A Vampire’s Diary Marjorie
A Vampire’s Diary
Marjorie
Marjorie was nearly my undoing. She fought me.
Quite unexpectedly. Her town house was a horror, afterward.
I detest gore. It offends my refined sensibilities, but it couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid.
My seductions began pleasantly enough. Her tearful confession to me in the weeks before my conquest—that she had never loved her husband, that his death had been a blessing—was her tacit invitation.
I lavished her with attention, with praise, with flowers, and sent her ardent letters, declaring my desire to court her.
She demurred at first, but I quickly overcame her initial reticence with my charm.
On the appointed evening, Marjorie dismissed her servants before my arrival, as I’d instructed, and served me a sublime dinner before leading me to her boudoir.
I’d taken my time undressing her, savoring her little gasps and moans of pleasure.
She’d been ready for me. Pliant and submissive.
When she realized my desire transcended the sexual, she panicked, just as I’ve come to expect.
But the excitement of the moment provoked an excess of energy—and she fought so heartily she nearly escaped through her window.
My task was not easily completed. I must consider an alternative method for my next conquest. I’ve become too cavalier.
Brash. My successes with Sally and Denise emboldened me.
But all my work could be for naught if someone heard Marjorie’s screams or saw me arrive earlier in the evening.
Thank God I had the foresight to take all the letters I sent to her and burn them.
I must be cautious until the fervor is forgotten and the chivalry grows complacent once more, as they always do. But Marjorie’s blood, her rich, sweet blood flavored with precious fear, is my greatest prize yet.