September 1888…

In the midst of the crowd, I saw her — a true vision of loveliness who dulled the glamorous attempts of the other ladies. Her essence stole my attention away from the writer who was speaking with me.

I politely nodded in her direction. To my pleasure, she blushed, and nodded back; her bidding smile encouraging me.

"Excuse me, Mr Stoker," I said politely and wove my way through the other guests to reach her side. Blonde ringlets were pinned atop her head, held in place with diamond-encrusted combs. Flawless skin highlighted a petite nose and rosy curvaceous lips. Her crimson gown perfectly framed her delicate body, yet glimpses of plumpy breasts peeked out the top.

But it was her eyes that drew me to her. They shone like sapphires and sparkled with passion and intelligence. There was, however, a sadness in them too. I had to discover the treasures hiding behind her eyes… and later, underneath her gown.

“Welcome. I am Count Vincent von Hohenberg.” I bowed my head, reached for her dainty hand, and brought it to my lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady —?”

“Lady Evelyn Elizabeth Willoughby,” she said. Her voice was low and sultry, not befitting her tiny, delicate frame.

I held her small hand to my lips a little longer than was the custom and delighted in hearing her heart race. Her attraction to me was apparent. A tryst, however, would be far too easy — tempting though it was. This lovely morsel deserved more respect from me than that. I quieted the voice inside my head that reminded me I hadn’t come here for this.

It was almost a year to the day since I’d journeyed to London. I had made plans for my new life as I travelled. Regretfully, my long rest had failed to dull the memory of my last night in Paris. Her dying eyes still pierced whatever semblance of a soul resided within me. I had lost control that fateful night; her blood had tasted so astoundingly good - like cool spring water to a man who had not drunk for a hundred years. How could any human ever possibly understand what it was like to crave something so badly that your entire being burned with desire?

Yes — London had seemed to be the best choice for me to start over — again. Money wasn’t — and never would be — an issue. So I decided that the best course of action would be to hide in plain sight, amongst the privileged and wealthy. I smiled ruefully to myself. Maybe they would somehow hold me to their high standards. I would no doubt be found eccentric. The rich, however, were often found eccentric, were they not? London had a dark, sinister side too. Its secret underworld would be the perfect place to feed without the worry of rumours reaching the wrong ears. Yes, this time would be different.

And so, I, now the Count Vincent von Hohenberg, had acquired a lavish Victorian home on one of London’s wealthiest streets, living amid the highest class of society. Come nightfall, however, I descended upon the likes of Whitechapel, feeding on the lecherous and wicked. Dorset was my street of choice when I learned that even the police avoided it. I convinced myself I wasn’t hurting society by feeding on the filthy vermin of London’s soft underbelly. I left every one of them alive — minus a good deal of blood, but alive. Maybe, when they awoke, they would reflect on their experience and repent. I could only hope. But, was I deceiving myself? Did I belong more with the excrement stinking up the streets on the East End than the elite occupying the West?

Once I had secured suitable premises, it was time for me to introduce myself to high society. I began by hosting a formal party at my lavish new home, inviting all of the London upper class. They were a curious lot, easily impressed by my obvious wealth, fine furnishings, artwork, food, and entertainment. Holding the attention of my prestigious guests proved incredibly easy, as I could speak intelligently on any subject. I entertained my guests with talk of events hundreds of years prior, and spoke with details as if I was there — because I was there!

I never expected to meet the captivating Lady Willoughby at my party. She had not been part of my original intent in London. Since my arrival, I had satisfied my lust within my own hands. However, like no other liquid could replace the satisfaction of blood, my own hands could never replace the welcome of a warm, tight cunt.

After kissing the lovely Lady Willoughby’s hand, I asked if she would honour me with a dance. She paused and glanced around the room, but then graciously accepted my invitation. I noticed many eyes upon us as we danced. My heightened senses were useful as I heard the whispers from the corners, gossiping about Lady Willoughby's seemingly well-known unhappy marriage. I also overheard comments about her being barren. It was apparent that her husband spent most of his time at their country home, while she preferred the city. Their marriage had become one of convenience only — if the gossip was accurate. This was a welcome bit of knowledge indeed.

After our dance, I asked permission to call upon her on the morrow. To my pleasure, she granted my request. Feeling protective of her already, I reluctantly tore myself from her side, hoping to quiet her name on others’ lips. I resumed making polite rounds amongst the rest of my guests. Never once, however, did my eyes lose sight of the beautiful Lady Willoughby. Over the course of the evening, I made my way back to her side on several occasions, engaging her in conversation, drawing out little nuggets of personal information.

