Vampire Transgression

Chapter One Victor Boudreaux followed the tall woman through the wroughtiron gate and up the steps to his townhouse. She wore a knit dress, short and backless. Wobbly from drinking, she stumbled. As Victor steadied her, he pressed his face against her bare back and inhaled the sweet metallic scent that oozed through her damp skin. Her blood aroused him as though it rushed from her veins to his crotch. She jumped at the touch and then chuckled as if to apologize for the start. "God, Victor, you're freezing." From behind, Victor brushed aside her hair and kissed her cheek. "Here, let me get the door." He dug a ring of keys from the pocket of his leather pants, spotting the door key instantly, despite the faint porch light. Darkness only sharpens a vampire's vision. Inside, the unlit entry hall puzzled him. Where the hell was Paul? He wasn't supposed to be out feeding on his own. They'd agreed that Victor would bring someone back from the clubsomeone for both of them to feed on. Paul's new rebelliousness was growing tiresome. "How beautiful," the woman said when Victor clicked on the table lamp. She moved through the archway into the living room, where sconces glowed on either side of a life-size portrait above the fireplace. Victor followed her to the painting. A Roman painter had finished the portrait of Paul just before their return from the Eternal City in April. Against the painting's dark background, Paul nestled in a club chair, one lanky leg draped over the side, his arm crooked across the back, his head resting on his big hand. His hazel eyes gazed shyly at the viewer. An odd gap in his left eyebrow and a large nose marred otherwise classic good looks. But these flaws, along with long, sandy hair falling on broad shoulders, lent him an intense sensuality. He looked like the free-spirited artist that he was. His face and the patch of smooth chest exposed by his unbuttoned red shirt matched the cold marble of the mantle below the portrait. His complexion had grown paler and paler since the night of his transformation a month before the painting was begun, until it reached this pristine qualitylike cloudy molten glass that had finally solidified into porcelain. "Yes," Victor said, with the pride of ownership. "He is beautiful." "Who is he?" The woman turned to him. Her features were large, but striking. Her slender throat seemed to throb audibly to Victor. She tugged at the purse strap on her shoulder and blinked at him drowsily, determined to maintain the coquettish air she believed had allured him. At the club she'd spread her fingers to display the rings she'd purchased at an antique store by the Georgetown canal. Victor's breathing had quickened at the sight of the veins discernible beneath the soft skin of her hands. And her eyes had widened on registering his excitement. "Can't you tell?" Victor said. "It's a painting of me." She flashed him a look of amused disbelief, then drew her lips into a pout. "Do you even remember my name?" "Karen," Victor said. He caught a whiff of Paul's patchouli soap and glanced toward the entry hall. Paul had mastered the technique of moving through space at the speed of thought, evading even Victor's seasoned perceptions. There was no sign of him now. Karen smiled, flattered that Victor had paid attention to her name after all. "What a gorgeous place," she said, glancing around the spacious room filled with custom desSchiefelbein, Michael is the author of 'Vampire Transgression', published 2006 under ISBN 9780312330217 and ISBN 0312330219.