Unnatural Appetites (18+) REVISING

KNOW THINE ENEMY

"They're after us, precious," Cordelia sat up. She and Eve were in bed—a huge four-poster that dominated the room. It was hung with red velvet drapes and it had a king-size mattress and was the most comfortable bed Eve had ever slept in.

She'd asked Cordelia about that other myth at the beginning. Don't vampires sleep in coffins?

"Nope," Cordelia replied. "It looks good, but no we don't. Or at least no vampires I'm acquainted with do." She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps the Gelans do."

"Who are the Gelans?"

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "A ghastly vampire family. Vampires who like to be traditional. They live in this area too. They like to conform to the stereotypes and mythology even if it isn't true. If a person hung garlic around his neck, they'd shy away as if it would kill them. That kind of thing. They'd hate you."

To compensate for the Gelans' lack of love, Cordelia demonstrated her own. She kissed Eve's neck and then worked her way down, stopping to fasten soft lips on Eve's nipples. The tongue that lapped at them worked out when to go fast and when to slow down. The teeth knew when to bite, too. Eve had always believed she needed clitoral stimulation to come. Turned out she was wrong.

"The Argist Academy," Cordelia said. "They've worked out where we are. I thought they wouldn't leave us alone, but I had hoped we could stay here longer."

She looked around the room regretfully. Eve didn't blame her. The house was beautiful, and it had all mod cons. There was a cinema room, complete with an 80-inch screen, a wine cellar stocked to the brim with vintage champagne and a music system that ran through the house. There was also a dream kitchen, with an American fridge-freezer, an Aga and copper pots and pans festooned on the walls.

Until Eve came into her life, Cordelia had never used it except to chill her champagne. These days, she sat on a stool in there while Eve raided her fridge, kept brimming-full by the excellent Mrs Livingstone. Sometimes she even cooked for Eve. Her culinary efforts were hit and miss. If you couldn't taste something you did not understand how to season it.

"How do you know they are on to us?" Eve asked, her eyes wide. "And who are they, anyway?"

"I listened in. Their office is nearby, and I go there from time to time to find out what the agents are up to. There are two of them looking for us although I expect they'll send more if they feel it's necessary. I've encountered one of them before. He wants revenge because I eluded him before. As for who they are, wait here a sec..."

She got out of bed, gracefully picking her way over the clothes they'd discarded in haste earlier that day. Eve watched her go, admiring her back. Every little bone stuck out and Eve had kissed them all, starting at the back of her neck and working her way down, vertebrae by vertebrae, not stopping until her tongue reached Cordelia's buttocks.

She'd rimmed her, her tongue circling and then darting in, a move that made Cordelia squirm in pleasure. "If you do that again," she panted, "I promise you I'll strap on a dildo, get on top of you and shove myself into you so hard... ooh... just. Do. Not. Stop!"

Cordelia returned, her naked front view as thrilling as the back. Eve told her she was perfect all the time. Converted when she was only a young woman and frozen forever in time, her tits were perfect orbs and her waist tiny. She looked like the embodiment of those pictures eighteen-year-old male graphic designers conjured up when asked to draw vampires.

"I keep clippings of them too," she said, handing over a scrapbook to Eve. "Know thine enemy."

Eve sat up, stacking the silk-covered pillows behind her. Like the file containing Cordelia's own clippings, the book was very thick. She opened its leather cover and started in surprise. "Oh. That's that monk, isn't it?" She pointed at the woodcut print. Like all such imagery, it was crude, but she recognised the man from Cordelia's scrapbook.