Pretty When She Dies (Page 3)
This place was not familiar, yet she knew she had to be here. Something here held the answer to what was happening to her. Turning her head, she suddenly knew where the music was coming from. She could feel it in her jawbone and in her fingertips. The sensation was odd, almost painful.
Walking down the hall, her gaze fell on a large oak bookcase at the end of it. It was loaded up with books, DVDs and magazines. As she drew near, she felt the music began to pulse in her chest. She slowly ran her fingertips over her lips. Looking behind her, she stared down the hallway to the other end. The door on the other side was closed and solitary.
Her gaze returned to the bookcase. She reached out to grip the side of it. She pulled and it slowly swung forward, like a door. Though not visible from the front, there were wheels under the bottom of the bookcase. As it rolled away from the wall, a doorway became visible.
Biting her bottom lip, she touched the doorknob. She could feel the beat of the music pulsating through it. Gripping the knob tightly, she tried to turn it, but it resisted. She tried again, and still, it resisted.
Desperation gripped her, nonsensical but overwhelming. She banged her hands against the door.
“Please,” she whispered, but did not know what she was asking for.
The door swung open from within. A striking black man stared out at her. His brow crinkled as he studied her, obviously mystified by her presence.
“What the hell are you doing here, freak?”
She parted her lips to answer, but the words would not come. She wasn't even sure why she was here. All she knew was that whatever was in this room, she needed it. Reaching out, she gripped the back of his neck with one long hand and leaned into him. He looked startled, but did not resist her.
“I need,” was all she could manage to say.
“Damn, girl. What are you on?” He stared at her face, into her eyes, then slowly smiled. “Well, who invited you?”
His skin felt warm and inviting under her hand. She slowly became aware of the fact that he was only wearing a very skimpy silk thong. She stared down at the obvious erection pressing against the fabric, then slowly dragged her gaze over his muscled chest, up to his face.
“You,” she answered.
Grinning, he drew her into the room and shut the door.
“Well, I always thought you looked kinda freaky with all your tats and piercings. But tonight, damn Amal, you look hot. What did you do to yourself?” His hands were sliding up and down over her body as he pulled her further into the room.
It was full of people in various states of undress or just plain nude. The smell of wine, pot and sex filled her nostrils. A red glow filled the room. She realized that the source was all the crimson light bulbs in the lamps and overhead lights. The sheets on two massive king-size beds shoved together were also crimson. All around her bodies were writhing and intertwining.
She smiled. This was exactly what her father thought college was. One big orgy.
The young man nuzzled her neck and ran his hand up her stomach to cup her breast. She tilted her head away from him and closed her eyes as his lips played with her skin. A shiver of excitement swirled through her as he licked her throat, then nibbled.
Yes, this is it, she thought. What I need.
Gliding around in his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a long deep kiss. His strong arms enfolded her. His hands grabbed her buttocks, drawing her sharply against him.
Her sense of reality was weakening. All she could feel was a terrible ache in her mouth and stomach. She licked his lips.
“You're a total freak, aren't you?” the young man said with delight.
She smiled at him and said, “You say freak too much,” then she buried her face in his neck, breathing him in. Her nails dug into his back as she took a bit of his flesh between her teeth. He shuddered.
“Oh, yeah, bite me, vamp babe,” he said huskily.
And she did.
Before she knew it, her mouth was full of his flesh and she was sucking hard. Rich, thick warmth filled her mouth. He staggered back, gripping her tightly against him. They hit a wall. He moaned with delight as she pulled harder on his neck.
I'm so hungry. This is what I need.
She took more and more from him as he writhed against her, grinding his hard cock against her belly. His blood filled her, overwhelmed her, but she needed more. She was so hungry, so very hungry.
He was spent and gone the next minute, her t-shirt wet where he had come hard as he died. She turned and looked into the darkness of the room.
Yes, what she needed was here.