When she came to bid me goodbye, I walked her to her carriage and raised her hand to my lips. Her cheeks and the top of her bosom flushed red. It took all my strength not to take her right there. I knew, however, that patience was essential in this matter of the heart.

After the remaining guests left, I set out to find the home of Lady Willoughby. Not surprisingly, it was an elegant house with a balcony extending from what I deduced was the master bedroom. I watched from the darkness as flickering light highlighted her body through the glass. I leapt to her balcony in time to see the enchanting Elizabeth undress.

Lurking in the shadows, I should have felt shame watching her, invading her most private moments. I knew I should turn my gaze, but I could not. As each inch of her creamy flesh was revealed to me, I had to pride myself on holding my position, for I wanted to burst through the doors and bed her.

Her body was not naked for long before she covered it in a white, sheer nightdress. It did nothing to hide her sensual form from me though. She sat at her night table and released her ringlets from their clips. Watching her brush out her silky hair heightened my arousal. I imagined running my fingers through her tendrils, then, wrapping my fingers in them as I kissed her hard. I reached down and adjusted my hardening cock in my breeches. I should turn away. My discomfort would surely increase if I continued to watch.

Like my thirst for blood, I now had a thirst for Elizabeth, and could not will my feet to move from their spot. She eventually moved to her bed, at first sliding underneath her covers. Then, she pulled them back and her hands traced the tops of her nightdress. I could smell her. Along with the overwhelming scent of her blood, the scent of her sex flared my nostrils. What, or who was she thinking of as she touched herself? I could only hope it was me.

It wasn't long before her hands travelled down and pulled her gown up to her waist. She wore no undergarments, and I had the perfect vantage point to see the slightly darker hairs covering her mound. Watching her, I felt what she felt; as her breath caught when she touched her quim, my breath caught. I found my hand stroking my cock over my breeches in time with her hand strumming her clitoris. I grabbed the doorframe for support, denting the wood. I wanted her badly — and now! How I wanted to burst through and replace her hand with my mouth.

I could not tear my eyes from her face. It scrunched and contorted in pleasure. Her mouth opened and stretched, matching her opening cunt. Her wrist rapidly moving back and forth between her legs told me what she was doing to herself. As her mouth stretched wider, I knew she neared her release. Then, her back arched off the bed and her toes curled into the sheets. I came inside my breeches with her.

Panting, I whispered, "Soon, Elizabeth, soon. I will give you what you need."

~ooOoo~

The next day, I called upon her. Her housekeeper took my calling card and returned shortly after to lead me to the parlour. She announced my entry and I was welcomed by the captivating Miss Elizabeth Willoughby.

Conversation with Elizabeth, as she soon asked me to call her, flowed effortlessly. We both enjoyed music, literature, and the theatre. She had outfitted her library with an impressive collection of books, which I enjoyed perusing. It became obvious that she used her time alone to educate herself on a great many topics.

I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed a lady’s company this much. When she grew excited, she became very animated, speaking with her hands. Her laugh was intoxicating. It seems she had discarded the boring, reserved society mannerisms expected by ladies of this class. My mind wondered — would she be this uninhibited in bed?

The next few idyllic weeks became the most treasured since my arrival in London. As always, there were numerous social events to attend, which we arrived at separately in order to avoid rumours. Yet we found ways to steal time and enjoy being together. Elizabeth rarely mentioned her husband, and his existence only occasionally entered my mind. Should he discover our relationship, I feared for her, not myself. One advantage of being immortal was that I had no reason to fear anyone. Nobody human, that is.

I tried to keep my heart protected, knowing that if I allowed myself to fall in love it could not last. I was thirty-nine years old when I stopped ageing. To be truthful, I did still age, but so gradually no one in their lifetime would notice. Sweet Elizabeth could take my heart though. She was everything I could want in a mate and more; I ached when I was in her presence. I longed to bed her — to give her the pleasure she had been missing in her life.

Through my friend Mr Stoker, I arranged tickets one evening to a production at the Lyceum Theatre, with Elizabeth as my guest. Throughout the performance, her arm remained draped over mine with my hand cupping hers. My fingers danced along the top of her hand, fingertips circling and then caressing her soft skin. I was delighted by the erratic fluttering and beating of her heart as our skin touched. We both shifted in our seats, becoming heated with desire. Our eyes told one another what our bodies wanted. Tonight, I would make her mine.

No words were needed as we climbed into the carriage; we both knew she was coming home with me.

Upon entering my home, I swept Elizabeth up into my arms. She rested her head on my shoulder as I ascended the spiral staircase to my bedroom. Kicking the door open, I carried her to my bed and placed her back on her feet alongside.

