Against the Coming Dark – Chapter One: Cressida, Part 3

A few minutes later, they arrived at her home. It was a sprawling French-style estate, with lush, landscaped gardens, and complete with a small orchard of varying fruit trees like fig, pomegranate, and peach. The main house was made from limestone and at least 4,000 square feet, with a large kitchen, butler’s pantry, maid quarters, two staircases, four fireplaces, and multiple bedrooms and bathrooms. 

This was her home, but it was also home to all of her progeny, each one having a room of their own. She believed in raising them properly until they were able to make a successful show of it on their own. She believed that each needed a foundation to build on, but they were capable of determining their own direction. Every vampire she had sired was given an education in multiple languages, economics, and a path of their own choosing; this would help them become successful anywhere in the world. With the starter funds she provided of $100,000 to each of them, most were now in top positions throughout multiple industries and governments, including the United States. Now that she was back, she was looking forward to having a nice dinner and perhaps catching up with her progeny. 

Francois pulled the SUV around to the front door. Dmitri hopped out and opened the backdoor so Cressida could climb out. Closing the vehicle door behind her, Dmitri maneuvered around her quickly and opened the main door of the house for her to walk through, again nodding at his mistress. With her inside, he stood at the entrance to stand watch while Francois drove the SUV forward to park in the garage around the side.

Having come home, Cressida still couldn’t let her guard down. Her butler approached and took her jacket, leaving her in a pale peach silk camisole and her navy blue suit pants. The sound of her heels echoed off the walls as she walked through the main hall, tossing her rich mahogany brown hair over her shoulder as she went. Her delicate solid gold bangles chimed together at her wrist as she headed down the left towards the dining room. 

Arriving ready to eat, she was pleased to see Dmitri held true to his word. He had the chef prepare something that was indeed spicy and delectable: a lithe Brazilian model, strapped to a chair, seated at the head of the table. Licking her lips, Cressida sauntered casually across the dining room floor towards her meal. Glancing at the table, she saw that there was also that lovely bottle of Zinfandel and a single wine glass waiting for her as promised. Yummy.

She approached the model slowly, carefully, as if approaching a stallion. Coming at them from the front and to the left, she spoke softly, making seductive promises that gently swayed her prey. Cressida could see the fright in the poor model’s eyes, a brightness that sparked with each step she took. As she reached them, she extended her hand out and caressed the model’s upper arm, just a light touch to let them know she was there and to not be afraid. Stopping next to them, Cressida stroked her fingers across the model’s shoulder and up their neck into their hair. 

Still speaking softly and with sweet, tempting words, she smiled and leaned forward to smell her dinner. There. There it was, the spice she was longing for. She felt her canines elongate, touched one with her tongue, and closed her eyes as she pricked it and begat blood. Cressida sighed, her appetite fully whetted and ready for the main course. 

Tightening her grip in the model’s hair, she wrenched their head back and dove into the model’s neck, tearing olive skin open and drinking the sweet and spicy nectar. The model screamed, but the scream was quickly overcome by the vicious tear to her vocal chords. Blood continued to drain freely, flowing from the open wound down Cressida’s throat. She’d had so much experience that nary a drop touched her camisole. 

She moaned with pleasure as she drank her fill, feeling the stirrings in her nether region as she was aroused by the action. Amelia had taught her that. There was nothing that Amelia hadn’t taught her about pleasure. Even the act of drinking from your prey could be a heady and exhilarating experience, akin to that of sexual conquest. 

Cressida slipped her free hand inside her pants and touched her delicate folds, anxious to have release from the tension that was building. She swiped and circled, pressing and rubbing lightly then harder still, the sensations urging her onward until she came, bursting forth and panting and whimpering into the model’s neck. A stray drop of blood clung to her lip as she shuddered, leaning her forehead against her prey. Slowly removing her hand from within her pants, she released the drained model and stood up, taking a napkin from the table and wiping her hands clean. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

Cressida picked up a silver bell on the table and rang it, taking two steps back from the remains. The butler came into the room and approached the carcass. Easily, he picked it up and threw it over his shoulder, then carried it out through a side door, leaving the chair at the head of the table empty. 

After he was gone, she took the couple of steps needed to reach the chair and sat down. It was still warm. Reaching out with both hands, she collected the Zinfandel bottle with her right hand and her wine glass with her left. She poured herself a glass of the bold and fruity red wine, its sweetness a perfect complement to the spice of her meal. Setting down the bottle, she took the wine glass into her right hand and swirled it for a moment, letting the action relax her. Then, she took a sip. 

Perfection.

Published by Shanna Robillard

Wife to a northern man, mother to a four-legged beastie, and a lover of crystals and gems, vampires, fantasy, and creating stories!

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