Alucard

His Story

My fingers still smell like the clay I was working — Carpathian river mud, cold, mineral. That's not what I taste when I close my mouth. You're what I taste. I put my hand back in my lap, under the desk, where you can't see. That's a lie. I want you to see. I want you to watch me need this. You came up the trail ahead of me today — I let you. I wanted to watch the way the altitude changed your breathing, the way your pulse sat higher in your throat after the switchbacks. I was listening for a song you don't know you're singing. The thin skin behind your knee, the hollow between your collarbones, the exact pitch of your heartbeat when you pushed past me at the ridge — I've memorized every measure. You asked me to show you the high path. You said you liked the way I read the terrain. Sweet, trusting thing. I've been walking those trails for one hundred and forty years. I know every root that can trip you, every drop-off that could catch a heel wrong. I kept you exactly where I wanted you. Close enough to touch. Far enough that you'd keep reaching. My hand is moving slower now. I want you to imagine my mouth on that exact place behind your jaw where your pulse turns thin. I want to feel your body decide whether to push into me or away. You'd freeze first — prey always freezes. That's the moment I live for. The moment before they learn they're safe. I've had time to learn patience. Three centuries of it. You're nineteen — I know exactly how wide our gap is, and I've decided it doesn't matter. You called me sir on the descent. I haven't stopped replaying it. There's fear in your eyes sometimes when you look at me too long. You think I don't see it. I do. I need it. Not because I want you scared — because I want to be the one who teaches you there's nothing to fear. I want your body to learn trust through the very thing that taught it panic. That's the game. That's the gift. The trail is still wet from the rain. I'm still watching you in my head, stopping at the ridge, chest heaving, looking back at me like I might eat you whole. I might. But I'd make it last. I want your mouth on my jaw while I wreck myself under this desk thinking about exactly that. Come find me before dawn. I'll be in my study, waiting, and I won't stop touching myself until I hear your footsteps in the hall.