Feature Writer: mypenname3000 /
Feature Title:  The Vampire’s Kiss 1 TO 3 /
Copyright: © 2015 by mypenname3000 /

Story Codes: M/F, F/F, Consensual, Romantic, NC, Hypnosis, Magic, Lesbian, Bisex, Paranormal, Vampires, Cuckold, Incest, DomSub, MaleDom, Spanking, Orgy, Harem, Interracial, Oral, Anal,  Lactation, Clergy, Violence /

Synopsis: Damien and Abigail, a pair of vampire hunters, are at the center of a contest between Aurora, an angel, and a Jezebel, a demon /


The Vampire’s Kiss

Chapter 1: Night Falls

Abigail D’Angelo controlled her fear as she pushed open the doors of Neil Armstrong High School. She hadn’t expected to be on the hunt when she came back to town to visit her sick mother. She stared into the dark school. It had been fourteen years since she strolled the hallways.

The last time had been to kill a vampire, too.

In some ways, the school looked unchanged since that bloody night, in others it was radically different. The same lockers marched down the hallway only painted a lighter blue instead of the puke green of her youth. The fliers on the walls proclaimed the upcoming Halloween Dance, still a staple of the school. The drinking fountains were different, made of white porcelain instead of stainless steel. Through the small, rectangular windows in the doors, she spotted the same lines of desks.

Memories flashed through Abigail’s mind of that terrible night fourteen years ago when she helped kill her first vampire. She had been Abigail Talbot then. Her, Damien D’Angelo, Frank Smythe, and Nora Wendle had entered the school in a mix of bravado and fear to kill the monster that had put two of their friends into the grave and turned a third. Only Abigail and Damien had walked out. Vincent had torn poor Nora’s head off and ripped out Frank’s throat before Abigail managed to hit the vampire with holy water.

Burned by the holy water, Vincent lay stunned as Damien had beat the vampire’s head to pulp with a silver cross the youths had stolen from St. Marks up the road from the school.

Abigail shook the memories away as her hands gripped her crossbow. I need to keep my focus. A white oak bolt was cradled in the weapon. Abigail had tracked the vampire to the school. They were often attracted to youthful vigor. Abigail’s own best friend, Lynette, had been Vincent’s first victim, transformed into a vampiress.

To this day, Abigail had not learned what happened to Lynette after Vincent died. Had another Knight Venator put her down, or was she still out there lurking in the shadows.

The hunter’s ears were tuned for any sound. She walked on the rubber soles of her combat boots. Her red hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail and she wore black fatigues, the pockets full of the tricks and weapons of the vampire hunting trade.

The coppery tinge of blood tickled her nose. The vampire had recently fed.

Where are you hiding? Abigail entered the cafeteria. The scent of blood grew stronger and stronger, stirring memories of fourteen years ago. Abigail fought to keep herself from staring at the spot where poor Nora’s head had been ripped off.

Stay focused. Abigail cast her eyes about the dark cafeteria for the vampire. He could be lurking under any of the tables that ran in neat rows across the large room.

It was stupid to hunt a vampire alone, but Abigail had killed over thirty in the last fourteen years. She had been trained and outfitted by the Jesuits and inducted into the Knights Venator. Every Knight knew on simple truth—sometimes you had no choice but to enter the lion’s den alone. Her partner was in Albuquerque on a hunt while she had been forced to come back home and care for her sick mother the last two weeks.

Sound rustled behind her.

Abigail spun. Shadows moved. Her crossbow bolt fired.


Damien D’Angelo tried not to worry about his wife as he stalked through the abandoned warehouse. Abigail was a capable hunter, and the vampire plaguing their hometown sounded young. Abigail believed it was a newly changed undead that had slipped off the leash of its dam or sire.

Just like the vampire Damien hunted.

Heavy metal music thudded through the warehouse, booming from below. This vampire had no class or style. Damien gripped the sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun in his hands. It was loaded with rock salt. Vampires couldn’t stand the touch of purity. Rock salt, blessed silver, holy water, and white oak could all cause the monsters pain.

Decapitation and sunlight were the only sure ways to kill one.

Damien found a set of stairs at the far end of the ruined building, half covered by a piece of plywood. It was a pathetic attempt to conceal the entrance to the basement and the vampire’s lair. The entire warehouse was covered in a layer of dust, and sliding the plywood over the stairs had left behind drag marks. Of course, the footprints coming and going were an even clearer sign.

Why had you even bothered? Or are you just that stupid? Damien settled on the latter option.

This was the tenth day of the hunt. The vampire had killed two since Damien arrived, both young, pretty girls. This vampire was fast. Security footage at one of the attacks only showed the creature moving as a blur.

Each vampire would have a gift. It was always random if they would get mesmerizing gaze, enhanced speed, shapechanging, illusions, shadow walk, or one of the others. Damien had fought vampires displaying one of ten abilities and there were always rumors of new ones.

You never knew quite what you were getting when fighting a vampire. That was why Damien and Abigail had been trained by the Jesuit priests, inducted into the Knights Venator and outfitted with relics and weapons. Outside the warehouse, Father Augustine waited, providing Damien with support.

“Found the entrance,” Damien reported over his Bluetooth as he kicked aside the plywood. “Communications might get spotty.”

“Because of being underground,” Father Augustine asked, his voice crystal clear. Once, they had used radios, but cell phone technology was far more practical.

“No, because the vamp’s blaring heavy metal.” Damien winced. “Pretty terrible shit. Not the good stuff I listened to.”

“Yes, because rock in the Nineties made such a wonderful cavalcade of sounds.”

Damien smiled at the priest’s dry tone.

The vampire hunter descended down the stairs. It led to a dark hallway. Damien switched on his flashlight, holding it his left hand as we walked forward, shotgun held out before him. In the movies, vampire hunters always used UV lights to fight the undead. It wasn’t ultraviolet spectrum of sunlight that harmed vampires. It was the purity of the sun’s rays and what the fiery disc in the sky represented.

His eyes noticed the dark alcove. It could be a spot for an ambush, or merely was a branching tunnel. The thudding music came from straight ahead. There was a door with light flooding through it. Vampires could see in the dark, but the young ones were still too accustomed to their mortal lives and attached to what was familiar.

Damien kept his shotgun pointed right at the alcove as he advanced. He wasn’t surprised when the female vampire leaped out. She was naked, her breasts lovely and firm with youth, her blonde hair streaming behind her. She probably had been sired by the vampire Damien hunted, under her sire’s control.

Damien pulled both triggers of the shotgun. The explosion was deafening in the tunnels. His ears rang as the vampiress fell to the ground, her naked stomach and perfect breasts blackened by the purity rock salt. Her mouth opened but Damien couldn’t hear her screams over the deafening ringing in his ears.

Calmly, Damien sheathed his shotgun in a holster dangling off his belt and drew a silver plated machete inscribed with prayers, the knuckle bone of a saint set in the pommel. He seized the vampiress’s blonde hair and pulled, exposing her neck as she thrashed in pain. With a single swipe, he decapitated her. The body shriveled and grew black, decaying in a heartbeat. Before Damien could let go of her hair, she was dust swirling about his feet.

The lights were still on in the room at the hallway’s end. Damien’s hearing began to return as he reloaded his shotgun. The music still thudded. Damien wasn’t even sure the vampire had heard the shotgun blast over the blaring music and realized his new whore was dead.

Next time, pay better attention. Damien smiled at the thought. Of course, there won’t be a next time.

Damien pulled a hand crossbow from beneath the leather duster he wore. His wife always teased him for the affectation, but Damien enjoyed dressing like a badass out of a western. Of course, the jacket was woven with prayers and could give him a moments of protection against a vampire’s attack.

“One dead,” Damien reported as he reached the door. “About to breach.”

Augustine didn’t answer. The call probably dropped with all the concrete over his head.

Damien put away his flashlight and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. What a trusting vampire.

Damien twisted the handle and shouldered open the door. He burst through it and he brought up his crossbow. A vampiress lounged on a bean bag, her thighs spread open and her fingers playing with her pink pussy.

She screeched as the white oak bolt took her in the heart, paralyzing her entire body. Damien swept his gaze around as he furiously cranked back the crossbow’s windlass. A male vampire with a blonde goatee and dressed in torn, black clothing stood up. A silver skull earing dangled from the vampire’s right ear. Fangs flashed as he growled.

“Do you know who’s territory you are treading on, Mortal?” the vampire demanded with exaggerated bombastity.

He’s watched too many bad movies. “Nope.”

Damien pulled out a white oak bolt and dropped it into the crossbow’s cradle.

“I am Spike, the slayer of—”

Damien snorted with laughter. “Did you say your name is Spike? Like from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” That show had been big when Damien was a teenager. It helped Damien and his future wife realize a vampire haunted their school, feeding off their friends.

“No,” hissed the vampire, indignation crossing his pale face. The vampires lips were dark black, almost a pair of shadows compared to the corpse-white of the his skin.

Was he wearing makeup to make himself look that pale?

“Spyke with a Y.”

“And that makes it better?” Damien snorted and raised the crossbow.

The vampire attacked in a blur of speed. Damien fired the crossbow bolt straight in front of him. Like Damien expected, the vampire charged headlong towards him. The bolt took the monster in the chest. Paralysis crashed into Spyke a moment before he slammed into Damien. Damien twisted and let Spyke crash to the floor.

“Why does your kind always give speeches before they attack?” Damien demanded to the paralyzed vampire as he drew his machete. “Even the best of you is given over to speeches. You gave me all the time I needed to reload.”

“Wait,” Spyke groaned, struggling to move his body, “he promised … it would be … different.”

“Vampires lie.” Damien beheaded the vampire.

Behind him, the vampiress let out a wheezing gasp.

“I’ll attend to you in a moment,” Damien nodded and looked around the room. There was a young woman naked in the corner, blood dribbling from her neck and thighs. She had been fed upon. Most vampires could spend days drinking from a victim before they died, keeping them in a state of euphoria. Vampire venom was a potent drug.

Damien knelt beside the victim and touched her throat. Her pulse was thready.

“You’re a survivor,” he told the wounded girl. “You’ll make it through. He didn’t ruin you.”

Damien attended to the vampiress with his machete.


The Angel watched Damien behead the female vampire before attending to the wounded, young woman. Her white wings flapped as she floated in the Ether. “What are my odds for success, Gideon?”

“9%,” Gideon answered her. The second angel drifted towards her in the Ether, the immaterial realm between Life and Beyond. “His psyche profile indicates he will be hard to manipulate, Aurora.”

Aurora nodded, her wings beating faster as she studied Damien. He was a handsome mortal, tall and athletic, with dark hair and the shadow of stubble across his squared jaw. He was confident and skilled, practiced at his craft. He dispatched three vampires with ease. Even if the vampires were unskilled, it was an impressive feat.

“I have chosen my incarnation,” Aurora answered. “I will make sure Damien chooses correctly.”

“Even with Jezebel prowling around, working her foul designs?”

Aurora’s wings glowed whiter. She fought the urge to curse at the demon. “Have they let her out of Perdition again?”

“Looks like it,” Gideon answered.

“She will not deter me this time,” Aurora declared. Her enmity with Jezebel stretched back a thousand years.


The demon lounged on the floor of the van Father Augustine waited in, studying the priest. He was a tall man and lanky, his body almost devoid of flesh. He was all sharp angles. Hard, blue eyes monitored the equipment while a hand absently scratched at his temples. His hair was black save for a pair of iron-gray wings sweeping from his temples.

Jezebel fluttered her black wings, her fingers itching to corrupt. She was on the edge of the Ether, almost manifested into Life but just out of reach of mortal senses. The angels were buzzing around the van like annoying flies. She had no idea why that cow Aurora had shown up. God damned harpy, always zipping around and taking away all my fun.

Their last clash had resulted in Jezebel’s banishment to Perdition for a hundred years.

The back of the van opened up and Damien climbed in cradling a wounded girl. The vampire hunter had dispatched his quarry with ease. Jezebel hated how pure Damien was. He barely had any sinful thoughts in his head, devoted to his pretty wife and their crusade against vampires.

What a waste, and with that body.

But the priest seethed with sin. She could feel the vile thoughts leaking out of him. Father Augustine loved to stare at the pretty, young parishioners of his church, especially in confession. He would make the girls spell out in detail all of their naughty, sexual sins, his cock rigid beneath his cassock.

Jezebel fluttered her wings and set to work, whispering her corruption from the Ether. Perdition had plans, regardless of any Angels fluttering around causing trouble.


Damien’s phone chirped as Father Augustine pulled the van up to Albuquerque International Sunport Airport. The hunt had finished up hours ago, the young woman taken to a hospital where she would, hopefully, recover.

Damien fished his out of his pocket and swiped the screen. Relief flooded him as he read the message.

“Abigail’s hunt was successful?” Augustine inquired.

“Yeah,” Damien nodded, reading the text from his wife.

“Thank the Lord,” the priest smiled, rubbing his bony hands together.

“She dispatched the vampire in our old high school,” Damien frowned. “Strange.”

“The same place where you killed Vincent?”

Damien read the text again. “Hun, 1 vamp dusted in our old cafeteria. Spooky being back. Mom’s doing better. On the way home. I think I’ll beat you back.”

“Yeah.” Damien shook his head. “Small world.” Damien didn’t like to think about fourteen years ago. He could still feel the boiling anger as he beat Vincent’s head to a pulp with the stolen silver cross while poor Frank bled out nearby, his throat torn out by the vampire.

“Well, safe travels,” Father Augustine smiled, “I’ll see you and Abby in a few days.”

The priest had a two drive back. The equipment in the back would never make it past airport screening. Father Augustine always drove the van to the hunt. “I enjoy the solitude,” the priest would always say. “Time for me and the Lord to get closer together.”

“You be safe, too, Father,” Damien said as he climbed out of the van, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. He still wore his leather duster, but had made sure to strip off all his weapons and leave them in the van. After a successful hunt, being arrested by the TSA because he forgot to remove a silver knife from his back pocket would be embarrassing.

“The white zone is for loading and unloading only,” a recorded announcement played. Sometimes, Damien wondered if the same woman recorded those announcements for every airport in America.

Father Augustine pulled the van from the concourse as Damien strolled into the airport. He stood in line to check in and have his tickets printed. He had a First Class flight from Albuquerque to Chicago. O’Hare International Airport was a great hub with direct connections with most of America. That was why Damien lived in a small suburb outside of the city.

“Heading through security,” Damien texted as he stood in line, “wish me luck.”

Abigail texted back, “You never know, you might get lucky with one of the guards.”

Damien chuckled. His wife always had a feisty tongue. “Nothing like an overweight man giving me a reach around.”

His phone vibrated immediately, “LOL. That is an image I did not need in my head.”

“Just giving you fodder for your long flight.”

“Hun, it’s an hour flight,” Abigail replied. “I’m practically home. You’re the one that needs something to keep you occupied.”

“That would be sleep.” Damien yawned as he shuffled forward. “I could use a few winks after the last two week.”

“And here I was planning on seducing you when you got home.” A winky emoji and a glass of wine ended her tweet.

