His movements were totally unlike his usual elegant, contained presentation. His hips undulated, his stomach muscles rolled and his arms sliced through the air in deliberate, graceful motions. He threw his head back, his platinum hair flew and his face went slack, as if he’d got lost in ecstasy.
A potent energy sparked off Devereux as he danced. I felt the tension building inside myself and thought that if he didn’t touch me soon, I’d literally explode. As I caught some of the expressions on the faces of the other participants, I saw I wasn’t the only one having that reaction.
Devereux’s skin shone with sweat, like liquid diamonds. He moved his hands seductively over his body, locking his eyes with mine. Bending towards me, he opened his mouth and slowly and deliberately licked his upper lip with his tongue. His canines were fully extended and he kissed me, catching my lower lip with his fangs, then backed away.
I gasped, thinking he’d bitten me, but I tasted no blood. All my erogenous zones were frantic with desire – literally aching with need – and my heart pounded double-time. I was so excited and aroused by his dance that I doubt if I’d have complained even if he’d taken a pint.
I scooted to the edge of the chair, ready, I supposed, to leap onto Devereux at the earliest chance. Oddly enough, thinking about making a public display of myself with Devereux didn’t upset me. All that mattered was doing whatever I had to do to get him to touch me again.
He picked up the chalice, glided over to the circle of people and pandemonium broke out.
As Devereux approached the crowd a madness built. Excitement spread around the circles, and all variety of wails, moans, groans and howls rent the air. Some of the participants’ bodies convulsed, limbs twitching and jerking in random spasms as their heads flopped back and forth on boneless necks. Others jumped up and down with manic intensity, as if they’d been taken prisoner by a sadistic puppeteer.
Holding the chalice in his left hand, Devereux magically manifested a knife or dagger in his right. He stared into the eyes of the woman in front of him in the circle and she offered her arm. Using the knife to make a small cut on her wrist, he caught the dripping blood in the chalice. A roar went up from the crowd.
Arms shot out from everywhere as the noise level rose.
Devereux navigated the ring, repeating the process with as many wrists as it took to fill the chalice with blood.
I’d been so shocked by Devereux’s sudden shift from lust object to phlebotomist that I hadn’t noticed the other really bizarre situation that was unfolding.
People were sucking on each other’s wounds.
Well, technically, I guess you couldn’t call them people.
Vampires were sucking on each other’s wounds.
And not merely sucking – feeding frenzy would be more accurate.
I felt my jaw drop as I watched the bloodsuckers attach themselves to wrists and necks, some falling to the floor together in passionate mid-suck. A few of the revellers were so swept away by the feasting that clothes were discarded and other parts of the body were invited to play.
Vampire orgy. Perfect.
I instinctively sat back in the chair, hoping the lunacy wouldn’t spread to me. Amara took my hand again and I turned to her. Her eyes were large and shining, greener than Devereux’s, and she said, ‘He would never hurt you. You must trust him.’
At that moment he stalked towards us, his hair fanning out behind him, holding the chalice in his hands. His eyes were feral, expressing a wildness he’d never shared with me before, and his face was startlingly beautiful. A fallen angel.
Clutching the chalice in his left hand, he held it away from his body and embraced his mother in a one-armed hug. He met her eyes and she tilted her head to the side. Devereux leaned in to her, exposed his fangs and sank them into her neck. She gasped and laid a hand on the back of his head.
I didn’t know what to do with myself – where to look. Devereux had just assaulted his mother and she was apparently enjoying it. There was something very sensuous about him sucking on her neck and I couldn’t imagine that was a psychologically healthy mother-son activity.
But then she’s dead and this is a dream, so do the rules apply?
After a few seconds he raised his head, embraced her again, said something in that strange language and turned to me, licking blood from his lips.
Devereux raised the chalice into the air and the chanting started again. Vampires rose from the floor and disentangled themselves from each other, adding their voices as they reformed the circles. As the intensity of the sound increased, the curious entranced feeling overtook me again.
Devereux knelt before me, offered the chalice and said, ‘One sip, my love.’
There was a major firestorm of resistance in my brain. One part of me was already struggling to get up from the chair, begging the muscles in my legs to report for duty one more time. But the muscles were hanging out with the other part of me that was fantasising about tearing off Devereux’s clothes and jumping on him. One sip of blood wasn’t much of a price to pay for being able to get my hands on this blond Adonis. Good thing this wasn’t really happening.
My hands reached out for the chalice and he gave it to me. It was warm. I raised it to my lips, stared into his astonishing eyes over the rim and drank. For some reason I’d imagined blood would taste like tomato juice. It didn’t. But by the time I discovered that the taste was thick and unpleasant, I’d choked and swallowed the entire gulp. I coughed and sputtered and finally stuck my tongue out, maybe thinking that would dissipate the taste.
Definitely a dream. I’d never drink blood if I was awake. Nothing to worry about. Just a dream.
He mouthed the words, ‘Thank you,’ retrieved the chalice from me and drank the remainder of the blood. Saying more of those unfamiliar words, he held the cup out in front of him and it vanished.
The chanting grew louder and another portion of my consciousness drifted away.
Devereux stood, pulled me out of the chair, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me passionately. I made an effort to hold on to him, but my bones had mysteriously dissolved and all four of my limbs were now only useful as paperweights.
Bending me over backwards he whispered, ‘No harm.’ He kissed his way down from my mouth and along my neck, finally resting his lips on the fullness of my breast. The part of me that wanted to roll around with Devereux sighed contentedly. He planted little kisses on my skin, then there was a flash of pain, followed by the most blissful feeling I’d ever experienced.
After a few seconds he lifted me into his arms, brought his lips to mine and held me. I briefly wondered how someone who drank blood could have such sweet-smelling breath, but I decided to add that to the list of things to think about later.
Besides, this is my dream and I’m not likely to give my lust object stinky breath, right?
He returned me to the chair, kissed my cheek and walked out towards the vampire chorus. The chanting immediately ceased.
That was too weird. I’d sung in lots of choirs and I knew how hard it was to get people to all stop singing at exactly the same moment. There was always at least one person not paying attention or something. This was downright eerie, as if sound itself had disappeared.
Just as before, as soon as they stopped chanting I began to come back to myself. Not that I knew where I’d been prior to that, but I didn’t know how else to explain it.
Immediately I noticed that my breast was throbbing with pain. One quick glance solved the mystery. Standing out against my very-white skin were two neat puncture marks surrounded by a sea of traumatised red tissue which would soon be a colourful blue-green-purple.
Amara, who still stood next to the chair, took my hand again. She inspected my chest. ‘I will heal that for you before I leave. There will be no lasting mark. Devereux will explain.’