Immortal Pleasures, page 5
“This is it? Lazy liars. All of you!”
He raised his hand, but I stood defiantly with my belly protruding tightly and shouted, “Stand back now. This is not your job. You are meant to be protecting me. Am I doing the talking or you?”
The soldier shot me a dirty look with his gaze shifting from my belly to face. “Whore,” he mumbled. I looked to the soldiers behind him. “Take him from me. I cannot do what Hernán Cortés has given me to do with that around me. It makes me sicker than I already am.”
Without hesitation they did as commanded. I motioned for the accosted chief to come forward with his tax. I didn’t want to take it. In that moment when gold and a basket of maize touched my hands, I felt like a thief. The look in his eyes took my breath away when he handed me what he owed. He should not have been forced to do this, and I should not have been forced to make him. This was his land. I gave him a nod before watching him shuffle away.
Soon after, a son burst out of me like a bloody fish I didn’t recognize, with the exception of his black eyes. Thank God it was a boy. I didn’t choose to be his mother, but there he was, a new creation, both Indigenous and European, in a new world. I was so exhausted part of me wished I had died in childbirth. It would have been a dignified way to go, and I would have been given a warrior’s welcome in the afterlife. Instead I had to find a way to live with men I didn’t want and their offspring I had no real desire for beyond security and duty.
Hernán held him, inspecting every part. “I will name him Martin,” he said before giving him to a maid and leaving me. Not by choice but by necessity I cared for Martin for a short period of time because he was of me, my sacred blood. And despite his pale skin, he still had my eyes.
The eyes say it all. They are the ink that creates the story of the vessel we call a body. His infant love for me and his soul knew nothing of what I endured. When Martin was born and I survived, our next expedition to Honduras was already being planned. Empire is a roaming, hungry beast, always on the edge of starvation, and always on the prowl. Even when its belly is distended from being overfull, it still covets more. I had to tell the midwives by my side on behalf of Cortés, “Make sure I am given all I need to recover. Hernán needs me soon.”
Never had I seen eyes so cold, those of a bloodless monster, than that moment looking at Hernán.
It was a small miracle Martin and I survived.
Martin was taken from me, and I lay there feeling the warrior’s exhaustion as two women wiped sweat and blood from my limp body. God, I was so tired of it all. There was relief Martin was born, yet I felt nothing at all. Who wrote this story in history, and where could I find the author to eat their heart in front of their eyes, then tear their hands from their wrists? It made me have no sympathy for the Christ they made me pray to. It was also at this time that my final master whom I was forced to call my husband in my human life was brokering to have me for his own. I knew it wouldn’t be long before my use to Cortés had been exhausted.
As the son of a powerful man, I hoped Martin would not know what many others of mixed blood experienced. I hoped he would be protected and in turn protect the Indigenous part of him. That power was priceless if you were not a Spaniard at the time. But Martin was left behind when he was a mere toddler so Cortés and I could travel, conquer. I still remember his little eyes wet from tears and his chubby hand reaching out for me. Is it cold and heartless of me to confess that this still didn’t incite much emotion from me? When he was not near me, I scarcely missed him. Yes, I did possess love for him, but his crying in the night made me remember why I would not find it hard to venture off again.
Martin was Cortés’s only male heir at that time. He had to be protected and educated, and that meant he would be sent to Spain. And so Spain is where my son, Martin, lived for most of his life after I had to leave him when I was married off. The part of me living in him was to be forgotten forever when he died many years later in Spain.
The alarm rings on my phone, breaking my rest and awakening my memories. This morning I had planned to visit a museum, but the memories of my human life have left me feeling my long years. I take a deep breath and remind myself who I am. The business I built is testament that I am no longer the young girl relying on Cortés or the many other men to provide the smallest scraps of my existence, including the freedom to live. They had given me the title Doña as a sign of nobility after my years of forced service, but there was no true nobility in it. I created my own sense of nobility after my human death through my own resilience and the business I later created.
Instead, I decide to catch up on a few hours of work before heading out to the museum, followed by my date with Colin. Working cleans my internal slate every time by distracting my mind. Again I look at the email stating the skulls are mine. It dawns on me that once I have them in my possession, what will be next for me to chase from my past? There will be nothing as valuable to me to obsess over and sustain me. The headdress in Austria is a project close to my heart, but it is not as personal.
I guess that perhaps it could only be love that will set me free. And too many times I’ve found my eyes brimming with tears and my chest tight when I thought of someone putting their arms around my waist and kissing my neck tenderly. The ghost of this man who could truly love me was so vivid in my imagination that I swear I could feel this phantom lover’s breath on my earlobe. I’d clutch my midsection with no one there. This usually only happened when I listened to a Sade song. But at last, the choice between fear and loneliness or hope and open-hearted faith had come to me, and I am ready to choose.
And then I remember: I can’t believe I am actually going on a date like a modern human. I never saw anyone more than a few times, and what we did was not what you’d consider dating. The anticipation of seeing Colin again is so great, my belly feels like a cave filled with bats ready to take flight. I like this sensation of excitement.
