2 - Syrsee
Drunk on blood and sex
My life: In bed with the man I love . Who is a monster. Who drinks blood to live.
My blood.
I am food.
And I love it.
It’s all very dreamy (in a gore kind of way.) Living back at the Guild has been a nice reprieve, but more on that later. Right now, I’ve captured my man’s attention and I’m intrigued to see where it leads.
Ryet turns over in bed, his hand slipping across my stomach. Then he’s pulling me close, pushing his face into my neck. For a moment I think he’s gonna drink, so I back out of the scene I’m reading—i.e. immersed in, since this is how one reads the books when you’re magical—and pay closer attention to him. But he just kisses me instead, tempting me away from the book and trying his best to turn me on. “Where are you now?” He whispers this right into my ear.
I let out a little huff of air. “A harem.”
“A harem?” He chuckles, then licks my earlobe. Which he knows drives me nuts. He’s such a tease in the morning.
“It’s a smutty romance about a sheikh.”
“ Syrsee .”
“What? It’s… pleasure reading.”
Ryet grabs the tattered paperback from my hands, chucks it across the room, then laughs into my neck and starts biting me. I forget all about the harem scene and how what’s-her-name was refusing to sleep in Sheikh Whoever’s bed and redirect all my thoughts to the man I very willingly share a bed with.
The pull. God, how I love the feeling of the blood being pulled out of me. It gets me so worked up, I nearly come undone. But Ryet knows this and uses it as part of his tease. He likes to make me want him. He likes to leave me wanting on occasion as well.
If any other man did this to me, I would call it insecurity. But Ryet is not insecure. Not about sex or blood. He knows how much I like the feeling of being fed on, not to mention the act of feeding on him. He’s been there, of course. With Paul, not so much me. But it’s the same thing. It’s all so addictive. So Ryet knows he’s got nothing to worry about. There isn’t a man alive on this Earth who can satisfy me the way he can.
It’s just him. Forever. That’s my plan, anyway. Him forever.
My eyes close and my breathing picks up as Ryet’s lips dance across my neck. He nips at the skin, pricking it with his sharp teeth. Then his tongue flicks out to lick up the tiny drops of blood. He’s teasing himself as well as me and when I slip my hand under the covers and grip his hard shaft, he sucks in a breath, hissing at me. “You’re always in such a rush.”
“And you always want to take your time.”
Now it’s my turn to hiss because his response to my reproach is a bite, quick and stinging. Then his lips are there, pressing against my skin, and my hand automatically begins to jerk him off. The moment I begin doing this, his hand is on my knee, opening my leg and pressing it against the bed. Then his fingers are rubbing me, stroking back and forth across my pussy before entering me, pushing in and out in the same rhythm as his bloodsucking.
I’m done. Lost. Living inside bliss itself. But I make myself wait. I control my reaction for as long as possible because I like to come just as he’s finishing. It’s a little game we play because that final drink is better than sex itself, but in combination with an orgasm—my God, there’s no other pleasure in the entire universe that can compete.
But I can only hold on so long, so it’s usually me who ends his drink. I come and he pulls hard on my neck, drawing out as much blood as he can while my back arches and I bite my lip to keep from squealing.
A few moments later and I relax into his waiting arms. He holds me tight, whispering things in my ear. Very sweet things. How he will love me ’til the end of time. How I am his soulmate. How we will spend our cursed eternity together.
And I believe him.
I bask in the afterglow of my own bliss and believe him.
After a few moments , Ryet pulls back and a bit of blood drips down my neck, tickling me. He leans back in, kissing and licking the wound he just made until it heals.
When he’s done, he flops back on the pillow, sighing. “Your turn.”
Is it normal that I feed on him? Probably not, in the grand scheme of things. I’m not a vampire, after all. I’m a Black witch.
But my life went off the rails months ago now and, well, it is what it is.
I sit up a little, then dive under the covers. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, after all. If he can tease me, I can tease him and my tease doesn’t start with his neck.
Since drinking has become a part of my life, I’ve learned to embrace it. It’s just a part of who I am now. And I’ve discovered that I have preferences . I like to drink from Ryet’s upper thigh. And trust me when I say this, there isn’t a woman alive who can turn him on the way I do.
He’s naked—we both are. There’s no point in putting on pajamas when we spend just as much of our time at night feeding as we do sleeping. At the end of each day we get in bed and drink each other, then we sleep off the blood lust only to wake up a couple of hours later to do it all again. We do this on repeat all night long. If Ryet and I are physically together, the lust is always there. As is the hunger. It all has to be satisfied in some way.
To an outsider, this might sound exhausting, but to me? It’s everything. The drink, the pull, the lust, the bliss—it’s even better than reading a Guild book.
Though I hope it never comes to this, I would give up the books to feed and be fed on by the man in bed with me right now.
