The fomorrah twists heavy, immobilising coils around the woman’s neck, fangs latched onto her tanned throat. From his place at the head of the table, Arthur watches on, mildly curious, as the lethal venom is pumped into her body. It turns the mortal’s blue veins black, like a spidery network under her skin, stark and vivid under the glow of candlelight.
She dies in silent agony, watching her son having his youthful years drained out of him by another remorseless predator. Disturbed, Arthur’s gaze flickers from the female to Morgana. His vampire bride has painted her lower face and teeth a deep crimson mask with the boy’s blood. She’s bitten down too hard, ruptured the child’s carotid artery, which always would create such a mess.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur grimaces in distaste as the static laughter of Lilith in his soul fills his head. The Mother of Demons delights in the carnage, and She is not one to give up a chance in tormenting her possessed little King. Drawn to look down the length of the table again, Arthur watches Morgana toss the boy aside.
A gang of older thralls grasp hold of him. Thick hands and even thicker arms find the child’s neck, squeezing hard to keep the blood flowing steadily from the deep gashes left in his neck. Several thralls manage to drink heartily from the convulsing body, before asphyxiation snuffs out the boy’s life for good.
There, there - Arthur, Mother and son. Reunited in death.
Tipping his head back, Arthur sighs as he lounges further in his seat. The echo of Lilith’s words permeates deeper into his skull, until the line blurring the two is breached once more. Well. Morgana seems to be busy doing her own thing (much as she would have done when she was alive) and the thralls begin to scramble over themselves to get closer to her, drawn to her scent. For in her veins lies more of the blood they now so desperately craved. A pure hit. Much better than sponging off each other for the little they had drunk from the wine goblet earlier.
Around Arthur’s arms and thighs a few of the dumber, greedier labourers are beginning to salivate. The vampire lord hums, cracking upon half an eye to watch the rapacious horde gather around. It would only take one small demonstration. Desire for ecstasy is one thing, but there remained yet another stronger emotion, to override the basic impulse.
Offering his wrist to a fit, strapping young man in his early twenties, Arthur beckons him forward, fingers curling in brown hair as the thrall deigns to believe he is being rewarded. Lips mutter thanks and adoration over pale skin, but Arthur does not look at the handsome man in his honest worker’s clothes. He’s busy observing the reactions of the other thralls around him.
“Look at you. You want so much. Immortality. Glory. Love. God’s chosen people...”
Arthur grunts as the thrall at his wrist attempts to bite down, tongue swirling over flesh in anticipation of the heady drink to follow. Except… human teeth cannot pierce the flesh of the Damned.
A bitter smile passes over the Pendragon’s white face.
“You’re nothing but spoilt children.”
The fingers curling in the young man’s hair clench impossibly tight, and with a sharp wrench and audible click - the thrall’s vertebrae are broken.
Lifting the limp carcass up to rest upon his lap, Arthur gazes upon his most unfortunate child, as the other thralls scatter. Truly, he was a beautiful man; chestnut locks framing a strong, masculine face. He might have made for a pretty vampire. But he was still too human for Lilith’s tastes. And nothing infuriated a demon more than the Creator’s love for wretched mankind.
Cowering, the thralls draw further away, the hideous rage and strength of their Master overtaking the desire for his blood. Fear keeps the enraptured followers in line. And yet, still, the desire is unabating, and in desperation, they turn at last to each other, unable to partake in blood, falling instead to kiss and bite and paw at their neighbour, hearts thumping faster and faster with each article of torn clothing.
Arthur takes no notice. Lilith is preoccupied with the dead man in their lap. Tilting the man’s head to one side, as though playing with a doll, the pair of them gaze thoughtfully into wide, unseeing eyes. Would the dead body live again if forcibly given that blood which it craved so badly before? Possibly. But Arthur still bears no desire to share…
Looking up, it is with this thought in mind that the noble vampire spies the ill-placed gesture of the thrall reaching a hand underneath Morgana’s dress.
Anger erupts within again, although this time, the source is not from Lilith.
