Turn Around

You turn toward the voice. Standing in the coffin is a naked man. He is hot. His body is muscular and perfect. His skin is pale and flawless. His cheekbones are high. His hair is coal black. His package is impressive.

“Relax, Gena.”

You relax. It is a command spoken with confidence and power.

“So, you are what the Dutchman’s line has come to. How...poetic. The fruit of my would be destroyer shall become my most loyal bride.”

He says bride like it is gospel. You can’t help but begin thinking of him as your lover, your everything. You had wanted a big, white wedding, but the most important thing is still the man and you want him.

He beckons for you to come. “Be mine, Gena.”

You run to his arms.

He wraps his arms around you. They are cold, you are cold. His icy lips kiss yours. You sense what he desires and bend your head. He kisses your neck. You feel a pinch.

You feel frigid, yet exhilerated. Your body grows cold as he continues his kiss. Darkness overtakes you.

Your eyes snap open. Your Master helps you up. You kiss his lips. They are warm and inviting. As your tongues dance he deftly undresses you.

You revel in your nakedness. You bend over the coffin and spread your legs. You are hot, aroused, as he penetrates you. He pushes in deeply and plunges in and out of you tirelessly. You are soon moaning and quivering. You feel him orgasm.

He looks at you. “How do feel, my bride?”

The question is odd you feel like you. You know you’ve changed, your breasts have grown, your flesh is flawless, and you thirst for blood. Yet, it all feels as though it should.

“I feel good, Master.”

“Excellent, now that I have returned, I mean to make the world mine. You shall help me turn all the women.”

You sense some of the nearby coffins contain women who could be revived. “Why not bring back the others?”

“They failed to protect me from your ancestor, my bride, they are unworthy. You will not fail me, will you?”

You find the thought abhorrent. “Never!”

“Good. Turn the women, kill the men. Of course you may play with them.”

Strange, toying with men, being cruel, was something you thought was wrong. Now the idea excites you.

“Once we are done we shall leave this place. We shall turn the wealthy and the influential. The masses worship coin, control that and in time they will worship us.”

You grin. It’s a perfect plan. You imagine yourself rich beyond you wildest dream, drinking the blood of some useless serf.

“Now go my, bride. Do not fail me.”

You exit the mausoleum, eager to begin your Master’s work. You exit the basement and see the others by the fire. You lick your fangs, wondering who to take first.