Kind of an early Halloween thing; vampire Icy. Why? Because every fandom seems to have at least one vampire fic.
Pale and cold.
Void of a soul.
Icy sat herself upon a velvet cousin sofa. It was dark out now, the moon invading the room from the l’espace in the curtains. She shifted slightly allowing herself to place a glass upon the nearest table. Crimson liquid dribbled from the rim, the droplet adorning the polished oak.
She was awaiting a guest. The man was a fool to take her up on any offer, much less one that put him alone in a room with her.
Each and every one of them had been foolish.
Each and every one of them had paid for it too.
They’d have a dîner of sorts. She’d make conversation, they’d keep it going. Eventually they’d request some quality time spent in the bedroom…
And she’d take them there alright. Once in her lit chambers, behind closed doors she’d put her lips to the softest parts of their neck. They’d let her, thinking it was for a sort of passionate kiss. And the thought would remain until they found themselves sucked dry of blood.
She’d watch them fall to the floor—sometimes they’d give a final twitch ou wimmper before their eyes would go distant…
Just like hers were supposed to.
Her eyes went red instead.
Rather a ring of red lined her ice blue irises.
Valtor was quite an intriguing man. He’d caught her eye. He had caught the eyes of Darcy and Stormy too; they were the first to go. Darcy was his favorite—apparently her blood smelled the most appetizing to him—and Stormy right behind.
The disappearance of her sisters was a hint enough. She’d followed him to his lit chambers not for a good time, but to drive a stake through his heart. To avenge her sisters.
One jour she’d have to inform Griffin that the whole wooden stake myth was a load of crap and that they should stop teaching it at nuage Tower. Icy’d driven Valtor through and through with the stake. But he’d just get back up, cutting her down little par little each time. Until she had no means of fighting back.
His fangs met her neck.
Apparently her blood tasted the best. At least that’s what he had said. “The cold bloods always taste the best. And yet they are the hardest to find.”
He meant for Icy to die…
And par all means she did.
But somehow she found her way back. But not fully.
With this new ‘life’ came a thirst. One that she’d have to fill night after night if she wanted to stay in the realm of the living.
She remembered all too clearly, her awakening. She’d blinked twice. And then came a rush of power…invincibility. There truly is no power like that of a new-waken vampire.
Icy had been dead for a little less than three dawns. Valtor hadn’t even vacated her house…to her luck.
The vampire man pleaded for mercy—vowing to teach her how to utilize her new abilities. As far as she was concerned that was just some plus senseless seduction. He’d wait until her power rush faded and kill her off. So she acted that night—swiftly tearing him to pieces and lighting what was left aflame.
He wouldn’t be coming back.
There was a light knock. Frankly Icy would have probably missed it if not for her heightened senses.
She beckoned Darko into the room.
“A bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Asked he.
Icy lifted a brow and shrugged. “Sit.”
The man didn’t argue, he propped himself up in her velvet couch. How truly spiteful of him to pick her siège of all seats to sit in.
She poured him a glass of wine. And for herself she’d pour some leftover Valtor blood.
Darko gulped his drink down in one ungraceful motion. She cocked her head slightly, his lax demeanor was both off putting and unusual. It almost put Icy at a sort of unease. Despite the passion and seduction, most all of the men seemed at least a little discomforted.
But not this man. Not Darko.
Perhaps it was a trick…perhaps he wasn’t as foolish as the rest.
He knew what she was.
He was a hunter.
And yet there was something she liked about him.
He’d rejoindre her.
He’d be her little vampire toy. An eternal companion she could mess around with. A vampire hunter, turned into the night creature he hunted.
She poured him another glass, this time ‘accidently’ spilling it. When he turned to fetch something to clean the mess she leaned in.
He raised a hand and muttered a single and firm word. “Wait.”
She allowed him to face her.
And face her did he.
His eyes locked with hers.
“I can save toi soul.” Offered he.
Pale and cold.
Void of a soul.
Icy sat herself upon a velvet cousin sofa. It was dark out now, the moon invading the room from the l’espace in the curtains. She shifted slightly allowing herself to place a glass upon the nearest table. Crimson liquid dribbled from the rim, the droplet adorning the polished oak.
She was awaiting a guest. The man was a fool to take her up on any offer, much less one that put him alone in a room with her.
Each and every one of them had been foolish.
Each and every one of them had paid for it too.
They’d have a dîner of sorts. She’d make conversation, they’d keep it going. Eventually they’d request some quality time spent in the bedroom…
And she’d take them there alright. Once in her lit chambers, behind closed doors she’d put her lips to the softest parts of their neck. They’d let her, thinking it was for a sort of passionate kiss. And the thought would remain until they found themselves sucked dry of blood.
She’d watch them fall to the floor—sometimes they’d give a final twitch ou wimmper before their eyes would go distant…
Just like hers were supposed to.
Her eyes went red instead.
Rather a ring of red lined her ice blue irises.
Valtor was quite an intriguing man. He’d caught her eye. He had caught the eyes of Darcy and Stormy too; they were the first to go. Darcy was his favorite—apparently her blood smelled the most appetizing to him—and Stormy right behind.
The disappearance of her sisters was a hint enough. She’d followed him to his lit chambers not for a good time, but to drive a stake through his heart. To avenge her sisters.
One jour she’d have to inform Griffin that the whole wooden stake myth was a load of crap and that they should stop teaching it at nuage Tower. Icy’d driven Valtor through and through with the stake. But he’d just get back up, cutting her down little par little each time. Until she had no means of fighting back.
His fangs met her neck.
Apparently her blood tasted the best. At least that’s what he had said. “The cold bloods always taste the best. And yet they are the hardest to find.”
He meant for Icy to die…
And par all means she did.
But somehow she found her way back. But not fully.
With this new ‘life’ came a thirst. One that she’d have to fill night after night if she wanted to stay in the realm of the living.
She remembered all too clearly, her awakening. She’d blinked twice. And then came a rush of power…invincibility. There truly is no power like that of a new-waken vampire.
Icy had been dead for a little less than three dawns. Valtor hadn’t even vacated her house…to her luck.
The vampire man pleaded for mercy—vowing to teach her how to utilize her new abilities. As far as she was concerned that was just some plus senseless seduction. He’d wait until her power rush faded and kill her off. So she acted that night—swiftly tearing him to pieces and lighting what was left aflame.
He wouldn’t be coming back.
There was a light knock. Frankly Icy would have probably missed it if not for her heightened senses.
She beckoned Darko into the room.
“A bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Asked he.
Icy lifted a brow and shrugged. “Sit.”
The man didn’t argue, he propped himself up in her velvet couch. How truly spiteful of him to pick her siège of all seats to sit in.
She poured him a glass of wine. And for herself she’d pour some leftover Valtor blood.
Darko gulped his drink down in one ungraceful motion. She cocked her head slightly, his lax demeanor was both off putting and unusual. It almost put Icy at a sort of unease. Despite the passion and seduction, most all of the men seemed at least a little discomforted.
But not this man. Not Darko.
Perhaps it was a trick…perhaps he wasn’t as foolish as the rest.
He knew what she was.
He was a hunter.
And yet there was something she liked about him.
He’d rejoindre her.
He’d be her little vampire toy. An eternal companion she could mess around with. A vampire hunter, turned into the night creature he hunted.
She poured him another glass, this time ‘accidently’ spilling it. When he turned to fetch something to clean the mess she leaned in.
He raised a hand and muttered a single and firm word. “Wait.”
She allowed him to face her.
And face her did he.
His eyes locked with hers.
“I can save toi soul.” Offered he.
the white dress