The forgotten corpse tumbles out from his lap as Arthur stalks down the length of the table to grasp hold of limbs and physically hurl the interloper half-way across the room. The sound of splintering bone again breaks the stillness as a mortal body smashes into a brick wall. Too strong. Lilith has given Arthur the strength to throw humans around as if they were made of parchment.
“Join you?” Arthur bares his teeth, unduly incensed by his sister’s promiscuous teasing, hands gripping onto Morgana’s upper arms.
The thralls left around the two vampires take their cue, whimpering as they back off; left to fawn and stroke one another in the shadows.
Calming almost immediately at the look on Morgana’s face, Arthur looks down lower at the breasts barely contained within his queen’s dress. The frustrated anger slowly abates, eyebrows pinching finally into a look of distressed need. Morgana... she… she alone matches him in power. She is a vampire of Pendragon blood, like him. Cursed to an existence that gave little pleasure, except when paired with someone else who understood-
He dares not attempt to remove her dress from her. What Arthur does do, is draw close to her neck, breathing in deeply, yes… she still carries that undercurrent of lavender and honeysuckle. Even though the young, fertile woman has died. She is still his Morgana. Reaching for her jaw, the blood on his queen’s mouth coats his as Arthur closes his eyes, tongue swiping along hers to catch the flavour. The young boy - he tastes of innocence, but there is a small amount of inborn arrogance that otherwise sours the sweetness of the blood. No wonder Morgana didn’t drain him to the last drop. Vampires preferred the purity of goodness.
“Lie with me, lie only with me.”
Lifting his queen up to sit upon the table, Arthur kisses his sister as he moves between her legs. Slowly, the other thralls inch back towards the couple. The Master’s mood has shifted. Desire for blood has turned into desire for something else… and the helplessly enslaved follow their Lord’s lead, tugging off clothes and kissing and biting each other, moaning as loud slaps of skin on skin eventually fill the room.
Amidst the fornication, Arthur takes Morgana’s hand in his, guiding it down to the front of his breeches. He’s only half-erect. A child’s blood could never excite him fully. Lips drenched in red once again press against his sister’s neck, more insistently.
“Let me drink from you, Morgana.” Her brother murmurs softly. Let me harden fully on our blood.
Morgana’s skirt swishes with the movement of her turning to stare at the commotion; she purses her lips for a moment as she mulls over why her brother would do such a thing until it dawns on her that the dead man against the wall was the one who sought to reach beneath her dress.
“Arthur,” she murmurs, her gaze softening as she stares at the vampire, her fingers faintly caressing his furrowed brows and temples. Morgana can’t help but find it thrilling how protective over her he is, how he would never let anything happen to her.
“My love,” she sighs softly, closing her eyes when he draws closer to her, swallowing as his hand trails along her bloody flesh; she indeed should start paying more attention to making less of a mess when having a meal.
She welcomes his kiss and wants to drown in the taste of him coating her tongue. Morgana moves her hand and curls her fingers in his blond hair while he lifts her body onto the table.
“Yes, I will, I will,” She promises ardently, her nose bumping into his in her haste to kiss him again, to have a taste of him once more in her mouth. She exhales into his mouth when he kisses her again, and her free hand moves down to get her skirt out of the way. Arthur does not seem to be in the mood for ripping clothes.
“Arthur, please,” She is the one who is pleading as she arches her hips forward in a desperate attempt to meet his. She licks her lips as he moves her hand down to his trousers. She palms at him while his mouth moves to her neck, her eyes close at the feel of his mouth moving against her tender skin.
“I let you, darling, please… .” She rocks her body again, impatient for what is to come, fingers reaching to untie the front of his breeches.
“I need you.” She breathes, playing with his hair with her other hand before she decides to do something else; she reaches for his hand directing it to her core.
Morgana murmurs his name in a soft tone once again, half-lidded green eyes staring at him, not caring about anything or anybody else at the moment, not when she has Arthur wanting, willing between her legs.
I need you, she says, voice sultry and desperate. If Arthur were still human, the simple sound of her pleading would’ve had his cock hard and pressing into the palm of her hand. But sadly, he is Damned (damned fucking existence that took and took and compelled him at last - to take) and drinking from his victims is now apparently required to achieve a full erection.