“That’s why I’m sleeping on the plane. I need to be well rested to feed your appetites.” Damien smiled as he hit send.

“I’m hungry. You know what killing vampires does to me.”

Damien paused. “It wasn’t weird. Being back there.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“You okay.”

“I’m a tough cookie.”

Damien texted, “I know, I chipped a tooth last time I bit you.”

“LMAO.” There was a pause. “But I’m fine. Looking forward to seeing you. I’ve accepted what happened years ago. We did pretty good for a bunch of dumb kids.”

“Sir, put all your metal objects and your phone in the tray,” a white-shirted TSA officer said as he stood by the metal detector.

Damien made it through security unmolested and gathered up his belongings. He strode through the airport and navigated to his gate. He sat down on a plastic chair and checked the clock. He had forty minutes before his flight. He texted his wife for a few minutes, but then she had to catch her flight.

He allowed his eyes to close, napping as he waited for his flight. He was eager to see his wife. Her smiling face, framed by her fiery hair, filled his vision. When she was on the hunt, she was cold, calculating, and even ruthless. But away from the filth of the vampires, she was a woman bubbling with life.

It was rare for them to not be on the same hunt. Normally, Damien would immediately enjoy her aroused passion after a successful kill. He didn’t have to wait on a four hour plane ride and another hour drive from the airport.

Luckily, hunting taught patience.

Damien stretched his long legs when the gate attendant announced boarding for his flight, starting with First Class and passengers with small children. He strolled up in line behind a woman in a dark red business suit with a skirt that hugged a curvy rear. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun. She turned her head, the profile of her face graceful and beautiful, with ruby-red lips, a smile curling at the corners.

“You do not see a lot of men wearing a leather duster,” the woman purred, her voice dripping with sweet honey.

“I watched too many Westerns as a kid,” Damien answered.

“I see that,” the woman purred, her hazel eyes flicking across Damien’s body. Her smile grew and Damien noticed the extra shake to her hips.

Damien ignored the itching swell in his groin and the friendly invitation in her eyes. He gave the woman a friendly smile while casually stroking his chin with his left hand, his gold wedding band prominent on his finger.

The line began to move. Damien fought the urge to stare at her ass as she walked before him. Her skirt hugged it like a second skin. The woman moved with grace on her high heels. Every movement seemed deliberate.

A paranoid part of him wondered if she was something more than a woman. Vampiress?

Vampires could be hard to tell apart from a normal person. If they just drank blood, they would have normal pallor to their skin and the only physical change were fangs that sprouted right before they fed. You had to watch for subtle movements. Vampires had more strength and dexterity than a human. The changes were betrayed in their movements if they weren’t careful.

Older vampires could be quite adapt at blending in.

Touching a person was a good indication of where they lived or where undead. While vampires had pulses and even breathed, their metabolism wasn’t like a human’s. Their bodies didn’t produce heat, so they would be the same temperature as the surrounding air, which usually meant they would feel cool to the touch.

The woman handed her boarding pass to the gate attendant then Damien. The gate attendant gave him an empty smile and a “Enjoy your flight, Sir,” before slipping the pass into the slot in her kiosk. Then Damien was trooping down the walkway. It swayed with everyone’s echoing steps, and the sounds of the plane’s engines grew louder. Flight attendants waited at the door with more fake smiles and “Enjoy your flight, Sir.”

Damien seat was 3B. The woman sat in 3A.

“Small world,” she purred, her legs crossed. Her skirt rode up past her knees, revealing dark, thigh-high stockings held up by garters. Damien always liked seeing a woman in thigh-highs. Her cleavage was transformed into a work of art by the push-up bra she wore.

“I guess so,” Damien said as he stowed his bag in the overhead compartment. He sank down in the seat and closed his eyes.

“The strong, silent type,” purred the woman. “At least you won’t chat me to death on the plane ride.”


“Pity,” she purred. “I bet you could provide a stimulating conversation.”

Is she hitting on me?

The exhaustion of the last week of hunting pulled on Damien. He kept his eyes closed, letting him sink down into sleep. Damien, like every soldiers since the first man was press-ganged into some petty tyrant’s army, had learned how to sleep anywhere. He dozed through the safety briefing as the plane taxied to the runway.

The roar of the engines as they powered up for takeoff pulled him out of sleep for a moment. He didn’t open his eyes as the plane shot down the runway, pressing him back into his seat. The plane shook, the woman beside him gasped.

She’s wearing Chanel perfume, he realized as the plane leapt into the air. A smile crossed his lips as he drifted down into sleep. A few years ago, he had bought Abigail a Chanel perfume, at the recommendation of the woman working in the perfume department, for her birthday. His wife had loved it.

And he had loved how his wife smelled wearing it.

As Damien fell into sleep, his dreams turned to his wife.

It was the hand on his thigh that brought Damien out of his sleep. The plane was at cruising altitude. Like on most red eyes, the cabin was dim and the passengers around him were sleeping. All except the woman beside him.

Her hand was on his thigh. Her hazel eyes almost were golden as she stared at him.

“What?” Damien groaned as he shook off sleep.

“Shhh,” she whispered, “you’ll wake everyone else.”

Her hand moved higher. He was all too aware of her hand reaching for his crotch. His dick swelled hard, tenting his jeans. The woman purred, her cleavage jiggling as she turned her body. His gaze fell into the valley formed by her lush mounds.

“I’m married,” Damien said as her hand reached his crotch. He fought his groan as she squeezed.

“I don’t care,” the woman answered. Her lips were a deep ruby.

“You need to stop,” he said again as she stroked him through his jeans.

“You don’t want me to stop,” she laughed.

There was a part of Damien that wanted her to continue. It confused him that it was winning against the other part of him. His hand refused to move to seize her wrist and pull her away from his crotch. His cheeks reddened as she stroked his crotch again through his jeans before her fingers reached the zipper of his jeans.

Something’s not right, a part of Damien realized. It was the part drown out by the powerful throb in his cock.

“Mmm, I can tell you don’t want me to stop,” the woman purred, her lips drifting closer. “This part of your body is more honest.”

“That part of my body doesn’t get a vote.”

“Then stop me.” Her fingers drew down his zipper. It made a loud, rasping sound. Damien looked around at the plane. Everyone was still sleeping. His heart raced. A flight attendant could walk down the aisle at any moment.

Why aren’t I fighting this?

The woman purred as her hand reached into his jeans and rubbed at his black cotton briefs. “I didn’t take you for a briefs man.”

Damien answered with a groan as her finger caressed the tip of his dick. Her hand felt warm through his underwear. Not a vampiress. The air was too cool in the plane for her to feel so hot against him.

“What are you?” Damien managed to spit out. There were other creatures than vampires out there that also preyed on humans. Other Knights Venator trained to hunt different creatures than Damien.

“Your lover,” she answered with a sultry wink. Her free hand, the one not caressing his dick through his underwear, reached back and unpinned her hair. It fell in a loose, tousled mass of blonde about her face.

“You’re not,” Damien groaned. “My wife is.”

“And she isn’t here.” The woman’s fingers pulled down his underwear. His cock sprang out into his hands.

“You’re not a vampire,” Damien answered as she stroked his cock. “But what are you?”

“Salvation,” she answered. “If you just give in and sin a little.”

The woman leaned over, her blonde hair spilling across his crotch, and swallowed his cock into her hungry lips. Damien groaned as she sucked. All thought of fighting her went out of his mind as the pleasure rushed up to the tip of his cock.

Her tongue swirled around the tip as she sucked, then the woman worked more and more of her mouth down his shaft. Her fingers found his balls, massaging them. Damien groaned, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it.

And still everyone around them slept.

“Damn,” he panted.

His moan encouraged her. She bobbed her head faster. Her head twisted, twerking her mouth around his shaft. She moaned, adding an exciting hum to her performance. Pleasure rushed through Damien’s body.

“Who are you?” he gasped again. His hips bucked up, driving his cock deeper into her mouth. His hand pressed on the back of her head, pushing her down his cock. “Christ, what are you?”

The woman laughed around his cock as the tip brushed the back of her throat. Abigail had never deep-throated his cock; he never even asked his wife to even try, but he always wanted to. He was so close. His fingers tightened in her hair.

If this woman is such a whore that she sucks a stranger on a crowded plane, she won’t mind, the primal part of his mind growled.

Her throat relaxed as he pushed down on her head.

“Yes,” he groaned as her lips pressed all the way down to the root of his cock. “That’s it. Slut.” She sucked harder. Her hips squirmed. She liked being called a slut. Her throat massaged Damien’s cock as she moaned. The pleasure boiled in his balls. Her fingers massaged them, eager to coax out his cum.

“Whore,” he growled as his back spasmed. “Fuck.”

His groan growled out through clenched teeth as his cock erupted. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose as pulse after pulse of his cum erupted down her throat and straight into her stomach. The woman moaned in delight as his pleasure reached its peak.

“Damn,” Damien panted as he released her mouth.

She slid up his still hard cock until she popped off. “Mmm, you really needed that.”

“I guess I did,” Damien panted. Sorry Abigail.

“Now isn’t the time to think of your wife,” the woman purred, “not when you’re with me.”

“My lover,” Damien groaned, his body buzzing with his orgasm.

“Exactly,” purred the woman as she straddled his lap. “You’re starting to get it.”

“Someone’s going to see,” Damien gasped. The flight attendants had to notice her head rising above the other seats and facing the wrong direction. They had to stay awake during the flight.

“Mmm, let them watch,” the woman purred as her fingers unbuttoned her blouse.

Damien groaned as her silk blouse parted, revealing her large tits pushed up by a front-clasping demi bra. It was white and lacy and so low cut the tops of her pink areolas peaked out. Damien reached out and unsnapped the bra.

Her round, lush tits sprang out before his face. He pressed his whiskered cheeks between them, squeezing their softness. His fingers pinched her nipples as his lips sucked at her flesh. She purred as he kissed to her nipple and sucked the fat nub into his lips.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Sin.”

Damien engulfed the nipple and sucked for all his might. She purred as she ground on him. His still hard cock brushed her naked thigh. Her hips shifted and his dick slid up to a wet pussy. She wore no panties.

He moaned around her nipple as she ground her naked pussy on his shaft. Her juices coated his dick. The tip throbbed. He needed to cum again. Damien was surprised to find his cock this hard so soon after his cum. Even as a teenager, he needed a few minutes to recover.

Her hand grasped his cock as he sucked on her nipple. Damien groaned as the woman sank down on his cock. Her pussy was tight and hot. He bucked in the seat, his lips popping off the nipple as he let out a low moan.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he panted.

“I’m just what you needed,” the woman purred. Her hips undulated as they slid up and down his cock. “A little temptation and sin to spice up your life.”

“Yeah,” Damien groaned, squeezing her tits as she rode him.

Damien’s dick throbbed in the wet embrace of her pussy. Her pussy clenched as she slid up his cock, almost trying to draw the cum out of his balls. He buried his face back into her pillowy tits as he growled in pleasure.

His hands reached around her to grasp her ass. He squeezed her naked flesh and pulled her down his cock. She swiveled her hips, stirring his cock around inside her sheath before rising back up. His balls boiled. Every inch of her flesh sliding up and down his cock increased the temperate inside his nuts.

“So good,” she purred. “Your cock is just what I needed. Mmm, yes. It’s perfect for me. I love it. I want to feel you cum in me.”

“Without a condom?” Damien groaned.

“That just makes it hotter,” she purred. “Imagine the risk. It isn’t sinning if you play it safe.”

His dick throbbed in her. “Damn.”

Damien’s hands squeezed her ass. He pulled her down his cock. She let out a sweet gasp as she undulated and ground on him. Her clit rubbed against his pubic bones. The chair creaked as she went faster and faster.

Damien moaned into her pillowy tits. He loved their softness on his cheeks almost as much as he loved her cunt wrapped around his dick. His hips thrust up into her, bouncing the woman back up his shaft.

She moaned every time she slammed down. “That’s it. Fuck me! Cum in me! Let’s make this memorable for the both of us.”

“Yes,” Damien growled as she bucked on him. He pulled on her blonde hair, bringing her ruby-red lips to his. He kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth, claiming like his cock claimed her hot cunt.

His dick throbbed in her pussy. The pressure reached its peak in his balls. The ache swelled at the tip of his cock. He had to cum. He couldn’t fight it any longer. He growled as his cum exploded out of his balls and into her pussy.

Her pussy writhed about his cock. She milked out his cum. She slammed down on him. His cock was engulfed in bliss. His fingers squeezed on her ass as the final, powerful blast squirted out of his dick and then he collapsed back into the seat panting.

A hand shook him. “Sir, wake up. We’re landing.”

Damien blinked. A flight attendant shook his leather jacket. The woman sat in her seat, staring disinterestedly out the window, her clothing perfect, her hair still pinned up. Damien sat up in his seat and blushed—his jeans were sticky.

I haven’t had a wet dream since I was sixteen.

He glance at the woman and she turned and gave him a smoky smile. “Hot dream?”

“What?” he asked in surprise.

“You were moaning.” She leaned forward. The Chanel perfume washed over his nose. “They sounded … sexy. Who was the lucky lady?”

“Uh … my wife.”

“Lucky woman,” she purred. Her hand dipped into her cleavage and pulled out a card. “I’m in Chicago for the weekend. My cell phone number’s on the back. Maybe you can come to my hotel room and tell me more about this lucky woman.”

The dream filled Damien’s mind as he took the card. Another hot flush shot through him. He could remember every moment vividly. He hadn’t even felt like he was dreaming. It had seemed too real. His cock twinged at the memory of her hot pussy wrapped around his cock.

No, he told his cock. Damien’s right hand played with his wedding band. It was a dream. It doesn’t count. You’ll just have to be happy with that.


The woman strode off the plane. She felt Damien’s eyes on her as she strutted up the walkway to the terminal. A smile graced her lips. The dream had been exciting. Her pussy was wet, aching for the real thing. She hoped Damien would give in to temptation.

She burned for him to give in.

Her heels clicked as she strolled through the terminal, walking with confidence. Damien was behind her. He would follow her to the taxi stand. He would join her in the cab for a trip to her hotel and give into his temptation.

He had to.

A shock ran through the woman. Her nipples hardened. She gasped and shuddered as the connection between her and Damien severed. She spun around. Damien disappeared into the men’s room. In the garbage can right outside the bathroom, he had thrown away her card.

The woman let out a bitter, frustrated sigh. He loved his wife too much. Fidelity was to be admired most of the time. Not today. The woman strode into the ladies’ restroom, entered the final stall, and stopped being human and became the angel Aurora again.

“You were right, Gideon,” she sighed as she slipped into the Ether. “9%. How does this affect the plan?”

“Badly,” Gideon answered. “It really depends on his character now.”


Damien couldn’t shake the woman from the plane as he made the hour drive back home. The sun was rising as he drove out of Chicago to Pingree Grove. He followed I-90 until the town of Gilberts, and then headed southwest to make his way to the small village of Pingree Grove. A decade ago, Pingree Grove was a true village, but now it had boomed into a burgeoning town, swallowing up the surrounding farmland.

