Branded

So dark, it was always so dark.

Draven looked around the dreary space he occupied. His ears pricked up, listening to the faint sounds of water dripping in the distance while he trekked through the aphotic streets of New Orleans. And although the night was filled with startling stars in the inky sky, Draven saw every little nuance and heard almost every sound. Even the mice scattering down the alleyway he now stalked ricocheted through his eardrums. He sensed every soul no matter how small and smelled every human being in his radius. So many years in this realm, and yet his bloodlust was still as potent of that of a young vampire.

The French Quarter was bustling with tourists, or walking blood bags as Draven deemed them. He didn’t always kill his food; no, he played with them a little, too.

The pretty ladies of the world flocked to Draven. He knew his 6’6 tattooed, bulky form with long black dreadlocks resting on his shoulders drew them to him. What always had the women swooning were his mismatched eyes.

His left eye was the color of amethyst and his right was the color of a deep ruby red. Both were accompanied with black speckles. The red iris was compliments of his fucked up mother. Both eyes should have been the normal purple hue that most vampire males inhabited. But, hey, his canines and his dick received a workout due to the difference so he couldn’t hate that red eye completely, or so he tried to convince himself.

Draven wasn’t going to allow himself to walk down memory lane tonight, no fucking way. He had yet to feed. It’d been two days, which was a new record for him in this century. He couldn’t shake the compulsion to linger around the quarter instead of feeding, though, he had no idea why.

His veins itched and the blood felt like volcanic lava pumping viciously throughout his body. That’s how he would describe the blood lust and hunger if anyone ever asked such a stupid question.

The air hummed and the scents wavered around him, but there was something different about this night. Draven sensed uncertainty in the air. Shaking himself out of his inner thoughts, he noticed a busty brunette careening down the dimly lit alleyway. Oh, you stupid, stupid mortal.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to drunkenly stagger down dark alleyways? You never know who you could bump into?” Draven’s voice dripped with lust and malice.

The brunette hiccupped. “Who–who the hell do you think you’re talking to mister! I am not drunk!” She hiccupped again. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you how to treat a lady—oh wait—you look so pretty. Hey mister. What’s your name?”

Draven cocked his head to the side. This woman was completely out of it, and she clearly didn’t see the danger she just wavered into.

He was in front of her before she could blink. Draven didn’t think the woman sensed how vulnerable she was right now.

The alleyway smelled of stale piss and alcohol. Draven watched her wobble on her red heels as she waggled a finger in his face.

“So pretty. You—your eyes are amaziiiinngg!”

Again with the eyes.

She bored him. However, she looked like she was going to be a willing hole for him to stick his dick into and her jugular vein thrummed recklessly beneath her milky skin, reeling him in. Draven sensed that soon he would end the two-day hiatus. He would have his canines embedded deep into the crook of her neck, taking his fill, and then everything would be right in his fucked up little world. The darkness always clouded his common sense. Not even his father’s blood could save him from the monster that he knew he was deep down inside.

Draven ran a callused finger up miss brunettes’ arm until he felt her vein jumping under his digit.

“You like my eyes? Then look at them. Mesmerizing aren’t they?”

She submitted, and he’d barely summoned any of his magic. Her eyes glazed over and she moaned. Ah yes, in the realm of stupefied, there you go.

His teeth sunk deep into her jugular vein and he drank greedily. After two days, he was famished. The woman writhed and mewled between his onslaught and he knew she would be dripping between her thighs. Draven preferred to place them in a state of bliss when he fed. But only if he’d figured the mortal deserved it, of course, and if he wasn’t on a rampage. When that happened, he enjoyed the fight the humans projected. More to the point, he relished it.

The chase, the screaming, the clawing, and the raw energy that smashed through everything that was supposed to be good within his immortal soul, that’s what he craved. However, the most compelling thing that came from the chase was the blood tasted sweeter. He growled around her neck as his thoughts wreaked havoc in his colossally fucked mind.

The copper tang spanned his palate and once he finished, Draven muttered, “Revensivia”. Uttering that word reversed the compulsion, the stupor in which the mortal was placed, and she was back in the land of the living.

He hated fucking under the influence of his magic, his transotic. That was the reason most vampires were able to fly under the radar. That ability gave them the capacity to feed as if there was no such thing as blood sucking fiends in the world. Or vampires who stalked their prey in the darkest recesses of the earth. Like dark alleyways.

This type of compulsion sent the mortal into a slight trance, a feeling of tranquility and caused a spike in their libido, giving them a desire to be rooted. However, having sex with a mortal while in that state of mind made fucking a loaf of soggy bread more appealing, and Draven wasn’t having it. He needed to feel alive, even if it was only an illusion.

“Hey mis–mister, you’re so pretty. Your eyes, ohmygaaawwd,” the brunette slurred.

Draven rolled his eyes all the way to another dimension. These fucking eyes.

He pulled down his ripped jeans so they sat just under his hard ass cheeks and massage his length through his briefs.

“You want to see what else is pretty?”

Brunette’s eyes were the size of saucers as her pixie head bobbed up and down. She attempted to lick her lips in a sexy gesture. She failed. Miserably.

He released his heavy cock from his black briefs and stroked up and down his length a couple of times. He watched the woman’s reaction but what was more evident was the scent of her arousal. Her lust, her gluttony, she was wound so tight and ready to combust. He sauntered toward her, cool and calculated. She was like clay waiting for him to mold to his liking.

