She slept with him, wrapped in his arms like a child, in his coffin during the day. She didn’t know exactly what he was and really didn’t seem to mind the unusual arrangements of being with him inside his small home.
But on the third night, she lay with him on the bed; slowly lifting up her gown, then placing her warm, naked lower body upon his clothed one. She placed a single kiss upon his lips as he tried to resist the temptation of placing his hands on her naked backside. She was young in many ways. She asked questions about the simplest of things yet seemed wiser beyond the years she had lived. Her attention was drawn to his face covering. With her rough fingers, she began to trace along the edges of the covering's opening for his mouth and eyes.
She smiled innocently into his face. “Why wear this?”
He brushed his hand upon her soft cheek. “My face is not as beautiful as yours,” he said.
She blushed; she had been called a lot of things by men, especially white men, but never beautiful. Slyly, she moved a hand along the back of his covering, just below where it tied. Her brown eyes were wild with child-like enthusiasm. “I look?” she asked.
Slowly, he lifted his head from the pillow to give her access to the straps of his leather face covering. Eagerly, she untied it, then slowly pulled it from his face. He was expecting a gasp or moan or something. Her eyes followed the length of his blemish; what she did next touched him in a way beyond words. She gently grasped his hand and rubbed his disfigurement, then took his hand and placed it up inside the back of her gown. His face constricted with emotion as his hands felt the deep scars and welts that marred her frail back from whips.
It was the most loving gesture. She shared her scars. She watched as his eyes began to fill with water as her hand continued to stroke his face. “We be the same,” she smiled. Slowly, he rolled her over, mounting her; staring down into her eyes as she lifted her lips to his. His passion was so strong for her that he felt as if the world could not contain it. Their lovemaking was wild, passionate, and tender. It was everything, and expressed everything they had.
Afterward, she lay still next to him, gently rubbing his face as if the disfigurement were a fresh wound, causing him pain that she attempted to soothe. Even had he told her what it was, he knew that she still wouldn’t understand. With her fingers, she playfully parted his lips to get a look at his fangs. She had asked him to place them on her neck when they made love, but he didn’t dare.
She was fascinated with them, more so than with him. She had seen what they did to her master. In her young mind, the fangs represented power; power that even the white man was afraid of. “Darbun, make me like you,” she said softly.
“Why?” he whispered back.
“Then I’s be free,” she said. “I does be with you, always.”
She had been missing for three days, if she went back now they would say that she tried escaping after killing her master; then they would whip her, or worse, hang her.
“You don't understand what I am, nor what you would become,” he told her.
“What are you?” she asked.
He watched as her eyes sparkled with that intangible gift lost upon immortals. Even had he chosen to explain how one becomes a vampire, he was sure it would only confuse her. “I am a man who has lived a very long and lonely time. I do not wish to burden you with this.”
She appeared disappointed. The luster in her face seemed to fade. He had become what he was by way of choice, not curiosity.
His head was telling him that she wasn’t ready to be what he had become; although she had the body of a woman, the mind was that of a small, helpless child. But he was listening to his heart now, telling him that he couldn’t be without her. She watched as he rose from the bed, pulling his sword from underneath it. Her eyes grew wide as she watched with fascination.
Taking the blade, he made a cut on his forearm, allowing the blood to fall from it then placing it to her mouth. “Drink it!” he urged softly.
At first, she appeared repulsed by the offer, even seeming to back away from his outstretched arm. But soon, her youthful curiosity got the better of her. Slowly, she took his bloodied arm into her mouth, drinking deeply from it. Soon after, it began; the death. Reflectively, her hands grasped hard at her stomach, the pain slowly folding her over, gasping. Her eyes pleading with him about this awful pain that he'd allowed to be visited upon her. He stood watching, helpless as her limbs seemed to quiver and quake uncontrollably. She writhed wildly upon the bed, trying to whisper his name while clenching the bed sheets in her hands like a woman birthing a child. She moaned loudly in deep agony and then, she was still. Quit. The death had given over to the life of the creature. He lay down beside her, wiping the moisture from her forehead. He placed his lips upon her mouth, with his tongue, licking the new fangs that were now in her mouth. She was smiling, combing her fingers through his thick hair.
“Now, I’s free!”