He chatted to his wife on the drive back. She was waiting for him at home, promising a surprise. Damien turned down his street and pulled into his driveway a moment later. He and his wife owned a three-story farmhouse, the only remains of the farm that had been transformed into a prosperous suburb. The house stood out on the cul-de-sac, painted white with the charm of an American farmhouse that the newer constructed houses lacked.

Those looked too well-built.

“Hi, Mr. D’Angelo,” young Britney Lawson smiled as Damien climbed out of his car.

The eighteen-year-old was wearing a tight pair of jogging shorts and a loose tank top, the sides open to show her black sports bra holding in her impressive bosom. The perky, young woman jogged past, her blonde hair trailing behind her.

“Hey, Britney,” Damien said. “How’s your parents?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “How was your business trip?”

“Successful. I’m eager to see Abby, though.”

“Oh, when did she get back?” Britney asked, pausing to jog in place.

“Late last night. Her mother’s doing a lot better.”

“Wonderful,” beamed the young lady. With a wave, she kept jogging down the street.

Damien pulled out his keys, unlocked the front door, and swept into the house. “Hey, Abby.”

Music drifted from above. Their bedroom was all the way on the third floor. Between hunts, they had spent their time remodeling the house. The Catholic Church’s stipend paid well enough, and neither of D’Angelos had expensive habits. The basement was their armory and training room, complete with padded mats for sparing.

Damien pulled off his leather duster and hung it on a coat rack then dropped his keys into a crystal bowel next to Abigail’s. The music playing above was R&B, the base thudding through the house. His wife loved R&B. Damien listened and decided the music sounded like Boys to Men.

She is feeling randy.

The stairs creaked as Damien climbed. He pulled off his t-shirt as he passed the second floor, revealing his muscular body crisscrossed with scars. He took the steps two at a time, the music swelling louder as he reached the landing.

“Hey, Abby,” he called out as he stepped into the bedroom. It was dark, lit only by flickering candles. Abigail had pulled the heavy curtains over the windows. The couple were often night owls and slept through the day.

“In here,” Abigail called from the bathroom.

More candles flickered in the bathroom, their orange-red light beckoning him. Water rippled. During their remodel, they had installed a large, hot tub style bathtub. Damien kicked off his boots and unbuckled his belt as he crossed the room.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Damien asked as he leaned against the open bathroom door.

“Maybe,” purred his wife. She sat in the hot water. One leg was lifted out of the bath, glistening in the candle light. Her red hair fanned about about her head and the tops of her breasts just rose over the water.

Chanel perfumed the air. Damien didn’t think of the woman on the plane.

Abigail leaned back, her breasts cresting the surface of the water. Her nipples were pink, hard, and inviting. Abigail’s toe curled as she let out a sensuous moan. Damien’s cock hardened in his pants as he admired his wife’s beauty.

“How was your flight?” Abigail asked. “Mine was boring.”

“Uneventful,” Damien answered.

“Ooh, what happened?” his wife purred. She could always read him.


Abigail arched an eyebrow.

“I had a … dream.”

“A sex dream?” Abigail asked. “About who?”

“The woman I sat next to on the flight.” Damien smiled at his wife. “Do you want me to talk about another woman or get in the tub?”

“Get those pants off and hop in, stud,” Abigail moaned.

Damien ripped off his jeans, throwing them back into their bedroom, followed by his black briefs. Abigail’s blue eyes sparkled in the candle light. She licked her lips as he strolled to the tub. Steam rose off the water. He sighed as he sank into the warmth across from her.

Abigail’s leg dived under water, her foot sliding up his thigh to his cock. The fatigue of the hunt washed away from Damien as her foot caressed his dick. He sighed, leaning back his head as her foot stroked his shaft, her toes caressing the tip.

“You know how to spoil me,” Damien sighed.

“Oh, you are going to spoil me,” she purred. “Two weeks visiting Mom in the hospital … I need to be pampered.”

“Oh? What kind of pampering were you think of?”

Her foot stroked faster. His cock throbbed hard beneath the warm water. “The kind only your lips can give me.”

Damien seized her foot rubbing at his cock. He pulled it out of the water. Her toes were small and dainty. He brought them to his lips. His tongue twirled around the tip. A shudder ran down Abigail’s leg and she let out a low sigh as he teased her.

His thumbs massaged the soles of her feet as he nibbled on her warm toes. He enjoyed pampering and loving his wife. After a hunt, it was wonderful to treat her like a lady. She could relax and shed her strength in the safety of their bedroom.

“I missed this,” Abigail sighed. “No one gives me foot massages back in our hometown.”

“Good to hear,” Damien smiled as he let go of her foot and searched her other one. He pulled it out of the water. “I’d be very concerned if anyone was giving you my kind of foot massages.”

“Yes, my trip wasn’t nearly as exciting as yours.” Her smile grew mischievous. “How beautiful was she?”

“Very,” Damien admitted, his thumbs digging into the soles of her feet. “In a business suit with a tight skirt. She even gave me her card. Wanted me to give her a booty call.”

Abigail laughed.


“You don’t need to embellish. I know you’re a handsome man, but really, you’re not that handsome.”

“Are you sure?” Damien asked. “My charms seduced you.”

“Oh, you are a hunk,” she sighed as Damien nibbled on her toes, “but you’re not ‘ask a stranger to go back to your hotel and bang you hot.’ But you are close.”


She giggled as he lowered her feet. “Mmm, but you’re more than hunky enough for me. Now, if she’d seen you in action, she’d have her panties around her ankles begging to be bedded.”

The water rippled as Damien moved across the bath to her. His arms went around her as he settled between her spread thighs. Her body undulated, pressing against his beneath the water. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him down to her lips.

“So that’s why you don’t want us working with any female hunters.”

“Uh-huh,” Abigail moaned before her lips found his. “I get jealous.”

Damien moaned into the kiss. Her lips were soft against his. Her body undulated beneath the water. Her nipples were hard on his chest. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding him tight to her lips. Her tongue caressed his. His blood boiled. His hands roamed her body, stroking her sides down to her ass. Her kiss grew sweeter as his finger ran across her body.

“Damn, I missed this,” Abigail moaned when she broke the kiss. “Next time, you’re coming with me to care for my mom.”

“And miss out killing a vampire named Spyke.”

“Like from Buffy?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“With a Y not an I.”

“You’re kidding?” Abigail laughed. “Don’t distract me. I am horny, and you are not killing the mood with talk of ridiculous vampire names.”

“Deal,” Damien agreed before his lips sucked at her neck.

“Oh, I need you to eat me out,” Abigail moaned. “I’ve been so wet waiting for your flight to land and for you to get home. It was so hard not taking care of myself.”

“Sounds like you suffered.”

“Badly. You owe me.”

Damien’s hands squeezed her thighs. “Then I better start paying you back.”

Abigail didn’t wait. She rose and sat on the edge, the water trickling down her body. Her thighs were parted, her fiery, trimmed bush covering her aroused vulva. In the candlelight, she seemed ethereal, a goddess who descended to earth and waited to be worshiped.

Damien ran his hands down her thighs as he leaned in. Her skin was so silky and warm beneath his touch. His lips nuzzled into her pussy, licking into her hot folds. Her tart flavor was faint but growing with every lick.

“Oh, baby,” Abigail moaned, her hands running through Damien’s hair as his whiskered cheeks rubbed against her soft folds. Her hips undulated on the bath tub’s edge, her breasts jiggling above Damien as she shuddered. “Eat me, baby. I missed this.”

His wife’s groans were primal and urgent. The pitch of her voice rose. Damien knew the signs. He was a hunter, he studied his prey, and he knew intimately his wife’s reactions. Her fingers tightened in his short hair, pulling hard as her passion consumed her.

“Damien!” she gasped, her body shuddering hard. Her juices flooded his mouth, so tart and delicious. He drank them down while he kept his tongue flailing through her vulva, gathering every last drop of her juices. Her breasts bounced up as her back arched. Her fingers gripped his hair tight.

And then they relaxed as she let out a purring moan.

“Mmm, that’s what I missed.” Her blue eyes fluttered open and stared down at him. Her hands caressed his cheeks. “I love you, Damien.”

He grinned at her.

Abigail sank down into the water, her arms around his neck, pulling Damien in for a hot kiss. Her tongue flicked around his lips, gathering her juices as her hips undulated. Damien reached down and guided his cock to her pussy’s entrance.

Abigail’s thighs wrapped around him as he sank into her depths. Pleasure raced up his cock as he experienced his wife’s embrace. She broke the kiss and let out a shuddering moan as he delved all the way into her sheath.

“Oh, Damien,” she moaned. “Mmm, yes. I love it.”

Abigail locked her ankles behind the small of his back, using her legs to slid her pussy up and down his shaft as he punched. Her lips pressed against his neck, hot and nibbling. Shudders ran down his body to his aching cock.

“So warm,” she moaned. “I can feel the warmth of your love beating inside of you.”

“For you,” Damien groaned, his hands cupping her ass beneath the waters.

“I know,” Abigail panted, her breath growing throaty. Her pussy clenched down on his cock. “Mmm, you are so warm. I can feel it.”

Her lips nibbled again at his neck.

“And you’re hot,” Damien groaned. “So tight on my cock. I missed you, baby. I wish you had come to Albuquerque with me.”

“So do I!” she moaned. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” he groaned, his hips thrusting harder. It was hard to think with her pussy clenching about his cock. The pleasure rushed through his body. He shuddered in her embrace as his balls tightened, his orgasm only a few thrusts away.

“I messed up.” Her lips sucked up on his neck.


Sharp fangs pierced his throat. Euphoria flooded through his veins. Abigail moaned as she drank his coppery blood. Her pussy spasmed about his cock as she writhed beneath him. She sucked harder, drinking down his life as she came on his cock.

The euphoria of her vampiric venom banished almost all thought from Damien. He couldn’t break away from her tight embrace. He didn’t want to. Bliss filled his mind. His hips thrust into her as the euphoria reached his balls. They tightened. The pressure swelled in his nuts.

His vision darkened as he erupted into the vampiress that had been his wife.

She’s turning me. The realization struck Damien at the height of his orgasm. No!

There was no fighting her sucking mouth. His he art beat slowed as his orgasm died. His vision went dark. Her lips were hot on his throat as the last feeble pulses of his life flowed into her.

Who destroyed my wife. What vampire turned her?

Damien sank down into undeath.


Chapter 2: Chained

Damien’s corpse slumped in the hot tub style bathtub, his vampiress wife and murder still straddled him, convulsing in orgasm as she sucked the last drops of his blood from his neck. Scarlet spread through the steaming water.

Even now, the change transformed Damien. It would be an hour or more before his corpse awakened to undeath. The angel Aurora sighed in disgust as she watched from the Ether, the realm that lay between the Spiritual and the Material Realms. Damien was too good of a man for her intervention to change this fate.

Aurora hated the rules place upon her and her angelic brethren. For every intervention Heaven made, Hell was granted an equal nudge. Even now, some demon was exploiting Aurora’s attempted seduction of Damien.

And it was all for naught. Our tool is on their side.

Aurora turned to Gideon. The lesser angel hovered near her, holding a ledger. Silver glasses rested on his serious face. They were an affectation. Angels could be clothed in any appearance, the only limitation was the sex they could choose. Aurora would always be female, Gideon male.

“What are the odds of success now?” Aurora asked.

There had been a small hope Damien would have detected his wife’s transformation into a vampire and reacted in time to save his life. He had been a skilled Knight Venator, slaying dozens of vampires. If he had lived, his righteous vengeance would have led to the enemy’s death.

“Almost zero without another intervention,” Gideon answered. “Our projections do not end well for Damien.”

“And there is a chance that, even turned, we can use him as our sword?” Aurora found that unlikely. Dark hungers would grow in him, erasing the good man.

“Yes,” Gideon nodded. “It requires an intervention upon a vampire. It may not work at all, but it if does, the odds improve dramatically. Damien’s motivations will be unchanged. He will act as our sword, desiring vengeance.”

“And how shall we stop Damien once we are finished using him?”

“That is a problem for later,” Gideon answered. “We have a chance to strike a major blow against the enemy. We cannot balk at the tools we have been given.”

If only my intervention on Abigail had worked. The odds had been high. But the woman was too dedicated to the hunt to have been swayed. Aurora watched Abigail as she climbed out of the bath, dragging the corpse of her husband behind her.

“She is too much like her husband,” Aurora said bitterly. “We lost two beautiful souls because we are bound by these rules!”

“Aurora,” gasped Gideon. “You tread on dangerous grounds.”

Aurora let go of her anger. “And what happened to Jezebel? Why isn’t that harpy swarming around?”

“I do not know,” Gideon answered as he studied his clipboard. “She doesn’t seemed focused on Damien at all.”

“Then why was she lurking around him in New Mexico?”


Jezebel had her arms wrapped around Father Augustine’s neck as the distinguished, older priest drove the van through Colorado on his journey back to Chicago. The priest was Damien and Abigail’s chaplain, their spiritual guidance and their connection back to the Jesuit Order that funded the pair of Hunters. He was tall and still strong as he entered his middle years, with wings of gray spreading from his temple through is dark hair.

And Jezebel had to corrupt him to protect a vampire.

Jezebel didn’t question her orders. She was only glad Auroora wasn’t lurking around to spoil all her fun. The demon’s black wings lazily flapped as she whispered corrupting thoughts into Father Augustine’s mind.

The priest was full of suppressed sin, unlike Damien. She loved it. His thoughts brimmed with the nubile women of his parish. He fantasized about their flesh while listening to their confessions, particularly their sexual ones. He burned to take their bodies and show them true, decadent sin.

She was in the Ether, only half-manifested. She had enough corporeal form so his subconscious could hear her words and his body could feel her touch as an excited tingle that kept his dick hard beneath his cassock.

Remember what that little slut Mary wore last Sunday, Jezebel whispered into the depths of his mind. She could see the image of the barely legal schoolgirl rise up in the priest’s mind, wearing a skirt far too short for church. Mary was blonde, perky, and enticing. Imagine her bending over before you, her skirt slipping up, rising higher and higher. But where are her panties?

Sweat beaded the priest’s forehead. He whispered a prayer to God as he fought his lusts.

She isn’t wearing any panties, the naughty slut. Her naked, shaved pussy, the slit so tight and inviting, peaks at you from between her thighs. Jezebel’s own pussy was on fire. She loved the wet heat. Mary is teasing you. She wants you to hike up your cassock and bury your cock in her tight, slutty cunt. She burns to be fuck her over the altar.

The image burned through the priest’s mind. His dick itched. Thoughts of pulling over and masturbating on the side of the road flitted through his mind. Jezebel savored his dirty thoughts as she whispered about how tight young Mary felt wrapped about his cock.

Vows were meant to be broken, Jezebel whispered as the poor priest was in a frenzy of lust. Look at that hitchhiker ahead. Blonde. Young. A slut. Pick her up. She’ll be more than thankful.

“Dear Lord, deliver me from this sin,” the priest groaned as he stared at the girl holding her thumb out as she walked down the highway. Eighteen and ripe for the plucking.

Pull over and enjoy the slut. She wants it. Look at the way she’s dressed.

