Vampyre Lovers: Chapter 1

Be Still My Heart

Her fangs glistened in the moonlight, bright and wet with blood.

The blood of an angel.

Angelique de Moreau hissed and licked her lips. The Stalker of the Angels was unimpressed by the night's pickings. All those damn angels, with their high-and-mighty pureness...it was enough to make a vampire sick!

Sick with disgust.

Sick with indigestion.

Sick with ... love.

Angelique cringed away from the memories. Erotic memories, of long ago times when she had been happy. But that happiness had been dashed away from her--by an angel.

An angel who had once been her lover.

Swept by a tide of emotion into the past, Angelique could not help but remember her glorious, angelic lover.

The angel who had broken her heart--and her hymen!

Angelique de Moreau was not a vampyre at the time when she met Angelo, her angelic lover. She was a simple peasant girl, living in medieval France. Her name wasn't even Angelique then--it was Anna.

"Anna, gel," her blacksmith father used to call her, "come here!" And he would show her all the wonders that nature held in store for her--trees, birds, large meadows with soft, fluffy grass in which she longed to lay for hours. "Anna, gel," he told her, as she sat on his knee, "someday all this will be yours, if you but believe in it!"

And she did. Really, she did. And soon, "Anna, gel" became shortened to Angel ... because everyone thought that the sweet little girl was an Angel sent from heaven to brighten the days of the downtrodden peasants.

Slowly but surely, Anna grew up. One day she was a little girl, the next she was a young woman, with budding breasts and swaying hips, with eyes that flirted from across the room with all the lonely young peasant boys who dreamed of her every night. Many clamored for her hand--but she refused them all. "One day," she told them in her haughtiest tone, "the whole world shall be mine! I shall not let some daft little peasant boy steal my destiny away from me!"

Although her parents tried to get her to accept some of the more generous offers that were made for her fair hand, Angel refused them all. "None of them are good enough for me!" she proclaimed to her parents one day. Then, accusingly, at her father, "It was you who told me that if I believed enough that the entire world will be mine! And it shall be! I swear it!" With that she stormed off, leaving her mother to berate her father for his foolishness in giving his daughter false hopes.

The poor blacksmith sighed. "I only wanted to give her dreams, to keep her from being jaded like all the rest."

"But to give her pretentions ... she should know her place in this world! Now she never will. She will never be satisfied by anything that it is in her power to have ... by giving her a few small years of happiness, you have ruined the rest of her life!"

The next evening, her mother left her father, running away with his young apprentice--who had slept with the mother to encourage the suit of the daughter. Angel's parents never reconciled.

Meanwhile, one day while she was idling in the meadow, Angel spied a horse and rider. As they drew closer, she saw that the man was tall and handsome, incredibly so, and finely garbed, like a prince. If I let him use my body, she thought to herself, then perhaps he shall make me his mistress, and smother me in jewels and perfume and beautiful clothes! So she ran towards, him, in front of his horse, and fell, as though she had been injured. He quickly leaped down and ran to her.

"Miss?" he asked, in his low, husky voice that sent shivers down her spine, "Miss, are you alright?"

"Oh ..." she murmured, as though in pain, "oh, I don't think so. You really should watch where you are going! You might have killed me!" Quickly, she bit her tongue--she couldn't take the chance of overacting, he might just leave and be done with it!

Instead, he laughed. "Do you know what I think?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I think you planned this. You see my fine clothes and horse, and assume that I am a rich man ... and that if I make love to you here, in this meadow, I will take you away with me on my horse, and we shall ride off into the sunset, and I shall shower you in jewels and perfume and beautiful clothes."

Angel stared at him, mouth agape. Then, doing the only thing she could and still maintain her honor, she nodded. "Yes, sir. I am sorry to say it, but you are correct."

He grinned. "Well, then," he told her, his voice becoming even more husky, "I do so hate to disappoint beautiful young ladies ..." He leaned over and kissed her.

It was going to happen! she exclaimed to herself in her mind. This man had come, and he would take her away from the hum drum life of a peasant, take her to something much more meaningful than anything she had ever dreamed.

So they made love that afternoon, beneath the hot, hot sun in the meadow. He kissed her mouth, and then her breasts--her dress melted away as though it were butter atop her glistening skin. His mouth travelled all the way down to her pussy, where he teased her with her tongue, and made the 14-year-old virgin, with her hourglass figure and nubile young body, moan. Then, without further ado or foreplay, he drew out his penis and rammed into her, smashing through her fragile hymen and making her scream--with pleasure? with pain?--and then making her scream more as he bit and scratched her as he pumped in and out of her tight, wet hole. He was violent in his passion, and she, being the Angel that she was, fought back, ripping out his hair, clawing his back, kicking him with her wildly flailing legs.

When it was all over, they lay there, exhausted and sated. His eyes glinted as he looked at her; she wondered what it meant, but knew enough about the aristocracy not to dare ask. So, instead, she stroked his hip and purred, in her most seductive accent, "Was it as good for you, milord?"

Hours later, they rode off into the sunset, on his elegant horse; one Angel naked, bared to the soul, the other with a gleam in his eye ... and a wicked smile on his face.

TO BE CONTINUED