There I undressed the breathtaking Elizabeth. Then, I undressed. I followed her gaze down to my cock, rigid and lengthening towards her. Moving closer, I pulled her towards me, trapping my hardness against her smooth belly.

She finally looked up into my eyes, her hands trembling in mine. “Vincent, it has been such a long time since I shared a bed with someone. My husband has long since denied me his lovemaking.”

“My lovely Elizabeth, it has been longer for me.”

I bent my head and kissed away her fears. Opening her mouth with my tongue, I imitated with my tongue what my cock would do to her cunt. My feet took steps toward my bed, manoeuvring her with me until she lay back on the covers. I climbed on top of her delicate frame, holding myself up with my elbows, and kissing her.

“Your lips taste of sweet honey.” I kissed her again, unable to get enough. “And you have the softest lips mine have ever touched.”

“Vincent, these things you say.” Her eyes sparkled with tears. “No man has said such lovely things.”

Our kissing resumed and I gingerly stroked her arms, and cupped her soft breasts. She pressed her sex against me, enjoying my touches. She was quickly awakening to my attentions.

I broke our kiss to gaze upon her loveliness and thought about the time I had watched her from the balcony. "Elizabeth, do you touch yourself?" I asked the question even though I already knew the answer.

"I cannot talk of such things." She turned her head away from me, blushing in embarrassment.

I touched her burning cheek and turned her head back. "Elizabeth, please do not be shy with me. We can discuss anything."

She nodded, however, she still did not respond.

"Now… do you touch yourself?" I gently pressed her for an answer. She slowly raised her eyes to mine.

"Yes," she whispered timidly, biting her lower lip like a small child who had been caught misbehaving.

"Where? Show me how you touch yourself, my darling."

She slowly slid her hand down her flat tummy to her mound, resting it atop her slight tuft of hair.

"Good. Now touch yourself."

I looked down as she rubbed her tiny fingers over her clitoris, eliciting a gasp from her lips. I brushed a strand of hair from her face as she rubbed herself harder, slightly bucking her hips. Oh, how I loved watching her pleasure herself! My gaze constantly shifted between her facial expressions and her caressing fingers. Covering her hand with mine, I moved it down and swept her fingers up and down her lips, coating them with her sweetness. The fragrance of her sex reached my nostrils and I had to taste her. With her eyes widening, I raised one of her fingers to my lips and cleaned it for her.

“You are so beautiful,” I whispered.

I took hold of her wrists and raised them above her head with one of my hands. The other dove back between her legs and slid inside her slippery cunny. She cooed and panted as I worked my fingers in and out her sex. She struggled against my restraining hand but was no match for my strength. I smelled her cream. So delicious, I had to have more than a taste. Finally, releasing her hands, I kissed my way down her body and settled between her legs.

"Vincent! Vincent!" She cried out in decadent pleasure.

I buried my face between her legs, licking, and lapping. I nipped at her lips, careful to keep my fangs from descending. Her cries intensified both in volume and succession. Suddenly her body shook all over, cumming hard.

I shot up alongside her, pulling her into my chest, cradling her throughout her release.

"You are my darling Elizabeth." I kissed her lips, wanting her neck, but not trusting myself. "Now, I will make love to you."

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, moaning, as if I was already inside her. With one hand behind her head and the other holding her backside, I eased my hard cock inside her. Her cunny was warm and welcoming and tight. I stayed inside her, not moving until her stiff body relaxed. Then, I pushed farther. Slowly, I worked my cock in and out her cunt, settling into a rhythm of lovemaking. Lifting her legs and hooking them around my waist, I was able to drive deeper, hitting her special place of pleasure. She came alive, arching her back, meeting me thrust for thrust.

Her cunt squeezed my manhood, trying to hold me in place. I did miss its warmth on my pullbacks but delighted in her gasps each time I pushed back inside. Her gasps turned to deep, throaty screams when I varied my thrusting. She used every part of her body to guide me to her wishes. Tiny hands clawed my back. Petite feet dug their heels into my buttocks. Ironically, she even bit my neck.

I looked upon her face and the wildness peering back unravelled me. My sweet Elizabeth was burning with the same fire which burned within me. My thumb stroked the throbbing vein in her neck. Stay in control, Vincent, I reminded myself. I had never fed on the one I fucked, but knew how glorious it must be… two thirsts quenched together at one time!

My release was building; my pulsating cock stole my thoughts again. Then, she came with her legs clamped down around me and her hands trying to dig into the skin on my back. I joined her powerful release with my cock exploded inside her. Our cum mixed together as we clung to one another, riding the waves of pleasure as one.

