So I'm a Vampire... Now What? - Book 2 (Original Version)

Chapter 11.2 - The Wicked One

The lights were flickering badly in the small foyer that led to Beatrice's apartment and three other doors. It was like a bad horror movie where everything had been smashed to shit. There was even the pre-requisite streak of blood on the wall, complete with bloody handprints.

I took in the scene and somehow, don't ask me how I still got out of the elevator.

Beatrice's door was ajar. Of course, it was.

If it had been anybody else, I would have been scared that something had happened to her, and the thought did occur to me, but seeing her earlier had unnerved me enough that instead, I wondered who she had killed. Beatrice was what happened to other people.

I pushed the door open and it creaked slowly, revealing the inside of the apartment. I glared at the door in exasperation. Seriously? It had been silent and smooth before, and now it was creaking just to be as creepy as fuck.

The place was a wreck, light fixtures hanging, framed paintings and photos smashed into pieces, furniture over-turned and ripped. A spear had been thrown clean through the gigantic flat screen tv above the fireplace; sparks still flew intermittently from where the shaft of the spear protruded.

Beatrice stood naked at the window, her back to me.

"Hello Bob," she said.

"You glammered me," I said and then I saw Beatrice properly for the first time as she turned to me, the flickering light from the broken light fixture lighting her face in red, bathing her in fear.

She wore the black eyepatch on her left eye, a custom-made piece of silk and leather so that it fit her perfectly. It was a stark contrast against her fair skin and golden hair; her remaining blue eye was made even more intense since it was the only one left to focus on. She was stark naked, all long limbs and toned muscle, pert and perfect, languid and dangerous. Somehow it made her even more terrifying to me.

Beatrice looked like what she had always been.

A predator.

A killer.

"What's a little glammering between friends?" Beatrice shrugged and slowly walked towards me.

"Take it off," I pleaded, unable to help myself. "Make it stop."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I don't know what's real anymore! I don't know if what I feel for you is real or because it's what you want me to feel."

She almost paused in her approach, closer now, a silhouette with an eye that almost glowed.

"You have feelings for me?" Beatrice asked, genuinely intrigued as if she had never considered the possibility.

"I thought I did. I mean look at you. You're an attractive woman. I'd be insane not to be attracted to you, but you're also wild and passionate and we fit well together and that's kind of... nice. I thought there was something growing between us, but right now I'm just scared shitless of you. Is that what you want?"

There it was out in the open, unable to take back now. I was terrified of her and even now it twisted deep in my gut, icy cold.

Beatrice looked conflicted. She closed the distance between us and I forced myself to look in her eye, even as her nipples brushed against my shirt, rock hard, burning hot. She smiled as she looked me in the eye, liking my vulnerability.

"Okay," she agreed, after what seemed like an eternity. "No more glammering. I release you. You're free."

I waited for the other shoe to drop, for something to happen, to feel different somehow. There was nothing, just me and Beatrice standing on the broken apartment like a pair of star-crossed lovers, one of whom was terrified of the other.

I shrugged and tried to breathe, aware that I could smell her. I could smell her sex, hot and musky. "That's it? That's all there is?"

Beatrice stepped closer to me and caressed my face gently, looking deep into my eyes, pushing her body against mine. I flinched, almost expecting her to rip my throat out, instead, her single eye looked sorrowful at the fear in my own eyes.

"Could you really love me, Bob? Or are you saying that so I don't slit you from groin to throat and spill your guts onto the carpet?"

"You know the most romantic things to say," I squeaked uneasily.

"I'm working on it."

"We can start over," I said and Beatrice smiled encouragingly. She shoved her hand into my pants and I almost squealed as she took my more-than-semi-chub in hand. "Let's give it another try."

"I need to know I can trust you Bobbikins," she breathed. "I need to know that you're mine and only mine." She gripped a little too hard and I almost screamed in pain, but my stupid erection was not talking to my brain and was giving the entirely wrong response.

"Too hard!" I squeaked. "You're squeezing too hard!"

"Aren't you going to ask me about my eyeball Bobbikins?" Beatrice hissed and squeezed again, her grip viselike and no longer sexual. I was afraid that she was going to rip my cock right off if she kept this up. How the fuck could I ask about her eye when she was about to castrate me?

"What about your eye?" I managed to gasp, hoping she would let up.

Beatrice pulled me close and there was a heightened ferocity and what could only be described as insanity in her eye. There was a mix of desperation and need, but viciousness as well.

"Do you know that every morning it grows back? It just keeps growing back! So do you know what I do? You know what I do Bobbikins? Every morning, I take my fucking knife, and I cut that fucker out."

I almost screamed then as she yanked and squeezed, but I was too busy passing out with the very clear thought in my head that Beatrice was one-hundred percent, stark fucking crazy.

####### AUTHOR'S NOTE#####

I really have no idea what to say here... next chapter?