I’m addicted to him , not just his blood.
My hand is still wrapped around his hard shaft when I glide my lips up his inner thigh until I hear it. The pulsing of the blood. The call to drink. He lets out a moan and then his fingertips are sliding through my hair. A moment later he’s gripping my head, pushing down on it as my mouth opens and my teeth nip at his skin.
Since I don’t have fangs, this is how I open him up to drink. Tiny pinprick nips, but just at first. As soon as I get the blood flowing, I bite harder. I can’t get to his artery, but that much blood at once is too much anyway, so I don’t feel disappointed that I never quite get a gush from him the way he does from me.
“That’s it,” Ryet says, just as I get a small flow going. His hips start moving, his back arching. “Keep going.”
I take the blood, pulling as much as I can out at once—not just for my benefit, though I do love the taste and how I can feel his blood as it makes its way through my body. I do it for him because I know how good it feels. I want him to feel the way I do when I’m being fed on.
He never will, of course. Not unless I grow fangs or cut him open with a knife or something. So when I feed I give him sexual favors as well. That’s what my hand is doing as I drink. Sliding up and down his shaft in long, slow strokes.
I take one last long pull of blood, biting his thigh as I do it, and Ryet comes, spilling his seed all over my hand as his back arches up and he gnashes his teeth together, growling like an animal until the intensity of the orgasm subsides. Then he is spent and living in the bliss.
I’m still there as well so I rest my head on his thigh as he absently strokes my hair, and then… once again, we fall asleep. Drunk on blood and sex.
It takes a lot of effort to get up in the mornings. I mean, Ryet and I, we’re always hungry. We can always use another drink and who doesn’t want another orgasm?
But we both have roles to play here. I am learning how to navigate the books. Just simple ones still. Nothing magical yet. But I’m getting better at immersion. I won’t be stuck at level one forever.
One day soon, I think, I will get what I came for. Knowledge.
This, and only this, is what drives me to get up the next time I wake.
It’s eight-thirty in the morning, which is a little bit later than I usually wake up, but the Guild is very understanding about our needs. I am not expected to be at the library until nine-thirty and Ryet doesn’t have to report to the lab until ten.
I always wake up before him. He just needs more sleep than I do. And this time I don’t wake him, or wait for him to wake, either. I can’t. If I do, we’ll never get out of here because I’ll just want to drink again.
It’s an endless cycle and if we allow it, the blood lust would take over our lives.
Which sounds fun. But… at what cost?
I don’t want to be a feeder, lying in bed in my old age covered in filth. Though I don’t really think that will be my destiny—I don’t really know if I can age, let alone die. But still, that image of my grandma dying in that disgusting room that smelled like death—it’s very strong. It’s burned into my memory.
I will not turn into her. I won’t.
That’s why I get up in the mornings and report to the library. That’s why I leave Ryet in bed. And even though, in the back of my mind, I’m always thinking about the next time we’ll be together and the next time we feed on each other, I can control it if I don’t see him during the day.
When we first got here about eight weeks ago, we did meet up for lunch. I think we were both still… actualizing? That’s as good a word as any to describe the transformation going on inside our bodies. So our blood lust, while very strong at night, wasn’t an issue midday.
Until it was.
After a few weeks of settling in, Ryet and I found ourselves sneaking away after eating. The bushes, a bathroom, anywhere we could find a little privacy. All so we could feed. And then we would get tired, and pass out, and wake up, and do it again and… well, let’s just say it was not a productive way to spend one’s day.
We got sloppy and the Guild took notice. We were ‘encouraged’ to go our separate ways during the day. Not ordered. Not exactly. And what could they have done if we refused? Kicked us out? They need us more than we need them. But, since we’re guests here, we took their advice seriously.
No more blood at lunch.
I do love my blood, but I don’t miss it much during the day because when I get to the library, I go right into the level one reading room and from the moment I enter until the moment I leave, I live in the stories.
Stories that aren’t as interesting and addictive as my real life, but even the simple ones I’ve been learning to read the past few weeks are definitely good enough to keep the blood lust at bay.
The trashy romance I was reading between feedings last night is just a little bonus. Definitely not on the Black Witch Reading 101 syllabus.
Myer, who is my archivist guide, has an approved reading list for me. But my powers to actualize a story don’t stop when I leave the library building. I found the book about the sheikh in the little thrift store just down the mountain near the place Ryet and I sometimes have brunch on the weekends.
I’m sure Myer knows I’m reading on my own now, but so far, he hasn’t said anything.
I dress, blow Ryet a kiss so I don’t wake him, and then leave our little apartment.
Most of the Guild citizens start work much earlier than I do, so all the walking paths in our little mountain village are bustling with people doing whatever it is they do. Some wave to me, and I wave back. Some don’t even look me in the eye as they pass. Not because I’m a Black witch, but because they are immersed in their tasks for the day. So far it’s been a very friendly experience. Pleasant is probably the right word.
