Lamia: Arab Vampire Queen

"Ma'am, are you alright?" came a voice, and I stared at the two uniformed men who stood a few meters from me, wondering why they felt the need to shine their flashlights in my face. I looked at them through dazed eyes, and smiled through bloodied lips. Oh, not my blood, I assure you. I fed on a vagrant earlier, and discarded him in a nearby dumpster.

"Oh, I'm fine, but you soon won't be," I replied, and that's when I smiled. The look on the two police officers faces was comical. Humans tend to react in predictable fashion once I flash my fangs. Unlike those ridiculous vampires you see in the movies, I don't have just a pair of fangs in a mouth full of normal teeth. Nope, I've got a mouthful of long, curving fangs that are retractable, and look like normal teeth most of the time. All the better to devour you with...

Without another word, I surged forward, and although the officers pumped bullet after bullet into me, I took them down. Lashing out with my clawed hands, I tore the first cop's throat out, and did the same thing to his partner. Both men were dead before they hit the ground. I had already fed earlier, but I couldn't pass up fresh blood. So I drank my fill, then hightailed it out of there. Just another night as a vampire living in the City of Toronto, folks. Nothing to see here...

Seeking higher ground, I took to the rooftops, and paused for a moment to savor the moment. I like the City of Toronto's skyline, and the fact that this city of millions is saturated to the gills with millions upon millions of delicious human morsels, all just waiting to be drained dry. When you're as old as I am, you crave blood more than the hardier, younger vampires do. Not that I look my age, mind you...

In fact, if you were to look at me, you wouldn't think I looked a day over thirty. Thirty two at the most. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy, with dark bronze skin, light brown eyes and curly dark hair. Clad in a black leather jacket, red tank top and black leather miniskirt, I looked pretty good. Like a femme fatale strutting her stuff as she makes her way through the Toronto nightlife. The truth is that I'm so much more than that. For starters, I am three thousand years old...

Due to my exotic looks, I've been mistaken for everything from Greek to Indian and even Italian. It amuses me when mortals try to guess my origins, and the fact that I can speak close to a hundred languages with no discernible accent further puzzles them. I am a woman of mystery in the eyes of many, and that's how I like it. Staying ahead of friend or foe is the secret of my survival...

The truth is that I was born in what is today known as the Arabian Peninsula, to an ancient people, the Musaafir. Our name means "wanderer" in ancient Arabic. My tribe dwelled in what is today known as the Hejaz region of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia long before Judeo-Christianity and later, Islam, spread across the region. I barely remember those days, but there are some things that you cannot forget...

I remember my parents, my mother Layan and my father Adnan, Chieftain of the Musaafir tribe, and my sister Afraa. We were a tribe of nomads, roaming across the Arabian Peninsula. I was married to a young man from another clan, and his name was Harith. I bore him a daughter, our lovely little Areebah. Our lives were simple, and although there's much that I've forgotten about those heady days, I remember that I was happy. And then one day, my world changed...

A stranger came to our camp early one summer evening, and I remember that he was tall, pale and gaunt, with strangely dark eyes. My father and husband welcomed him to the camp, for he came to us with a tale of woe. Apparently, he'd been robbed by bandits, a common occurrence in our part of the world, especially in those days. We didn't know it at the time, but the stranger was a monster. During the night, he attacked us, and went from tent to tent, slaughtering men and women, young and old alike...

"You are brave and beautiful, you will make a fine recruit," the stranger said, flashing me a fanged smile, his eyes now bright red, as he stood before my tent. I found him feeding on my husband Harith. I faced the monster, brandishing my father's sword. Sadly, I was no match for him. What could a lone woman do, when this monster had already dispatched so many strong men? That's how I thought in those days.

"Run, my little Areebah," I cried out as I shoved my daughter away. My little angel heeded my plea and ran off into the night. The monster came for me, and easily disarmed me. I struggled, and he laughed before sinking his fangs into my neck. When I woke up, three days later, I was...changed. That's what vampirism does to you. It changes you. You stop being a person, even though you remember being one. You become a thing that can only come out at night, and craves the blood of the living...

A lot of vampires remember their makers fondly. I haven't made a lot of vampires but I do keep in touch with the few that I've created, like Malik. To this day, I never saw the ancient monster that made me ever again, nor did I learn what became of my daughter Areebah. My father, mother, husband and daughter were gone. My whole world had ended. As I roamed the world after becoming a vampire, many legends spread about me...

To the ancient Greeks, I was a former queen of Libya, one who was turned into a monster by the Gods and now feeds on their offspring. I spent some time in Libya, and while I did prey on many of the locals, I was never their queen. Seriously, I don't know where that myth got started, but it suits me to strike terror into the hearts of men. I've roamed the world for thousands of years, from the Arabian Peninsula to Carthage, Greece, and what later became known as Rome...

