a scent of fresh blood in the air.
Rage rose within him, as he approached the suffering creature in the dark alleyway. Damn the man and his dull blade! His eyes glowed red as the lust overpowered him. He considered it a mercy as he ripped the girl’s throat wide and drank.
Later, Evander would make it a game to hunt the hunter. He would obtain much pleasure from ripping the incompetent son of a bitch to pieces. Any man who could not keep his blades sharp enough for a clean kill did not deserve to live.
Call it justice.
##
Redondo Beach, 1990. He should have known better than to mess around with the surfer boy’s underage girlfriend. But, she was—he could sense it—an Innocent. Innocent blood was more delectable than any other kind and it was rare these days.
He’d met her at a night carnival, of course. She was there with her boyfriend. Evander watched from a distance while Surfer Boy made a sad attempt at Ring Toss. He walked away with no stuffed teddy-bear for his girl. Evander caught her eye when he went to buy them sodas.
And that was the end of that. Evander, with his still perfect twenty-year old Centurion physique and a smile that had split more hymens (and pierced more throats) over the centuries than there were stars in the heavens…well, it was just too easy.
Her name was Lily and she was beautiful and petite. There would be no resistance. None that would matter, anyway. He would first enjoy her virginity…and then her life-blood.
He’d gotten her back to his apartment that same night. They fumbled in the dark (although he could see better than she could with his immortal vision) and soon he had her naked and beneath him on the bed, thrusting deeply within her. She’d cried out in pain when he’d first entered her, but she seemed to be enjoying it well enough now.
##
Thirty minutes later when he hadn’t come yet, he realized something was wrong.
He looked up into the mirrored-headboard and flinched in horror at the wrinkles he saw there on his face. He never had wrinkles before.
“Keep fucking…yes…that’s it…I’m not done with you yet…Vampire!” the girl said, thrusting her hips in rhythm with him.
Evander tried to pull out, but the girl…whose eyes were now glowing as fierce as his ever had…flipped him over with a strength that belied her small frame and pinned him down tightly as she rode him and rode him and rode him. His flesh began to deteriorate and fall away from his bones in putrid chunks, soiling the bedsheets with blood and tissue, and still she rode him…still he clung to life. He tried to scream and couldn’t. The pleasure was intense and the pain was worse.
“Why?” Evander cried, his face now a grinning, whimpering skull with bits of flesh still clinging to it, his eyeballs collapsing in the sockets.
She leaned close. “Because. There’s only room in this city for one demon,” she purred.
As the last fading light of his mind died away, Evander chuckled. The blade of his intellect had gotten dull over the centuries.
In the end, since he didn’t have much of a soul to satiate her need, Lily (that wasn’t really her name) ripped his still beating heart out of the rotten cavity in his chest and devoured it, licking her lips.
Call it justice.
————–
©2012 Maria Kelly
Maria Kelly lives in Florida. She’s had stories and poems published in anthologies and online. She writes about dragons, an alien/shape-shifting/serial-killerspider, zombies, twisted fairy tales, and a basement dweller who makes Cthulhulook like a Care Bear. In her spare time she drinks coffee (lots of it) and attends college in thehopes of someday being able to wear a tee-shirt that reads: “I Teach BannedBooks.” You can visit her website at http://mariakellyauthor.com or follow her onTwitter (@mkelly317).
Tags: Maria Kelly
January 20th, 2012 at 2:05 pm
Wicked chuckle … turn about is such fair play.
Altho I’m surprised she was able to fool him into believing her innocent. You’re slipping, Evander!
February 6th, 2012 at 1:35 pm
Wild! Really enjoyed this one, Maria…great work, here!