It was late. I was sitting on the couch, a glass of blood – tall, crystal, stemmed – in the grasp of my slender fingers, while my ghoul was licking my naked feet. Normally not a setting or situation you’d consider a vampire in power to be in. Though, I knew that my partner was watching and that she’d be either be enticed about the vista, or experiencing cold fury of not doing the deed herself.
I could even see her, feel her, standing on the balcony, overlooking the living room from the next floor, keeping to the semi-shadows, hands gripping the banister, just not hard enough to leave any marks on it. I do adore my formal partnership and her ways of not damaging anything without a proper reason given, and the railing hadn’t been bad to her. I, however, was.
Allow me to introduce myself.
I’m a vampire.
More specific, I’m of clan Toreador, 32 years of age – human years – and barely out of the butterfly transformation when I was bitten. My Sire said that I had been on his list for some time. Why, I’m not sure, but to keep in touch with the humanity is part of what my clan does – that, and we’re artists. My book had triggered the urge of my Sire. He said it was too much of a coincidence not to make me his.
Of course, becoming a vampire means leaving behind your normal life, the one from before.
Being in two loving relationships already, I begged my Sire for having any other of his vampire friends bestow the same honor upon them. Unfortunately, only one of them was picked – and by another clan.
While she was undergoing her own transformation and became acquainted to life as a vampire – not to mention her own clan’s special rituals and what not – I went to Russia to pick up my other beloved one – a girl with long, golden hair, a pale skin and a willingness to serve me that transcendent her own life.
And so, there we were. A Norwegian male-to-female Toreador, a Finnish female Ventrue, and the Russian female ghoul of the first one. We all spoke English to one another, of course – only learning our mothers tongues over time.
We’re currently in a Danish apartment, top floor, large and sophisticated. One of my selections, actually, on the advice from my Sire. Never having liked either Denmark or Copenhagen, it made for a perfect place to create a lair, complete with coffins and everything.
Normally, vampires could just rest in a bed, as long as the sunlight was out of the equation. Me? I preferred a coffin. For traditional and dramatic reasons.
Vampires slept in coffins. It was really that simple.
Pälvi was back from Sweden, doing something there for her clan, having only returned the night before. Although we lived together, shared a home, the difference in clan set us somewhat apart. Somewhat, but that just made our relationship even stronger.
I didn’t have to call out to her. I knew she was there, and I’d felt her presence. She knew that I knew, but didn’t want to disturb either me or my ghoul.
Kira, my ghoul, was at the floor – well, carpet, I didn’t want her to be cold – licking my feet. I felt Pälvi’s eyes staring at me from above and in the shadow, observing and enjoying. I don’t think Kira knew she was there. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind. The cute ghoul, MY cute ghoul, so focused on her task of pleasing me. So dutiful. I smiled at her.
It may of course just be the blood binding us together, but I hoped that it was love on some other level, too.