16. Valtu
Valtu
T he girl has become a puzzle to me. One that I both want to solve and yet am afraid to look deeper into, because the deeper I go, the more I might like having her here.
And that can’t happen. I don’t let myself get close to people. I specifically never let myself get close to the people who have been brought to my place as a blood slave or a whore. Why should I when they almost never make it out alive?
I may have forgotten large chunks of my life, but their absence only tells me that erasing love, forgetting relationships, is the only way to survive in this world.
In my world. Other people seem to handle love and loss as easy as they do breathing.
They accept it and they take it and they suffer and they act like it’s just part of life and it’s okay.
But it’s not okay. And most people haven’t suffered what I had to. Grief took from me, it took everything . And as a vampire, we’re just supposed to deal with loss and sorrow for eternity?
It doesn’t seem fair now and it didn’t seem fair then.
I don’t remember the pain that I was in, just as I don’t remember the woman and our love, and it’s only been a blessing in my life.
Yet I’m aware of how easily things could change again.
Every time you get close to someone you open yourself up to pain.
Because eventually they will die or leave you and you’ll be a husk of your former self, discarded, left behind, and scattered by the wind.
But you do have a solution , I remind myself. It’s right over there.
I look over to my desk by the window. On top of it is the book. The cover was always worn, since it’s been around for a long time, centuries maybe, but the new wear and tear is due to my hands, the countless hours I’ve spent every day for years as I’ve flipped through the pages.
Beside the book is a music box, and inside that music box is a vial.
When I made the potion for myself all those years ago, I ended up making two just in case one broke or something went wrong. Now that extra vial is in the box, safe and waiting for the worst-case scenario, which is that there might be someone else in my future that I’d want to erase from my mind.
You’re getting way ahead of yourself , I think as I lie back in my bed. Rose is just a girl. Have fun with her while she’s here, then say goodbye.
But then I’m struck with a terrifying thought.
I don’t want Rose to be slaughtered by the demon. Call me sentimental. But now I’m thinking that if the demon is truly possessive over her, it might not let her leave here at all.
And then what? What power do I truly have over it?
It seemed to leave her alone when I claimed her as mine, and then yesterday when it appeared behind her, I was able to ask it to leave with just my eyes.
It disappeared into the shadows and I haven’t seen it since.
But when it’s time for her to go, will my claim on her still hold?
After all, if you possess something you generally don’t let it out of your hands.
It’s possible that the moment I do, the demon will jump in and snatch her for his own.
I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling, aware that even the slightest complication in my well-preserved life is throwing things off-balance.
I had a system to things, an order. My life has been lonely, but it’s at least made sense.
Perhaps it’s best to get her to go now before I get attached.
I didn’t think it was even possible to feel a sense of attachment, affection or possession for anyone, but there’s something about her that is slowly getting under my skin and I don’t like it.
I know she’s young, but I wasn’t kidding when I said she seemed like an old soul.
Whether online shrinks call that a trauma response, she really does seem like someone who has seen a lot, been through a lot.
On the surface she comes across as your average young vampire, but I don’t know how many of them go through The Becoming and then immediately fly across the world. Especially to find me.
The more I talked to Abe before he left, though, the more he explained Rose.
That she was always obsessed with Bram Stoker’s Dracula, then became obsessed with the idea of me .
When she turned, she decided to finally take the leap and seek me out.
Abe didn’t elaborate too much, but it seemed that her parents were controlling and didn’t approve of her seeking out the true meaning of being a vampire.
I think I know what she’s looking for. It’s not me—she doesn’t know me, and the idea of me probably doesn’t match what I really am.
What she’s looking for is an excuse to return to basic instinct.
To become the primal version of herself, the real version.
Vampires have been slowly sanitized over the last two decades, no thanks to my oldest friend and his pills.
What Rose wants—and what she’s afraid to ask for—is to let herself go.
Not just to me, she’s been very apt in showing how easily she’ll submit to my wants and demands.
