Well, my entry into the Celebrity Vampire Contest at The Next Big Writer did not win. I figured. We had to write a story about a celebrity being or becoming a vampire or a zombie. My stories are just never what’s being sought. My effort has all the things that make a good vampire story, seductiveness, horror, immortality, blood, erotic undertones. I thought I did well and was so glad I created something deeper than dialogue fluff complete with ironic twinges, mostly in tying back to the title, but my fab story is basically junk now. It’s not really the kind of thing that can be shopped elsewhere with it being so specific. So, I’ll post it here, in a quiet, little display case in cyberspace.
~ Life in Paris ~
Streams of purple, green and turquoise light replaced red and yellow as the DJ’s next selection pulsed from the speakers. Even across the noisy, low-lit club and through the crowd of gyrating fools, Stefan drew her attention by simply mouthing her name. His power was stronger than ever because of his need to feed.
Beyond hypnotist, beyond car salesman, beyond Siren, Stefan could seduce with mere thought, when his thirst was like this. In his 500-and-some-odd-year existence, he’d never spotted anyone, be it royal or vagrant, with more vivacity. He licked his lip, anticipating her flavor.
In his white, button-down with a black flower scrolling up the left, he knew he looked sharp. He straightened his collar. She never broke eye contact. He had her. With their eyes locked, Stefan timed his steps with the bass, stalking toward the laughing goddess. Her golden hair changed like a kaleidoscope under the spinning globes, reflecting countless colors.
She wiggled like a snake, charmed to follow his mental choreography. He smirked. By the time she knew what was happening to her, it’d be too late. He imagined her gasp, but he would muzzle her scream with the scarf in his pocket, the silk one he’d bought at Versace just for her.
“Hi, Gorgeous,” she shouted, pulling him around two lesbians. A fuchsia mini-dress hugged her body in much the way he hoped to. As she flipped her hair, jasmine, lavender and spice swirled into his nose.
“Hi. I’m Stefan. You’re Paris Hilton, right?”
“Of course. Gonna ask me to dance or what? I’m used to the gawking, but I can’t stand shyness. It’s so not hot.”
He laughed, clamping her against himself with his arm. “Better?”
Her lip corners turned up. “Definitely.”
All the closer, he moaned, drinking in her hair’s scent, now ringing of honeysuckle in its bouquet. He cleared his throat to cover his involuntary response.
In pictures, he spotted a rare essence in her, one that spurred unquenchable lust. He stole his way on a private jet and followed her around for days, shielded by paparazzi. Then he muscled in here with his aqua eyes, piercing a gorilla into compliance. In person, her eyes, combined with her aroma and body, had him nearly bursting through his jeans and aching to suck her dry.
“Man. You’re luscious,” he said.
She nodded, batting her lashes, long and faux. “Yeah, I know. Do ya live around here?”
“No. Just visiting, sightseeing, business.”
“Oh. That’s cool, Stef. I’m in a new movie so I’m too busy to show you around, but if you need help, I have people who do that…for my friends.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t surprise me. What’s your movie?”
“Dead of Night. I’m playing the head vamp in an urban fantasy or something like that. I get to kick ass. Is that cool or what?”
Ha! The irony! Stefan burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she said, squinting. “Don’t you think I’d make a good, ass-kicking vampire?”
“No. I’m sure you will. It’s just, uh, Hollywood never gets it right. Perception’s so narrow and wrong.”
She shrugged and circled her hand in the air as though casting off a gnat. “Whatever. I guess. I get to fly around on one of those zipping harness thingies. I like the way you dance. It’s hot.”
“Years of practice.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “I’ll bet. Ya wanna go somewhere to play around some? A place that’s more…private, not so noisy?”
Stefan couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t have to coerce her, stare her down or anything. Maybe he’d turn her instead. They could be eternal companions. Two beautiful people…immortal…absolute perfection. “Love to, baby. This is crazy. I never expected to be talking to Paris Hilton, let alone taking off with her. Have a place in mind?”
“We can use a room upstairs? They totally love me here.”
“Really? You actually stay somewhere that’s not a Hilton?”
“Ha ha. Ye-es. Very funny.” She pointed to the back of the lounge. “We can leave out the VIP exit. Come on.” She collected her hair in her fist, stripping out static. He longed to lick her palm. It pained him to lose out on any of her. She laced her fingers around. “Your hands are so cold.”
“I know. They won’t be for long.”
“Yeah. I’ll warm you up. It’s one of my many talents.”
Stefan’s pulse quickened and dizziness filled his head. He couldn’t wait to set her aflame on a bed on ivory satin or something, then jam that scarf in her mouth, see those eyes beseeching for mercy. Too bad she’d donned blue lenses; the terror in her natural brown would be spectacular.
Paris ushered him to a wall and did something he couldn’t see. Soon it sprung open, revealing a hallway. She closed the door and lead him through a labyrinth of flickering, zapping florescence. The music and noise dulled behind him and faded to pulsating thumps. Reaching the end, they climbed one of several iron staircases. Atop the landing, she opened another door, opening to a suite through a bookcase.
“Ta da. Welcome to my princess suite.”
“Wow. It’s so…perfect.”
“I know, right.” She closed the door.
Stefan had seen his share of palaces and ritzy resorts, and this stood toe-to-toe in elegance. He was right! He nearly cheered. A bed of ivory satin. So perfect for love, birth and death. Against golden walls, linens and furniture gleamed in cream tones. Paintings, vases, flowers and fruit added color as did an oriental chandelier over the bed.
