butch cowgirl x femme vampire in the Old West.
some of her fellows have gone missing lately. one went out drinking one night— at a saloon in an outpost those in the city said was cursed. when the sheriff found his body the next morning, it was white as paper. two puncture wounds in the neck, like you’d see from a coyote, but with more precision. another went on a solo midnight hunting trip, only to be found drained right next to the stag he killed.
so, yes, she’s heard the legends— a milky-white creature of the night (bars), with preternaturally-sharp teeth and eyes like copper that always succeed in luring men under the lacy veil of seduction.
supposedly, all of her victims were men, and all of them had experienced a sensual rendezvous beforehand. but she started to sense that the stories were spinning out of control.
it always started with expensive lingerie and even more expensive inn rooms. ended with scratch marks on their backs, hickies on their necks post-mortem, the papers said. all this talk of sex like those lurid storybooks skipping gayly alongside bloodshed didn’t quite make sense to her. if she truly only drained and fucked men, then surely she’d be safe in investigating. it was her duty, after all these good men had been struck down in their prime.
so, a dusk-bruised hunt was afoot. horse left at home, lasso in one hand and a silver cross in the other.
when she finally saw her crouched by a river, she expected the attack— a lunge of sharp, earth-caked nails and blood wet teeth. maybe even expected to be killed. what she didn’t expect was to see her striking beauty up so close, for so long unscathed. beautiful, indeed, but messily so. unkempt hair, stained dress, and eyes that were more predatory than alluring. not perfectly and intentionally seductive, as the rumors had painted her to be.
the creature seemed to pause, just as they fell into the dirt together. dusty clouds billowed around them, further staining her nice (?) antique dress, and her bristling ceased upon getting a better view at the trespasser’s face. surprisingly delicate, under all that leather and steel; under that brimmed hat that shielded her eyes framed by thick lashes. her long-fingered hands brushed up and over her vest, chapped lips parted and head tilted in curiosity.
and as her teeth came down— slowly, unlike the killing blow of a predator— she closed her eyes and prayed to God she’d go quickly, and that the sting of those teeth against the flesh of her neck would soon fade along with her consciousness.
but that sting was too brief, and almost too gentle. a taste before the final ravaging, maybe? she felt her slippery lips soothe that skin just under the jugular with a kiss, her mouth sliding up her trachea with animalistic, labored breaths. deeply inhaling the smell of life-plagued skin; sucking in the sweat and dirt and blood lingering there. she couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine, nor the heat that flashed between her legs at the strange pleasure of it all.
she’s pinned by her shoulders to the ground, the bright stars in the navy sky a canvas background to her beautiful attacker’s visage. a tenderness, she thinks, overlaying all this ruthlessness. was this how her other victims felt it? was it this drawn-out, for them?
she sits up quickly, now straddling the gun holsters strapped to her hips, picking up her arm and licking a hot stripe up to the pulse of her wrist. a surprisingly-human, knowing smile curling her mouth as she goes to bite down once again. and when her free hand clasps hers in a pitiful daze, only then is the moment broken. shock, she could have sensed in her eyes, before the creature dismounts and flees off into the night.
nothing left now but cricket song in the air, the dusty tang of blood in her mouth, and a confusing arousal burning her skin.
oh, and her life. somehow.
