Carpe Victim

Carpe Victim-6

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Well, that took you long enough. "Yes—me." I feel him smile against my jaw. Worse—see him smile in my mind. Because I can show you what I see. Make you see pretty much whatever I want.

"It isn't just my body..." Words stutter out as realization crawls in.

"I can rape—oh, no." Begun verbally, ended mentally. He slips down beside me, inhaling sharply, as if appreciating a fine vintage or a rare perfume. Actually licks his lips as he runs his palm along the column of my throat, fingers spreading as they map the terrain of my chest and belly, lower still to fondle another trickle of bloody seepage from me. Anger. Fear. Lust. Pain. Anguish. So many emotions. So much to feast on—and that's just the negative. But keep your damned blood: it's no use to me. I leave that to you Traditionalists. Oh, no, I feed on something way more ephemeral—yet visceral too.

A vampire, then, like me, but so damned different: a psychic vampire.

And you can't die: how beautiful is that? His voice resonates inside my mind again where I can't escape. Have I surrendered so much already?

Not surrendered. Taken—as in battle...or one of your raids. He inhales once more, that same, sharp stab of pleasure. Flushes a darker hue. Sighs against my throat. You can only grow weaker. Don't worry, though, Pet, I won't drain you too deeply. I haven't had the nourishment your kind provides in, oh, so long. You're so much more satisfying than my regular johns and janes—God, did you nail that one. Tonight's not for savoring, though: I'm far too famished for that...

His lips peel back in a vicious smile. "And so sweet of you, my little Traditionalist, electing yourself my champion, tying up my 'loose ends,' finishing off my leftovers. God, what a rush—you fed me for days."

Vomit? No. I want to die—again. Permanently.

"Oh, no, Play-Pretty, I won't allow that." He nuzzles my face again. Whispers against my skin. "Had me worried, though. A simple twinge of regret, and you might've escaped—at least for tonight—if you'd just acted on it. Who'd have thought? A principled blood sucker? She must've been something special. The walk alone, much less her getting to Ireland—determined and resourceful. He slices into my mind again. But so am I. She warned you. You should've listened better: 'those who feed on us and humanity alike.' Isn't that what she told you?

Hideous to hear Her words in his mouth, Her words said with such abhorrent satisfaction even if it's only in my mind. "Leave Her out of this."

Or what? Not exactly in a position to dictate terms, now are you? Retract your fangs and play nice, my Traditionalist. You only think this is bad. I can make it far worse. He slides away, peeling himself off me, a strange half smile quirking his lips, as he rests on his haunches. Takes a moment to rip off his soiled underwear and wipe himself clean. Tosses the cloth aside.

As his body's pressure recedes, the oppressive weight dissipates as the Hag rides away, taking Her paralysis with Her.

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