The Unwilling Sacrifice

Once every ten years, the village of Rosewood had a dark tradition. The council of elders would gather and take a vote, and whichever of the townsfolk was elected would be offered as a sacrifice for the continued protection of the village against the wilds. It was a bargain that had been struck so long ago, no one really remembered who had set the terms, but they had always been clear: one soul every ten years as an offering to the protectors of the lands. This year, the council had elected the town’s quiet spinster as their tribute. They had not been expecting the quiet woman to fight back so viciously, assuming she’d go quietly to her fate. By the time they had her restrained, there were several bruises on the village mob, and Beatrix’s dress was torn in several places, not to mention the blossoming bruises on her cheek and shoulder.

They had hauled her to the nearby hilltop, laying her across the ancient stone table that had stood there now for generations. Her wrists and ankles were bound at either end, the cool chill of the autumn air settling over her as the sun began to sink below the horizon. It would not be long now to wait, a small handful of the council members and guards keeping watch at the foot of the hill. Soon the beast would arrive, all they had to do now was bear witness, and the next ten years would once again know peace.

Tears stung viciously at Beatrix’s eyes, but she would not sob. The bindings on her wrists and ankles burned where they had broken skin, the bruises throbbed, and terror gripped her every moment she lay there, prone, but still she refused to sob. With gritted teeth, she fought to hold her tongue from cursing the villagers whom she’d known her whole life, who had spurned her. With her mother, a one-time socialite gone, there was nothing left to make her valuable to them, and she knew deep in her soul no amount of cursing or crying would stop what was to come. Dare she try to prepare herself for this horrible fate? Thinking of being clawed to death or crushed alive under vicious teeth merely made it harder to breathe. With as little as she truly knew about the beast, her imagination could run wild with horrifying thoughts, the most gruesome ends she could picture from the most brutal of stories she had read.

The sun finally did set, the shadows deepening to dusk and the cold of the stone numbed every part of her touching it. She could have closed her eyes, but the fight still left in her had her searching desperately into the dark for any sign of what might approach.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the last of its golden rays vanished from the sky, Lucien finally stepped into the gathering darkness. This was never a night they enjoyed, but just as their sire had followed the inane traditions of this village, so they must as well. They moved like a ghost over the hills and through the forest around the castle until they could see the familiar hill where they were greeted with each unfortunate soul, whomever the village had deemed most unworthy to remain among their ranks.  They could see the cluster of figures near the base of the hill, huddled with their cluster of torches.  Even from a distance, they could make out the shape of a body atop the stone tablet, and it only took a few of their supernaturally quick strides before they were standing beside the table where the young woman was bound.

Their crimson eyes seemed to shine out of the darkness with an internal glow as they stepped up to the stone, tilting their head to the side as a cascade of deep red curls spilled over their shoulder.  A frown settled over their lips as they surveyed the bruises on the woman’s skin and the tears to her clothes, a soft tut rising up in their throat as they looked her over.

“You poor, sweet thing… they really did a number on you this time,” they mused, reaching out a graceful hand to trail their finger along her cheek and under her jaw, tilting her head up with ease as they admired her neck, though their pretty face was marred for a moment as a hard sneer curled across their face as they saw a blossoming bruise on her collar.

“Oh well… it matters not.  It must be done, regardless,” they said softly, their intense gaze meeting hers for a moment before they gently tilted her chin away to expose her throat. Their touch was light on her skin and yet they brushed past any resistance as though she were simply made of paper, and they were steel. They watched as her pulse raced along the vein in her neck, their lips parting to reveal a pair of pointed fangs that glinted in the rising moonlight, licking their lips as that familiar hunger began to gather in the pit of their stomach.  As little as they liked the whole sacrifice business, they couldn’t pretend that they didn’t enjoy what was to come momentarily.

Tears welled up in Beatrix’s eyes at the sight of her fate come to meet her. She didn’t know what was happening exactly but she knew such a sight could mean one thing: a vampire.

“Who… Who are you? If I am to die tonight, I’d like to know the name of my killer,” she asked with all the venom she could muster. Her nails dug into her skin as her hands clenched into tight fists, as if she could punch away the trouble she faced. Even if the trouble happened to be the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes upon.

Lucien tilted their head to the side, their expression softening as the terrified woman still managed to snipe back up at them, even in what she likely thought were to be her last moments alive. A little smile curled over their lips as they returned their gaze to meet hers, their thumb brushing against her jaw gently where they held her face.

"Take solace in the unknown, little one, for this was not your final sunset," they said, bringing their other hand up to lightly brush the hair from her face before they leaned in close, their dark curls fanning around them like a curtain of crimson.

"We both have a part to play in this act tonight... Forgive me that I must fulfill my role," they implored, tilting her chin easily with a finger as they leaned in close, their breath ghosting across her skin.  Lucien swallowed around the little knot in their throat, stomach fluttering with excitement as they touched their lips to her skin, pressing the lightest of kisses to the point of her pulse.  They only waited a moment more before parting their mouth and sinking their fangs into her neck, a breathy sound of delight pulling from their throat as the first drops of her blood hit their tongue.