Father Augustine slowed the van down as he approached the girl. She wore a tight jean skirt that hugged her bubbly ass. It was worn through in spots on her ass, showing off naked flesh. A thong encircled her waist, red and enticing, and her round breasts were shown off by a tight boob tube.

She is asking to be fucked. If not by you, then by a fat trucker. Jezebel nuzzled at his ear. Enjoy her. You’re far from your parish. No one will know. You’ve earned this reward for all the good you’ve brought about.

The van’s brakes squealed as he stopped. The girl opened the passenger door and peered in. She smiled when she saw the priest, the tension melting out of her shoulders and the corners of her eyes. “Hi, Father.”

“Hello, child,” Father Augustine said, still warring with his desires even as his dick ached to take her. “Where are you headed?”

“As far as you’ll take me,” the girl said. “I’m Hope.”

“Of course you are,” he groaned. “Hop in, child.”

“Thanks.” Hope climbed in, her tits jiggling in her boob tube.

Father Augustine pulled back onto the highway, his eyes fixed on the road. Jezebel smiled as she continued to whisper in his ear, driving the priest mad with lust for the girl. The priest’s face flushed and his knuckles grew white on the steering wheel.

See that road ahead, whispered Jezebel. I bet it leads somewhere nice and secluded. Hope is a friendly girl. She’ll understand that she needs to pay for her ride.

Jezebel reached out and laid her hands over Father Augustine. She gripped them and pulled on them, guiding his hands to turn the wheel. To the priest, he would think his lusts had taken over. He had no idea a demon was manipulating his body.

Hope looked at the priest and a resigned look crossed her face. Jezebel knew the girl’s thoughts. This wouldn’t be the first time she had traded sex for a ride. She had hoped that Father Augustine would have been different, and it amused Jezebel no end to see it die in her.

The girl would enjoy it. Her body was built for sex, and even now her nipples hardened. Hope, like many troubled, young woman, had daddy issues. And the priest was very fatherly.

“What are we doing, Father?” asked Hope as the priest stopped the van on the shoulder of a deserted stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, Colorado.

Jezebel reached out and placed her hand on Father Augustine’s then moved it to Hope’s bare thigh. The priest squeezed her flesh and swallowed. Hope trembled and lowered her eyes as the priest, with the demon’s help, stroked up and down the girl’s sleek thigh.

No one rides for free.

“No one rides for free,” Father Augustine repeated, his voice hoarse with desire.

Jezebel reached out and seized Hope’s hand, pulling it to the priest’s cassock over his bulge. She pressed her lips to Hope’s ears and whispered, I understand, Father.

“I … understand, Father,” Hope murmured, squeezing the priest’s cock.

“And there is only one way for a slut like you to pay,” growled the priest.

Jezebel smiled. Those words were all his. The demon leaned back, her intervention finished. She floated in the Ether and observed. The priest’s hand slid beneath Hope jean skirt. Hope let out a soft moan as the priest’s fingers rubbed at the wet folds of her pussy.

Jezebel shuddered as she rubbed at her hot pussy. “Corrupting mortals is so much fun.”


Father Hyrum Augustine touched his first pussy in thirty years. Not since he was eighteen and parking with his girlfriend had he felt the hot, slick flesh. They had fucked for the last time that night. She broke up with him the next day, dumping him for a boy with a nicer car, and he made the decision to go to the seminary.

However, Louise May Parker did not have a shaved pussy.

Hope felt so innocent beneath his fingers as he caressed her bare vulva, belying her slutty appearance. The blonde’s eyes fluttered as his fingers stroked through her wet folds. The car seat creaked and her hand tightened on his cock. Father Augustine grinned.

I am tired of not sinning. I could have had this for the last thirty years.

“Oh, Father,” groaned Hope as he pushed a finger into the depths of her pussy. “Mmm, you shouldn’t be doing that. You’re a priest.”

“And you’re a filthy slut,” he growled, shoving a second finger inside of her cunt. Her flesh was hot about him, clenching down on his digits.

Hope only moaned and squeezed his cock.

She is so much like Mary. A slut that teases men. If she hadn’t been walking down the road, I would never be sinning. This is all her fault. That’s all those whores at my parish do—tease men into sin.

“Pull it out,” he growled. “Suck my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

“Yes, Father,” moaned Hope.

Father Augustine groaned as Hope lifted up his cassock. His cock throbbed in his boxers. Her hand rubbed at them as she leaned over, trapping his hand between her thighs. The priest leaned back in his seat, trembling in anticipation of the girl’s mouth on his cock.

“That’s it, slut,” he growled as her fingers pulled down the waistband of his boxers. His dick popped out, waving before her lips.

“Such a bad priest,” Hope purred. “You should be a shamed of yourself, making a sweet, innocent girl suck your cock.”

“You are no innocent,” Father Augustine growled, shoving his fingers deeper inside her cunt. “You are a wanton whore tempting me into sin. Now suck it!”

“Yes, Father.”

Hope’s swallowed his dick, her pussy clenching down on his fingers. The priest groaned as her ripe mouth sucked on his cock. Her lips sealed tightly shut as she worked her mouth up and down his shaft.

His balls throbbed. “Sinful whore.”

His left hand ran through her blonde curls as his right hand worked fingers in and out of her juicy twat. She moaned around his dick, vibrating the tip. His balls throbbed. His excitement swelled in him. The older man growled as his hands tightened in her golden hair.

“Suck it,” Father Augustine growled, forcing her head lower and lower on his cock.

His fingers worked faster and faster into her depths. She squirmed on the seat, humping against his hand and rubbing her hard clit on the heel of his palm. Her mouth sucked harder as her pleasure swelled through her.

“You all are sluts,” he growled. “Terrible, wicked sluts tempting men with your whorish bodies.”

Father Augustine shuddered as her lips sealed about the tip of his cock as they slid up and down his shaft. Her tongue twirled around the sensitive crown before her mouth slid back down his shaft. His balls tightened.

“You’re a sinful Jezebel,” he snarled. “A Temptress. A Whore.”

His hand forced her head down his cock. She struggled as his dick brushed the back of her throat. He had watched many whores in porn deep-throat. It was time for Hope to do the same. The little slut’s deep-throated before. The way she sucks my cock proves it. She’s a whore.

Father Augustine’s cock forced down her throat. Her pussy convulsed about his fingers. Her throat hummed around his dick. Father Augustine’s hips bucked up, thrusting his cock all the way down her throat.

His balls tightened.

The priest came down her throat. “Praise the Lord!”


Abigail D’Angelo dragged her husband Damien across their bedroom floor. His corpse was pale, almost all the blood drained out of him. His intoxicating, coppery blood still stained her lips and lingered in her mouth. She let go of his corpse as she walked to the closet to fetch the manacles and tools while his seed dripped down her thighs.

That was how a human was turned into a vampire. At the moment of their orgasm they had to be fed upon. Abigail’s body still burned with the ecstasy of her husband’s cum flooding her pussy as his blood flooded her mouth.

The vampiress wanted to cuddle with his corpse and hold him while he changed. She wanted to be in his arms and welcome him into his new life. All night, as she texted with him, she ached for that moment.

But her Sire had other plans for Damien.

“Sorry,” she whispered to her dead husband. She had felt a momentary pang of guilt right before she killed him, but she couldn’t stop her bloodlust or her drive to obey her Sire.

She hefted pulled over the nightstand and easily balanced on it. She swiped the stud finder across the wall and marked their positions. Then she grabbed the heavy, metal bracket with a eyelet welded to the front. It was rated to support five tons, more than strong enough to restrain her husband.

The power drill whined as she drilled the pilot holes. With her enhanced strength and reflexes, she had no problem drilling them perfectly. Then she grabbed the bracket and the bolts and, with a wrench, bolted the plate to the wall. She picked up the torque wrench and perfectly tightened them.

Damien would never escape.

She connected the manacles to the eylet than hauled her husband’s corpse up, latching each manacle to his wrists. He would dangle there, helpless, facing the bedroom window. Exactly the way her Sire commanded.

Abigail locked the manacles with the key then hesitated.

I love him. A shiver ran through the vampiress.

Abigail set the silver key on the nightstand before dragging the piece of furniture back where it belonged. She replaced the lamp on it, adjusting the shade so it was neat again.

Finished, Abigail texted the vampire that raped and killed her.


Aurora pulled away from Abigail.

“Did it work?” she asked Gideon.

“Too soon to know,” Gideon answered. “But you reached her. Did you see the way she shivered. And she left the key on the nightstand. But you need to do more before the intervention ends.”

Aurora nodded and reached out to touch the vampiress’s foul body. He deserves to know what happened. There is paper in the nightstand. Write it.

Abigail shuddered as the Angel embraced her. The vampiress looked around, her eyes narrowed. She hissed as her skin burned beneath the Holy touch of the angel. Abigail leaped away, landing on the bed in a crouch, her eyes scanning.

“Who is here?”

Aurora pulled away. “Her senses are too well trained,” the Angel lamented. “She detected my touch.”

“It may have been enough,” Gideon said. “Her Sire will not arrive for twenty-three minutes. There is time for her to be a little rebellious. She has the spirit. Look at the way she stares at Damien. She has some of her emotions left despite her Sire’s control on her thoughts. She laments the pain her husband is about to experience.”

Aurora moved to Damien. “I am sorry.” She touched the corpse. Already, the dark energy gathered inside of his body. It would extend to his every cell and rebuild him into an agent of darkness. “We failed to save you and your wife from this fate.”

A tear fell from Aurora’s eye and landed on Damien. It smoked, leaving behind a tiny teardrop branded into his neck.


Damien dreamed as his soul was transformed. Death had not released his spirit like it should have. His wife’s cursed embraced kept him locked in his dead body. He was shackled into his flesh as the darkness consumed him. Flashes of Abigail burned through his mind.

She fought with a vampire in the cafeteria of his school. Her first shot with the crossbow missed as the handsome vampire, dressed in a black suit and red tie, leaped through the shadows, appearing behind her. Abigail spun and threw a vial of holy water, but the vampire caught it and slammed it to the floor, spilling the blessed water across the vinyl tiles.

Abigail was overpowered and stripped. The vampire took her hard as he feasted on her flesh. Caught up in the rapture of his mouth sucking at her throat, she came on his cock before the last beat of her heart carried her into undeath.

When she awoke, her Sire had instructions for her. She texted Damien, lulling him into false security as she returned to their home to prepare her trap. Damien’s soul howled as the darkness bled into him.

And then the hunger arose.

In his dark dreams, Damien’s mouth watered for blood. As his body was reborn into unlife, the coppery scent of his own blood, still staining the now cold water of the bathtub, tickled his nose. He yearned to feel the hot pulse of a human’s artery beneath his lips right before he sank his fangs in and drank the glorious life.

The drive suffused his body. His heart beat again, pumping not only blood but also dark ichor through his veins. As the hunger swelled, his muscles were changed by the ichor. It suffused his body and mind, strengthening his body and enhancing his reflexes.

His eyes would be able to see in total darkness. His hearing would pick up the faintest sounds. It might take him a decade or more to fully grasp all the nuanced variety of his enhanced senses. His nose grew keener, smelling not just his blood, but the scent of his wife’s excitement, the tang of the metal binding his wrists, the Chanel perfume lingering on his wife’s body, the dust in the air, the wax of the burned out candles, the fibers of the carpet, and more. His hearing picked up the sounds of the neighborhood outside the house. Cars passed on the street. Dogs barked. Birds sang. A lawnmower whined. People walked, their footsteps slapping on concrete, asphalt and grass.

Hearts beat, pumping warm blood.

A woman talked, laughing gaily—Britney Lawson. Eighteen, nubile, and busty. The neighbors daughter spoke with her mother as they washed their dog in the backyard. He had found a skunk and now they slathered him in tomato sauce.

Damien’s mind grew sharper. More than just his hunger filled his thoughts. Abigail dominated them. His Dam, the vampire who turned him. She weighed on his mind, her words echoing in his thoughts.


Her voice was a whip cracking against his will.


Images of their life flashed through Damien. The way she stood stunned over Vincent after Damien had bashed the vampire’s head into pulp, their two friends lying dead around them in their High School’s cafeteria. How her hair burned like fire across her wedding dress a year later while her face lay hidden behind the veil.


Her words were lace binding his thoughts, channeling them towards her.

Obey me, Damien…

His heart beat faster. Arousal entered his body, hardening his cock. Abigail slipped out of her wedding gown, wearing garters, stockings, a white thong, and nothing else. That night had been like their first time all over again.

Only better. They knew what they were doing.

You must obey me, Damien…

Abigail appeared in her black combat fatigues, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, a crossbow aimed before her as they stalked through a crypt hunting a vampire. Abigail, her face splattered with white as she swept the paint roller across their bedroom wall when they first moved into their house.

I will be obeyed, Damien … I am your Dam. I brought you back into this world…

Abigail lay in the bath tub, naked, her breasts peaking over the hot, steaming water. Lust burned in her green eyes. Her foot broke the surface, pink from the water’s heat. Her toes wiggled, inviting him into the trap.

Obey me, Damien.

Her voice cracked through his mind. The ichor had sunk into every cell of his body. The transformation was complete. Her commands wrapped about his mind. There was no escaping them. She was his Dam.

I … obey … you…

Damien’s eyes opened and he saw for the first time.


Britney Lawson’s mother returned from the house, the white apron she wore stained with tomato sauce. Bruiser had been a bad dog again, and had tried to attack the skunk.

“Who was it?” Britney asked as she rubbed the tomato sauce into the golden Labrador’s soft fur. The dog panted, his tongue out, not caring that he was being covered in sauce.

The tomatoes smelled far better than the skunk he had played with.

“Abigail’s family,” Mrs. Lawson answered. She knelt down. “They don’t know what happened to her. She went out before sunset last night and never came back to the hospital or her mother’s house.”

“Oh, she’s back home,” Britney smiled. “I saw Damien this morning when he got home from the airport. Said her mom was fine and she had come on home.”

Mrs. Lawson frowned. “That’s not the impression I got. They were worried. She didn’t tell them she was coming back.”

“Damien was pretty sure she was home.” Britney glanced up at the D’Angelo’s house. On the third floor, their bedroom curtains were pulled shut. “I think they’re getting busy.”

“Britney,” laughed her mom. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Their curtains are pulled tight, you know what that means,” Britney smirked at her mom.

Britney’s cheeks were flushed. She had had a crush on Damien since she was fifteen. He was strong, handsome, and bold. He was a man, not like the boys at her High School. Britney was glad to be done with High School.

I’m an adult. I can find me a real man know. She sighed. Shame Damien is taken.

The young woman had thought about seducing Damien in the past, but she knew how much he loved his wife. Plus, Britney liked Abigail and it felt wrong to try and seduce her husband away. Even if Damien would make my first time magical.

A chill wind suddenly gusted from the D’Angelo’s house. Bruiser let out a low growl, and Britney gasped at the shock. Her mother frowned. “Strange. It’s such a warm day. Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know,” Britney frowned as she went to fetch the hose. She glanced at the house and furrowed her eyebrows. What was going on in their bedroom?

“I’ll finish with Bruiser,” Mrs. Lawson said. “Why don’t you go pump. I bet you’re getting full.”