Colin buzzes me through the entrance to his building, and I walk up to his second-floor apartment. The door was left ajar, but I knock anyway.
“Come in,” he shouts. “Sorry, I just need to finish this paragraph. After last night, I can’t stop writing. By the way, I hope you didn’t walk far. A body of a woman was found near here. It made the papers today. Terrible stuff.”
My entire body tenses hearing this, even though I have seen thousands of dead women over the years. No amount of outrage or anger from us seems to match the hate directed at us, hate that we are supposed to readily accept as part of our existence. And so when anyone tried to attack me, or if I happened to see another woman being attacked, the terror I would inflict on the perpetrator knew no bounds. Over the years, I have piled up bodies of villains by the thousands. One more would be nothing if I found out who murdered the woman in the news article.
Colin sits in a black leather office chair with only the glow of the computer to light the room. The bookshelves that line the walls are filled with CDs, horror films, and more books. There are so many, his collection spills onto the floor in neat piles. It makes me laugh to myself—I tend to be in resting bitch face mode, but this man keeps making me smile. I want time to discuss our shared passions together. The office in my home in Mexico is filled with books, framed albums, and movie posters. Things I love. How have I been led to this individual so suited to my tastes? The room smells like laundry detergent and cleaning supplies. It’s endearing that he took the time to make his place decent before my arrival.
“Where’s the bed?” I say from behind him. He swivels around. Both of his hands reach for my legs and inch their way up the sides of my thighs. His caress is like having one of my appendages reattached after being torn away. I can’t believe I’m being touched by the same person more than once and actually liking it. “You don’t want dinner first? I bought a bunch of things, since I don’t know what you might want.”
I have to laugh at this. In the politest way, of course. “I have a pretty select diet. And you know that is not why I came here.”
He looks into my eyes, then scans my body. I’ve got another minidress on. This one is leopard print, with lace at the hem and waist.
“Thanks for texting me.” He pauses, looks at me. “Why don’t you take that dress off? I like your sexy style, but I want to see you. All of you.”
I have lived long enough to be mostly comfortable in my own skin. Who cares what someone you will never see again thinks? However, even that thought doesn’t take all my insecurities away in this moment, and my memories of my old life from the morning have knocked my confidence a bit. Any damage to your body before becoming a vampire remains, and the depredations of my mortal life have left their mark.
His request makes me feel vulnerable, human. If I were capable of blushing, my cheeks would be a shade of scarlet. Sometimes being superwoman is exhausting; sometimes that guard needs to come down. Saying you have no fear can become as uncomfortable as a pair of heels worn too long.
“I have a scar, stretch marks. Let’s turn off the light and keep this what it is: a fantasy. You’re mine and I’m yours. For a little while, at least.”
He stands to lead me to the bedroom and sits at the edge of the bed. There is a serious sincerity in his eyes now. This look has the same effect on me as flowers do for other women.
“I don’t care what you look like. It’s how you feel that matters. What your body did to me last night was mind-blowing. Don’t hide from me. I’m sure as hell not perfect either. I still don’t understand why you picked me out of the bar. You look like the kind of woman that could have any man you want.”
I’d like to sit and tell him all the little things I adore about him, despite just meeting him. I want to discuss his book and take copies of all his books home to read tonight, but I’ve also been wet since he placed his hands on my thighs. And now this: The honeycomb inside is crushed and overflowing. My desire for him requires seeing to immediately.
Because he’s right: I’ve never fucked a flawless human in all my hundreds of years of sex. Why should I trip about not being perfect myself? It has never bothered me before. This personal growth thing is not easy. I may have the power to kill a thousand men, but some human insecurities remain. Even the mightiest of beasts feel fear. And he’s getting me to like the idea of experiencing vulnerability.
I pull off my silk chemise. He looks at my completely exposed body and then touches me. He kisses the rough scar that runs vertically on my belly of loose skin from two pregnancies. It is like crepe paper, folds of melted skin soft to the touch. His fingers trace my faded stretch marks, and his large hands grab my wide hips and pull me closer as he sneaks his tongue between my eager labia and moves it around like a finger saying, “Come hither.”
He’s teasing me, playing a game of sexual hide-and-seek with his tongue. My head rolls back, and I close my eyes. Tiny spiders of pleasure scuttle across my nervous system. Fucking him leaves me helpless to him. I want him to carry me away and drain me dry. He explores the rest of me with his hands. I push him backward, so I can now look at his lithe physique. He’s not overly muscular, but his body has definition. I smile when I see that the small patch of hair on his chest turns into a furry trail that leads below his jeans. A tattoo that matches the skull in his office decorates the skin over his heart. What does it mean? I have to know, but I’ll find out later. Now it’s my turn to tease.
My tongue flicks along the shaft of his cock. I lick his balls, taking them gently in and out of my mouth as my hand continues to stroke his cock. He grips the sheets as he becomes harder in my hand. That always does the trick; he’s ready for me now. His stiff cock and my engorged clit need to be reunited in perfect unwed bliss. As I move to face him, he grabs me by the waist, tossing me onto my back.