The touch of cool fingers on her neck, so easily capable of bending her to their will, sent a shiver down Beatrix’s spine. Every part of her clenched with fear. She gasped in pain as sharp teeth parted her skin as if it were warm butter. The bite felt at first like two ice picks in her neck, but quickly became warm and the pain subsided as if it were never there. In fact, all the pain in her body became a whisper, gradually outshone by a growing feeling of… sheer pleasure. The feeling of their tongue sliding across skin, the heat of her blood, sent chills down her spine and fire to grow deep within her.

“What are…” she began to ask, breathlessly, but Beatrix couldn’t think straight. Her question trailed off to a soft moan she couldn’t repress.

Lucien didn't pay much mind to the way the woman gasped at their bite, far more distracted by the heat of her blood.  They so rarely got to drink right from the source, and she was an absolute delight to experience.  Her blood was hot and rich and salty and each mouthful was exquisite.  Their tongue swiped across her skin as they drank her down, mouthful by mouthful, savoring every drop of her sweetness.

While before Beatrix had ceased pulling at her bindings, now she couldn’t help but struggle against them, her back arching ever-so-slightly at the building pleasure within her. Her hands itched to run through the lush hair trailing over her, despite herself. She could smell their skin and hair, a deep and inviting smell. She bit at her lower lip, an attempt to force down any noises rising from her throat, but a fruitless one. Another, deeper moan escaped her as her toes curled in her boots.

Lucien was nearly lost in her neck when they felt her shift below them, their pointed ears picking up the unexpected sounds of soft gasps and moans coming from her lips.  They realized as she arched and strained against the bindings, but not to try to pull away any more, she was reaching as though she wanted to touch. They had never had this reaction before. A little rumble rose  up in their throat as they nuzzled their nose deeper into the column of her throat, their fingers trailing slowly along her jaw back toward her hair, almost tenderly.  

They pulled their fangs back from her neck only when they felt her pulse start to weaken slightly, unable to resist swiping their tongue across the mark to catch the last few drops of her sweet blood. They took a slow breath against her neck, their lips brushing against her skin and trailing up her jaw as they leaned back only a few inches, gazing down at her with their bright red eyes.

"Stay still, little one... Let them think you slipped quietly away..." They whispered, glancing up to see the crowd down the hill.  They straightened up, making a show of wiping their mouth, watching as the crowd began to slowly turn and return down the path to the village.

Looking at the stranger through half-lidded eyes, Beatrix held as still as she possibly could. She knew if she hadn’t just lost some quantity of blood, her face would have been flushed. She breathed shallowly, too, as if even the most astute observer would have been able to tell from such a distance whether or not she yet breathed. Whoever this was, she had never known or encountered anyone like them.  She would never have looked anyone else in the eyes like this. Their touch was electric, raising goosebumps in their wake and catching her breath in her throat.

The whole ordeal was so curious- she had so many questions it was likely a good thing she was exhausted, so she couldn’t bombard the beautiful stranger with whispered questions as soon as it seemed the crowd was far enough gone. Her brows knit thoughtfully. She hoped this look would grant some explanation, but she didn’t dare to speak or move yet.  Not when her life was in their hands. Those soft, cool, strong hands. Nevermind how weakened she was.

Satisfied that the sacrifice had been accepted, Lucien and the woman were mercifully left alone on the hill, finally. They looked down to the dark haired woman, reaching out to gingerly brush the hair off from her forehead. The look on her face was full of questions, but the night was cold and with the blood she'd lost, chill would be soon to follow.  

They reached out to where her wrists were bound, slicing through the ropes with their nails to release her hands before moving impossibly fast to free her ankles as well. In a flash, they were back at the head of the altar, reaching out once more to trail their fingers gingerly over one of the bruises that marred her shoulder.

"You have questions, but it is far too cold and late to answer them here," they said, leaning down close to her. "Put your arms around me.  I will carry you home," they offered, their lips curling into a soft, warm smile as they gazed down at her.

Rather awestruck, Beatrix did as they asked. She winced slightly at the burn of her raw and cut wrists brushing against the fabric of the stranger’s clothes. “I’m- I’m sorry, I’m getting blood on you,” she whispered into their ear. Still, they were warm compared to the cold stone altar, and she couldn’t help but press her body against them to fight the chill deep in her bones. She felt so oddly safe in their arms, though they could have easily killed her. They didn’t, and that has to count for something, right?

Lucien couldn’t help the little sympathetic smile that curled over their lips as she apologized, a soft chuckle rising in their throat before they spoke. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind a little blood,” they whispered back, reaching out to curl one arm under her shoulders while the other slipped beneath her knees.  They lifted her as though she weighed nothing, which to them was absolutely true. She was light as a feather as they pressed her in, close to their chest, though they lacked the warmth to guard her from the chill of night.

They turned from the altar, nothing left but the broken ropes and a few errant drops of blood on the stone before they left the hilltop behind in an instant, wind rushing past them as they practically flew over the ground.  It was only mere moments before they stood on the covered porch that led to the large doors of the manor, the village now a small collection of lights at the bottom of the hill in the distance.