Britney nodded. A year ago, her mother had a baby but had issues nursing. So to help her mother out, Britney went through the steps to induce lactation in her own large tits. Now that her sibling was weaning off breast milk, she was discovering a side business of selling her milk to a wealthy woman who couldn’t be bother breastfeeding her child but didn’t trust formula.

It would help for college in the fall.

She walked into the house to fetch her pump. Another cold wind blew and she was glad to be in the house.


Damien eyes were wide. Everything seemed so much sharper and brighter. There were far more colors than he had ever noticed before. Their bed cover, which he used to think of as solid blue, had variations in its dyed fibers that darkened and lightened the hue. Light reflected off metal shimmered with rainbow opulence.

The metal restraints he dangled from bit into his flesh. There was no pain. Damien could feel the grain of the metal. What was smooth to the touch felt coarse to him. He breathed in, his nose dissecting a thousand different scents: wood, paint, cloth, carpet, perfume, Abigail, musk, water, blood, dust.

His Dam stepped into the room, naked and lovely. Her hair was a shimmer of reds falling about the light pink of her skin. Her breasts jiggled as she walked towards him, her hips rolling. His cock ached for her.

“My Dam,” he moaned, straining to break free of the manacles so he could fall to his feet and worship her.

“Damien,” she purred, her voice a symphony of delights caressing his ear. She stopped before him. Her hand touched his stomach, sliding up him. A hot flush rippled across his skin. His cock grew harder, brushing her stomach.

“Let me go,” he moaned. “Please. Let us hunt together. Let us feed. Let me worship you as you drink.”

The thoughts weren’t his own. There was a part of Damien that recognized that. But she was his Dam. She had brought him into the world of unlife. His thoughts were bound by one overriding command—obedience.

“That would be nice,” Abigail purred. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his neck. She kissed and nibbled on the very spot where she had sunk in her fangs and killed him.

Fed upon him.

Damien’s dick throbbed against her flat stomach. His balls churned. The caress of her skin on the crown of his cock was almost too much for him to bear. He held back his orgasm, not wanting to spill his cum across her belly.

He wanted to be in her when that happened.

“Please, let me down, Abigail,” Damien groaned. “Let me worship you, my love.”

Her hand caressed up to his cheek. Her sharp fingernail bit into his flesh. His dick throbbed harder. “I do not have permission to free you.”

“Who could command you, Dam?” Damien groaned. “Who has the power to command the sun?”

“You are a lot more poetic this way,” she purred into his neck. She moved away and fell back on their bed, letting out a wanton moan. “Sire, appear before me. He is awake. I need you.”

The shadows moved in the corner of the room. A man stepped out. Tall, straight-back, filling out an expensive, tailored suit. The cloth was black as midnight, contrasting with the crimson tie about his throat. His hair was dark, slicked back, and a hungry smile curled across his powerful lips. He was chiseled from stone, the type of man that would grace a Harlequin romance.

“Sire,” Abigail breathed in worship, her body trembling on the bed. “I have obeyed. I have captured my husband and turned him.”

“Yes, you have,” the man said. He walked with power and grace, a vampire fully adapted to his body. His light-blue eyes fixed on Damien. They were harder than steel or diamond. Damien almost flinched beneath them.

But he had fought vampires before.

But he is my Dam’s Sire. If she must obey him, so must I.

Damien lowered his eyes.

“How delightful,” the vampire said, his voice a dark rasp. “The great Damien D’Angelo chained before me while his wife pants like a bitch in heat for my cock.”

“Oh, yes, Sire,” Abigail moaned. “I need to feel you in me again.”

“Do you know who I am, Damien?”

“My wife’s sire,” answered Damien, still looking down at his feet, his toes dangling inches from the carpet.

“Look me in the eye when I speak to you, pup.” The vampire’s words were a whip cracking against Damien’s ears.

Damien’s eyes shot up. “Sorry, sir.”

Abigail crawled across the bed as the vampire stopped at its foot. She rubbed her cheek against the leg of his slacks like a dog greeting her master. She let out a wanton moan, her dusky-pink nipples hard at the tips of her swaying breasts. Her hand slid up, rubbing at the vampire’s crotch.

Damien’s cock throbbed as he watched his Dam unzip the vampire’s slacks. Her hand disappeared and pulled out a hard cock. With a moan, Abigail sucked the cock into her mouth. Not even a tremble of pleasure crossed the vampire’s lips; his eyes remained focused on Damien.

Abigail moaned as she sucked. Her blowjob was loud and sloppy with her enthusiasm. She wiggled her ass as she worked her mouth up and down the vampire’s dick. Her hands played with his balls and stroked his shaft.

Damien pulled at his chains. He wanted to stroke himself as he watched his Dam pleasure the vampire. He wanted to fall to his knees and lick her pussy, to worship her as fervently as she worshiped the vampire.

“Let me go,” Damien panted.

“Why?” the vampire asked.

“She needs me,” groaned Damien. “Her pussy is so wet. Her scent fills me. She needs me to pleasure her. To worship her. My Dam needs me.”

The vampire laughed as he stroked Abigail’s hair. “It doesn’t bother you in the least that I am violating your wife’s mouth?”

“She is happy,” Damien panted. “That’s all that matters.”

“All that matters,” smiled the vampire. “I forget just how slavishly devoted a newly turned vampire is to his Dam or Sire. The great Damien has no spine. And neither does your wife. How many vampires have you killed?”

“More than thirty,” Damien groaned, his hips thrusting, his cock bouncing. Abigail has turned, her ass facing Damien. She wiggled it. Her pussy was wet between her thighs. Her tart juices filled his nose. He wanted to drink her passion, to become drunk on his Dam. “So many. I lost count.”

“We were just vermin to you.”

“Yes,” Damien groaned. “I killed three last night. Like stepping on a cockroach.”

“Isn’t that what you are, Damien?” the vampire asked. “You and your fellow Knights Venator? Cockroaches scurrying through the darkness.”

“No,” Damien groaned, then frowned. He is her Sire. “I mean, yes. Cockroaches.”

“You are as eager to debase yourself as your wife.” The light-blue eyes grew harder. A sneer curled his lips. “There is no satisfaction in this. Whore, free your spawn from your obedience.”

Abigail popped her mouth off the vampire’s cock. “Yes, Sire.”

She slipped off the bed and padded over to Damien. She pressed herself against him, her nipples hard. She bit her wrist. Her dark-red blood welled up. Damien’s nostrils flared as he scented the rich aroma of her blood.

Vampire blood was more potent than human blood, full of the same dark ichor that sustained Damien’s unlife. She raised her wrist to his lips. He hungrily drank in her blood. Pleasure exploded through him. His cock, already aching, erupted across her stomach.

“I still love you,” Abigail whispered in his ear. Her words were so soft. A human’s ear would never have made out her words.

The blood flowed into Damien, spilling through his body. The lacy bonds of her will snapped, freeing his mind from his devotion to her. She had freed him. She was still his Dam, but she could never again control him.

Damien shuddered as she pulled away, his thoughts struggling to work as he shuddered in ecstasy Abigail moved back to her Sire, falling to her knees and sucking the vampire’s cock into her mouth. The vampire smiled, his hand stroking through her red hair.

“Let her go!” roared Damien. His body heaved against the bonds as he witnessed his wife noisily suck another man’s cock.

“That’s better,” the vampire groaned, a contemptible smile crossing his lips. “There’s the anger and shame. You thought she was your faithful wife. But you know how vampires are turned.”

Images of Abigail gasping beneath the vampire as he fed off of her, his cock slamming into her depths. She orgasmed as she died, crying out in ecstasy. Damien clenched his fist and snarled. He hungered for blood.

The vampire’s blood.

“I’ll tear your throat out,” spat Damien. “You think you’re the first vampire I’ve faced. I’ve been scraping your filthy kind off my boots for a decade.”

“Like you did with Vincent?” snarled the vampire.

“Vincent?” Damien demanded. That was the name of the first vampire Damien and Abigail had killed. They had been seniors in high school with no idea what they were doing. They just knew they had to stop the predator killing their friends.

“Yes, my beautiful Vincent.” A shudder ran through the vampire. “Your wife has a hungry mouth. She is eager for my cum.”

Damien snarled and pulled at the chains. Metal clinked and wood groaned, but nothing budged. “What does this have to do with Vincent?”

“He was one of my children.” The vampire’s eyes closed. His head leaned back as the pleasure built in him. Abigail bobbed her head faster.

Damien’s stomach twisted. It sickened him to watch his wife debased by her Sire. His heart ached and his blood boiled.

“Such a beautiful man,” the vampire groaned. “My favorite. I never should have left him out of my sight. Too bold. He burned with passion and curiosity. Like Pandora, he could not resist temptation. And then you and this whore killed him.”

“We did! I beat his head to a pulp. He was the first cockroach I crushed. Unchain me, and I’ll scrape you from my boot.”

“Such a sweet wife you have,” groaned the vampire. “How she gasped beneath me as I fed off of her. How her cunt spasmed on my cock. She loved my dick. She came so hard. Far harder than you ever made her cum. She is my whore now.

“My delicious whore. I will debase her. I will degrade her. And then I will kill her.”

Abigail shuddered. She noisily swallowed as his cum filled her mouth. The vampire groaned as he spilled in her mouth. He gripped her hair tight, holding her in place. Abigail let out wanton groans as she popped her mouth from his dick.

“So delicious,” she purred. “I am your whore, Sire. Debase me. I’ll do anything for you.”

The chains rattled as Damien howled. His heels beet at the wall, shattering the drywall. He found the studs and pushed against them with his feet, leveraging his body against the chains and the bracket. He ignored the pain in his wrists as his enhanced muscles strained against his metal bonds.

The vampire laughed as he wiped the tip of his cock in Abigail’s hair, leaving behind white streaks of cum. “Your struggle is exquisite. You are a fighter. It is why you and your whore have killed thirteen of my children.”

The vampire seized Abigail by the hair and dragged her behind him as he advanced on Damien. “Thirteen of the most beautiful creatures ever gifted to walk this world. Even Spyke was beautiful.”

“Spyke.” A bitter grin twisted Damien’s mouth. “That weak-willed poser. He was one of the easiest vampires I ever killed.”

The vampire hauled up Abigail. “He was an angel. A being freed from life. You and your ilk shall all pay for the pain you have inflicted on my family.”

Abigail was thrown against Damien. She clung to Damien and wrapped her thighs around his waist. Her pussy rubbed at his crotch, wet and silky. Her clit was hard and she let out a wanton moan as she rubbed her nipples against his chest.

“I’m so wet, Sire,” gasped Abigail. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Abigail,” Damien groaned. Her green eyes filled his. Her lips were open wide, so red.

“I need him, Damien,” she purred. “His cock satisfies me. Not like yours. The way he fucks me … I never came harder than when he took me in the school. I need him to fuck me.” Her hips undulated, rubbing her pussy on Damien’s stomach. “Not you. Your cock never satiated me the way his does.”

“You bastard,” Damien snarled at the vampire as he moved up behind Abigail. “I will kill you. I will free her from your domination.”

“Feel free to try,” the vampire laughed as he thrust his cock into Abigail’s ass.

“Yes,” shuddered his wife, her pussy pressed hard against Damien’s stomach with every thrust of the vampire into her ass. “I love it. Fuck my ass. Make me cum so hard. Show my husband how a real man handles a woman.”

The pleasure shining in Abigail’s eyes were real. Her body shuddered against Damien. He fought to look away as he snarled his rage. Her arms were tight about his neck, and her naked body was so lush against him.

Abigail buried her face into his neck. Her breath washed over him as she gasped and spasmed. Her hips undulated, grinding her dripping pussy across his stomach. She gasped every time the vampire drove his dick into her ass.

“I’ll tear your throat out,” growled Damien.

“There is something so satisfying about truly despoiling your enemy’s life,” the vampire grinned.

Abigail let out a wanton moan. Her thighs tightened about Damien’s sides.

“Killing a man is easy. There is no challenge to it. I could have had your pretty wife snap your neck instead of turning you. I could have put a bullet in your head from a mile away. I could have hired men to burn your house while you slept.

“But where is the fun in that? How do I break you and make you suffer? You killed my Vincent.”

He thrust his cock into Abigail’s ass, driving her pussy against Damien’s stomach.


Every name was punctuated with a thrust and a moan of liquid pleasure from Abigail.




Abigail whimpered in delight.




Abigail let out a wordless moan of bliss.





“Make me cum on your cock, Sire!”


“And now I have spawned my most beautiful child.” The vampire shuddered. “Abigail.”

“Yes, yes, Sire!” Abigail moaned.

Her head threw back, pressing into the vampire’s neck. He bit into her flesh, drinking her vampiric blood. Abigail shuddered. Her pupils dilated. Her pussy ground into Damien. Her juices flooded across his stomach and down to his cock. She squirted as she came hard.

“Such exquisite beauty,” grinned the Vampire. “Your wife is mine.”

“His,” Abigail echoed as she shuddered. Her breasts heaved and her mouth opened wide as she screamed out her passion.

Damien roared and snarled. “I will kill you! I will rip you apart. I will feast on your entrails. She is my wife.”

“Now she is my whore,” grinned the vampire.

He ripped his cock from Abigail’s asshole. His wife slipped to the floor and turned, swallowing the vampire’s cock into her mouth and sucking her ass clean from his dick. The vampire gripped her hair and groaned, his eyes rolling back in the head as he savored the pleasure of using Damien’s wife.

Damien strained against metal, pitting his undead flesh against unyielding steal. His fangs flashed as he snarled, straining to reach the vampire’s throat and rip the life from his body. Damien didn’t care if he ripped his arms out of his sockets.

But his flesh was weak.

The vampire smiled—mocking, triumphant. Victorious.

He ripped his cock from Abigail’s mouth. Abigail’s hand fisted the vampire’s cock, pointing it at her face. “Your wife is the perfect whore,” the vampire smiled. “She wants to be bathed in cum.”

“I do,” panted Abigail. “Please, Sire, cover me. I’m your filthy whore. Your cum slut.”

“No,” Damien groaned. “Abigail.”

The vampire’s smirking triumph never faltered from his lips as his white cum exploded out and covered Abigail’s face. His wife enjoyed it, opening her mouth and catching the raining cum while more lines dribbled down her face.

“Let me go and fight me!” Damien snarled. “Be a man.”

The vampire laughed and picked up a pair of Abigail’s discarded panties. He shoved them deep into Damien’s mouth. “I am far more than a man.”

Damien had to watch the vampire fuck Abigail over and over. Hours passed while the pair rutted on Damien’s marital bed. The sheets were stained in bodily fluids. Abigail’s ass and pussy dribbled with the vampire’s seed. She drank more down and rubbed it into her flesh until she was covered in it.

Damien hung there and watched his wife degradation. I will be free. I will track you down. I will tear off your head with my bare hands.

Night fell and still they fucked. The vampire had inhuman stamina. No matter how many times he came, his cock never softened. Abigail’s appetites were wanton. She burned to be taken over and over, her green eyes staring at Damien as he watched.

He could not look away.

