The Vampire Novella / Chapter 5: Broken

The mirror is old and has a patina of cracks running over the surface. In my reflection, the cracks blur the bruises that run up my jaw to my cheekbone. But there is no hiding the fading yellow and purple pattern on my face in reality, and I meet my own eyes with only a hint of shame. I deliberately push my hair away from my face, and bind it into a knot at the top of my head, allowing my cheekbones and my neck to be seen, refusing to cover the marking; my skin's own veil.

I cover my lips in red, and they feel sore and swollen. I run my tongue over them, and fight the memory that makes me want to bite down…hard.

On my way back from the cloakroom, I pass a friend who looks at me– not with pity – with compassion. She's always been a kind person.

He is there, of course. Waiting in the booth, looking so right and at ease as always. This club could only exist in London, a kind of speakeasy, forties-inspired, cocktail bar where a long dress and diamonds or naked with a python are equally acceptable attire. His shaved head and black leather trenchcoat mark him out as impossibly disinterested in fitting in. One arm rests on the back of the couch, and he gestures with a slight movement of his hand, telling me I should sit down next to him and finish my drink.

He takes my face in his hand, turning it from side to side to examine it under the lamplight. His voice is low but gentle. “Bitch. Slut. Showing off your marking. Are you proud you made me hurt you? I can hurt you again. I can take you right here. I'll bend you over the table, pull your skirt up, push your knickers to one side and fuck you. Or maybe I'll just break your fucking arm this time”.

My face is flushed; my breathing has changed. I want him, I want him to fuck me over the table right now, in front of everybody, I don't care. Desire and terror and shame and confusion fight for dominance inside my falling heart. He will catch me.

He lifts up my glass and holds it in his hands, catching my eyes over the rim. I am silent and still. My focus has narrowed to him, this moment, in this place. With quick movements he scoops out the ice and holds it in the palm of his hand. He draws me closer and touches the inside of my wrist with the ice, keeping eye contact. A line, moving upwards along my arm, written on my body in a trail of cold water. He traces my collarbone, follows the curve of my neck and soothes my poor, sore face. As the last of the ice disintegrates, he lifts the glass and brings it to me to drink. I suck the last of the sticky drink into my mouth and hold it there. He pushes two fingers between my lips and I feel the heat and solid mass of him contrasting in texture with the cool liquid.

His hand moves sharply and the glass breaks with an explosive burst on the wooden table. The noise attracts the attention of the bar staff and he smiles apologetically; gesturing at the floor, as one of them comes to clean up the mess. They brush up the pieces on the carpet and take them away, while he palms the stem of the glass, sharp and jagged and fragile.

He turns. “Lucy, look at me”. I can't meet his eyes. I'm so afraid. He lifts my chin. I struggle a little, pointlessly. He insists…I yield…he holds my eyes, then releases me. With broken glass he draws upwards, following the line of ice. My wrist unfolds in red. I breathe out. I'm dizzy. He makes the shape of spirals on my arm. He shifts position. I see he's got hard. I want to touch him. I reach out…little splashes of colour mark the passage of my hand. I feel his cock stiffen as I touch him. His black jeans are turning even darker as the blood soaks into them. He leans forward, taking my hands and pushing me back into the seat. He lifts my skirt and parts my legs. He cuts deeply into my thigh. He unbuttons his jeans and I can't resist touching him, he rubs himself against my thigh until his cock is covered with blood. I'm so wet, it's all over my thighs, and it too adds to the sticky mixture.

His hands are covered in red. He uses his hands to lift me and push my knickers to one side. He slides a finger into my ass; the blood lubricates me, and when his cock slides in it feels so good, it feels so fucking good I can't bear it. I start to make a noise and he hushes me, takes my throat into his mouth and bites, hard, and hard again. His teeth cut, I'm bleeding from wrist, thigh and throat and I'm not sure whether I'll faint before I come. His fingers circle my wrist. He is immensely, inhumanly strong. I feel a bone snap. A wave of sickness, then a wave of something else. He's thrusting slowly, his hands on my shoulders then on my hips. I curl my legs around his back, drawing him closer. His hand on my throat, squeezing. He hits me in the face. I feel something crack. I surrender, finally, and scream. I'm aware of nothing more…nothing but the sensation on my thighs, the viscous combination of my pussy's wetness, blood, sweat, and finally, semen…

…Suddenly I'm wide awake. I'm lying on the floor in his arms; he's stroking me. Everyone else in the room is dead, apart from his friends. I'm guessing other people tried to interfere. That always pisses him off. Master D is not someone you want to irritate.

He's amusing himself by tossing and catching a knife – one I know is so sharp he would lose a finger if he missed. He's throwing it into the air just above my stomach – I can feel my hair rise and a prickle on the surface of my skin. I'm annoyed and everything aches. My bones have already healed, but I'm still sore. I shove his hand out the way, catch the knife and throw it across the room, then sit up and glare at him. He raises his eyebrows at me, and holds out a hand. One of his friends tosses the knife back at him and he catches it without looking. Without breaking eye contact he brings it blade-first under my chin, and nicks a tiny cut there. I lose my temper and feel a compulsion to smack the smugness out of him, so reach out and slap him hard in the face.

I've gone too far, his expression warns me. Before I can even speak the apology that jumps to my mouth, I'm over his lap and he's spanking me..not with his hand but with the blade of his knife. The pain of the impact jars with the pain of the cut, the double sensation brings me to whimpering even more quickly than usual, a state of pleading, hopeless submission… “anything… you can have anything, I want you to”.

His knife runs between my legs and over my clit. “Anything?”, he breathes into my ear. “Yes..please…yes”, I whisper. He starts to fuck me with the knife, carefully, so carefully, cutting only a little, just barely, on the outside. Then the knife travels over my body and he cuts more heavily, into the skin on my back, painting patterns and marks, symbols and drawing blood.

He turns me and holds me close. He strokes my hair, telling me I'm a good girl. “I want the wolf to fuck you”, he murmers. Is he asking me? He doesn't normally ask. But this is pushing my limits, and I don't know if I can do this. His eyes are as confident as normal but sadness hovers at the edges. I'll do anything to make it disappear. I nod, feeling a tremble go over me. “You'll have to tie me down”. Now it's me who is asking. And he nods in return.

My eyes dilate as he puts the cuffs on. For once I don't struggle. I lie back on the table, and he clips my arms above my head, chains them down. My ankles are cuffed to the legs of the table. “Get Wolf”, he says.

Even his friends look shocked, but in his animal form, Wolf is not as ugly as when he is the half-Wolf. I can do this, for him, for them both.

Claws on carpet. The smell of sunshine on fur. I hear the Wolf's breathing, just like any other dog, panting. A tongue touches me between my legs. I'm wet from the licking, the last traces of blood and semen are cleaned away. He mounts me in one swift penetration. Immediately he settles to a fast rhythm, I sense his relief and release. The shape inside me is strange, different, touching unusual places in my body, in my mind. A knot pushes at my entrance, knocking against the lips of my pussy with each fast thrust.

All at once I open up enough and the knot slides inside, sealing him into me. As each thrust presses deeply in, then pulls back out, the knot pulls at me, releasing another squirt of thick, hot semen. I shudder, to my distaste I am deeply aroused, finding myself filled with hot and sticky wolf come, so much more gushing liquid than from a man who is human or human-shaped. I pull and struggle away from my own desire, yanking at the cuffs, opening new wounds on my wrists and ankles. In moments, it is over; the wolf withdraws and licks me clean.

I feel used. I feel complete and ended.