by Joseph E. Arechavala
Being servant to a vampire wasn't a job that I applied for, but it's how things wound up. Now, I lure mistress' meals to her, take care of bodies as well as the survivors, and make sure she's safe during daytime.
The party's dull -- as always -- and it's getting late. I want to go home but of course I have to stick around until my boss Brian leaves. And he's always the last to leave, off making another deal even as the clock nears midnight.
Midnight of my last day as a free soul. She approaches me as though gliding on air. Once I look into those ice blue eyes, it's over.
"Oh, uh, hi." I stick out my hand automatically. She takes it and I work very hard not to jump. Her skin is so cold.
She smiles and I forget everything. "I'm Celeste, Celeste Morneau. And you are?"
"Uh...my...name..." Even my name escapes me. Finally, after several centuries go by, I remember it. Now I know it's because she toned down her hypnotic powers. "Uh, Janelle. My name is Janelle Miller."
Another smile. And my will is already gone.
Oh, and I long for even a taste of blood each and every minute of every day.
When mistress gives me the chance, I clamp my mouth onto the neck or thigh of her meal and suck for all I'm worth. Unfortunately they're usually dead by this point and almost nothing is left, and I'm like a child looking forward to licking the bowl only to find it's been scraped clean of delicious dough.
Somehow, some way -- I have no memory of getting there -- we wind up at her place. She leads me to her bedroom and orders me to undress. I willingly comply. She holds out a casual hand and I come to her. She nuzzles me and I groan.
"Do you understand what is happening?" she whispers into my year and I shiver with pleasure.
I slowly shake my head.
"You are my servant now, Janelle. Now and forever. Come," she leads me towards the bed.
My will briefly and weakly tries to reassert itself. "But...but...I'm not a..."
She laughs quietly. Another shudder of pleasure. "You are now, my servant."
I smile and say it for the first of oh so many times. "Yes, mistress." It feels so good to utter the words.
Nor does "I can't come in to work today because my vampire mistress has summoned me" work very well with your boss. Therefore, I've gone from rising mid-level corporate executive to permanent low-level fast-food worker quicker than you can say "vampire's servant."
But mistress is beautiful. And she does let me drink, even if it isn't as often as I like. And let me sleep with her in the coffin every once in a while. Feeling her cool skin next to mine is so thrilling I have a hard time sleeping. And we make such sweet love. And mistress keeps promising that one day -- one day soon -- I'll join her in immortality.
I lick her red from my lips and feel the bite marks on my thigh yet again. "Why me, mistress? Why choose me?"
Celeste chuckles. Every time she does that chills ripple down my spine.
"Oh, my servant, you are a beautiful woman to look at. And I have watched you, this night and before. You were always loyal to your boss, no matter what. A good trait in a thrall."
"But why can't you make me like you?" I plead. I haven't pleaded since I was eight years old. Now I'm her puppy. I feel so pathetic but I can't help myself.
"I need to be protected during the day. I need someone to bring people to me to drink from. You will do all of this. And if you please me, I will let you taste them, Janelle. Think of it."
Yet another shudder at the thought of tasting the scarlet life of a human. "Oh, yes." I murmur.
Her approving smile sends me into heights of rapture. "Oh yes indeed, my thrall. Now, please me again."
I love her so. Even if love is purchased by her bite, I couldn't help it, not even if I wanted to. But I don't want to. I want to be with her. Forever.
They are so easy to lure to her. Turn on the sex appeal and they follow me home like a lost puppy trailing its new master. Home to my mistress. And on those nights she is particularly pleased with me, just as she promised, a taste.
I've grown particularly good at finding places to dump bodies. Not that that happens too often -- only when mistress gets carried away in the moment. Most often I'm dropping someone off back at their apartment, hazy and lethargic, offering apologies to doormen for drunken nighttime revelries.
"Sorry, he blacked out right in the middle of it. Think you can get him up to his apartment for me?"
A flash of a smile and they always say yes.
Ah, such is the life of a thrall.
One night, I know, I'm sure, mistress will bite me. One night she will lose control. Mistress will drain me of every drop of my blood and I will become a creature of the night, undead, her lover for eternity. But until that night, I will gladly remain her servant.
© 2012 Joseph E. Arechavala
Bio: A number of Joseph Arechavala's essays, short stories, and poems have appeared online and in Philadelphia-area publications. His most recent appearance in Aphelion was Torment, in the May 2011 edition.
E-mail: Joseph E. Arechavala
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