~ooOoo~

The next morning, we were sitting together in the parlour, her enjoying her morning tea. I was seated in the armchair reading a new book; she was seated on the sofa reading the London Daily Post. This scene with her felt so normal — as if I had a true companion in my life for once.

“Oh Vincent, it is perfectly dreadful!” She dropped the paper onto the floor, then, wrung her hands in despair.

“What darling? What is dreadful?” I rushed to sit beside her on the sofa, holding her hands in mine.

“These killings. There has been a fifth killing ... a Mary Jane Kelly. Oh my, when will they catch this … this … this monster!”

I could not help but flinch at the word ‘monster.’ She regarded him as vile — that was obvious. Was I any different? For I, too, had killed. This was the third and fourth killing by this unknown monster. I too, was following him in the papers. He was once regarded as ‘A phantom.’ I had to wonder about him. Some things rang familiar…

Yes, this was my opportunity to make amends. Was it not? I could not bring back the unfortunate soul I had killed, but if I were to save others from the same fate, surely that would be some atonement for my sin?

~ooOoo~

It took me three nights. Three nights away from my new love. During those nights I searched, wandering the streets where the monster’s victims had been found, letting my mind, and my other finely tuned senses work. I finally found him in the early hours when most were already abed. It was the evil I sensed first. The foul corruption of his mind. A cesspit of torrid thoughts washing through the dour gas-lit streets as he explored the depraved London underworld for his next victim.

I paused, the doubts crowding in. Was I so very different? Was I also evil? Surely not? At least that was what I fervently hoped. For a moment, I wondered what Elizabeth’s reaction would be if she knew what I really was.

I sighed. The answer to that was obvious. I, too, was a monster.

I pushed the thought away and vowed to concentrate on ridding the world of the loathsome creature currently terrorising these dark streets.

As I followed, I began to learn the pattern of his movements. He was searching, actively searching for his next potential victim. Hidden by the shadows, I crossed the street, anticipating his direction; I was getting the sense of him now. I watched as he approached a lady of the night; a streetwalker whose figure-revealing gown gave away her profession. That, and the lateness of the hour.

“Awl right, darlin’? Fancy a bit of rough and tumble, do ya?” Her smile was coquettish, inviting; yet her eyes conveyed a different message; tired and worn from the ravages of her miserable life.

“How much?” He spoke in a low timbre, his voice educated, but rough as a freshly hewn log.

I listened to them haggle over the price before they ventured down a nearby alleyway — undoubtedly her usual place of business from the sounds that started to emanate from it.

She wasn’t in danger; not yet. I was beginning to know him. This was a reconnaissance. He was preparing the ground for later; working out how to hide his hideous crime. I recognised what he was doing, because it was what I did myself.

We had a lot in common, he and I.

But I couldn’t allow him to continue. Not with these poor, down-trodden creatures as his victims. I thought of Elizabeth, and resolved to finish this business tonight, before the dawn forced me into hiding.

I listened from a distance, the uncouth grunts and moans a clear indication of their business. He didn’t take long to finish; wasn’t really all that interested. It wasn’t his motivation, this sexual coupling; he was turned on by other things. Grosse things. Things that needed to be stopped.

When they’d finished they emerged, both seemingly in good spirits, despite the obviously contrived performances.

“After a tumble like that, I might return for another round tomorrow,” he leered.

“You’ll be welcome, a big man like you!” she giggled in reply. I sighed once more. She must really be in dire straits to carry on in such a manner, hopeful of another visit from this vile fiend. A visit that would be her last if ever allowed to happen.

I followed him once more. This time he headed towards the river, his step jaunty, his business for the night completed. He was content, having found what he had sought; a dalliance. Something to amuse his foul mind the next day. As we walked, he and I, I noticed that the smog was unusually heavy along the Thames — not really a time to be out, if you were a mere mortal. Death would be coming to more than one on a night like tonight.

The quiet was almost total. Now, I perceived, was the time. As I moved in I felt him pause for a moment as he belatedly sensed my presence. But he was far too slow, and I dispatched him quickly. For the sake of silence, I gave him something he had not had the decency to give his poor victims — a mostly painless end. The only sound was the snapping of the vertebrae, a brief squeal of protest, and then nothing.

Afterwards, I studied him. I didn’t want to feed on such a soulless being. He was relatively new to this existence, and still weak in comparison. Whoever had created this creature had done a poor job. I had undoubtedly done the world a service. To ensure his end was complete, I dismembered the corpse, finishing with the removal of his head; you could never be too careful with a beast such as this.

There was a feeling of relief as I disposed of the remains. I was still a monster — I knew that. But I had done some good for a change, I thought. I could return to my Elizabeth now, and perhaps feel just a hint of redemption.

(To be continued…)