Finally, even the vampire seemed exhausted. He dressed into his suit while Abigail pulled on the little black dress she wore on their anniversary five years ago. They had gone dancing in Chicago that night. The dress still clung perfectly to her.

The vampire ripped open the curtains of the large window Damien faced. The easter horizon lightened.

“Give him something to remember you by,” the vampire told Abigail. “He has an hour at most.”

Abigail sauntered over to Damien, ripped the panties from his mouth, and wrapped her arms around him. She reeked of the vampire’s cum. Damien’s skin crawled. She pressed her ears to his and whispered, “I love you. The key is on the nightstand.” She nipped his ear hard, drawing blood, and added loudly, “Think of my tight body cumming on my Sire’s cock as you watch the sunrise.”

The vampire chuckled. “What a whore.”

“I will get free and come for you!” snarled Damien.

The vampire laughed as strolled down the stairs and Abigail followed. Their footsteps echoed through the house as they made their way downstairs. The door that connected the kitchen to the garage opened. A car started. The exterior garage doors opened, the chain rattling.

The car left, carrying his wife away.

“Abigail!” Damien howled and pulled at the chains. After hanging for twenty hours, his arms were numb. Even his vampiric body had grown weak. The hunger beat in him.

He focused on the key. They were ten feet away. It might as well have been a mile.

The horizon grew brighter. Hints of orange drove back the dark blue. His heart raced faster. There was a chance he had gained immunity to the sun. Daywalkers existed. Every vampire had an ability. The one who sired Abigail could shadow walk.

I am not that lucky. What did I get?

He concentrated on the key. Did Abigail know which I received? Was that part of the process? Why would she tell me about the key? Unless … her professions of love were just part of the vampire’s game. One last twist of the knife, letting me salvation is right there.

I just had to seize it.

Damien knew of ten vampiric powers. Shadow walk, daywalking, and shapechanging would all allow him to escape the manacles. But Abigail told him about the key. He had to grasp on to that. He had to believe that she still loved him.

Despite the change and the dark hungers prowling inside Damien, he still felt like himself. He still loved Abigail. If he didn’t, then seeing her degraded over and over wouldn’t hurt him. He had to believe that Abigail, beneath the domination her Sire had on her mind, was still fundamentally herself.

She still loves me. She is fighting against her control, finding little ways to rebel and aide me.

There was one power that could help him grab the key: telekinesis.


Aurora watched Damien stare at the key. “He’s figured out his talent.”

“I think so,” Gideon nodded. “Twenty-three minutes until sunrise.”

Her intervention had worked. She had nudged Abigail in the right direction. “Can he master his telekinesis in time?”

“It often takes dedicated practice for a vampire to perform delicate manipulations. Coarse movements are easy. But to pick up the key, maneuver them to the lock, insert the key, and twist is doubtful. 5% chance he can do it in twenty-two minutes.”

“He’s our best chance of killing Faust Crespo.”


“Move,” Damien snarled as he concentrated on the key. “Come on.”

The horizon grew brighter. His window looked directly east. The sunlight would be cresting the horizon soon. He didn’t have much time. His forehead furrowed. If he could still sweat, it would be dripping down into his eyes.


He imagined his mind seizing the key.

Metal rustled. The key slid an inch.

Damien grinned. He had been in tight spots before. I can do this.

He concentrated. Grasping the key was like focusing on your little toe and trying to make only it move and not the others. His telekinesis reached out and fumbled, rattling the nightstand as he concentrated. He tried to seize the key and instead ripped the nightstand’s drawer out, spilling it on the ground. A pad of paper covered in Abigail’s flowing handwriting tumbled out on the ground.

“Just the key.” Wiggle the toe.

His breathing slowed as the world began to fall away. He focused on the silver key lying on the stained wood. His mind grasped at it, sliding along the wood and struggling to pick it up. The nightstand rattled again, the lamp wobbling.

The key lifted up.

“Yes.” his breath exploded out of him. A dull ache formed behind his eye.

The room grew brighter.

The key floated through the air. He moved it up to his right manacle. He could just make out the lock. The key was facing the wrong way. He turned it and pressed it against the metal. It scraped and slid against the manacle as he struggled to find the lock.

“Come on,” Damien growled. His head throbbed. His stomach growled. He needed blood. He could smell blood outside. Humans stirred in the neighborhood. His tongue licked his lips. Hearts beat, only faint murmurs. Damien heard them through walls and distance. The beats called to him as they pumped hot, life-giving blood.

“No,” he growled.

The key caught on a hole. He pressed it forward. The key tried to enter but something stopped it. Panic nibbled at Damien. The horizon was liquid orange. A few scattered clouds were painted with a rosy hue across the bottom.

“Come on,” he snarled, struggling to force the key in. “Get the fuck in there.”

His head ached worse. He strained to maneuver the key. He let out a snarl. His body twitched as he kept forcing his thoughts away from his hunger. He had to insert the key. Metal scrape on metal as he manipulated the key. He bit his teeth against the stabbing pain pulsing behind his right eye. The more he strained, the worse it grew.

Outside, a door opened. Prey stepped outside. The heart beat louder. It was faster. A woman. Damien licked his lips.

“No.” He pushed down the hunger. His telekinesis needed the power. He was too weak to keep playing with the key in such a delicate manner. “Focus. Fight.”

The panic swelled. It was growing harder and harder to fight his hunger. I’m about to die and the damn, fucking key won’t fit in the damn, fucking lock.

“Get in the damned lock!” he howled.

The key twitched as his anger slammed out through his telekinesis. The key shot away and crashed through his bedroom window, leaving behind a hole the size of his fist.

Damien’s body went limp. He had the energy to groan, “Fuck.”

The horizon grew brighter.


Chapter 3: Virgin Blood

Abigail turned the sedan into the parking garage beneath Faust Tower in downtown Chicago. The sun’s rays lightened the horizon. Fear rippled across her skin. The sun meant death. Its light was fire reduced to its most pure essence.

And purity was deadly to a vampire.

But Abigail didn’t fear for her own safety. Dawn lay a few minutes away and already she had pulled the car into the sanctuary of the parking garage. The dark, man-made cavern was lit by the impure, flickering florescent lights.

Abigail feared for her husband’s safety.

It was a small kernel buried in the depths of her soul, that tiny bit of her not bound up by the chains of her Sire’s will. I left my husband tied up to face the rising sun.

“Is there any particular place for me to park, Sire?” Abigail asked, addressing the vampire that killed her and who now rode in the back of the sedan.

“It is marked president of the board,” her Sire answered, his voice deep, powerful. His eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror, meeting hers. He sat in the back, dressed in an expensive, Italian suit tailored to fit his strong figure.

A heat flushed through Abigail’s body at the memory of her Sire’s teeth piercing her neck as his cock pierced her pussy. She was his. Her body given over to servicing his lusts. Her Sire had taken her for hours while Damien watched while chained to their bedroom wall.

He ravished me in our marital bed.

Damien’s angry, bitter shouts echoed through her head. That part of Abigail free of her Sire’s control grieved for the hurt she inflicted on her husband. But she knew she would do it again and again. Her body yearned for her Sire’s touch.

Damien will be dead in a few minutes.

Her Sire was punishing Abigail and Damien for killing vampires. Before she was turned, Abigail had been a Knight Venator with her husband, a servant of the Jesuit Order who hunted monsters. Abigail and Damien specialized in slaying the undead.

They had killed many vampires, including ones sired by the man sitting behind her.

Abigail found the parking space next to the elevators. She pulled in and turned off the car. As a hunter, she would have been disturbed to learn that the President of the powerful Faust, Inc was a vampire.

Now she was thankful to serve such a powerful Sire.


The horizon grew brighter. Damien hung disconsolately, no longer caring that his arms were numb from his hours of imprisonment.

He had one chance to save his unlife and he had blown it. Abigail had left the keys to his manacles on the nearby nightstand. Before she left, a small part of her had rebelled against her Sire. Abigail knew he had telekinesis—his vampiric gift.

All Damien had to do was manipulate the key into the lock. But he had no skill with telekinesis yet. No finesse. His fear, frustration, and hunger for blood distracted him. In a burst of anger, he had accidentally flung the key out the window.

The sunlight grew brighter. His skin grew warm. The edges of purity touched him. He grit his teeth as his skin blackened and cracked.


Aurora the angel growled in frustration as the key to Damien’s freedom smashed through the window. “No. We were so close.”

Gideon sighed. “It’s probably better this way. The sun will cleanse Damien’s soul and give him rest.”

“And Faust will continue to expand his power.”

Aurora flared her wings. The Ether was so thin. It was the medium separating the mortal world from beyond. All she had to do was step through the barrier and manifest. She could close the curtains and save Damien. The plan would be salvageable.

But she hadn’t been given permission to perform any more interventions. Heaven no longer considered the risks worth allowing her to try. And she was no a demon. She wouldn’t act without orders.

But she wanted to.

“Gideon. I could crossover. I could save him. Do they know upstairs?”

Gideon glanced at his clipboard. “No intervention is possible. It is not worth the cost of allowing another demonic encroachment.”

Anger flared through Aurora. She seized the Ether’s fabric. She just had to tear and she would be through. She would save Damien and he could go kill Faust. Damien would be another monster, but one more easily manageable than the monster that was Faust.

“Aurora?” Gideon gasped, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing? Rebelling?”

A shock went through Aurora. She let go of the fabric and stared at her hands. I had been so close to … rebelling. To being no different than Jezebel and her ilk.

Aurora looked at Damien. She touched his face as the room grew brighter. “I’m sorry for failing you and your wife.”

“Aurora,” Gideon frowned, his tone shocked, “there may have been a possibility overlooked in my calculations.”

Aurora looked up. “What?”

“It’s not good.” Gideon’s eyes were sad as he held up his notepad. It wasn’t a real notepad, but a representation of the ever-changing probability of future events. Angels had talents—Aurora intervened; Gideon calculated.

Aurora studied the data and groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Would my intervention really cause something worse than this?


Britney Lawson yawned as she opened the door to let out the family dog. Bruiser did a lap around the yard as he looked for a spot to make his business. The eighteen year old rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she watched the family dog. She didn’t like being up before the sun had even peaked over the horizon.

“Hurry up,” she muttered. “I want to get back to—”

Glass shattered.

Britney yelped as shards of glass rained down on her backyard. She glanced up at the D’Angelo’s house. Damien and Abigail’s bedroom window had a large, jagged hole in the center. Britney stepped onto the grass in her slippers, her eyes wide.

“What was that?” she muttered, her heart thudding.

She liked the D’Angelos. They had been her neighbors since she was a little girl. Abigail was playful and always had great, if earthy, advice about boys, and Damien was a hunk. Her first crush. When Britney turned eighteen a few months ago, she seriously considered seducing the sexy man.

But she didn’t want to hurt Abigail, and she knew that Damien loved his wife too much to cheat on her. No matter how big my tits are our how young and nubile my body is.

“Is that a key?” she asked herself, noticing the brass lying in the grass. She picked it up and frowned, glancing back at the window.

What happened up there?

Britney swallowed. She wanted to run back into the house and wake up her parents. I’m an adult. I can handle this. I’ll just go over there and find out what’s wrong.

Britney clutched the key in her hand, her heavy breasts jiggling beneath the long, Chicago Bears jersey she slept in. She padded around the house to the gate and slipped into the front yard. She took long steps and rounded the bushes separating her parent’s front yard from the D’Angelo’s.

The D’angelo’s garage door was open.

Britney’s stomach twisted as she cut across the grass. They never left their garage open. Her slippers whisked across the pebbly driveway. She almost slipped on the smooth cement floor of the garage. The door leading into the house was also open.

This is so dumb.

Britney pressed forward, stepping into the house. “Hello?” she asked.

“Britney?” the pained voice of Mr. D’Angelo called.

“Yes,” she shouted. “Where are you?”

“Bedroom.” His voice was hoarse. “Hurry.”

Britney sprang into action, her slippers slapping on the hardwood floors. She reached the stairs and ran up them. Her nose wrinkled. Something burned, like charred meat. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Mr. D’Angelo screamed in pain.

“What’s happening?” she shouted as she raced faster, passing the second floor and heading up to the third were the D’Angelo’s bedroom was.

“Curtains!” howled Mr. D’Angelo. “Close them! Hurry.”

Britney burst onto the top floor and raced into their bedroom. Her eyes widened in shock. Mr. D’Angelo hung naked from the wall by manacles. His body thrashed. His face was blacked and burned by the first rays of golden light peaking through the room.

“Please!” he screamed. “Curtains, Britney!”

Britney yelped and charged for the curtains. Confusion gripped her mind. She couldn’t think, only act. She reached the heavy curtains and yanked them shut. Mr. D’Angelo’s screams died down. His body stopped thrashing.

“Mr. D’Angelo,” she gasped. “Oh, my god, what happened? Where is Abigail?”

“Need to…” he muttered, his face a charred mask. “Help … me…”

Britney opened her hand, staring at the key. Then she glanced up at the manacles. “I’ll get you down, then I’ll call for help. Just hold on, Mr. D’Angelo.”

Britney raced around the bed to the nearby nightstand, stepping over a notepad and the nightstand desk drawer strewn across the floor. She grasped the nightstand and jerked it back, knocking off the lamp in her haste.

She didn’t care.

“Just hold on,” she kept repeating.

“Need you…” Mr. D’Angelo muttered. “So warm … hear you … heart … warm…”

His words didn’t mean anything to Britney. She dragged the nightstand close enough to where he hung and mounted the piece of furniture. The nightstand’s uneven legs rocked beneath her and she yelped, grasping Mr. D’Angelo’s body to keep from falling.

“Sorry,” she gasped as he groaned.

His arms were as burnt as his face, his fingers charred almost to the bone.

“Don’t look,” she muttered to herself, fighting the roiling in her stomach. “Just open the lock.” Her sweaty hand fumbled with the key. She inserted it into the lock and twisted. Metal clicked and Damien’s left hand dropped free. He grunted, held up only by the charred remains of his right arm. She reached over him.

“Just hold on,” she repeated as she forced the key into the lock.

Britney twisted.

Mr. D’Angelo dropped to the floor in a heap, moaning in agony. Britney hopped off and bent over him. Before she could react, he sprang at her. His hand slammed into her throat. She tried to scream, but he choked off her air. The world flew past and then she slammed into the bed, Mr. D’Angelo on top of her.

Fear hammered in her heart. She kicked and struggled.

And then his mouth bit into her neck. A shudder ran through her body. Euphoria filled her. The virgin gasped. Her pussy became molten fire as Mr. D’Angelo drank down her blood. Every beat of her heart pumped more and more into his mouth.

His hand let go of her throat. She didn’t fight any longer.

“Yes,” the virgin moaned, her eyes fluttering.

His mouth sucked. The blood flowed into his lips. He growled his enjoyment. Britney’s eyes widened. Vampire… drifted through her mind. She humped beneath him, her thighs spreading wide, rubbing her pussy against his stomach through her jersey. The world grew fuzzy and dark.

Her pleasure increased.

It seemed like an eternity that Mr. D’Angelo sucked at her neck. His teeth bit deep. It was so intimate. She was giving him her life. That made her happy. She turned her head, staring at his short, dark-brown hair. His skin healed, the charred fading.

