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A Soft Caress from The Past

Sighisoara, Romania

Dracon looked up at the sepia mounted portrait of a woman he once loved. For all the bloody wars he has won in the name of his Deity. Only to return from war to accept the fate his one and true love have been killed by the hands of his rival. 

The image of his woman's lifeless body still cradle his thoughts century to century.

Dracon took a sip of pure blood suckled from the vein of one of his midnight roaming concubines. He placed the tulip glass on the fireplace mantel board. He extended his palms out toward the flickering flames; he then rubbed them together. He held his hands up and turned them over. His palms provided no warmness. He balled his hands in frustration.


He banged his fist down on the mantel board.

For once in his lifetime, he would like to walk among the day walkers, embrace the security of a female’s warmth, and sink his emotions; carried away by the love of a warm-bodied female.

Dracon looked back up at the portrait of his one and true love, Naynina. The only woman whose pure blood would give him the offering to face daylight without physical remorse and return him to the physical metamorphosis of his grandeur self-worth.

There was a knock at the door.

Dracon turned toward the door.


His butler twisted the doorknobs and pushed the doors open. He bowed, lifted his head, and then looked across the bedroom.

“Sir, would that be all before I retire.”

“That would be all.”

The butler stepped back and pulled the double doors close.

Dracon looked around the interior of his bedroom.

It was quiet, other than the unified howling of the wolves calling out into the night.

Dracon walked over to his bed and mounted three steps. He sat on his King size mosquito-net bed. He looked over his shoulder at the opposite side of empty space. He palmed his pencil thin goatee down. He looked across the bedroom back up at the portrait.

Melancholy stabbed at a heart, which has now hardened so very long ago.

There was once a very beautiful woman who laid near his presence. Making love to him, sharing his laughter, until his lineage was cursed by the veil of darkness; thirsting no more for knowledge, defeating battles, the craving of a very beautiful woman's love, and the tenacity to fight the will of good, but now the thirst of human blood for survival and the death it advocates has suffocated his existence. The human act to denounce his true calling to fight for the good has stifled him in his own mental doom of despair. The only thing he has now, is an occasional mental remembrance of a pair of luscious sweet lips, haunting light-brown eyes, and breasts that would make a man proud to suckle.

Dracon slipped out of his black boots. He stood and removed his Brocade Tailcoat, his satin cravat shirt, and then pulled down his brocade pants. He tossed everything at the bottom of the bed.

Dracon pulled back the silk bed covering and got under the cover. He placed his hands behind his back and looked up at the ceiling. His skin began to tingle. He refused to submit to the calling of the night. He has keep his thirst for blood suckling, seemingly under control. He sniffed the air. The aroma of the one woman who kept his bed satisfied, and his hunger to make love too is now only a figment of his imagination.

There was a knock at his door.

Dracon sat up.


Someone twisted the doorknobs and pushed both doors open.

A woman entered his bedroom.

“I was wondering, if you…ahh would like to share that spacious bed you have over there.”

“I’m satisfied for the night.”

Monet snapped her fingers.

A young woman appeared at Dacron’s threshold.

Dracon noticed she was a virgin to his castle. He tossed the silk cover aside.

“Bring her closer.”

“I thought you would reconsider.”

Monet slipped out of her princess coat.

The garment landed on the red velvet carpet

“Come my fresh one. Your blood will warm our bed quite sufficiently.”

Monet grabbed the woman’s hand and ventured into Dracon’s bedroom.

Dracon rose from his bed upon the two ladies arrival.

“This is our meal for the night.”

Dracon looked at the woman from her head down to her toes. He walked around her presence. He sniffled the air. He closed his eyes to the memory of an aroma on a woman who he would have given his last breath to, a woman, who he would die for, and a woman who drove a stake to his heart with her untimely death. Only to be resurrected, to run off with someone who was eventually enslaved by the Tremere vampire clan.

“Wait, there’s more.”

Monet waved her palm over the woman’s body.

The woman’s garment fell away.

Dracon’s canine fangs pushed through the pulp of his gum. His ebony colored eyes, turned a deep crimson red. He looked down at the woman’s breast nipples. He looked up at the female’s portrait across his bedroom. He wanted to once again feed off the fresh blood of a virgin. He looked at the locket dangling from the woman’s neck.

