You think dying is bad? Try un-dying!

Trigger Warnings: This story is intended for mature audiences, not safe for work, and contains graphic depictions of sex, violence, and death. Specific triggers may include:

Nonconsensual sex/rape, Alcohol/drug abuse, Monster violence/brutality, Profanity, Graphic sex/nudity, Mind control, Murder/death/fighting/killing, Bestial/demonic sex

One

If he didn’t want me to come back, he shouldn’t have raped me-repeatedly. Ironically, the constant sexual torture-with his immortal stamina and inhuman appetite-was like foreplay compared to what he put me through. Sebastian was one evil, twisted fuck. A sadistic monster, without a shred of warmth, compassion, or empathy. He was the exact opposite, in fact. And I would make him pay-somehow.

There wasn’t much a 105-pound, 19-year-old cheerleader could do against the likes of him. He was as invincible as he was savage.

But even monsters make mistakes. Enter little ole me.

~~~

I was stumbling barefoot down the unlit road from Shasta Heights-drunk off my ass and high on ecstasy-when he took me. I wouldn’t have had to walk if my (ex)boyfriend Brian Dickhead Donovan hadn’t bounced early, with some other fucking skank (wait…did I just call myself a skank?). But here I was, 4” Prada Safiano heels in one hand, LV clutch in the other, fake tail peeking suggestively beneath my favorite Gaby Hearst skirt, as I staggered down Rich Motherfucker Heights on a road barely lit by a quarter moon.

When I first saw him, my drunk ass couldn’t comprehend the horror. He stood in the center of the road, about half a football field away. His clothes were blacker than black, but his face was deadly fucking pale, you know? And shit! His eyes were red AF. I staggered to a halt and blinked several times in disbelief. Then-there he was-right in my face! Just. Like. That. His eyes weren’t just red, they fucking glowed. And he had fangs! Fucking fangs! That’s when the horror hit me.

It didn’t just hit me; it consumed me. You know when the EMTs put Narcan up a junkie’s nose and they’re, like, instantly not-high and freaking out? Bitches, that ain’t nothin’ compared to this. I was sober AF from the booze and X, and so scared shitless, I pissed myself. My heart was beating 200 times a minute, and I felt suffocated under his awful gaze. It was one of his tricks-paralyzing his victims with terror.

I probably tried to scream, but his ice-cold fingers wrapped around my throat, crushing any sound. In less than a second, he shredded my $5000 dress and tore it from my body. I don’t remember dropping my clutch and shoes, but the next sensation was lifting off the ground and soaring into the cold night. He still held me in his icy grip, and his awful eyes burned through my soul as we flew higher.

All they found of me were my shoes, purse, shredded dress, and tail. Panties? Who wears panties to a billionaire’s rave?

I don’t know where he took me, but it seemed like an old, abandoned church. I remember being at his mercy as he began feeding, raping, and butchering me.

Getting bitten by a vampire has been compared to a lover’s kiss-where the victim finds herself turned on, euphoric from some intense erotic spell. Yeah, that’s a bunch of bull-shit! There is nothing erotic or titillating about having your throat ripped open by a monster with poisonous fangs (and not just two). The pain is unimaginable, and the terror of knowing you are being killed is off the charts. And it doesn’t just fade away as he drains you dry. It gets worse. And worse. And. Worse.

Nor did he just drain me dry. Not this sadistic, merciless fuck. He fed on more than my blood. He savored my pain and terror, mastering their prolongation and intensification. My vocal cords were destroyed, preventing me from expressing even a squeak. When he penetrated me with his undead cock, it felt like being stabbed with a white-hot/colder-than-ice poker. That he was bigger than I could handle was trivial. He tore me apart as he raped me. My insides felt seared. He fucked me with wild, inhuman strength. I felt my pelvis crack and shatter under his assault, but that pain was trivial.

I felt unbearable shame and helplessness at being taken and used, burning flames incinerating me from the inside out, from my neck to my pussy. I felt the certainty of death just beyond my reach. But the worst part was the soul-shredding terror of being victimized by this evil, evil thing. When he came, the burning, tearing pain got worse. It was incomprehensible to suffer this much torment-but suddenly I felt like he was shooting acid into me with every spastic jerk of his pelvis.

I tried to pass out, willing myself (praying) to die to stop the agony. But his control over my mind was an iron fist. There would be no mercy from insensibility or death. He fed on me again, shredding the other side of my neck while his claws tore gaping rents in my flesh. I didn’t bleed because there was hardly any blood left.

I remember noticing as he ravaged me and fed, his skin became less cold, his eyes turning a lighter crimson, almost pink.

It felt like an eternity of terror and agony. With every slash of his claws, he opened a new source of pain. He bit and chewed on my breasts, shredding them, exposing my ribs. Just when I thought he couldn’t cause more damage to my dying body, he flipped me over.

Having my pussy shredded by a red-hot baseball bat was one thing, but this hurt rose to a new level. Impaling my ass, I felt my shattered pelvis crunching under his weight and thrusts. His fangs bit into my shoulder while his claws tore the flesh of my back and hips. And it went on for eternity. Why couldn’t I die?

But I didn’t die. Well, I guess I did...sort of. At least I was pronounced when I was found and taken to an emergency room. The damage was beyond anything seen outside a war zone. I was practically in pieces.