I've lived among the people of Ethiopia, and roamed the vastness of West Africa, a land of singular beauty where I was particularly well-received, for the locals view vampires different from how the rest of the world views my kind. To the Hausa people of West Africa, I wasn't a monster but a force of nature, no more evil than a hurricane or a sandstorm. I liked these people and their mindset. To this day, I have fond memories of the Hausa folks.

"Lamia, why must you always make a mess when you feed?" came a familiar deep voice, and I whirled around, cursing myself for being so distracted that I didn't sense the presence of a fellow predator. I haven't survived for thousands of years upon this earth by allowing myself to be easily distracted. Even when you're immortal like I am, danger lurks around practically every corner. Upon seeing who it was, I smiled and relaxed...somewhat.

For before me stood a most formidable man. Six feet two inches tall, broad-shouldered and strongly built, and if I dare say so, he was sinisterly handsome. A beautiful man with chocolate-hued skin, a slick and neatly trimmed beard. The street lights reflected on his smooth bald head. Clad in a dark gray suit, blue silk shirt, red tie, and dark gray silk pants. The dapper gentleman smiled, flashing his exceptionally shiny fangs.

"I do as I please, Malik," I replied haughtily as I looked him up and down. Malik Abayomi and I have known each other for ages. I met him in 1475 while visiting a corner of West Africa then known as the Hausa Kingdom. It encompassed much of northern Nigeria in pre-colonial times. What brought me to such an isolated region of the world? Oh, simply the fight for survival...

You see, in those days, I was pursued across Europe and much of Asia by the Holy Cadre, a group of fanatics dedicated to hunting down and eradicating all supernatural entities, especially vampires. The Holy Cadre was formed during the Spanish Inquisition, though they were soon banned by the Spanish throne and the Roman Catholic church for their extreme brutality. They seemed to lose my trail when I went to West Africa...

When I came to the City of Kano, in the northern part of what would later be called Nigeria, I found enamored of the people and local culture. The dark-skinned inhabitants of West Africa might have seemed strange to Europeans and my fellow Arabs, but to me, they were simply magnificent. A lively, strong and passionate people that embraced life with a fervor that I haven't seen anywhere else. Oh, and they had no fear of the supernatural.

While in West Africa, I restricted my feeding to bandits, murderers and rapists. I did so out of respect for the only people out of the entire human species that did not revile my kind. I swear, you can live for thousands upon thousands of years and think you've seen it all, and then you come to a new place, meet a new people, and realize how little you know. Life is beautiful that way, is it not?

It's in this beautiful land that I met Malik Abayomi, the son of Khalid Abayomi, Prince of the Hausa people. The tall, dark and handsome prince was leading his men into battle against Yoruba bandits from the south who invaded his people's caliphate, and while fighting them, he fell into an ambush and was fatally wounded. Drawn by the violence and the blood, I came to the battlefield and feasted on victim and victor alike under the cover of night, for I don't discriminate.

"Are you the angel of death come to collect my soul?" Malik asked me, as he lay on his back, a sword protruding from his belly. The dark-skinned, handsome West African Muslim warrior-prince looked at me with no fear in his soulful dark eyes. I knelt beside him, fully intent on draining him of his precious blood, but upon hearing his words, I paused. This one was different from the others...

"No I am not, I am Lamia, Queen of the Darkness and Drinker of Blood," I replied proudly, and I bared my fangs, ready to drain Malik dry. Much to my surprise, the wounded prince continued to look at me without fear. Indeed, he reached for me, and I flinched, thinking he was lashing out while in the throes of death. Instead, Malik caressed my face.

"You are beautiful but look so lonely,' Malik said, smiling faintly, and then he closed his eyes. I looked at him, watching as the flow of life ebbed within his body. As a vampire, I am quite sensitive to such things. Why was I so hesitant? I didn't know. For reasons unknown to me to this very day, I felt moved by Malik's words. A great calm washed over me as I realized what I had to do. No, what I wanted to do. I bit my wrist until I drew blood, then pressed it against Malik's lips.

"Join me and end my loneliness," I whispered, as I clutched Malik in my arms, and urged him to drink. Immortality cannot be forced upon anyone. You must choose to become a vampire. Malik drank from me, and three days later, he rose from the grave as a nascent vampire. I haven't done that too often. Creating other vampires isn't something I care to do. There aren't a lot of us in the world, and there's a good reason for that.

