A soft cough makes the lad look up, and then his eyes widen and he tries to get away from her. The her with a long cape swirling around her booted ankles, the her in a crimson corset and black laces, black fishnet stockings clasp her long legs and the single, white glove on her hand, a splash of colour yet somehow all the more chilling for it. all mortals know and can understand, on an instinctive level, how a vampire is their predator.
“Wh-who are you?” He stammers out, his voice still containing a boyish quality.
“I am either your saviour or your death.” Comes the calm, and somewhat cold reply. A wind blows in through the window, ruffling the pale, pale woman’s long cloak. He shivers violently, rubbing his bare arms in an effort to get warm but she doesn’t notice the cold, or doesn’t seem to.
“What do you mean? H-how did you get in here!”
“You have reached the end of your pitiful existence, one way or the other, the only choice you have really is how you will go.” She replies, extending a white hand, silver in the moonglow from out the barred window. Her eyes dark, fathomless, bottomless as his fearful eyes look up at her “You can join me, accept my gift, reject it to be destroyed by your brethren, or become my meal.” She continues, her full lips moving in her face, black in the moonlight.
He blinked, stunned, but already his mind was processing the information.
He most definitely did not want to die, by any method, so that only left one option, accepting this…gift of hers. “What kind of gift?” he asks suspiciously, slowly standing.
Her lips curve into a triumphant smile, he’s hooked. Now all she has to do is reel him in…”Immortality, of never having to eat cooked meals again, the flesh of any creature, plant or animal. That is the gift I’m offering you.” She murmurs softly, walking towards him, her hand still extended.
“What’s the catch?”
“You’ll never see your friends again, nor the sun.”
“Alright…I guess, it’s not like I’d be missed.” He reaches out and takes her cold hand, hard, like marble. He spares almost a whole second in hesitation once his hand’s in her grip, but then she’s pulling him into her embrace and all else is forgotten.
The vampiress almost purrs, he’s hers! Enfolding her arms around him, she holds his fragile mortality, the brief spark of that flame of life against her immortal coldness, savouring the warmth. Then, her grip changes, one cold, slender hand holding his shoulder the other tilting his head to the side, baring his sweet throat to her. Her lips brush down over his cheek, his ear, kissing, caressing the lad before they settle on the frantically beating pulse in his neck.
He shivers, a faint fission of fear as he realises that she is a lot older than he thought, not in her twenties, but older, ancient, hundreds of years old. Then, the sharp kiss, the pain of her teeth sinking into his neck, puncturing the artery, the drag of her mouth as she draws his blood out of his veins and into her, a much needed and desired meal.
Vision darkening, the lad sways in the immortals grasp, just shy of fainting when her lips and mouth withdraw. Her tongue grazes over the wound, healing it as she opens her wrist, setting it to his mouth. Instinctively, the newly made vampire sinks his teeth in, feeding hungrily on the offered blood, filling his veins with her dark, soulless blood.
He shudders, his mouth releasing her wrist and she seals the wounds, releasing him. He stiffens, back arching, a cry of pain echoing through the prison, a weeping cry of immortal agony as he dies, shedding his mortal life like unwanted skin. Rising, trembling from the floor he runs his tongue curiously over his teeth, gazing up at the beauty before him as a strange new hunger fills his mind.
“Come.” She says, extending her hand once more “Now we Feed.”
First pre-edit edit, in the process of rewriting
Add more stuff between paragraphs, more story, more dialog. Slow things down, you don't need to start at the speed of light, it's confusing. And 9 out of 10 reader will tell you they prefer reading a slow start to a story than a story they lose track of.
The fledgeling bites and drinks their sires blood otherwise they die die, not mortal die.
Hmm...I'm not entirely sure what the meaning of 'yank' is...but sorry bout the spelling thing...it always messes me up...that kinda thing. I appologise for the misinterpritation.
Little note: The reader doesn't know everything the writer does. For example I didn't know about the whole fledgling thing. Explain it, it makes the readers job easier. I don't want to have to read Anne Rice in order to understand how the beggining of your story works. It's simply a matter of description.
And once again, sorry if I sound condesending in my crits, I don't mean to, I just tell it like it is. And to me, that's how it is. If you post it, I'll read it and tell you what I think, with no intention of being mean or anything. Once again I appolagize.
Happy writing!!!