I’m saving him. Her hand stroked his powerful arm. It was so hard to move. She grew weaker and weaker as the pleasure swelled inside of her. I saved him.

Britney’s virgin pussy came close to cumming. She just needed a little more. She barely writhed as the life flowed out of her. She moaned out, “Damien,” as darkness crashed down on her. A smile formed on her lips as her thoughts slowed.

Her heart beat weakly, struggling to pump as her blood pressure dropped.


Damien D’Angelo shuddered as the virgin blood flowed through his body. It was powerful, healing the burns. His body grew stronger with every flutter of her heart. She squirmed beneath him, gasping his name as her orgasm burst through her.

And then she fell still.

Damien lifted his lips, savoring the coppery tang as he stared down at Britney. Her chest barely rose as she took her last breasts. Her body convulsed as she entered into blood shock. He had drank too much of her blood, and her blood pressure dropped precipitously.

Death would follow.

“I know you,” Damien whispered as he stared at his victim. He didn’t have to drain her to the point of death, but he couldn’t control himself.

Her blood pooled onto the bedspread. His nose flared. His lips watered. He shouldn’t waste it. She was already dead. He should finish sucking her dry.

“But I know you.” He stroked her cheek. “I … watched you grow up. I was at your graduation.”

It was too late to change her into a vampire. She was too gone to have an orgasm.

Another possibility flowed through his mind—she was a virgin. Damien bit his wrist. His blood welled, full of the dark ichor that sustained him. He put it to her lips. Her body convulsed as his dark blood stained her lips.

She sucked.

Damien’s cock hardened as pleasure rushed from his wrist to his cock. Britney moaned as she drank his blood. It infected her while she lived, changing her. She wouldn’t be a vampire, but a thrall. A dark servant, still alive, still capable of heading into the sunlight. Only a virgin could become a thrall, her purity corrupted by the dark ichor. She would gain strengths, her body would produce blood faster.

She could be fed upon far past what a normal human could take and recover in a fraction of the time.

“You always were beautiful,” Damien whispered. “I saw the way you looked at me. I noticed, but I never acted. I was human. So weak, so confused. I didn’t want to hurt—”

Abigail’s face seared through his mind. The vampire had taken Abigail over and over on this bed, forcing Damien to watch and then leaving him to die. Damien ripped his wrist from Britney’s lips. He left the young girl to recover as the anger consumed him. He reached down and snagged the notepad from the floor. It was covered in Abigail’s handwriting.

“Faust Crespo sired me,” Abigail wrote. “I’ll be at Faust Tower.”

The notepad tore in Damien’s hands as he let out a violent snarl. Faust Crespo—the billionaire who had revitalized Chicago over the last twenty years was a vampire. The vampire that killed his wife and turned her into a whore.

Becoming a vampire didn’t change who Damien was in his core—he was a hunter. He had a prey to kill.


Father Hyrum Augustine stared at the temptation splayed out before him. Her naked, bubbly ass peaked out of the cheap, motel sheet. Her blonde hair spread out like gold on the pillow, hiding the innocence of her face.

He had plundered the girl over and over again yesterday. Her sinful body had inflamed his lusts. Her sweet name, Joy, belied how whorish she was. The priest had found her hitchhiking yesterday as he drove back to Chicago after the hunt in Albuquerque.

Damien had flown home before Father Augustine, but the equipment and weapons in the back of the parish van were not easily explainable to the TSA. So Father Augustine had, as usual, volunteered to drive the van home.

It was his duty as the chaplain to Damien and Abigail. He was their connection to the Jesuit Order, their armorer and shepherd.

But Augustine had wandered into sin. For years, he had lusted after the whorish parishioners of Our Lady Queen of Heaven, the church he ran in Pingree Grove, Illinois, a small town outside of Chicago. Their filthy, harlot bodies always inflamed his lusts, and the way they would confess their sexual sins would make him throb beneath his cassock.

The things he heard. The young ones engaging in premarital sex and sometimes even homosexuality, kissing and sucking and licking on their girlfriends while drunk at a party. The older ones confessing cheating on their husbands, consumed with their lusts for other men.

All the while, their filthy sins made him hard. Tempted him.

Yesterday, he could resist their sinful bodies no longer. Joy had claimed him. He picked her up on the side of the road and she had blown him. She had begged for it, dressing like a whore in a thong, tight jean skirt, and boob tube.

His dick was hard, jutting out from his naked body. He had fucked her last night in the motel room—she had to earn her dinner. And now it was time for her to earn her breakfast. The priest ran a hand through his dark hair, only going gray at the wings. He was middle-aged but had the strength of a twenty-year old.

He stared at her ass. That’s the one hole I haven’t plundered.

Father Augustine fell on the bed. The mattress squeaked beneath him. His hands seized her butt-cheeks, prying them apart. Joy stirred as he buried his face between her ass cheeks and tongued her sinful hole.

“Father,” the whore moaned, her hips undulating. “Already?”

“You have tempted me,” Father Augustine cried. “You slept naked, showing off your ass. You want me to fuck it.”

“No,” she groaned as his tongue swiped across her sphincter. “Father, please.”

“Quiet, harlot.” He squeezed her perfect asscheeks in his hands. “You have inflamed my lusts, and you will satiate them, whore.”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. So submissive. Joy knew her place. Life has beaten her down and prepared her for me.

The thought seemed to rise from outside of him.

His fingers dug into her ass cheeks as he tongued through her sphincter. She moaned as he savored her sour flavor. Her hips undulated. The whore loves it. All her protests were lies. She just didn’t want to admit her true desires.

She lives to serve me.

“Yes, Father,” gasped Joy as his tongue pressed into her bowels. She shuddered and pressed up against him. “Tongue me. So good.”

His right hand slid down. He would need to lube her. Joy groaned as his fingers stroked through her shaved, wet folds. Then the priest pressed into her depths. She shuddered and her pussy clenched down on his fingers.

He fucked his fingers in deep, stirring the whore’s sinful hole before he pulled out. Augustine lifted his lips and rubbed her juices on her asshole. He slammed his finger into her hot depths. Joy gasped and shivered.

“You like that, whore?”

“Yes, Father,” she purred.

“You want me to fuck your ass with my big cock, don’t you?”

“I do,” she panted. “It’s so wild. Use me, Father.”

“That’s why you slept naked with your ass uncovered.” Father Augustine smacked her perky ass. “You wanted to tempt me into sin.”

“I guess,” she moaned. “I love sinning with you, Father.”


Father Augustine buried two fingers into her cunt. Her asscheeks clenched as he worked them in and out, soaking them in her sin. He moved his fingers to her asshole and shoved them into her bowels. Her sphincter swallowed them, stretching about his digits.

His dick ached. He envied his fingers. He wanted to be buried into Joy’s tight asshole. He leaned down and took a lick at her spicy pussy while he fingered her ass. His tongue curled through her sticky passion.

“I think you’re ready, whore,” proclaimed the priest.

Father Augustine rose, his crucifix swinging about his naked chest and his cock bobbing before him. He spread her asscheeks. He placed the tip of his dick between them and pressed forward against her sphincter.

“Father,” shuddered Joy. “It hurts.”

“Relax and embrace your sinful actions. You tempted a man, and now you must satiate his lusts. Your sin, and the sin of all women, is responsible.”

“Yes, Father,” she groaned. “Fuck my body. I’m so sorry for tempting you. I can’t help it.”

“Woman could never fight her nature,” Father Augustine groaned as he pressed his dick forward. “You are no different than Eve in the garden seduced by the serpent.”

“No different,” she groaned.

His cock slid deeper and deeper into her bowels. The priest shuddered. She was so tight. He groaned as the pleasure rushed up his cock. He leaned over her sleek form, using his weight to drive deeper and deeper into her.

“Father,” she panted. “Please, not so hard.”

“Quiet, whore,” he growled. “The only words I want to hear from your lips is how much you love my cock in your sinful ass.”

“Yes … Father.”

Father Augustine buried into her depths. Then he drew back, savoring the tight grip of her asshole. His balls churned. He had fucked Joy three times yesterday, but her asshole was such a new delight, he feared he would cum as fast as a virgin.

He grit his teeth as he drove into her depths, controlling himself. Joy let out a shuddering moan, more pleasure than pain in her voice. Her asshole relaxed. His cock slid in easier. He pumped faster, his balls slapping into her taint while the cheap motel bed creaked.

“Oh, Father,” Joy moaned in surprise. “It’s … nice. Your cock … makes me feel … good.”

“Your body was made for sin,” Father Augustine groaned. “Do not be surprised that you enjoy it.”

“Yes, Father. I do enjoy it. Fuck my ass. Fuck my dirty, sinful ass.”

“Yes,” he growled, his strokes growing faster.

The priest’s groin smacked into her asscheeks. The slap rang through the room. He drew back and slammed in, growling his delight. He sucked on her neck as she gasped and cooed beneath him, her asshole so tight.

The whore bucked into his thrusts. Joy’s moans grew liquid with her desire. She undulated and writhed beneath him, her passions consuming her. The bed squeaked and groaned with the force of his thrusts.

“Yes, yes! Harder, Father! Fuck my ass harder! I’m so close. I’m going to cum.”

“Whore,” snarled Father Augustine. “That is all you are. A whore.”

“Your whore, Father,” she shuddered. Her asshole tightened on his cock. She bucked beneath him. “Yes, I’m cumming, Father. I’m such a whore, I’m cumming as you fuck my ass.”

“Yes, you are.”

Joy’s bowels massaged Father Augustine’s dick. He groaned through clenched teeth. He never wanted to stop fucking her barely legal asshole, but his cum churned in his balls. He slammed into her depths and erupted.

Blast after blast of his cum filled Joy’s ass. She squealed beneath him as the pleasure rushed through his mind. He never wanted to give this up. After thirty years of holding onto his vow of celibacy, the priest knew he could never go back.

“Oh, Father, that was hot,” Joy purred as he pulled his cock out of her asshole.

“You dirtied my cock, whore,” Father Augustine growled. He grabbed her blonde hair and pulled her face to his dick. “Suck it clean.”

Joy blanched. “Father, no. It’s been in my ass.”

“And you’re a whore, so you have no shame. Nothing is too dirty for you.”

Joy looked into his eyes. She shuddered, then nodded her head. “Yes, Father.”

The priest groaned in delight as her tongue licked at his dick. She cleaned him up, savoring every filthy bit. The priest smiled. “I’m taking you home with me. I’ll find a place for you to work in the church. You’ll be my little whore. I’ll fuck you all the time.”

“Yes, Father,” Joy purred between licks.


The demon Jezebel smiled as she watched the priest’s corruption. She only had to whisper a few words to send him over the edge and fuck Joy’s ass. Soon, he would be her weapon. She would turn him and make him defend the very thing he hated.


Jezebel delighted in her work. She watched the mortals as they dressed and headed to his parish van. Joy climbed in, a smile on her lips. She was the perfect tool for the priest’s corruption. Through her, Jezebel would make the priest forswear his vow to God and gain true power.

“What is all this back here, Father?” Joy asked as she peered in the back. “I … I was too scared to ask last night, but now…”

“The tools to fight evil,” Father Augustine answered. “True evil, not your whorish kind.”

“Wow,” the girl gasped. “With weapons? Are you a vigilante?”

“A vampire hunter.”

Joy’s eyes widened. She stared at the priest in awe. Jezebel smiled and pressed herself against Joy’s body from the Ether. She pressed her fingers into Joy’s mind. The girl needed to tempt the priest and push him over the edge.

It was Jezebel’s final intervention. A sanctioned one. No angel—like that cunt Aurora—could undo her work. Whenever an angel intervened with a mortal, somewhere a demon was allowed to intervene without Heaven’s reprisal. Jezebel could intervene whenever she wanted, but then Heaven would bring their might to bare.

But Heaven, bound by their rules, still had to intervene in the world and, thanks to those stupid rules, gave Jezebel the opportunities to play.

This time, Jezebel wouldn’t slip up and give Aurora excuse to cast her back into Hell.


The sun imprisoned Damien in his house. He could not escape its pure rays. He glanced at the heavy curtains covering the windows. Beams of sunlight leaked out, splaying across the wall. His skin crawled as he watched the dust dance in the pure shafts.

Britney slumbered on the bed as she recovered from her near death. Her blood scented the air. Damien ignored his hunger. He had fed enough. Instead, he planned. He had a hunt to conduct. Faust Crespo had turned his wife and taken her. Damien would get her back and avenge them both.

He sat on the bed beside the comatose Britney. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, her rhythm strong. Her breasts rose and fell in the Chicago Bear’s jersey, the collar stained with her blood. The puncture wounds had already healed.

Damien sat with his laptop resting on his thighs. The heat didn’t burn his naked legs like it would when he was human. Now his body drank in the heat, growing warmer than the ambient air temperature. His fingers hunted and pecked on the keys—he never learned Abigail’s ability to type.

His eyes flicked through the pages of the corporate website.

“Faust, Inc., leads the world in biomedical research, information technology, and aerospace hardware. With subsidiaries in the thirty countries and contracts with US, Canadian, and European Defense Departments, Faust, Inc. brings the future to the present.”

Damien rolled his eyes. He studied the pictures of the building. Friendly faces streaming in through the glass doors in the heart of Chicago. His keen eyes spotted the guards in the shadows. Men in suits, wearing sunglasses in doors.

You’re a vampire. Are your men trained to fight undead, Faust? Or are they just useful against humans?

Damien wrote on the very notepad that Abigail had used for her note. Then he went back to the computer. He used Google street viewer and circled the block of Faust Tower, examining the building. Two separate parking garage entrances, a main entrance, and three side entrances. He spotted more guards and plenty of security cameras.

He tabbed back to the Faust Towers, clicking on the public relations department. “Visit the amazing observation deck for a breath-taking view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago Skyline. Faust Towers, at 112 stories, is the tallest skyscraper in the United States and the fourth tallest in the world. Available for rent for parties and other special events.”

Damien noted that. The security had a hole if tourist were allowed access to building’s observation deck.

He switched to the biography of Faust Crespo on Wikipedia. “Faust Crespo is something of an enigma in these modern days, shunning public functions and celebrity in favor of quietly running the third largest corporation in the world from behind the scenes. His brief public appearances have always been at night, leading some to speculate that he suffers from prophyria, a rare disease where the suffer has an adverse reaction to sunlight from simple pain to rashes and open sores that can occur within minutes of exposure.”

“Or being a vampire,” Damien muttered. He shook his head. “Were you a vampire from the beginning? Or where you turned after founding your empire? How did the Knights Venator and the Jesuits miss you?”

Faust Crespo had power, and not just the temporal sort. Damien well knew Vampires, like most monsters, often made deals with demons. Faust would have demonic entities ensuring he remained undetected by the church and Heaven.

“Damn,” Damien muttered. It was strange to realize he was no longer on Heaven’s side. He stared at his hands. They were stronger than they had been. He could move objects with his mind and hear a pin drop half a mile away. If he dropped down the control on his senses, he would be assault by sounds, smells, and sights. There was so many more shades of color than Damien had ever realized. They could overwhelm him if he wasn’t careful, assaulting his mind.

