Mordimi (Bite Me)

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A world parallel to the human way of life, decaying under ancient rule. Ambrose Mathias has been here from the start. Now, he must decide to keep the legacy thriving or change the way of the Lamia lifestyle. Kris Greene a human obsessed with vampires, teaches Ambrose there is more to existence than surviving.

Horror / Romance
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1. So They Meet

When in the company of a Lamia beware... We exaggerate our charms, luring in the simple-minded, the feed, the prey. Ah yes, the victim… the word itself is enticing.

Ambrose scanned the atmosphere of the dive bar. Exceedingly dim, it resembled the stereotypical dark vampire den read about in teen romance novels. The gaudy red velvet clung to the walls and encased the establishment in a cocktail of smells, ranging from perfume to stale cigarettes. He focused and the environment became strikingly bright. Steel-grey eyes flicked from face to face; a small crowd began forming around the couch where he sprawled out his long limbs. The laughter of the group was intoxicating; his fangs tingled at the prospect of sinking into these drunken vampire wannabes. He rolled his head back to look up at the blonde trying to massage his shoulders. She was ordinary but viewed herself otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to seduce him out of this club, only to claim she was able to snatch the unattainable. Heavy makeup hid the nights she spent out, fake fangs grazed her plush lips, and the cheap hair extensions framed her wide face. A slow smile crept along with his own, and he lazily searched the group for the taste he wanted to indulge.

Those around him continued speaking, oblivious to his disinterest. Where is he? As his eyes jumped from place to place, a flash of white caught him. A small woman at the bar wore garb unfit for the crowd. Her jeans, long army green trench coat, and thick combat boots were a striking contrast to the pixie cut of her light hair. Ambrose had felt her presence before. She came to this dive bar often, just as he did. A drink sat untouched between her hands. A glass containing a liquid that was… carbonated. He could tell even from this distance. Finding someone sober in a place like this was unusual. Ambrose let out a soft chuckle, pushing his sense out to make her notice him. He needed to see this creature up close. She radiated anger and disappointment; yet, another sharp contrast to the desperation and lust of the others around him. Her supposed purity cleansed his atmosphere. Notice me.

That’s when she turned. The woman looked puzzled in his direction; her white-blonde hair fluttered about her forehead. Short and choppy. He smiled at the blue tips of hair that were now apparent. Interesting. She hopped off the bar stool gripping the strap of her worn leather satchel. She reminded him of the fairies he read about oh so many years ago. So small and fragile. But now her look was not of confusion. This creature was confident; she meant business. He instantaneously regretted his invitation. Wendi always told him his curiosity would one day cause him trouble. The woman had traversed the club; carelessly - dare he say stamping- past the irritated looks of others. She stood before him; she had to be five feet six inches. He eyed her again. Yes, he was right. She smiled in a way that Ambrose knew...practiced, even as her hands incessantly fidgeted with the strap of her bag. The whole thing was a bad idea. Ambrose commanded the shadows to mask him, allowing the light to bare only his eyes. He now knew she was too curious.

“Hey, can I get an interview with you?” She called out over the blaring music that only seemed to get louder. An interview. He watched her steadily as her discomfort grew. She’s not interesting after all. He sighed. Ignoring her, he turned as if to speak to the crowd flocking him.

“Excuse me?”

Ambrose turned away again. And yet she refused to leave. The glare she cast deepened, and a scowl took over her face.

“I need to speak with you.” She stood her ground and gazed at the shadowed silhouette, confused as to why only his eyes were visible. She fought the urge to glance around and see what form of lighting rigged the light so well that only his steel-gray eyes were unveiled.

Her petulance alarmed him. Maybe she is interesting. Another glance just over her head, is she a hunter? An intake of breath, no, she does not reek of one.

Ambrose stared at her boldly. He couldn’t fathom her interest. His mind betrayed him and began picking apart her face. She looked as if she wanted to place him under a microscope and take samples of his being. Astonishingly, he found himself too uncomfortable. A rare feat. The last person to do that was a companion he had met in the early eighteenth century.

“The name is Kris, and I would like an interview,” her dark brown eyes met him. He lacked the compulsion necessary to send her off. No, not a lack. He no longer wished to compel her as a familiar urge began building in the base of his throat.

He shook his head lightly and hair that cascaded to his neck tickled with the movement. Slowly lifting his glass of wine, he appraised her over the brim. The immediate eye contact made her jittery again, eager to finally have his attention. Ambrose held her gaze, chuckled slowly, rumbling “you rudely interrupted my conversation and expected something from me?” His crowd stilled and murmured their assent. Ambrose’s lips curled seductively, and the shadows which hid his face camouflaged the flash of fangs that grazed his lower lip. Not now! He didn’t have time for this. The fangs' appearance meant feeding was due. At the buzzing of the phone in his pocket, he knew others were aware of it too. He could feel his pupils dilate and that was a sign it was ready to leak into his iris, to show the club his hunger. An outcome he would not allow. And the shadows had only covered--

“What?” She gasped.

Ambrose leisurely stood and brushed off the lingering grasps of the crowd. He needed to get out of here, he needed to feed, and she needed to move. His phone chimed.

“Excuse me, Madame, yet I must take my leave. I must attend a prior engagement. You have caused me to delay, and now I am late.”

Kris, fumed and wanted to laugh, but he wanted to drain her after seeing the rage in her eyes. Enough. He hid his horror. The killing had not been on his mind for a long while. He was usually more reserved and hadn’t participated in killing since 1736, a brutal and necessary kill. Ambrose brushed past Kris and made his way through the intoxicated dancers and wasted sleepers. Why won’t she stop? Her energy tailed him as she matched his pace to the front of the club. Embarrassment oozed from her, wrapping around him like a dense liquid. Is it my turn to be hunted?

“Fine, may I at least have your name?”

Ambrose whipped to a halt, and his delight, startled her, “Ah, but what will you give me for it?”

Her eyes darted to the sweaty bodies swaying to the music. The song had turned quiet and seductive, sexual. Her cheeks flamed crimson. He was now visible, whatever light show he played back there had vanished. He towered over her six feet in height, his hair loosening from its ribbon at the nape of his neck, and now his sharp angular features made her breath catch. The dark hair slipped slightly below his shoulders framing his high cheekbones and square jaw. Kris now stepped back. For a moment he was confused at the flash of desire evident in her brown eyes. However, the glimpse of emotion diverted into concern causing the ache in his fangs to intensify, Smart girl.

“E-excuse me?” The stammer was followed by her regaining a confident stance.

“Is that not how this works?” Advancing closer, he gestured to the vampire wannabes sucking on each other’s neck, a club full of hickies, and plastic fangs. Her gaze followed his arm, and the crimson of her blush blossomed down her throat. The throb of her pulse quickened, and he licked his dry lips. Time to go. Thoroughly ensured that she was rooted to the club floor, Ambrose left. Kris would no longer follow, he stepped out.

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