The Howl of the Werewolf, Chapter 3

<  The Howl of the Werewolf, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dr. Paine dropped Beau off outside of his London flat. Beau waved as his friends drove down the street and reached for the keys in his coat pocket and headed for the entrance to the apartment building. He looked up the street.

Dr. Paine made a right at the intersection. Beau watched the car disappear. Whistling a musical hall tune, he changed direction towards his roadster parked on a side street. It was a short drive to his destination and he passed few vehicles with the lateness of the hour. Beau turned down a cobblestone alley and maneuvered the car into the open doors of an old carriage house. He pulled the wooden sliding door shut and locked it. He exited a door on the other side and into a walled garden behind an immense, 18th century house. His lover had heard him parking his car and as his hand reached to tap the servants’ entrance and she opened it.

“Come in,” she said, smiling. Beau loved her proper, British accent.

“It’s not too late?” he asked out of politeness though he knew her answer.

“No, certainly not,” she said. “I was hoping you would be able to make it. Did the evening go well?”

“Not really. The werewolf escaped.”

“Terrible,” she said, her eyes ablaze and a nearly wolfish smile on her lips. “You weren’t hurt?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“Would you like to go out?” Beau asked. “It’s a lovely evening.”

“I’d rather stay in if that’s alright.” She stood aside and he entered, taking off his trench-coat and hat and hanging them on a hook. He noticed the elbow of the left sleeve had a tear and both elbows were stained from when the werewolf knocked him down to the ground in the forest.

He turned slowly around. He still felt awkward being at her home at such a late hour though he had been there several times before. She sensed his demeanor. Despite the liberties she had given him, she thought, he never took her for granted. She smiled to herself.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

Beau shook his head no. He looked at her face intently. “You?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.

“Starving,” she said with a smile. Without hesitation she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into her embrace. She kissed him as her hands loosened his tie and shirt collar. She looked up at him and then kissed his chin and just under it on his throat before she bit her fangs into his neck.

She drank deeply. His arms encircled her. With her right arm around the back of his head, her left hand continued to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers tugged his belt loose, followed with her hands deftly unfastening the buttons of his pants.

She couldn’t believe the passion he stirred in her, his blood was rich and full of life. She felt his arms squeeze her tightly, the fingers of his right hand entwined in her hair as she drank from him. From the corner of her eyes she saw his head tilt back.

Still locked in their embrace, they helped each other remove their clothing. She guided him back to a chair in the hallway and sat on top of him. His heart pounded deafeningly loud in his chest. She pulled away from his throat and gasped.

Her mouth and face were covered in his blood. She was normally such a neat drinker, but she felt passions she hadn’t felt in decades when she was with him.

She licked her face clean and then kissed him fiercely before leaning back, still moving in rhythm. Their passion built again until she could not control herself and once more she bit him in the throat, drinking so deep he began to buckle from the blood loss. She held him tighter, feeling his life and warmth flowing into the coolness of her undead body. Stars exploded behind her eyes. He collapsed sideways and she fell with him onto the thick Persian carpet of the hallway. She looked at him. His face was ashen and his breathing shallow.

“Beau,” she said with fright. “I’m sorry.” She knelt over him. Blood trickled from the small puncture holes, painting red lines down his throat and chest as she held him. She feared he was dying.

“Lucy,” he said. He reached a hand up to her face and she clasped it to her lips and kissed it tenderly. “That was amazing.”

Continue to Chapter 4.

Posted in Horror, Howl of the Werewolf, Lovecraftian, Occult, Original Fiction, Vampires, Werewolves ~ You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
3 Responses to “The Howl of the Werewolf, Chapter 3”


All those google searches coming here for vampire sex finally have something to read besides an FCC ruling.

Lucy Drake

First Stoker, now you. I feel so honored to have made it into two novels! But I have to wonder when Beau became a willing partner. If he doesn’t make it through the next session, I’ll have to move on to “Walk-Away” Wade.


A different Lucy.

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