She moved easily across the room, stepping over people, moving toward the bed. In the midst of desperate, crazed sex was the quarterback of the school with a pretty little blond. Gripping his shoulder, she yanked him off the girl. Startled, he began to protest. Then she was on him, her mouth consuming his in a hungry kiss. His hands gripped her to tear her away, but then he melted into her touch as she overwhelmed his senses. Beneath them, the girl twisted and screamed at them.
Amaliya ignored her and pulled the young man's head to one side, biting deeply. She hit his jugular. Blood sprayed the blond. The angry girl let out a startled sound, then realized what was happening and began to shriek.
With deadly swiftness, Amaliya gripped the girl's throat in one hand and dragged her upright. Without hesitation, she bit the girl as the quarterback fell back from her grasp.
It was then the others in the room realized what was happening. They saw the raven-haired girl perched on their leader, drinking hard from the throat of the blond, and the body of their famed quarterback with his throat ripped open. The stampede to the door began immediately as screams filled the room.
But a darkly garbed man who smiled with feral delight met them at the door as they drew near.
“Now, now,” he said in proper British tones. “You mustn't leave. She's not full yet.”
Amaliya gasped with delight as her body was finally sated. The hunger was gone and she felt wonderful and strong. Arching her back, she knelt on the bed, running her hands over her blood soaked clothing, up over her breasts.
Strong, cold hands gripped her thighs. She gasped as a long tongue trailed up her stomach before biting one nipple through her top. Those same hands gripped her hair and dragged her against a strong chest.
Mesmerized, she gazed into the dark blue eyes of the man holding her. His white-blond hair fell over his brow as he peered down at her.
“I know you,” she whispered softly.
“Yes, you do,” he answered.
Falling back on the blood soaked bed, she wrapped her arms around the one who made her. She clung to him as he hastily undressed her. Her drunken mind struggled to understand, but she could not fully comprehend this insane, wild dream.
He had made her; she was his.
He was so lovely, with short fair hair, pale skin, and beautiful eyes. He kissed her body, then bit her neck. His body was so cold when he pushed deep into her, making her drink from him.
This isn't real, she thought.
Her voice was ragged with passion and need as he fucked her senseless. When he finally came hard into her, she let out a desperate, terrified scream.
Then the darkness came.
“We are death,” a proper British voice said into her formless dream.
Wakefulness tugged at her eyes. Slowly, she opened them.
What am I doing here?
The room made no sense to her. Her last memory was of meeting Professor Sumner for coffee. They had been walking back to his car and then-
“It is our instinct, you see. To feed. We need to feed. Especially when we are first reborn,” Professor Sumner's voice continued.
Slowly, she sat up. Her body felt oddly refreshed, yet crusty with some vile substance. The room smelled odd, like copper.
“It is not uncommon for a newly-transformed vampire to be completely mad with the hunger. Sometimes, they do not ever recover, even after feeding. So, how are you, dear? Are you mad?”
Amaliya looked toward the sound of his voice. He sat in a chair next to the bed. His suit was completely black, even the shirt beneath it. His blond hair was swept back from his high forehead and his keen eyes were resting firmly on her face. For months, he had been her secret obsession. His every class had been like worship to her. She adored him. When he had asked her to coffee, all she had wanted to do was rip his clothes off and find out if everything she dreamed about was true.
For twenty-four, she was at times, incredibly stupid.
“Where am I? What the hell are you talking about?” she said in a low voice.
“You are in a fraternity house on the edge of campus. What the hell I am talking about is about what you are now. Three nights ago, correction, four nights ago, I killed you and buried you in the woods.”
Like a slap, the memory of her date with him returned with brutal clarity. He had seduced her behind the dorm. Shoved her up against the wall and had frenzied sex with her. She remembered how cold he had been against her. At some point, she had become afraid and tried to push him off of her. He had not relented and drove his teeth into her.
“You bit me,” she said softly.
“Yes, I did.” His voice, always so melodic and warm, was still mesmerizing, but now it seemed cruel. “I drank from you as I had for two nights before our little date when you were sleeping. But this time was much more interesting because you fought me. And this time, you died.”