No, she needs to submit to herself. To what she really wants.
Once she does that, then I think I’ll have her figured out.
The puzzle will be solved and I will be rid of her.
I have already put a plan in place to make this happen.
But it will be such a shame to see her go.
Everything about her is a maze of contradictions.
She is both soft and hard at the same time, in her body, her face, her soul.
She’s inexperienced sexually and yet gives her body to me so readily.
She enjoys sex more than anyone I’ve ever come across, and more than that, she enjoys it the way I like it: rough and raw and completely uninhibited.
Whatever I want to give she takes and she takes it eagerly, so open and wanting with her need, and she’s giving in return.
Not just because I command her to, but because she loves it. She loves seeing me get off.
Just the thought of her has me reaching down into my pants, making a fist around my cock which is already hard as the mountain around this room.
I pull it out and start stroking myself, thinking of the way she looked this morning with my cock in her mouth, when I paid a visit to her bedroom and made her suck me off.
The way she looked when she pulled me out of my fly and stared at my length like I was a fucking lollipop, her lips parted, her eyes glistening, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips in anticipation.
I groan, my hand moving faster. I think about making her say it.
I want you, my lord.
I want to hear her mouth say the words, begging for my cock. I imagine the look on her face, how her eyes would light up with desire, her mouth parted with primal need.
I want to see her open her legs, pull down her panties and say it.
Say it or I’ll spank you harder.
Say it or I’ll tie you up, force you on your knees and fuck your mouth until you choke.
Say it or I’ll lock you in a room alone and fuck you in the night when you’re sleeping.
My lord, my lord, yes, my lord.
I’m so close to coming now. Why does that phrase sound so good?
I’m picturing her now tied to a chair and spread wide open, my cock in her mouth, her plump red lips wrapped tight around me.
I think about her tied up on my bed, getting ready for me.
I think about her tied up and tied down and spread open, completely at my mercy.
I think about her bent over the couch with her bottom raised, begging me to fuck her.
Why on earth do I want to see her go?
I moan out loud, my hand moving faster and faster, the pressure building. I’m so close to coming. I don’t want to do it without her. I want her to be here.
But that want is enough for me to climax. I gasp and then through a stifled groan, I come, the weight of it pouring out of my cock, shooting out onto my stomach, coating my shirt and making a mess.
I try to catch my breath, to slow my heart, to clear my head. I don’t know why I’m so worked up over her. Centuries of women and this is the one I can’t get out of my head.
It makes no damn sense.
I groan and get out of bed. I’ve been lying here most of the afternoon, trapped in my thoughts.
There’s a snowstorm raging outside, the window turning into a blurring white of frost on the panes and the snow beyond.
I told Rose that I wanted to have a proper dinner with her tonight, and that’s when I’ll really put her to the test. She probably thinks I’m serving up food and blood, but she won’t be expecting the main course.
That is if she’s still here. There’s a kernel of unease in my stomach.
It’s nearly dusk but I haven’t seen her since this morning.
I thought she would be safe in her room but considering the demon can go into her room when it wants to, I’m not sure she’s safe anywhere in this place, even though I sent the demon out of the house earlier.
It’s enough to get me moving. I change my shirt—I still have some class—and put on a charcoal grey dress shirt, then black pants.
I spend more time than usual in the mirror, fixing my hair and I have to stop and pause as I stare at myself.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve even looked in the mirror—honestly, what’s the point when I never see anyone, and those I see I don’t care what they think about me?
Besides, my ego has always been healthier than most.
Yet, I’m inspecting my face for flaws. My skin is a little gray, my cheeks gaunt and I’m wishing I had some kind of grooming cream for my hair, which has gotten wavier, almost curly in places.
I haven’t changed my appearance in centuries, my hair has always been about chin-length and wild and now I’m wondering if it’s appealing to her, if she likes it.
Get a fucking grip. She’s just a whore and you’re thinking about hair gel.