White Heart

He caught her at the edge of town, feeding.

Disgust clawed at his stomach as he watched her devour the tiny bundle, teeth ripping at flesh, blood flowing from the corners of her mouth. How could he have allowed this to happen? Stopping to rest during the long chase, he'd taken his eyes off her for only the briefest matter of time; time enough for her to procure a baby.

Self-hatred coursed through his body. Somewhere an innocent mother was catatonic, collapsing in horror beside an empty bassinette; and all because he'd given in to human weakness, allowing himself to recoup because the chase had become more exciting than the kill.

No longer.

Soundlessly he withdrew the wooden stake from his belt, not needing to weigh it in his hands, not needing to adjust his grip because the stake was a part of himself, an extension of his body. He raised his arm, gathering himself to rush forward and strike.

"You misjudge me."

Her voice was a rich caress, cushioning his thoughts in dark velvet. He froze, muscles tensing.

How could she speak to him so when he hadn't felt the push against his mind, hadn't felt the psychic heat that signalled he'd been sensed and found? His defences were better than that, equipped to repel the strongest will.

Frowning, he warily lowered the stake, but not his guard, ready and waiting for the flurry of her predictable attack. Demons had their tricks, he knew them well – knew enough to project uncertainty when he was anything but. The lure and the bait were as important as the long hunt.

Her head lifted; her long, elegant, hair shimmying down her back like a river of black satin. The electric thrill of it held his eye.

She knew who he was, knew he would be dressed from tip to toe in black, knew that he wore a heavy, gold cross against his heart, knew that the jagged scar across his right cheek heightened his fierce magnificence. She'd been waiting for this moment for over a hundred years.

Slowly she turned and raised her prize for him to see. He stared at it, unmoved, accustomed to atrocities and visions of insanity, but what she held startled him in a way that nothing had for centuries.

It was a lamb, a piteous newborn lamb, not human flesh. For all the death and destruction he'd witnessed, sight of the bloodless creature shocked him unspeakably.

He blinked, unconvinced – a trick of the moonlight, some impossible sleight of hand his enhanced eyes had missed.

What sort of creature would condescend to animal blood when the sounds of the festival stirred the night? Sounds of small, vulnerable children playing in the darkness, the majority of whom were wilfully, wantonly separated from their parents, their protectors. Easy targets.

"Do you see?" she asked.

He said nothing, wondering what new evil this was, what fresh challenge he had encountered.

"Ah." She laughed – a ripple of strength and sweetness that stole his breath. "You see, but you refuse to believe."

"What are you?" he demanded, ashamed of the raw emotion in his voice. Not fear – never fear – but a telling combination of curiosity and need.

"You know what I am." She stepped closer, revealing her face beneath the lamplight, her exquisite, alabaster beauty marred only by the blood on her chin, the vicious curl of her lip above the glint of white, elongated fangs. "Why else have you hungered for me, stalked me, tracked me to this place over seven long nights? You know what I am."

"Yet you haven't partaken of human blood." Again he felt shame – shame that he had deigned to speak to her, shame that the mystery of her had stopped him from ending her life when he was close enough to drive the stake through her heart.

She laughed again – she had known that she would confound him.

The sound tightened his loins, rolling around him like a maddening haze, bringing to mind visions of tangled sheets and candlelight.

"I am what I am," she said plainly, dropping the bundle to her feet and running the back of her hand over her mouth and chin, rubbing the red liquid from her skin. Her fangs retracted while she spoke, leaving a beautiful woman – no more, no less – and a sudden impression of innocence that rocked him to the core.

"I ask myself why you would bother with me when there are countless others more deserving of your attention," she pondered.

He didn't answer because she was unworthy of an answer; so far beneath his consideration that justifying himself would only drag him down to her level. He took the prey that crossed his path – that was all. There was no need to distinguish between qualities of evil. He had the time, the power and the patience to eventually hunt them all; to end the stain of darkness upon the earth.

Rushing her with preternatural speed he pinned her against the lamppost. Her strength was great but his was mightier. It surprised him that she put up so little fight when he manacled her hands behind her back, chaining her in place. He stepped back, waiting for the beast to emerge – it went against the grain to slay her in her human form.