“I wish I knew what you are doing to me, woman. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
I want to tell him I feel the same. That I’d finished his book in one night. That I want more words, more touches that make me feel human again, but I keep quiet, allowing this to just be what it is in this moment.
He thrusts inside of me like a runaway train hitting the side of a mountain. His paw of a hand massages my ass. Volts of pleasure cause the hair on my arms and neck to stand up. His cock is an electric eel bringing me to Bride of Frankenstein life. His rhythm between my legs is incessant, going from a slow strum as smooth as Nile Rodgers’s guitar to a vigorous beat like death metal. Our bodies intertwine as if we are in love even though in that moment I want it to be no more than lust. But with every squeeze I feel my heart open a little more to allow that love to come inside. His eyes, heavy in their intensity, pry my soul open like a crowbar at a rusty safe.
Our bodies fit together. His head is buried in my breasts, neck, and hair. Part of me wants to tether my heart to this man. Find the real version of true love. However, this thought, and his cock, begin to bring all my demons to the surface. My darkness, the blood angel inside of me, wants a playmate too. Her loneliness seeks refuge in another dark place within someone. I don’t know if that kind of union is possible with a human.
He presses his body weight against me as I hold on to his ass with both hands so as not to miss an inch of the thing I crave so much. The harder he thrusts with my bucking hips, the hotter my skin grows.
And then all my sense of control slips through my fingers like severed rope. I can feel my fangs begin to grow. He’s bringing out that other side, that shadow side, which I hid so well for centuries from humans. Now I have to look away, try not to let go so easily.
And then he does the unthinkable, finding my sexual Achilles’ heel, as if the devil himself whispered my secret. Colin’s perfect mouth, rimmed with just enough stubble to delight me, takes in my breast, scraping my erect nipple with the edges of his teeth. I come instantly, and he sucks harder, pushes his cock deeper, causing me to come again.
To hide the transformation that’s going to happen whether I like it or not, I push him off my body, so he’s on his back again. My lips want to find his cock. My long brown hair hides my changing eyes and growing fangs. His hand gently holds the back of my head with fingers caught in the spiderwebs of my hair. I want to suck him until he needs an IV to restore his fluids. The entirety of my mouth down to the back of my throat is filled with Colin. I would take his being inside me for an eternity if it was possible.
Colin’s warm sea spray slides without effort down my throat. I continue to suck until his cock is so sensitive he can’t stand the feeling of my lips stimulating the head any longer. I jump out of the bed and run to the bathroom. He follows, sensing something wrong.
“Hey, Mali, you okay?” I turn my back to the door and hide my face beneath my hair. He has done nothing to deserve me ripping his throat out in a frenzy. I keep my heart locked because when it is open, the heart of the vampire is unleashed as well. Predators in the wild are just what they are, their nature on show. It is only humans who have the capacity to hide and go against their nature. I need to calm myself.
“Just…later. I’m fine.”
“Please. Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before…” There is panic in his voice.
“Go away,” I roar.
“I’m coming in. You’re scaring me.”
There is no way to stop this. Whatever happens next is out of my control. He opens the door and steps inside. From the mirror I can see he’s studying my body to see if I’m hurt in some way. His eyes stop and go wide. My nails appear bark-like, and my tensed outstretched fingers resemble the talons of an owl.
“Mali, your hands, your nails…”
“Please,” I sob. I don’t want to attack him or feel anything toward this man except sexual attraction. He was supposed to have been just a bit of fun before I continue my travels. Fuck personal growth, spiritual awakening, facing and chasing some silly meditative dream I had.
Now I’m the one scared of myself. But being a blood drinker is what I am down to my very atoms.
“Did I hurt you?”
I lift my head toward the mirror, so he can see the real me. “I told you I was a horror story.”
He stumbles back, still naked.
“What the…what the fuck? This isn’t real. Are you fucking with me because of my book? That’s not cool.”
“No, I’m not. This is me. I’m both alive and dead, a vampire. Calm down. I won’t hurt you.” My fangs are in full view and the red thread of veins in my eyes pronounced. I can smell the adrenaline in his veins. His heart beats with a sprinter’s pace.
“No! Impossible.”
I turn around and grab his wrist before he can move away, biting him hard enough to let him know I’m real. His eyes are filled with fear, traveling from my face to his wrist.
“Ouch! Fuck, that hurts! Am I going to be a vampire now? It’s real? Those are real fucking teeth.” He grabs a hand towel hanging off the radiator.
My heart rate is beginning to slow, my breathing stabilizing. It won’t be long until I look like myself again. I’ve never allowed someone to transform me in this way. I’ve never felt so connected to myself or to another, so uninhibited emotionally. It’s what I wanted, but all things come with a price. So now I am ready to accept this brief glimmer of companionship is over. “Do you want me to leave?”
The white towel wrapped around his wrist is now bright red, like my lipstick that first night. He looks at me in my nakedness with only my waist-length hair to cover my breasts.
