garter belts and crotchless underwear. At the sight of Shawna’s pubes—mousy brown, despite her fluorescent red locks—Serge’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He looks to Rhymer, who nods and gestures languidly with one taloned hand.
Serge fumbles with his ornate silver belt buckle, which hits the wooden floor with a solid clunk! I lift an eyebrow in surprise. While the boy may be thin to the point of emaciation, he is hung like a stallion. Sable mutters something into Serge’s ear that makes him laugh just before he plants his lips against her own blood-smeared mouth. Tanith, her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips pulled into a lascivious grin, reaches around from behind to stroke him to full erection. Serge breaks free and turns to lift Shawna in his arms, carrying her to the black-draped altar, the other girls trailing after him. There is much biting and raking of exposed flesh with fingernails. Soon they are a mass of writhing naked flesh, giggling and moaning and grunting as the slap of skin against skin fills the silent church. And overseeing it all from his place of power is Lord Rhymer, his crimson eyes twinkling in the candlelight as he watches his followers cavort before him.
To his credit, Serge proves tireless, energetically rutting with all three girls in various combinations for hours on end. It’s not until the stained glass windows of the church begin to lighten that it finally comes to an end. The moment Lord Rhymer notices the approaching dawn the smile disappears from his face.
“ENOUGH!” he thunders, causing the others to halt in mid-fuck. “The sun will soon be upon me! It is time for you to leave, my children!”
The Goths pull themselves off and out of each other without a word of complaint and begin to struggle back into their clothes. Once they’re dressed they waste no time hurrying off, taking pains to not look one another in the eye. It is all I can do to suppress a groan of relief as the last of the blood cultists lurch out of the building. I thought those losers were never going to leave!
I check my own watch against the shadows sliding across the floor below me. Now would be a good time to pay a social call on their so-called “Master.” I hope he’s in the mood for a little chat before beddy-bye.
Lord Rhymer yawns as he makes his way down the basement stairs. What with the candelabra he’s holding and the flowing opera cloak, I’m reminded of Lugosi’s Dracula. But Bela Lugosi is dead.
The basement runs the length of the building and has a poured concrete floor. Stacks of old hymnals, folding chairs, and moldering choir robes have been pushed into the corners. A rosewood casket with a maroon velvet lining rests atop a pair of saw-horses in the middle of the room, and an old-fashioned steamer trunk stands nearby.
I watch the vampire set the candelabra down and, still yawning, unhook his cape and carefully drape it atop the trunk. If he senses my presence, here in the shadows, he gives no sign of it.
Smiling crookedly, I deliberately scrape my boot heel against the concrete floor. My smile becomes a grin as he spins around, his eyes bugging with alarm.
“What—? Who’s there?”
He blinks, surprised to see me standing to one side of the open casket balanced atop the sawhorse. I had caught the tell-tale smell when I first entered the basement, but a quick glance inside confirms what I already knew: the coffin is lined with earth. I reach inside and lift a handful of dirt, allowing it to spill between my splayed fingers. I look up and meet Rhymer’s scarlet gaze.
“Okay, buddy, what the hell are you trying to pull here?”
Rhymer squares his shoulders and pulls himself up to his full height, hissing and exposing his fangs, hooking his fingers into talons. His red eyes glint in the dim light like those of a cornered animal.
I am not impressed.
“Can the Christopher Lee act, asshole! I’m not some Goth chick tripping her brains out!” I kick the saw horses out from under the casket, sending it tumbling to the floor, spilling its layer of soil. Lord Rhymer gasps, his eyes darting from the ruined coffin to me and back again. “Only humans think vampires need to sleep on a layer of their home soil,” I snarl.
He tries to regain the momentum by pointing a trembling finger at me, doing his best to sound menacing. “You have defiled