Our fights seem to be getting worse. He’s leaving the house at odd hours and avoiding eye contact whenever I ask him where he’s going, which is making me highly suspicious about what he’s up to.
Alexander’s hold on me has weakened bit by bit over the years, and any love I once felt has been replaced with bitter resentment for being kept as an obedient pet. Only the well-stocked library and my secret nightly excursions console me. Through reading, I can escape, and Paris is breathtakingly beautiful at night. But it’s lonely traversing the rooftops by myself, and I wish I had someone to share it with.
***
After our latest blow-up, I hide in the parlour until he’s gone out. Then I quickly get changed, determined to find out what he’s up to despite the risk of detection. Until now, I’ve been scared of what he would do if he found out I’d followed him, but tonight I’m angry enough not to care. He’s drained me to the point of death several times over the years whenever I threatened to leave. He never lets me die. I’m always nursed back to health slowly and carefully. My powerful master wants to teach me a lesson about who’s in control, but I suspect he doesn’t let me die because he’s secretly afraid of being lonely.
The long johns have been ditched years ago. My ‘cat burglar outfit’, as I call it, is a sleek form-fitting black suit of black wool jersey with a lightweight silk stocking mask. To all intents and purposes, I’m a shadow stealthily leaping from chimney to chimney across the Parisian rooftops.
Alexander’s carriage is easy enough to track, even though he’s had a ten-minute start on me. He’s heading towards Montmartre. After about twenty minutes, the carriage stops outside a townhouse, and he checks both ways he steps out. I hide behind a chimney across the road in case he looks up, but he doesn’t. Not once. His mind is obviously elsewhere, and I can sense that he’s not attuned to me at this moment. As why would his duteous pet ever disobey him? She knows the consequences if she does.
From this vantage point, I can see directly into the third-floor bedroom. I don’t have to wait too long before there’s a flurry of a dark cloak, a sweep of red silk robes, ruby wine being poured. The curtains are drawn back with a gold tassel, and I’ve got a front-row seat to the licentious action.
Alexander is naked, bracing himself against the side of the bed, his head thrown back. Thanks to my excellent hearing, his ecstatic moans float clearly through the slightly open window as two beautiful dark-haired whores take turns sucking his cock.
I assume he’ll feed from them before he lets it go any further. (It’s annoying that he’s letting them do that, but I suppose I can forgive him this discretion as he has to lure them in some way. And whores are cheap and easy pickings.)
But to my chagrin, he seems to have no intention of feeding—only to take his pleasure as much as he can. After a short interlude, where he delicately cleans his come off the whores’ faces and breasts with a washcloth, everyone takes a little refreshment (well, they do).
The whores sip wine and nibble on cakes on the couch as Alexander moves between them on his knees, licking their nipples and nuzzling between their spread legs with much giggling and moaning going on. His cock must be getting stiff again as the ménage à trois moves to the bed. I gape asone whore glides onto his cock, and the other rides his face like a practised well-oiled machine.
It hits me then with utter certainty that this arrangement has been going on for quite some time while I’ve been stuck alone in the house by myself. And his familiarity with them suggests they’re not random whores, but his mistresses. Human thralls that he’s picked out because he liked the look of them and because I wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied. They could be 40 years old but look 20 because Alexander’s venom is keeping them young, fresh, and nubile for his evening enjoyment. My master is a cheating bastard!
***
Outraged and hurt at Alexander’s betrayal, I roof-hop all the way back to the house, bellowing at the top of my lungs. The noise I’m making causes a fair few windows to be flung open and sleep-disturbed residents to poke their heads out and bawl ‘Tais-toi!’ into the street, thinking I’m a drunken reveller.
Back at home, I rip off my outfit and stuff it in the drawer and bash at the wardrobe door with my fist in a fit of rage. I’m going to have to come up with an excuse for the holes, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need ... revenge.
Donning a slinky black flapper dress, fishnet stockings, high heels, and a jewelled headband, I stalk to the nearest bar, determined to get my own back. Although Alexander has taken me out on the town to feed occasionally in the last thirty-three years, he’s always been the one to do the dirty work, so I’m at a loss as to how to flirt convincingly and attract a potential victim (preferably male and handsome). My come-hither looks are perceived as hostile glares, and all the men I target sidle hurriedly away.
After aimlessly wandering from club to club, I end up in a place called Harry’s New York Bar. The bartender is chatty and friendly. He tells me to call him Pete. He’s experimenting with a new drink featuring tomato juice and vodka that he calls a Bloody Mary and wants me to try it. I humour him with a few sips, but I wish he would put real blood in it. I’m about to count my losses and call it a night when there’s a cold frisson in the air, and the back of my neck prickles. Slowly, I turn around and come face to face with an attractive young blonde woman. She’s wearing a criminally short strappy green silk dress and an emerald-studded headband. That she’s a vampire I’m in no doubt. Alexander has told me we’re not the only ones in Paris, but this is the first time I’ve met one in the wild.
We eye each other silently, assessing who’s the more dangerous, and my fists slowly clench; if she’s feelingterritorial and wants to go outside, then I’m in the mood for a fight. The woman’s lips quirk as if she’s amused. This suggests she’s not afraid of me at all, and I should be on my guard.
Then she holds up a hand like a peace offering and wiggles her fingers in greeting. There’s a crackling in my mind, and her husky voice comes through loud and clear.
Hello, witch. Wanna have some fun?
***
Sadie, I’m not sure about this—
My new vampire friend has invited me to her apartment, where she said there’s a treat in store for me. But I wasn’t expecting a guy to be spreadeagled on her double bed, wearing nothing but a white towel. He’s bound by invisible ropes to the bedposts, and it doesn’t seem to be any effort on Sadie’s part to hold him there. She’s tied a black silk blindfold over his eyes, but by the sharp cut of his jaw, broad tanned chest, and rippling biceps, I can tell he’s an Adonis in his birthday suit.
Sadie ignores my protest.
Meet Chad from the US of A. I forget which state. He did tell me.
‘Where are you from again, Chad?’ she asks outloud.
‘Oklahoma,’ he says in an American accent, jerking his head towards her voice.
Sadie snaps her fingers.Right,that’s it. He’s an army lad, serving God and country. But most importantly, serving up ...
She whips off the towel, and Chad’s extremely large cock is displayed in all its erect glory.
Jesus!