I let you, darling, please. Arthur groans, sinking his teeth quickly into Morgana’s neck, holding onto the bodice of her dress as he swallows thickly. The blood of their father warms his throat, sending a rolling wave of fire throughout his undead body. His fingers clench along the slope of her back, as hungry as his mouth, searching for the stitching that holds up her corset. Were Morgana not a vampire (or his sister for that matter) Arthur would tear her apart with his bare hands, submerge himself in her blood and entrails, such is the need of this new supernatural predator within him. As it is, what modicum of self-restraint remains is given to her, and he loosens the ties gently, freeing the piece of whalebone from around her chest and letting it fall upon the table.
Lilith swoons in his ear at the revelation of Morgana’s nudity, and Arthur detaches from her neck, long enough to flush at the sight of her breasts so close to his face. Half-lidded green eyes lock onto his, and Arthur pauses awhile, transfixed by the sight of her wanton beauty. There is something truly dangerous in the seductive gaze of his sister. She is the kind of woman his father always warned him about, the ones that would destroy a kingdom from the inside out.
And yet Arthur smiles fondly, tongue licking off the blood remaining on his teeth. Such a familiar flavour. Morgana tastes of home. She would always be that comfort to him, no matter how far war or grief or suffering left him empty and devoid of purpose. Discouraging Camelot’s golden boy from every noble ideal he sought to bring to fruition in a harsh, unforgiving world.
If all else failed, he still had her.
Beneath the heavy velvet of Morgana’s dress, his hand is brought to rest upon her pubic mound. Petting her gently there, reassuringly, Arthur strokes his fingers against her lips, coating them with her wetness, before sliding his index inside, thumb pressed against her clit.
“Such a wicked woman to everyone else, but not for me.”
Arthur murmurs quietly. Morgana’s earlier tugging on his hair invites him to slip another finger within her, moving them in and out with a slowly increasing speed. His thumb rubs a circle over her swelling bud, thoughtfully.
“You’re good for me. If only you weren’t my sister, Morgana. We could have done this without being damned.”
Dimly, Arthur can hear the muffled gasping, the high feminine shrieks of the thralls somewhere nearby as they gave into carnal pleasure. A feral grin spreads over the vampire’s face, even if the mirth doesn’t quite reach Arthur’s eyes. Leaning down, he kisses Morgana tenderly, removing his fingers from her heat and replacing them with something thicker. Hips aligning at last, Arthur grunts as instinct takes over, thrusting in hard and deep.
Pure ecstasy rolls over him in a wave. Coming to, Arthur finds himself already moving within Morgana’s tight body in long, deep strokes. Catching her expression, he smirks at her widening eyes. Did the demon in Arthur tell his dear sister now, how much she resembled the vampire’s prior victims? How often the human peasants died half-way through his feeding, drained of blood or else broken internally by the rough usage of their bodies. But not Morgana, she can’t die.
Pulling himself out, Arthur hushes any complaints she may make, kissing his wife swiftly as he helps her lie further back onto the table, before climbing onto the polished surface himself to be with her.
Many of their mortal children have already spent of themselves, broken wails growing silent in the dim light of the dining hall. Yet the curious nature of thralls draws them back; to gaze in frightful obeyance upon their vampiric parents, locked in their own bout of copulation, desperate for further instruction.
Arthur is not interested in them. Lifting his hips higher and bearing downwards, he grips onto Morgana’s thighs, biting his lip as he re-enters her. Gravity does the rest. Pleasure builds, higher and higher with each smack of skin on skin. Blood seeps from his torn lip, splashing upon Morgana’s face.
From the shadows a small hand appears, hesitantly wiping away the crimson trail from her Mistress’ cheek. Lilette watches Morgana at play, and she is terrified, yet undeniably drawn to the violent spectacle. Arthur grunts, turning his head to behold Morgana’s little blonde maid.
A memory of defiling her mouth surfaces, though Morgana surely would not allow him to do the same now. Not while they are as one. Refocussing, the beast in the man slows the pace, yet continues to thrust in deep, arms wrapping themselves possessively around Morgana’s lower waist and lifting her up into a smothering hug. Mine.
But Lilette won’t be put off. She has drunk from the cup, and she has bonded with her Mistress. She hungers for acceptance too.