Page 2 of All Your Bloody Lies

Then… Silence.

I am alive.

Buried.

Alone.

Alive.

1

Xeraphine

Ten Years Later

Mundanes are insufferable, and I genuinely mean that in the most disrespectful way imaginable.

If it weren’t for what I get out of them, I’d seek my fingers and toys indefinitely. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for them, I would not survive without them.

It’s why this one is three inches deep inside my barely aroused cunt. His hand is around my throat, and while I enjoy it when I can barely breathe as I climax, I’m nowhere near that moment. I doubt he will even understand that my need comes from my begging bundle of nerves that he hasn’t touched since our few minutes of shitty foreplay.

“You like that, don’t you?” He doesn’t even have a husky voice, which is such a turn-off. If I had a cock, it would have gone soft.

“Oh, you know I do,” I try to sound anything but annoyed, and I think it works. I’m pretty sure he even grew a little bit. Or that could have been me clenching in an attempt to hurry him along.

I throw my head back to look at anything other than his excited expression.

His hand draws down between my breasts, which also have been given zero attention. My nipples aren’t even hard, and that alone is impressive, more than me being wet.

Honestly, I wish he would have just fuck me with his fingers. Two of them would be thicker than the appendage I am riding.

I need him to get moving, so I force myself to look back at him and veil my eyes. With the look of insatiable desire forced across my expression, I know it will be his undoing. He curses loudly while grabbing hold of my hips. It’s really the only confirmation I need that he is about to burst.

Although I prefer to orgasm while I feast, I’m too tired to care.

As his body succumbs to his climax, my Amoro pulls him in. His defenses weaken, and I siphon the energy that is his lifeforce. I despise the way Mundanes smell at this juncture. Their aura becomes murky brown, reminiscent of excrement, and is equally as repulsive unless they maintain proper hygiene.

Yet, it still satiates the depletion of my vitality, making this one a necessity to me.

As he begins to breath heavily, I lean in closer to him. The glow of his energy envelops us both, though he can’t perceive it; a sense of unease gnawing at him. He knows, deep down, that something is wrong.

Running my sharpened nails along his jawline, I etch white scratch marks into his skin. When he attempts to speak, I forcefully thrust three fingers into his mouth, eliciting a gag in response.

“I like silence,” I deliver with a slow moan, feeling more satisfaction being filled by this worthless male’s energy, than his shrinking cock inside me. My lips find his collarbone and I’m running my tongue along it to taste the life seeping through his pores.

Fucking disgusting.

There was no need for me to kill to be satisfied. As his eyes reel back and unconsciousness begins to claim him, I roll my own in frustration.

I let out a groan and withdraw my Amoro. A feeling of satisfaction washes over me. This energy will last for a few days, maybe a week. Removing my fingers from his mouth, I notice blood coating the tips of my nails. “Oops,” I mutter nonchalantly.

Slipping off him, I settle at the edge of the bed to regain my composure. My eyes, consumed by onyx, need to be brought undercontrol before I leave this man’s apartment. In a world where the bizarre is commonplace, my kind still isn’t usually embraced, even as a hybrid: part Succubus, part Mundane.

After a few moments, the feeling returns to my legs. I stand up and make my way across the room to the bathroom. There is no way I am leaving this place without showering first.

His cum is equally as repulsive smelling as his energy.

As expected, all he has is some disgusting Male Mandoes body wash, and no conditioner in sight. I am thoroughly surprised to find shampoo, albeit the off-brand scalp rejuvenation type, that seems to dry out more than moisturize.