A fruit bowl and chilled wine sat on the coffee table near the couch, which would come in handy if loosening up was needed. The more surrender in the prey, the better the essence. He shook his head as she walked him to the bed, shining like an alter for sacrifice.
Paris turned to him, her face so angelic and kind. It held self-assuredness but not a hint of the cockiness jealous girls try to affix to her. “I’m not normally loose or anything, but you’re sexy and caught me on a horny night. My boyfriend’s out of town. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No. We can do whatever. Kiss even. I don’t care. Doesn’t he mind?”
“Nope. He loves my impulsiveness, is completely understanding. He knows how I get.”
Stefan kissed her, caressing her tongue with his. She sucked on his offering, inciting arousal, distracting him from his primary need. Stefan decided to quicken things. He picked her up, half-dropping her on the bed, clumsier than he’d intended. Laughing, she yanked his head down, reconnecting their mouths. He joined her in the ivory heaven. After they kissed in a frenzy of grabbing and groping, she unbuttoned his shirt and ran greedy hands along his chest and back.
After complimenting his physique, she flipped them over and straddled him. She kissed exposed spots while unfastening his denim fly. When her hands wandered in, he gritted his teeth and focused on the funky chandelier, trying to ignore the sensations firing off below his stomach. He had to move now.
Stefan slid his hand into his pocket, and wave after wave of his fingertips, wadded the scarf. He’d switch positions, pin her down, get the job done. He’d gaze into her fake-blue eyes then drink her in until she was clinging to life by a thin thread. Maybe he’d show mercy, give her the choice. He wanted to give her the choice. To be or not to be? The question of life.
She ripped away his shirt, popping the last two buttons she never bothered to undo. She devoured his chest and neck in wet kisses and bites, some sharper than others. What the hell. No harm in playing first. He grimaced whenever she seemed to be going for a kill.
Following figure-eights around his pecks with her tongue, she returned to his neck. He could have sworn sharp teeth punctured his flesh. The anguish! He gasped and tried to scream, but his mouth was jammed with some filthy rag. A rag! Not a $3,000 scarf carefully selected to match a handbag. A rag. A stinky, used rag, drenched in Lemon Pledge.
His mortal cry emitted as a sour note from the distant depths of hell. Pain seared his heart. Breath evaded him. She was so strong and draining him faster than he could regenerate. He struggled to push her off, but his arms felt glued to the bedspread. He clammed his eyes shut as blood burned like fire, leaving his veins, replaced with an icy chill. She drank his life-force, essence and supposed immortality.
A jostle at the door and a bang made him jolt and peek through heavy lids. Paris pulled away to look, her mouth framed with glorious red. No spectacle on earth, and he’d seen countless, had ever awed him more. He longed to kiss her again and taste their mixed essences. Must be like honey straight from the hive.
“Huuuukkk!” rattled the blond, who’d entered. “Finally! I’ve been looking everywhere for you…Fabulous! Another one? Thought you said you were good to go for a week or so.”
“Yeah. But he’s a psychic vampire. Unbelievable! Gotta be at least 500, Nic.”
Nic? Right. Lionel’s anorexic brat.
“Do you know how rare one like this is? He’s absorbed so much energy and beauty in his lifetime…only to be a gift for me. Delicious. I’m feeling kind of generous. Want some?”
“Hell no! I’d never take your crappy scraps. I snagged a sitter. Hurry up, bitch. A bunch of us are going to The Green Door.”
“Kay. Gimme a sec.”
Nicole left as noisily as she’d entered.
“Sorry about the interruption, Gorgeous. She needs to get her own lair. I always tell her to knock, but she freakin’ never does! Hate her sometimes.”
He tried to speak but lemony dirt swallowed his word.
She ungagged his mouth. “What, hun?”
He gasped for hair and muttered, “Question.”
“What? I can’t hear,” she said, putting her ear close to his mouth. He stretched his tongue and licked his blood off her lips.
She jerked away, slapping his chest. “Uh-uhn, bad boy.”
“Do I get….mercy?”
“Sure, baby. I’m totally sweet like that.” She returned to his neck, taking a fresh bite. He screamed but it exited as a hoarse shrill. His mind zipped back to age twelve, to the day his uncle showed him the secret of energy absorption, which would allow him to never get sick, heal rapidly and live forever. Forever? What a joke! His youth spent gathering energy from any passerby had been child’s play. He’d waited until the perfect age in adulthood to partake in a total feed. He froze. He’d forgotten age. He’d forgotten love. He’d forgotten time, pain and mortality. And he felt them all in this moment.
Paris slid off him, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked off the blood.
To be or not to be? “Thank…you,” he whispered as she straightened her dress with a shimmy.
“I know, right?” She blew him a kiss. “Bye, Gorgeous. That was hot.” She flipped her phone and said, “Jimmy! Need another clean up, but give him ten…Yes, a wonderful feast. No, not that messy. Thank you. Mwah. You’re the best.” She sashayed to the door, hips and arms swaying, looking energized and refreshed, more beautiful than before.
The taste of their mixed essence clung to his tongue like nectar of the gods. The lights went off, door closed. Darkness engulfed him, signaling his earthly exeunt. His body felt as old as it was. The minimal blood in his decaying shell pooled in his throat and lungs. He was drowning. His skin wrinkled, pulled taught. His bones splintered and snapped, tearing through muscle. He fell and kept falling into some abyss. He couldn’t scream. He wanted to sing and rejoice. On a bed of ivory satin he lay dying in agony, and he never felt more alive. To be.
~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.
