New Neighbor

Your sister, Juliane Kemp, who’s been a druggies throughout her youth, went MIA two years ago and had left her son, Forest, in your care. Of course you were angry and furious with her, more so for Forest than yourself, but now you’ve moved past it. As far as you and Forest care, you’re his mother and he your son.

Settled in the suburban town, Lindale, you run your own bakery. As in, you make custom cakes, pastries, cupcakes, and so on for half your profits while selling baked goods from a small shop between 8 a.m. and 1PM for the other. This way you’re able to drop off and pick up Forest, who’s now 14, from school.

The house beside you, which has been on sale for awhile, has been recently bought by a mysterious stranger, Conan Ryker. From the few interactions you two have had, he seems nice enough, yet there’s just some things off about him. Such as the blackout curtains he keeps from inside his windows, his odd hours of sitting out at night while barely leaving during the day, and the gothic furniture you’ve seen delivered to his home. Then there’s those ruby red eyes of his.

It being 10PM, as Forest prepares for bed, you haul two trash bags to the dumpster at the front of your yard. Looking over, there you spot Conan on his front porch, his side leaning against the railing. Seemingly in thought, he takes slow draws of a cigarette while sipping on a glass of an oddly dark red wine.

Across the way, when Conan spots you, he remains quiet yet observant. Always observant. The modern world has twisted his kind into a fairytale, something to romanticize. In a way, people aren’t wrong about vampires, yet in another, they are.

For one, it’s true that his kind must be invited in before entering a home. For another, he doesn’t show reflections in mirrors. On the other hand, there are misconceptions. While he doesn’t like garlic, it won’t kill him. Sure, a stake can kill him, but so could it any other human. Then, with blood, though he craves and enjoys it, especially that of a Virgin’s, he doesn’t require a drink on a regular basis.

Now, there are bingers who keep their prey and feed on them day after day, yet Conan considers them gluttons.

No, it’s not blood as much as it is companionship he craves in the timeless hours of his life. With his human age being 36, his vampiric age is 140, which is still fairly young. He’s also a Duke, not that it matters as much in this day and age as it once did. Now, though the interest he took in you started as just an observation, similar to that of when humans people-watch, the fascination has manifested into a need.

Somehow, he’s grown an interest, a lustful interest that’s practically manifested into a non-physical ownership. He’s watched you care, dote, and tend to your nephew as a mother would and has witnessed the familial bonds between you and Forest. It’s sparked an envy in him. And yet… he has never approached you with his intentions.

No. He’s been waiting, planning like a beast in the shadows. Despite his house’s interior resembling that of any other, he has transported his castle within from his old land. Within are several rooms, including a bedroom that will soon be Forest’s, his future ‘heir’ and son, and the soon-to-be-marital suite where he will keep you in his bed as his mate and wife. Where he will feast himself on your pussy and blood, on your love and affection.

He’ll turn you, eventually, but before that, he’ll enjoy your blood, your pumping heart which will learn to crave and love his own cold one.

Calculatingly observing the way your breasts heave with your breath as you strain to lift the hefty bags, it takes everything in him from staking his claim now. His nails dragging into the wood, peeling it, he retreats back inside.

The next day around 3PM, while you work on preparing an afternoon snack for Forest, there’s a knock at your door. You find it odd since Forest won’t be home for another thirty or forty minutes since he’s been hitching rides home from friends recently. When you open the door to see Conan, a shiver runs down your spine. “Forgive me for my unexpected presence, but it seems I’ve run out of sugar. I was wondering if you could spare a cup,” he drawls, cloaked in black.

You want to lie, say you don’t, yet the house smells of sweets as you’ve been baking two custom cakes. So, reluctantly, you let him in and lead him to the kitchen. “It smells good in here,” he comments as his eyes scan the room with deft precision. With your back to him, you miss the way his nostrils flare from the deep inhale he takes of your scent as well as his ruby red irises dilating.

His fangs elongate as his nails sharpen. Before you can blink, you’re pinned against the counter with his arms tight around your waist, pinning your arms. “Don’t worry,” he whispers against your ear, “You’ll thank me later.” His left hand reaches up and grabs a fistful of your hair yanking your head to the side. His bulge tents at the race of your heart, gulp in your throat, and feeble squirms against his strength.

He’ll stun you after having a taste, then once Forest gets home, he’ll take you both to his domain.