I don’t feel like one of them—I definitely still feel like an outsider—but it doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it. I am something other than them and it’s OK. At least with me. What the collective citizens of the Guild think of me, I don’t really know. But I don’t really care, either.
I think that is the biggest change I’ve noticed in myself so far. I’m… confident. And… I dunno. Maybe… proud? Of what I am? I mean, there are so few of my kind. And I’m even more rare than most Black witches because I have the blood of vampires inside me. Not just any vampires, either. Paul and Josep, and Ryet. The American Vampires.
Not to mention the Darkness.
My hand absently goes to my belly when that word appears in my head. There is a Darkness inside me, growing, and maturing, and becoming something new. Ryet put it there, so there must be a Darkness inside him too.
When I first got here, one of the first things the Guild doctors did was give me a physical. They said I wasn’t pregnant and there were no signs that I could feel, so I let myself believe them.
It’s not true. I feel this pregnancy deep inside.
But I don’t want to think about that night when the four of us were all tangled up in the cabin bedroom, drinking each other and passing the Darkness between us through blood. Not because it’s traumatizing. It’s not. Ryet took me away from the actual act and we spent it flirting in a library so I don’t even know what happened.
But I’m a good visualizer and even though in my head, at least, I understand that it was a horror show, emotionally it’s actually erotic. And when I think about it, an almost overwhelming desire for sex takes over.
Not just for Ryet, either. But for Paul and Josep too.
I want to do it again.
That’s why I don’t think about it.
When I enter the level one reading room in the Guild library, Myer is sitting on a golden velvet-tufted couch that faces the door. In front of him is a wooden table with a massive tome of a book in the middle.
My heart skips when I see this book because this is not Go, Dog. Go! It’s not a Dick and Jane reader, it’s not Dr. Seuss, or the Baby-Sitters Club—which is what I was ‘reading’ yesterday.
This is a magic book. I can tell just by glancing at the ornate leather cover.
And it’s old .
“Good morning, Syrsee.”
“Good morning, Myer.” But I don’t look at him. I can’t seem to take my eyes off this book.
“Have a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss today.”
I slip around the couch in front of me and sit down. The book on the table is facing my direction, not toward Myer, who is on the other side of the table.
I drop my bag to the floor, then finally meet Myer’s gaze. “Today?” I ask. “I get to read this one today?”
He’s just about to answer when someone knocks at the door.
“What is it?” Myer’s tone is irritated, gruff, and unfamiliar. So far, he’s been very friendly with me. We did know each other back in school, after all. He kissed me once. But almost immediately, my guard at the school interrupted us.
But his response to the knock on the door is anything but friendly.
My thoughts pause here for a moment because everything about the Guild campus feels… oh, I don’t know. Precarious, I guess. And I’m always on the verge of thinking this happily-ever-after for now is about to vanish. So any small discrepancy makes me nervous.
I don’t want to go back out into the real world. I want to stay here in this place where I don’t really belong, but am tolerated nonetheless. Because I don’t really belong anywhere and the past several months have been a bit of a horror show for me.
The door opens a crack and a young girl pokes her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Archivist. But I have a message.” Her eyes flit to me, then back to him, as if to say, ‘A private message.’
Myer sighs. And again, he’s not even trying to hide his irritation. “It needs to wait.”
The girl is shaking her head, opening the door as if to say, ‘Come out here and we’ll talk about it.’
Myer reads between all the lines, gets up, and looks down at me. “Excuse me for one moment.”
“Of course,” I say. Then I watch him as he goes to the door, pushes the girl out, and blocks her from my view as they whisper back and forth.
He sighs again. Then turns to me. “I’m sorry, Syrsee. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
I’m confused at the one-eighty turn in his normally congenial personality. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” I smile at him. But he doesn’t smile back. Just leaves, closing the door behind him.
I sit back, sinking into the comfy cushions of the couch, forcing myself to reign in my imagination. “Well, that wasn’t weird.”
But it’s all fine, Syrsee.
It’s fine.
And just as I’m thinking these words, my eyes track to the book on the table in front of me and I sit up again. Paying attention to what is right in front of me instead of the foreboding feeling floating around in my head.
Should I open the book?
I mean… the correct answer here is absolutely not. While no one ever said I wasn’t allowed to read the books since I’ve gotten here, just the fact that Myer is my chaperone sends the vibe. He is my guide. There is no question about that.
But I can’t help myself. So I look over my shoulder, just to make sure the door is closed, and then I lean forward and with a single fingertip I flip open the cover.
For a moment I’m confused because I’m looking… at myself.
But then I realize that this isn’t a page in a book.
It’s a mirror .
In the same moment that this word forms in my head, I fall forward. And the next thing I know, I’m falling into it.