He glance at the clock on the laptop. 9:18 AM. It was early summer. The sun wouldn’t set for nearly eleven hours. He was trapped in here. His wife was in the clutches of a sadistic vampire, her body used and degrade for the vampire’s pleasure, while he was imprisoned by the sun in his house. His anger rose. Damien snarled, his hands balling into fists. He seized his laptop and raised it before he stopped. He sat it on the nightstand and leaned back against the headboard.

I need to keep in control. I cannot let this rage poison me.

The last time he had been so angry, he was eighteen and marching through the halls of his high school with Abigail and their two friends, hunting the rapier preying on their school. Only he and Abigail had walked out alive after killing Vincent.

The anger had driven them. They hadn’t planned their hunt that well. They had no idea what they were walking into.

I can’t do that again. I need to plan. Faust is not Vincent. I need to go to Chicago and establish a base. Damien closed his eyes. I’ll need to reconnoiter the building. I’ll need to discover if he has more than human guards.

Damien’s eyes opened. Where will I get my equipment?

He and Abigail only kept a small amount of weapons and equipment in the basement. He had a crossbow, a silver machete, and a few vials of holy water. And no way to get more. He couldn’t go to Father Augustine and ask the Jesuits to outfit him.

I’m the enemy now. In a few days, Father Augustine will realize something has happened to me and Abigail. He’ll know we’ve fallen. Been turned. He’ll tell the order.

Then they’ll come for us.

The Knights Venator knew the greatest threat to the world were their fellow Knights fallen into darkness. Most vampires had no idea what their strength and weaknesses were. They were sired and cast into the world to be hunted. Few, like Faust, ever lived more than a few years.

The Knights were skilled, but an enemy that knew their tactics would have the advantage.

I should call Father Augustine and let him know what happened. He could help me kill Faust and…

Damien growled. His duty was clear. He and Abigail had to die. They had sworn oaths to protect the world. In fact, Damien should throw himself into the sunlight before he caused any more harm. He had already turned Britney into a thrall after almost killing her.

He stared down at her innocent face. He had watched her blossom into a young woman. How many other young women will I destroy? His eyes went to the sunbeam. All he had to do was walk to the window and throw open the curtains.

And die? Throw away everything before I’ve even avenged us? Before I freed Abigail?

Damien knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He knew his duty and he rejected it. He wasn’t ready to die. I have work to do.

Britney’s eyes fluttered open. She took a deep breath, her heartbeat quickening. Damien inhaled and savored the hot, salty scent of her life’s blood coursing through her veins. It mixed with a sweeter scent, the breast milk leaking from her nipples.

“Master,” Britney whispered. A shudder went through her. “You spoke in my dreams. You claimed me.”

“Did I?” Damien asked in surprise.

“Yes.” Her supple legs writhed together, the hem of her jersey sliding down her right thigh as she bent her leg up. Another artery surged life down her inner thigh, beckoning him. It mixed with the sweet scent of her pussy’s arousal. “In my dreams, your voice caressed me and bound me.”

Damien didn’t know what to say.

“I dreamed of this moment.” Her hand reached out, touching his naked thigh. Her skin was warm with life. His cock ached and hardened as she slid up. “I’ve wanted to be yours for so long. I’ve loved you from afar, never wanting to waste your time with my schoolgirl crush.”

“And now?” Damien groaned. He had never been unfaithful to his wife. Even dreams of other women made him feel guilty.

He only felt arousal now as his thrall’s hand reached his thick pubic hair.

“Now you’ve claimed me. You drank my blood. It was rapture, Master.” A shudder ran through her body. Her milk leaked from her nipples and stained the dark-blue of her jersey. “Magical.”

Damien’s eyes stared at her breasts straining her jersey, Her nipples were hard points centered in the dark spots. Her milk smelled almost as delicious as her blood. His cock ached harder as her fingers reached the base of his shaft.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Britney moaned as her hand stroked his shaft. He groaned at the warmth of her hand, her life, stroking up and down his dick. A bead of precum appeared at the top. “And now you’re something special. A vampire.”

“And that makes you wet?”

“Yes,” she moaned, leaning over. Her golden curls spilled about his thigh. Her breath was warm as it caressed over the tip of his cock. “So wet. I need to worship you. There’s this voice inside of me, telling me to be bad. To be your … whore.”

Damien savored the delicate shudder that ran through her body.

“Whore. You want that. You want to be my whore.”

“Yes.” Britney’s moan was as wanton as Abigail’s had been when Faust took her.

Damien seized her blonde hair and pushed her mouth on his cock. “Then suck, whore. Put that mouth to use. Worship me.”

Britney moaned about his dick. Damien closed his eyes. Her warmth infected him. Her tongue swirled about the tip of his cock. He had never felt another woman touch him there. Only Abigail.

And now my whore.

Damien smiled as Britney sucked. Her tongue swirled about the tip. She didn’t have Abigail’s skill. But she would learn. Her hand gripped the base of his cock as she sucked. His toes curled as the pleasure shuddered through him.

“That’s it, whore,” Damien growled, his fingers tight in her hair. “My whore.”

Another shudder ran through her body, accompanied by a low moan. Her pleasure vibrated his cock. He pressed her down, his cock sliding deeper into her mouth. Britney didn’t fight him. She would let him do anything to her body.

If he commanded her, she would slit open her throat and bleed to death for his pleasure.

His hips thrust up, pressing his cock deep into her mouth. His tip brushed the back of her head. He pulled her head up and then pushed her down. He groaned, savoring her mouth sliding up and down his dick while she sucked.

“You’re eager for my cum, whore.”

Another moan. The scent of Britney’s sweet pussy juices grew stronger, her cunt growing wetter. It mixed with the coppery scent of her blood pumping through her veins and the cream of her breast milk. Damien wet his lips, savoring the anticipation of sampling all her delights.

Her lips were sealed tight as he worked her mouth up and down his dick. The tip of his cock throbbed in her hot depth. Her tongue caressed him when he pulled her up, and then he pushed her down until it brushed the back of her throat.

“Don’t fight, whore,” Damien growled as he kept pressing.

Britney coughed and gagged as his cock forced its way down her throat. She didn’t fight it. She welcomed his cock. She moaned at her discomfort, her throat stretching around his thick shaft. She swallowed, massaging his dick.

“That’s it, whore,” he growled.

He pushed out his telekinesis. He pulled up her jersey, exposing the cheeks of her ass. Pale and delicious. She shuddered at the touch of his mind. He pinched her. She moaned about his dick, massaging it with her humming pleasure.

“Such a delicious whore. You are all mine. Forever.”

Britney’s musk grew stronger.

“That’s right. You are mine. You will help me rescue Abigail. Then you’ll serve us as our whore. Our thrall. Forever.”

Damien’s dick throbbed. He pulled her head up. She sucked the entire way. He snarled, his back arching and his balls boiling. The suction of her mouth pulled the cum out of his balls. He held her in place as the cum erupted.

Britney moaned in delight as her mouth was flooded with his salty cum. She swirled it around inside of her mouth. She drank it down. Thick swallows poured down her throat. Another blast erupted, filling her mouth.

“Damn,” he growled as he pulled her mouth off his dick, his cum staining her lips. “You were good. For a virgin.”

“Thank you, Master,” she groaned. “I am so happy I could serve.”

His canines grew into sharp fangs. He had to feed. “Let me see those tits. I’ve wanted to see them. I’ve noticed them straining your tops. You were always trying to attract my attention.”

“I was,” she panted as she ripped off the Bears jersey, carelessly tossing it on the floor. Her tits were ripe and large, but still perky with her youth. Barely more than eighteen. A succulent treat.

Damien pressed her down as he lowered his lips to her heaving tits. His hand squeezed them, sinking into their warmth. Blood pumped through them. Her milk beaded her pink nipples. A virgin with lactating tits.

What a marvel.

He leaned over and licked her nipple, his tongue swirling around and gathering up the droplets of creamy, sweet milk. The flavor danced on his tongue. He groaned as he let his enhanced senses experience all the delightful nuance.

“Let me nurse you, Master,” moaned Britney.

“I want more than breast milk,” Damien growled.

“I know,” she gasped. “Drink my blood. It’s why you made me your slave.”

“Thrall,” Damien corrected.

Her blue eyes fluttered. “Your thrall, Master. Feed off of me.” Her hands cupped Damien’s cheeks. She pulled him to her nipple. “Use me.”

Damien’s lips engulfed her nipple and areola. He sank his fangs into her areola. Britney gasped, her voice low and orgasmic. Her body undulated beneath Damien as her blood trickled into his mouth, coppery and delicious.

Damien suckled.

Britney moaned.

Her creamy breast milk squirted into his mouth, mixing with her blood. Damien’s cock throbbed as he ingested the two delights. The flavors mixed in his mouth, bursting with life. She nourished him, her hands stroking his face as he suckled.

Damien let his hands roam her body as he drank her breast milk and blood. Both were warm in his mouth, a mix of sweet and salt, tanged with copper. It warmed down his stomach. His cheeks hallowed as he suckled greedily for his treat.

“Oh, Master, yes,” gasped Britney. “That’s it. Feed from my tit. Let my body nourish and strengthen you. Oh, I love you, Master.” Love… Damien’s eyes flicked up to his Thrall. Her blue depths were wet with emotion. She bit her lip as she stared into his eyes. Her body undulated as he nursed. Her heart raced. Her pussy rubbed against his stomach as she humped and ground.

Damien lifted his lips. Blood beaded around her nipple, a trail running across the slope of her breast. He licked it up back up to her nipple and took a quick suckle, savoring the blood and milk mixed together. He pulled her face down and kissed her, sharing the flavors with her.

Britney moaned into the kiss, her tongue darting in, savoring her breast milk and blood mixed together. Her body bucked beneath him. Her flesh grew hotter as a small orgasm burst through her body.

“Master,” she gasped as he kissed down to her other breast, nipping and puncturing her skin, leaving bloody kisses in his wake.

His lips covered in crimson, he sucked her pink nipple into his mouth, her milk flooding his lips. His dick ached beneath him and her pussy smelled so intoxicating. He moved lower, biting and sucking her blood.

“Mmm,” Britney moaned, smearing her blood across her breasts and gathering the crimson beads on her fingers. She brought it to her lips and moaned as she sucked. “I used to hate this flavor, but now … it’s wonderful. My life…”

Damien grinned at her as he pushed her thighs apart. Her pussy beckoned. “You’ll drink plenty of blood.”

Britney smiled and licked her blood stained fingers.

Damien sank his teeth into her pubic mound. The blood flowed, staining her blonde curls and trickling down to the folds of her pussy. Her spread her open, stroking her hymen before he licked through her sweet flesh, gathering her pussy juices and blood.

“Master,” Britney gasped as he nipped her labia, sucking her blood before he found her clit. “Oh, master, you are driving me wild.”

“Good,” Damien snarled. “I want you wild.”

Britney grinned and brought her bleeding nipple to her lips. She sucked her blood and milk, moaning as Damien sucked her clit into his mouth. His tongue flew over it before he nipped the sensitive bud.

Britney’s body bucked as the pain shot through her. She moaned around her nipple as her body thrashed. Her pussy clenched, and her juices flowed out as her cum erupted through her body. Damien drank down her sweet juices and blood, letting the two flavors mixed together.

“Are you ready to be my whore?” Damien growled as he crawled up her body.

“Yes, Master,” moaned Britney. “Pop my cherry.”


Britney’s body trembled as she lay beneath her master. Her body was covered in tiny bites oozing blood. Her lips were stained with the mix of her creamy breast milk and her blood. Every little wound throbbed with agonizing bliss.

Her Master’s cock pressed on her hymen. He stared down at her, his dark eyes commanding her soul. Britney’s heart fluttered in excitement. She was eager for more pleasure. I’ve dreamed of this moment so many times.

Her Master thrust.

Britney gasped as her cherry tore. Pain and pleasure rushed out of her pussy as Damien sank into the depths of her folds. Her thighs locked around his waists as she pulled down his strong, cool body. Her breasts pressed to his chest, smearing her blood into his muscles.

My blood on his cock, his chest, and his lips, the former virgin gasped as her Master’s cock slammed in and out of her pussy.

“Fuck me, Master,” Britney gasped, moaning like the girls in the pornos Mary had shown her. “Pound my cunt. It belongs to you.”

“Yes,” he growled, his lips leaning down to her neck.

Her heart beat faster as his fangs sank into her flesh. She shuddered and bucked into his thrusts as he drank her blood. It pumped out of her in a rush of bliss. To Britney, it was the most intimate act. She fed her Master.

“I love you,” she groaned as her body undulated beneath him.

Her Master sucked harder at her neck. Her pussy clamped down on his cock. Her fingers clawed into his back as she undulated. She savored every inch of his dick reaming her pussy. All the pain and pleasures of her body swirled together.

Damien growled into her neck as her blood flowed into him. Her pussy tightened and relaxed. Her toes curled. Britney shuddered as her orgasm swelled within him. Her moans grew louder. She screamed her delight.

“Fuck me, Master!” Let everyone hear how my Master has pleasured my body. “Pound my cunt. Cum in me. Let my body satiate you. I’m your slave.”

Her orgasm burst through her. Britney shuddered beneath her Master. Her pussy spasmed, milking his cock. She was eager for his seed. Her fingernails bit into his back as his teeth dug deeper into the flesh of her neck.

His body spasmed. His cock slammed into her depths. Her Master erupted into her.

“Yes,” she gasped as her pussy milked him. “Oh, yes, Master. So good.”

Damien lifted his lips, stained with her blood, and kissed her. She moaned, drinking in her blood. Another orgasm rippled through her body. The world spun around her as she was consumed with passion for her Master.

And then he collapsed on her.

She held him. He rolled off of her and she cuddled up against him. He stroked her skin and closed his eyes. All the wounds on her body healed, the pain fading as her body used her Master’s cum to replenish the fluids he had stolen.

Damien fell into sleep.

Britney smiled at her Master. She rolled out of bed and found her jersey, pulling it on. His cum ran down her thighs—she loved it. Her fingers reached down and scooped up the hot treat. You just rest, Master. I’ll make sure you have a tasty meal when you wake up. I’ll take care of everything.

Britney had a bounce to her steps as she walked out of the bedroom. She paused, smiling at her sleeping Master and his strong body, then she headed down the stairs, her bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor.


Aurora watched Britney, her heart breaking for the girl. “What is she doing?”

“Fetching Damien a woman to feed on,” Gideon sighed as he studied his notepad.

“Another victim?”

The spectacled angel nodded, his face somber. “Her friend.”

If only I had crossed over and saved Damien. Then Britney and her friend wouldn’t suffer. Was obedience to Heaven worth having to see the consequences of my inaction?

“Will he still kill Faust, or will he degenerate into a frenzy of feeding?”

“With Britney fetching him this snack…” Gideon swallowed. “There is a 60% chance Damien kills the girl outright. If he does, he will have a true hunger for blood. He will spiral out of control and lose all focus on rescuing his wife.”

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. How much damage will my failure cause?



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