Draven finally looked at her, completely for the first time, taking in her short sapphire dress that barely covered her ass cheeks. Her brunette hair was rumpled and her brown eyes resembled mud more than the chocolate brown they should have been. She was high, and not just from the endorphins his bite mark released.

“Let me show you pretty, baby. Lift your dress up, pull your panties to the side and show me your hungry cunt,” he drawled. He didn’t even need the power of transotic to have her capitulating to his demands.

Her dress was up and she was saturated. If Draven was honest, this woman was completely underwhelming. However, he needed the release after the last couple of days, and especially after feeding. He was a vengeful and irritable bastard if he didn’t pair the two together. She will have to do.

Draven turned the woman to face the dirty brick wall and sniffed her once again. No vampire blood lingered within in her body so he didn’t need to wrap his dick up in plastic before fucking her.

He thrust into her relentlessly and she screamed out in pleasure and pain. Not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention, he clamped his palm over her mouth and pummeled into her over and over again. She was wet and gapey as hell. She came, but he definitely wasn’t. Screwing miss brunette was like throwing a sausage down the hallway.

Draven withdrew and the woman groaned in protest. He spun her around, lifted her chin, and said, “Irrevensvia”.

The word made a mortal do whatever the vampire intended, or simply forget what had transpired between them. It all depended on what the vampire desired at the time.

And this time he wanted her to forget. He used his vamp ability to get the fuck out of the alleyway. Miss Brunette wouldn’t remember a single thing that transpired between the two of them. He only wished he could say the same for himself.

He woke late the next day under the French Quarter where he lived. He always drew strength from the earth so living underground was a no brainer; he was in his element. Stretching in his king size bed, he admired the ebony four poster then groaned while looking down at his morning wood jutting toward the ceiling.

Draven loved his space. His lair was harnessed with all sorts of sexual torture equipment: benches, paddles, whips, shackles and swings hanging from doors and ceilings, tonnes of candles for wax play and a shit load of other contraptions.

He was selective with who he invited into his humble abode, or rather licentious chamber. He rarely played with any humans but he did have a couple of hookups if he was in dire straits, and in need to exploit the demon that clawed him from the inside out. However, human stamina was no match against vampires. Draven generally contacted supernatural beings when he was feeling ferocious.

The past three days his body hummed with anticipation and prickled with something he couldn’t name. He’d never experienced these feelings before. At 327 years of age, he had convinced himself he’d partaken in every single emotion known to mankind. The top runners being pain, guilt, lust and wrath.

He still hadn’t forgiven his mother for what she’d done. And his father, fuck, it’s like he was a fucking orphan. The loneliness plagued Draven, often. After everything that had transpired, he was determined to keep every relationship casual and only to satiate his blood lust, sexual depravity and hunger. He was fine with this, or so he continued to tell himself.

Occasionally when the nights were too long and the abyss fathomless, Draven would immerse himself in Grey Goose, Jack Daniel’s, brawls, women, and of course, blood. Those moments were hazy and his recollection vague and incomplete. He was reckless. And although those feelings were what every crackpot in New Orleans desired, it wasn’t what any vampire needed to hear about, or see. Especially since they were meant to be mythical creatures and not a reality. Thankfully, those blood hangover moments didn’t happen as often as they used to, and they required a shit load of built up negative energy and emotions to detonate. Thank the goddess.

What was he saying? The goddess hadn’t spoken to him in many years. The tattoos she gifted him with remained embedded into his ancient canvas.

Draven pondered about what the fuck was going on with him. He pushed off of his obsidian 1000 count sheets and sat on the side of the bed, resting his elbows on his naked inked knees. His dreadlocks fell forward, and he caught sight of some of the tired beads still threaded through his mane. His mind was running frantic and he couldn’t decipher what was happening to him. The constant gnawing under his epidermis, even though he’d fed less than twelve hours ago. The erratic mood swings, the way his cock hung heavier than it ever had in his long life, and that was saying something. Draven sensed that his life was changing but he just didn’t understand how.

Lost in his ruminations, he barely registered the hefty footfalls entering his domain. Draven remain seated on the end of his bed, naked, as he finally sensed his brother, Emilio.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?” Draven retorted.

“Oh come on now, little brother. Is that any way to greet your older, more handsome brother?” Emilio countered.

He snickered then looked up through his dark, long eyelashes at his half-brother. Emilio stood 6’3 with ash blonde tousled hair. He was built, but not as defined as Draven. His gifted tattoos from the Goddess seemed luminous on his pale skin, and the fucker possessed two equally bright amethyst irises. Emilio’s eyes didn’t have the black speckles around them like Draven’s, and it served as another reminder of the mistake he was, the monster he was. His fucking brother stood there taunting, smirking, because the wanker knew it.

Draven sighed, “What do you want Emilio?”

“Nothing. I was picking up some negative vibes so I thought I should check on you,” he chortled.

“Wow, thanks. I’m fine. Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, fuck off,” Draven said dryly.

“Such a sour prick, and an ungrateful one at that, aren’t you? Luckily Delilah isn’t here to see you like this,” he said smugly.

Draven saw the color red and stars formed behind his eyes. He boomed, “You do not fucking mention her name, ever! Are we fucking clear? Now get the fuck out of my chamber before I obliterate you like the bottom feeder you truly are!”

Emilio chuckled and walked out the way he came. Draven swore he heard him mutter under his breath, “At least I’m not an abomination.”