Blood Sacrifice

Part Three of The Sacrifice Tales

Mary Not Wollstonecraft

© Copyright 2020 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously-any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, actual events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All characters in this story are above the age of 18.

Blood Sacrifice

-Lazarus by the Sea, Maine-

June 1897

In life, Yin and Yang constantly battle. When light danced about, evil hid in the shadows it cast. Men of faith often cowered in fear once they knew how powerful the dark forces were. In the year of our Lord, 1897, in the small Maine town of Lazarus by the Sea, despair lingered, driven by the young people’s deaths.

Although the deaths of the young men had stopped, fear held its icy fingers around the throats of some. The influx of new citizens echoed past events when the vampire, Lazarus, held sway. Something as natural as a summer thunderstorm might shatter a peaceful night.

Solemn tones echoed from the old tower clock announcement of midnight. Deep bangs resounded discordantly through the village as the hammer struck the bell with 12 ominous clangs. A heavy and thick fog covered the town in a shroud of deathlike stillness. Peculiarly, a type of dread pervaded all nature. Mostly, no one was awake to experience the terror.

Life seemed to pause like the menacing calm preceding some terrific outbreak of the elements. Clouds swept over the town, blotting out any light from above while the mist obscured the streetlamps, features of the streets, buildings, alleyways, and grassy knolls around the community.

A faint peal of thunder rolled through the bay. The rumbling reverberated like distant cannon fire, perhaps miles away from the ocean. A mighty blast of wind shuttered through the streets and ceased, and all was as still and calm as before. Sleepers woke and pondered what they heard, confused if they dreamed of a calamity or if there was indeed a storm. They shivered for a startling moment and, after a moment or two, slumbered once more.

So long as their little world was safe, no one cared what happened outside. Not when Morpheus wrapped them in his arms. Sleep on, sweet citizens, for nothing was wrong here.

A tall, slender figure stood at the bay window, peeking into the bedchamber of a young man. The large bay window stretched from ceiling to floor and faced south, away from the bay. The window was latticed with strangely painted glass and richly stained sections, which sent a strange yet beautiful light into the room. That was if the sun or moon shone into the room.

The owner paid well under the value of the home. No one bothered to tell him that generations had died in the house. Whole families fell victim to the curse. But they might say this of every structure in the village. For over two centuries, the town lived in dread of Lazarus, dying for his existence, pleasure, or on an evil whim of their callous master.

The man was shorter, less manly than Adam. Still, he was well-formed, handsome, a little effeminate, and lay on his bed. The boy tossed the covers away during sleep, exposing his naked body to Adam’s prying eyes. He could understand why Lacey desired him. All too well, Adam grasped her interest. For he also felt a particular yearning toward the girlish young man.

Something about this girlish young fellow pulled at him like nothing before. A certain charm in his lithe body. Adam discovered, for him, the sex of a person mattered little. Or was he only attracted to this kid?

‘Kid, what an odd epithet to pin on a young adult,’ Adam pondered the word as he gazed at the waif. He left contemplation of the matter and replaced it with a longing to hold, kiss, and feel himself inside the young man. Aaron longed to feel this son of a fisherman’s mouth around his cock. And above all, he sought to drink his blood.

To drink, feed, and sup from life to gain more life, more strength. More than this, to cross over, to become what his mistress was. These things were all that mattered.

The son of one of the new fishermen, imported from Boston, Lacey had met him at a soiree to welcome the newcomers to the community. If Lacey wanted the boy, it was his job to get him. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the window. At the moment of lightning, a clap of colossal thunder shook the buildings and windows.

The strike was inside the town, with no breath between lightning and thunder. The flash hit the ground behind Adam.

The boy stirred and gazed at the window. A chill of terror crept down his spine. He clutched the sheets of his bed, letting a gasp escape. For outlined in the oddly colored pains of painted and stained glass, he saw the figure of a tall, thin man. The light vanished in less than two beats of his heart, as did the shape.

Sitting upright in his bed, his heart drummed wildly in his chest. The boy’s blood ran cold.

With another flash of lightning, the colorful patterns showed unbroken. Returning his head to his pillow, he put the ghostly specter from his mind. The boy calmed himself, realizing it was a trick of light, and soon returned to his dream world.

Adam stood unmoving, gazing through the glass, scrutinizing the sleeping youth.

“Return to me.” Her voice called to him.

Adam didn’t step back to the bay window. Instead, the young man followed the instruction and returned to Lazarus Manner. With the village filled with people once more. Potential victims were so plentiful that Lacey might visit and feed on anyone in the town without raising suspicions. She left them alive with only a vague memory of an erotic dream.

Adam wondered how the boy’s blood tasted. Surely not as succulent as Lacey’s. Adam longed for her to bring him across to the other side of life. The existence of neither living nor dying, undead, unaging, immortal with her forever.

The constant throb in his pants disturbed him. He’d never felt a drawing to a man before. Accompanying his aching prick, his mind filled with only two thoughts: fucking the young man and sipping his blood. While Adam had only drunk Lacey’s blood, he desired to partake of others. She promised him, in time, he would.

That was a preview of Blood Sacrifice: The Sacrifice Tales Part Three. To read the rest purchase the book.

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