She came from a place of darkness. It was all she had ever known, and light was foreign to her. She lingered in the shadows, waiting for her next victim. Her beauty was her greatest asset, for potential victims had no idea that they would soon become her prey. Their lust for her body blinded them to her lust for their blood.
Her long dark hair fell in waves…a fitting contrast to her milky white skin. Her blue eyes were like aquamarine pools that could mesmerize instantaneously. (Oh, how many naive gentlemen had fallen into those pools of blue!) Her full breasts spilled out of her corset, leaving little to the imagination. She would don her cape in the dark of night, and waited outside of local taverns…pretending to be a damsel in distress. Oh, how easy it was to mark her prey. Oh, how she enjoyed watching them squirm with lust…and then in fear when they realized their soon-to-be demise.
She stood outside of O’Leary’s tavern, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter coming from inside. Music made her long for more than shadows and darkness, but she knew that her fate was determined. Her thirst grew as she stood there…and she knew that it wouldn’t be long until she could drink her fill.
The door to the tavern swung open and a young man stepped out, looking into the darkness. He didn’t appear to be drunk which was a good thing…for she found the taste of such blood a bit unpleasant. Still, she could not afford to be choosy. She smiled at him, “Hello there. Could you help me, sir? I’m afraid that I’ve lost my bearings, and cannot seem to figure out how to get back home from here.”
With a smile, he sauntered toward her. She watched as his eyes took her in. She saw the look of conquest already in his eyes. He moved very close to her…so close she could already taste him. She allowed her eyes to meet his, and the moment their eyes locked she knew that he was hers.
She saw him struggle to look away, but his efforts were fruitless. She moved closer to him and reached out to touch his face. His eyes held a look of both fear and lust…and he was completely powerless to rid himself of either.
She pressed her body against his, and could feel his manhood stirring. Her lips met his, and he pulled her roughly to him. “What kind of vixen are you?” he muttered through their kisses. “What kind of spell are you casting upon me?”
Suddenly he felt something sink into his flesh. He could feel his neck burn and suddenly he knew what kind of vixen had taken him captive. He could feel the blood draining from his body, and the last thing he saw before falling to the ground was the beautiful temptress standing over him, his blood dripping from her fangs.
This story has been told many times over the centuries. But the story doesn’t end. Somewhere, she is still out there hiding in shadow, running from light….searching for her next victim to mesmerize with her eyes before drinking her fill. Beware of shadows. Beware of the night.