She seemed like a sweet virgin, a pure woman of good thought and deed. He knew better.

Angry all of a sudden, the ice cold righteousness that preceded a kill failed to descend over him.

"Change," he demanded.

"No." Her luminous eyes defied him, her head twisting to the side showing him the smooth porcelain column of her throat, the graceful knot that lifted and fell as she swallowed her fear. "Kill me as I am."

"Change," he demanded, louder, his jaw contracting as he slapped her hard across the face.

"No," she said softly, staring him in the eye with a sorrow that skewered his perception. He'd encountered hatred, contempt, mania, but this? Her psyche pierced his guard long enough to comprehend that it wasn't herself she felt sorry for, but him.

Her pity enraged him.

"Change you devil," he yelled, backhanding her with a fury that rammed her head sideways and back in to the post.

"No." She righted herself and shook her head sadly, a tear tracing down over one smooth cheek. "I won't. I'm not a monster. I breathe the same as you do."

His gaze dropped to her chest, taking in the low cut of her dress, the delicate rise and fall of her sumptuous breasts. Her cleavage was a dark valley in the lamplight, a black ravine that called to him. The stake twitched in his hand while another sturdier beast came to life, his trousers suddenly painfully tight.

Her tear floored him. To grasp that evil was capable of such deceit...capable of tears.

Dropping the stake he whirled away from her, furiously trying to overcome his heated body, struggling to restore his focus. He drew the bottle of holy water from his pocket and turned back, a dangerous smile hardening his lips.

"Do you know what this is?"

She nodded slowly, her unwavering eyes never leaving his face.

"You want to hurt me first, to burn me with hate. You want to validate your kill. So be it."

Her stoicism, her – dare he think it – courage, almost had his admiration. Almost. If she wasn't a filthy, defiled creature, he would find room in his heart for mercy, but he didn't have a heart, he didn't believe in mercy. The only thing that truly affected him was her lack of terror – usually sight of the bottle was plenty enough to bring out the beast.

He unstoppered the flask, ready to fling the contents in her face...but couldn't. Her unearthly beauty was astounding. To ruin such a visage was akin to defacing a priceless Monet. Instead he went behind her and poured the tiniest amount on her wrist.

Her scream tore the heavens asunder, masking the sizzle of bubbling skin. The smell of charred flesh assaulted his nostrils. With a practised ease he retrieved his stake from the ground and waited for the results to tell.

His efforts were futile. He'd never experienced such will before, never met anyone capable of trapping the vampire within, had never suspected such power from a mere girl.

"It burns, it burns," she screamed. "Oh God, please help me. Oh Father who art in heav–"

He slammed his fist in to her temple, aghast at her blasphemy, incensed at the words of prayer falling from her corrupt lips.

"Change you fucking bitch. CHANGE!" he screamed at her.

Head bowed, her beast remained dormant but he caught a whisper of words, a chant of Latin so low that even his unnatural ears couldn't gather it. With a fistful of hair he wrenched her head up, cursing when he saw the whites of her eyes. She'd fallen in to some kind of devil trance.

He pushed in to her mind expecting darkness, the black void that he'd found in every vampire he'd ever killed. As such, his mind was open, totally unprepared for the dazzling white that hit him, searing his brain and blasting him backwards.

When he came to she was slumped at the foot of the post, out cold.

***

For six days she defied his attempts to rouse her.

He'd carried her home refusing to examine the reasons why he hadn't staked her and moved on; at the very least left her for the sunlight to consume. He told himself it was his peculiar sense of honour – his reluctance to kill unless the beast was at the fore. He consoled himself with the excuse that her unusual mind needed further examination.

Not once did he admit to himself that her stunning face and the potential of her voluptuous cleavage had a potent hold on him.

He didn't dare risk entering her mind again but he did resort to methods both foul and bloody to bring her around.

Shallow cuts on her thighs elicited no response. Pushing her dress up around her waist had been a necessary evil. The discovery that she wore no underwear and the explicit vision of her hairless mound had haunted him ever since.