"Lamia, stop daydreaming," Malik said in that deep, seductive voice of his, snatching me out of my little reverie. I went up to him, and playfully punched his shoulder. I winced a bit, for although Malik was flesh and blood, the magnificent transformation brought by vampirism had changed his body, hardening and strengthening it over the centuries. My beautiful creation pulled me into his arms, and gently stroked my face. I smiled, harkening to centuries before...

"Make me," I whispered, and I purred like a kitten and pressed my dangerous curves against Malik's body. Even back when we met, he's always been Mr. Cool, the kind of guy who seldom lets anything get to him. Malik is utterly fearless and it's one of the things I love about him. I mean the brother flirted with a female vampire while fatally wounded on the battlefield. What does that tell you about the man?

"Thought you'd never ask, my dearest temptress," Malik said, and he cupped my chin in his big, strong hand. I smiled defiantly, and that's when he leaned closer and kissed me. I kissed him back passionately, feeling his heat and welcoming it. A lot of people think that vampire skin feels cold to the touch, and they're half right. Our hearts do not beat, nor do we breathe. Our bodies usually register at room temperature...unless we've fed recently.

"I don't ask, handsome, I take," I paused to say, and I suddenly laid a double whammy on Malik. First I grabbed his ass, causing him to smile and drop his guard. Next, I drew closer as if to kiss him again, then sank my fangs into his neck. Malik flinched and struggled, but I am thousands of years older than him and infinitely stronger. I suddenly let go, and Malik stood there, gasping, even though he wasn't a breather...

"Crazy woman, you never cease to amaze me," Malik said, and I watched as the wound I inflicted on him healed instantly. I smiled coyly, and I was still smiling when he seized me and, moving faster than anything human, he shoved me against the wall. Hard enough to hurt. I felt a slight pain at my back, and smiled, pleasantly surprised by Malik's roughness...

"Oh, you know I like it rough," I whispered, and Malik grabbed me by the throat, and bit my neck. At the same time, he slid his hand under my skirt, and I gasped as his fingers slid into my pussy. I'm a panties-optional kind of gal, and Malik knew it. I felt slightly light-headed as he drank a bit too much of my blood, and shoved him back. Malik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flashed me a fanged smile...

"Damn straight," Malik said, and he came at me again, and I batted his hands away. In spite of my best efforts, the burly stud once more pinned me against the wall. Looking into my eyes, Malik flicked his tongue over my lips. I kissed him, and bit him, drawing blood. Malik unzipped my jacket and pawed at my breasts, grabbing them a bit too roughly for my liking, and I shot him a look.

"Be careful," I warned, and Malik nodded, then got on his knees. I grinned as he pulled down my skirt, and brought his handsome face close to my vagina. Malik inhaled sharply, and I licked my lips. I flaunt my own aroma down below, and I don't apologize for it. Malik seemed to like what he smelled, for he began licking my pussy at once. I closed my eyes as my ardent lover pleasured me like only he could...

Malik is really good at eating pussy. A lot of guys rush but he takes his sweet time. The brother from west Africa knows how and when to tease my clit with his tongue while his fingers probe and tease me, drawing me close to the edge, until I can't stand it anymore and scream like a banshee. I was horny as can be, and Malik had me right where he wanted me. Mercilessly he licked and teased my pussy, and didn't let up until I came...

That night, Malik and I made love on the rooftop. After Malik finished polishing my pussy with his tongue, I took his member into my hand and stroked it. My West African stud is well-endowed, and I looked at his long and thick rod hungrily. Smiling, I took Malik into my mouth and began sucking him off. The brother moaned deeply as I pleasured him, and once I had good and hard, it was my turn to get pleasured...

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Malik whispered, a look of utter mesmerisation on his dark, handsome face as I climbed on top of him. I straddled him and rested my hands on his shoulders. Malik smiled and put his hands on my hips as I impaled myself on his hard dick. Bucking his hips, Malik thrust into me. We fucked, hard and fast, and afterwards we lay side by side on the freshly fallen snow, heedless of the cold.

"To many more nights like this one," I said to Malik, who smiled and nodded firmly. With dawn approaching, we left the rooftop. I went back to my townhouse, and Malik opted to spend the day with me in my artfully decorated, comfortable and sun-proof lair. I'm not the romantic type by any means, but I did welcome his company. Loneliness is a bitch, I know this better than most...

Tonight was simply awesome. I killed three people, two of them cops, and made their bodies disappear. live for nights like this. The danger, the excitement, the impromptu sex, the random killing, and the blood, ah, the blood. It's what I live for as a vampire. I've been at it for three thousand years and can't get enough of it. Once upon a time, I was a wife and a mother, and a proud member of the Musaafir tribe. Now, I'm a predator. I live for sex and blood, and death. I am what I am and I love it. Stay out of my way if you want to live a little while longer...