Vivi the Vampire

The Midnight Tragedy

Seated at the head of the table on a majestic golden chair padded with black velvet cushions was Bloodomir, with beside him his wife Devoura. Proclaimed by many to be one of the most beautiful women alive, Devoura had high cheekbones, pale skin, thick lush dark hair, large lips, a curvy figure, and icy blue eyes that were sharper than daggers.

Her eyes were those of a cold-hearted vulture, an alert predator who coldly analyzed and seized up in one glance whomever she met. They seemed to slice through you, and whenever she encountered a human, they would feel an icy chill descend down their spine and be filled with an inexplicable uneasiness and dread. It was said that no one could lie to her, no one could deceive her, and also, no one could ever resist her. Anything she wanted, she got. Anything she commanded, people did.

The only time her eyes softened and filled with warmth and tenderness was when she looked at her husband or children. And even then, the sharp, deadly ice never quite left them.

At times, even her husband felt a tingle of fear run down his spine when she looked at him. During his courtship and their first wild lovemaking sessions, he had suffered more bites and scratches than from all his many years of hunting and battles with other male vampires. His back, arms, neck, and even one cheek were forever marked by her long nails.

She was fearless, wild, unpredictable - and Bloodomir loved every moment of it. He never knew when she'd turn his pleasure into sudden pain with a vicious unexpected bite before hurling him up into the highest highs of pure joy. Devoura was a wicked, wild beauty, and he was proud to have managed to tame her, catch her, and turn her into his.

During their first night together, his bedroom had been entirely destroyed. None of the vampires in the mansion could sleep that night. They'd heard growls, shrill screeches, furniture smashing as it was hurled against the walls, the bed breaking, glass shattering, claws ripping into wood and fabric, wings flapping loudly, thuds and growls as Bloodomir was hurled against the walls, ceiling, and floors, and vicious snarling as the two rolled around together kissing, biting, ripping each other's clothes off. And finally, as the moon peeked out from behind the stormy dark clouds, there had been great growls and yowls filling the quiet night.

In the morning, the only thing in the room that was still intact was Devoura. Sitting calmly on the floor in the middle of the broken rubble and destruction, fixing up her red lipstick looking at her reflection in a broken shard of a mirror. While Bloodomir lay on the carpet beside her, his shirt shredded exposing his scratched and bloodied chest, a few remains of his clothes clinging to his body, his arms splayed around him, groaning in exhaustion and delight. "Marry me" he groaned.

Devoura had two sides to her. Most of the time, she was as calm and composed, her face as expressionless as a lifeless sculpture. Cold, quiet, graceful, soft-spoken. But when angered, in a flash, she would transform into a wild, vicious murderess filled with sudden passion and fire that raged through her body and took over her. Blinded with fury, she'd explode into a temper and smash anything around her, dig her claws and fangs as deep as she could into her enemy until they yelped for forgiveness and mercy.

Many vampires feared her. Even the toughest vampire warriors would cower before one of her cold, deadly glares and stammer in fright.

After the complete destruction of his bedroom, Bloodomir had furnished an attic room with his beloved in mind. The room was completely barren save for a black, metal bed that was firmly hammered into the floor. He'd overlooked the window, however - and that night, in an uncontrollable burst of passion, Devoura had hurled him out of the window in an explosion of shattered glass. He'd tumbled through the air, managing to spread his wings and catch himself just on time. But before he'd managed to recover, she'd shot out after him, claws outstretched, eyes wild, caught him up in her arms with a snarl, and carried him off into the forest.
Branches smashed as she rocketed through the trees and both vanished into the dark forest.
Late the next afternoon, they returned to the mansion, their tattered clothes barely covering their bodies. Nonetheless, Devoura still looked proud, glamourous, and wore a smug pleased smile on her face, while Bloodomir stumbled after her in a daze, looking like he'd been through a battle with a tiger.