His blood thickened in his veins every time he thought of it. It had taken all his strength to pull away, every ounce of willpower to not touch her, not slide his fingers over the tempting quim, not spread her legs and behold the secrets within, not lower his head and steal her unique flavour with his tongue.

He'd allowed himself a sniff and that alone – the sweet freshness of her cunt – had near pushed him over the precipice, the hard throb in his cock demanding satisfaction. Angrily he'd rolled her over and seared her buttock with a hot iron, branding his mark in to her taut, flawless backside.

He'd wanted her to come alive, screaming, fighting him off with sharp, gnashing teeth and removing all thoughts of sin. He'd wanted her beast to leap forward so he could slay it.

Amazed, he'd watched as her wounds healed before his eyes, her skin knitting back together leaving no trace of any scars.

Leaving her in chains under the watchful eye of a servant he'd retreated to his vast library, burying himself in lore and demonology until his eyes were bleary, his neck an aching crook. There was nothing, nothing that came close to explaining the anomaly of her mind.

Foiled, he'd restlessly prowled his fortress, only venturing out at night to hunt and kill.

He'd tracked an old man, notorious for serial killing and turning all of his hapless victims. He'd found a lair of four teenage boys and picked them off one by one, enjoying the paranoid delusions of the last survivor. And on the sixth night he'd stumbled across a young trio in the woods.

A maiden had been sandwiched between two sadistic men, screaming her heart-wrenching suffering to the moon. A master of the bait, he'd watched with interest, knowing a dangling worm when he saw one. Had any misguided fool rushed to her rescue she would've been the first to devour the catch.

He waited as the men senselessly thrust in to her slick pussy, her tender ass; waited for the blood lust to consume them.

He was staggered by their stupidity, their openness, though it didn't surprise him. This was the greed that marked their kind – the inability to control their darkest impulses. It made his job easy – too easy – the animalistic frenzy leaving them incapable of guarding against him.

He waited til their fangs burst forth then swooped down on them in the throes of orgasm, decapitating the woman and the man who humped beneath her, driving a stake in to the beast that filled her ass.

Three in one night. It wasn't a record by any means but it helped to cool his growing impatience with the enigmatic girl.

"Master."

The call sounded in his head, quickening his journey home. There could only be one reason for it – sleeping beauty had awoken from her trance.

***

Her strange, fearless eyes traced his passage in to the room. He almost faltered when he registered the bottomless green of her gaze, the black rings that circled her irises. He had never seen eyes like hers, could not fathom the random fate of genetics that bestowed such splendour on one so evil.

There was enough chain attached to her leg iron for her to sit with her back against the wall. She looked comfortable, serene, more at home than she deserved; it raised his hackles.

Without speaking a word he marched to her tether, viciously yanking the chain and dragging her across the concrete floor, shortening her bonds and re-bolting the pin so she was caught in the middle of the room.

"It won't work you know," she said quietly.

What lovely timbre was it that leant her voice such silky magic? His head jerked up, his eyes unable to break her hypnotic stare.

"You can cut me and burn me, and still you won't bring out the demon in me."

He coloured, wondering exactly how much she'd been aware of during her comatose state.

"I know you stared your fill of my naked body. I know you spent in your hand the minute you left the room."

His fist lashed out, cracking her across the cheek. "You dirty bitch," he spat.

He didn't know how she was getting inside his head, pulling his thoughts from thin air, but it had to stop. No-one had ever gained that power over him. No-one.

"I know you want me," she confronted him, unflinching when he slapped her again. "I know you yearn to be inside me."

"Fuck," he screamed, storming towards the door then stopping just as quickly. The stakes in his belt, the sword at his side... Who was the Master here? Vampires quaked at the sound of his name and here he was running from a feeble hostage, a pissy little woman who deserved to die.

"So kill me," she whispered.

He spun on his heel intending to do exactly that, beast or no beast be damned, but his heart thundered to a halt when he saw her pose.

Kneeling on the floor she held her hair back with one hand, holding her neck ready for the swift cut of his blade. Her other hand was clenched in her dress, holding the front down, exposing her chest, her luscious breasts framing the point where his stake should enter. The coolness of the chamber raised her pert, rosy nipples like forbidden fruit.

"Do it," she ordered, her eyes defiant, an intense shade of green like a spring garden after a sprinkle of rain.

