The Vampire's Song E-Book

William Rand

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

When Mark Thompson goes across the bridge from Texas into Mexico for a night of fun, he has no idea that the sexy stripper who ends up on his lap is a vampire. Despite his crush on the beautiful woman, Mark’s strict, Catholic upbringing tells him that he must destroy her. Can he do such a thing, or would eternity with Carmen be so bad? Religious dictates battle with love to push Mark toward a decision that will change both their lives forever.

Leseprobe

William Rand

The Vampire's Song

for Liz Marbella Gallegos Gomez, my lifelong loveBookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Other titles by William RandHorror

That Way Madness Lies: The Mayan Immortality Curse

Painted Demons: Possession

The Eye of Childhood: In The Dark

Erotica

By Any Other Name: An Erotic Novel of Suppression and Freedom

Nonfiction

From Naturalism to Modernism: The Social Protest of Chester Himes

The Vampire's Song

appears in a shorter version in the collection The Eye of Childhood: In The Dark

Night and hope brought the tourists. Flesh, smiles and promises kept them there. Lithe, barely-clothed dancers moved on the long stage, flowing through the smoke and music. Eager, admiring, sad eyes gazed upon them. Drinks in hand, each man to his own small, round table, the tourists watched the flow of supple arms, cascading hair, firm breasts and strong legs, and they let the vision take them, promises of escape, of eternity. On stage, looking out at them, Carmen wanted no more of eternity. Music pumped around her, the base sending vibrations through the boards beneath her feet. The eyes upon her were the same as every other night. The music sounded the same. The slight chill of the air felt the same. Eternity seemed long enough already. There came no presentiment, no abrupt change of heart, no undeniable advice, no resentment, no sadness. The realization simply and slowly crystallized within her during the third canto of her dance as she drew the short, tight black dress over her head and tossed it to Manuel. She knew she was the only one who could see clearly enough to know who it was this time. The nightclub was so dark that Carmen was sure the other dancer, Yamile, couldn’t tell to which of the waiters she had just thrown her panties. Except for Carlos, Carmen thought with a smile—he was so big as to leave no doubt, even in the dark. Her smile slipped as she thought again of her existence: all she had now was the dark, a life with no sunrises, no sunshine at all. Carmen spun around the pole and cupped her bare breasts with a wicked grin for the audience. She could not watch a sunrise, but she could enjoy what she had. She must enjoy it. She focused, and her senses heightened. The music felt good. The eyes of the men on her felt good. The smell of the blood in their veins intoxicated her. Still, it wasn’t enough—not for eternity. But what of the alternative? Red, yellow, and blue lights flickered on the narrow, raised stage. Yamile, at the pole on the other side, teased the men, lifting the negligee in flashes to show her bush. The song changed again, and Carmen strutted down the stage between the tables. She felt the bounce of her breasts, felt the solid taps of the boards beneath her high heels. She heard the dance of the rain upon the roof and the heartbeats of the men around her; and it was no longer enough—not for eternity. But maybe an eternity dancing to the song of hot blood would be better than the other? Of course, the Club Egypsias

would not last for eternity; eventually los Mexicanos and los gringos alike would find someplace else to go, someplace new. Even Mexico might not last for eternity, pero ójala que sí. She could find someplace else, or something else, too. But it would have to be at night; daylight was deadly. Yamile saw Carmen walking the stage, and she started toward her. The fog from the machine came again, swirling, obscuring their legs in soft white. At the center of the runway, the two women crossed sensually, nimbly in spike heels to the beat of the music and the swirl of the lights. Carmen watched Yamile caress the other pole and slip the negligee from her shoulders, and she felt a brief stab of jealousy at Yamile’s much larger breasts and narrower hips. Carmen knew from mucho experiencia that she would not get asked for a private dance while she shared the stage with Yamile. What did it matter? She only knew that it did. Carmen had begun dancing there at Club Egypsias

because the feeding was easy on the men who came, many alone and secretly. Most were gringos who could not be traced crossing the bridge into Mexico for a night of fun. Then why was she back tonight when she had already fed? And why was she thinking of draining the life blood from Yamile the next time she caught the woman alone on the street? What difference did jealousy over another women’s tits make when contemplating eternity? Yamile would not last for ernity. Carmen pushed the thoughts from her mind and danced. At least my hair is longer than hers, Carmen thought, and I give the men more time. Carmen knew that the men came for their long hair and warm kindness as much as for the hotter sex. She knew of their dreams and their sorrow. They could see naked girls dance in their own country. They could buy sex in their own country. They could marry in the United States too. They came here to Mexico instead for dancing, for sex, for wives. They knew where to find the best women, Carmen thought. She spun, bringing her hair around in luxuriant black waves over her breasts, and she saw the men turn to her. Así es la vida, nada más. Just accept life as it is, the good and the bad,