“This ornament will never play a significant ordnance for what your body will be used for.”

Dracon swiped his hand over the woman’s chest. He looked down at the locket now in his hand. He looked up at the woman’s neck.

Dracon noticed two fang craters already in the woman’s neck. He looked over at Monet.

“I had to subdue her according to the best of my hunger.”

The locket tingled in Dracon’s palm.

Dracon pried the locket open with the tip of his long fingernail. He peered closer at the photograph sustained in the oval frame of the gold-plated locket.

“Naynina,” Dracon whispered under his breath. He looked across his bedroom up at the portrait above his fireplace mantel board. He turned to face the woman.

“Where did you get this?”

The woman looked at Monet and then at Dracon. She held her head down.

Dracon uplifted the woman’s face. He turned the locket around for the woman to look upon.

“I asked you where did you get this locket from.”

Monet nudged the woman from behind.

“Your soon to be master is speaking to you.”

The woman looked up into Dracon’s eyes.

Dracon glimpsed into her soul and then down into the woman’s eyes; he glammed her mind.

The woman held Dracon’s hypnotic eyes.

“From a gypsy woman. She was selling all kinds of things; emollients, witchcraft potions. She gave me this locket for a pretty penny.”

Dracon turned his back on the two women. He traveled the distance of his bedroom in the speed of light. He held the locket up and then glanced up at the portrait. He squeezed the locket in his palm.


Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

The Present 

Naynina bolted to a sitting position, coughing until the point she almost choked. She reached over and lifted a glass of water from the nightstand. She held the glass up to her lips and took a sip of the refreshing cold water. She placed the glass back down on the nightstand and rested the back of her head against the soft pillow.

Sighisoara, Romania

Dracon felt a cool rush in the center of his palm followed by a pulsating sensation. He looked over at Monet and the woman.

“Leave me.”


Dracon looked over at Monet. His fangs descended.

“Now! He hissed through his teeth

Monet gabbed the woman by her upper arm and hustled out Dracon’s bedroom.

Dracon retracted his fangs. He pointed his finger over at the door.

The door instantly closed.

Dracon looked back down at the locket; he will seek out this woman. He turned the locket over.

“I will love you beyond infinity.”

The tip of Dracon’s nail stroked the face of the woman’s photograph.


Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

The Present 

Naynina felt a soft caress to her cheek. She sat up, reached over, and turned on her lamp. She looked around her dormitory room. She palmed the locket around her neck she found during one of her classroom project archaeologist digs last year. She lifted the chain from around her neck and opened it. She didn’t know who the man was confined inside the small oval space, but boy he was handsome. She has gotten so use to telling her classmates he is a boyfriend stationed overseas in the military. She smiled to herself for the unknown reason; the locket felt as if it protected her when life of being a graduate student gets the best of her mentality, and her fetish to suckle blood using a steel plated pair of fangs she uses in the height of pleasure, overtakes her.

Naynina squeezed the locket for a good luck measurement for a trip she has paid for to visit an old castle in Romania, and to participate in an archeologist dig to find the burial of Dracula or a vampire. For some reason, she felt like Professor Abraham Van Helsing. However, this would be the most excitement she has ever gotten out of her virginal life.

Naynina looped the locket back over her head, reached over to turn off the lamp, and sunk back under her covers.

Sighisoara, Romania

Dracon pulled his cover up. He looked out into the night. He knew he had a limited amount of time to feel the comforts of silk sheets before daybreak, and then from there, to rest in the creature comfort of his tomb. Dracon gently squeezed the locket around his neck.

“Goodnight Naynina.”


Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

The Present 

“Goodnight my love,” Naynina mumbled in her sleep.

Sighisoara, Romania

Dracon sat up quickly. He looked around his bedroom. He looked over at the portrait.

“She lives.” Dracon closed his eyes and then reopened them. He palmed the locket. “I can feel her heartbeat so very far away.”

Could this be true in this lifetime this century he thought?

Dracon laid back down. He lifted the locket and kissed it. He had to think of a way to reach out to the woman who hears him on the other side of the moon.

“I will love you beyond infinity.”

Was the only words Dracon heard to carry him over the throne to rest his eyes.


Copyright Kemy 2017



Kemy Erotica Romance Novelist