His cock stirred, thrumming to life with an inevitable greed.

"Oh no." He shook his head. "If you think I'll make it easy for you, you are sadly mistaken."

He almost walked out then and there, but another more tempting thought entered his head, a notion that couldn't be denied after years of experience – the certain knowledge that there was one fool proof way of bringing out the beast.

He crossed the room in a blur and fell upon her luscious body, shoving her on her back so harshly that her head made a satisfying thud as it connected with the unyielding floor. It was a wonder her skull didn't split open.

Contrary to the force of the blow, she didn't cry out, rather her hands meshed in his hair pulling him down for an ardent kiss. He smiled coldly, exultant that his plan was taking effect. Lifting his head he denied her her wish. She was lower than a whore, not worthy of his mouth on those red, desecrated lips.

He moved down her body, sucking her nipple in to his mouth, biting down hard to hurt her. This wasn't about care, he had no desire to cater to her pleasure – this was about slaking his lust, punishment pure and simple. She struggled only minimally – seemingly resigned to her fate. Or perhaps she liked it rough.

Her dress fell apart in his hands as he ripped it from her body, the sight of her bald pussy filming his eyes with red heat. Cruelly he forced her legs apart, pushing his pants down to his knees. In one savage thrust he rammed in to her.

The barrier inside her tore before he realised what it was. Her scream of pain all but shattered his ear drums. He scrambled backwards, unceremoniously landing his bare bottom on the cold concrete, staring in horror at the slash of scarlet that graced his cock.

Her legs drew up to her chest as she curled in to a foetal ball, sobbing in misery.

Gods, how was it possible? Given the nature of evil how on God's earth was it possible?

No demon in evidence, no vampire at all, just an innocent virgin who'd been brutally deflowered. If he hadn't witnessed the gleam of her fangs when he'd caught her feeding, the enormity of his barbarity would unhinge his mind, sending him crazy. He was Liam, keeper of the Way of the White, sworn to a code that precluded and defended against rape and pillage.

Remembering the sight of her feeding was almost enough to expel the sympathy from his stunned brain – almost, but not enough. Her pitiful cries stung his body like salted wounds.

Leaping off the floor, he fastened his trousers, realising for the first time that she had had access to his weapons and instead had chosen to caress his face, to clasp his head seeking his kiss.

He could have summoned a servant but he was loath for anyone to behold what he did next. Striding from the room he entered his chamber lifting the luxurious fleece from his bed. Coming back to her he folded the material over her naked flesh.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice surprising him with the tones of long forgotten gentleness.

She turned her head and stared at him through tear flooded eyes. "You know what I am."

"But how...how have you kept yourself pure?"

"I have certain...powers. I hold myself apart from the others."

He nodded, grudgingly obliged to accept her word though a part of him remained wholly unconvinced. Evil was evil. Guilt did not obliterate his suspicion – he'd lived too long for that. Perhaps her innocence was a trap, a steel clawed honey pit that threatened him more than any other foe.

Still, he felt an odd kind of duty towards her.

Sending a silent command to his minions he released her ankle bonds. "Come." He held out his hand.

Rising from the floor she stumbled towards him. She seemed unbelievably trusting – another facet of her that screamed liar just as it begged him to believe. Bravely she stepped to his side before doubling over in pain. He swore, sweeping her in to his arms and carrying her through to his chamber.

The bath was full, scented and steaming as he'd instructed. He stood her in it and turned to leave.

"Don't go," she implored. "Please stay with me."

He gritted his teeth, all too conscious of her nakedness, wondering if this was a ploy of the beast. "I could kill you at any moment," he reminded her, his back still turned.

"I'm not afraid."

Was that meant to incite him? Even humans were terrified of him, his temper, his prowess as a deliverer of death made him legend in their eyes. His servants bowed and scraped and kowtowed like spineless cowards. And this simple demonic woman declared herself to be undaunted? His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the lessons he would gift her.

His sword whipped through the air as he whirled to face her, a fever of rage blanketing over him.

She didn't move, didn't cower, didn't beg.

"I am not afraid," she repeated, not a hint of a tremor in her voice.