~~~

I woke in a body bag.

My thrashing and banging weren’t from claustrophobia; that terror was gone. What remained was the horrible burning, ripping, freezing agony in every part of my body. I was being incinerated, deep-frozen, and electrocuted simultaneously. That steel-like grip over my mind was absent. I still couldn’t scream, so I moaned incoherently while my body spasmed. The thumping and banging got the attention of a freaked-out morgue attendant. He opened the cooler and pulled my tray out before my thrashing flipped me off the stainless-steel pan to the hard floor. I guess he lost his shit and fled because a code team arrived, freed me from the sack, and took me back to the Emergency Room.

I was strapped down because of the seizures and stuck with two large IVs while someone screamed for a Belmont rapid infuser. Someone else began slamming on my chest while others ran about, doing lifesaving shit and calling for this and that. Something was pushed down my throat, and I couldn’t even moan anymore.

“Phenobarbital 20mg!” “What’s her spin crit?” “Get me an ultrasound!” “FAST negative.”

“Get a STAT CT. We need to find where she’s bleeding from!”

~~~

My body had repaired itself during stasis because when they began pouring blood into me, it didn’t spill on the floor. However, lab tests couldn’t determine why my blood level stayed low, so they gave me more blood. They used two coolers before they felt I was stable enough.

A small part of my brain was conscious of this while the rest of me was still being burned, frozen, and electrocuted. They gave me every pain med: morphine, fentanyl, Dilaudid, Demerol-nothing eased my pain. They tried stopping the seizures with paralytics. Nothing worked. My body temperature remained near frozen despite the Arctic Sun thing they tried to cook me with. But I wasn’t suffering from simple mortal agony. This was demonic. And no drug could ease it.

~~~

The burning, freezing, electrocution was less intense now. I was still held down by straps, receiving two more units of blood, one in each arm. The overhead lighting was too bright for my sensitive eyes, so I closed them. Despite that, I could sense everything around me. There were other beds with people. I could feel them, their life force-just beyond reach. I could also hear the discussion in the next room.

“Her wounds are almost healed.”

“Still no ID?”

“No fingerprints... DNA drew a blank.”

“How did her blood type change from O neg to AB pos?”

They didn’t have time to determine my blood type (A+), so they gave me universal donor blood (O-). Now, my new blood type (AB+) has made me a universal recipient. That was nifty.

They changed topics to discuss the deteriorating conditions of the patients beside me. They were dying, fading away, for no apparent reason.

All I knew was, I was still in pain and weak as a kitten. The blood transfusions weren’t cutting it. I needed something else... something more.

~~~

I woke later to the whine of a charging defibrillator and urgent activity to my right.

“Clear!”

Thunk!

“Shock delivered. Continue CPR.”

A thin curtain separated my bed from the frantic scene.

“Alright, go for another minute, and then we’ll check another pulse.” I could hear the rhythmic creak of chest compressions.

“Okay, hold CPR...check for a pulse...” a pause, “Anything?”

“No pulse.”

“Okay, TOD 3:15 pm. I’ll call the family.”

Strangely, I felt a tiny bit better. Still hurt like a bitch, but I was more conscious of my surroundings and aware of the activities and lives in the room. I couldn’t see them remove the crash cart and cover the dead girl with a sheet, but I perceived it as if I were standing there watching.

Weird.

The code team left, dimming the lights as they exited.

I decided to rise and stretch a bit, but I couldn’t. I might not have been strong enough if the restraints had been leather. But these were like felt pads with a small nylon strap. They snapped quickly, and I sat up, removing the pads from my wrists and ankles. No IVs were attached to the catheters in my arms, so I pulled them out.

Climbing over the bed’s iron rail, I touched my bare feet to the cold floor, marveling at the sensations. I felt the weak life force of the woman on my left, behind the curtain. I pulled it aside and looked at her. She was in her mid-forties, had thin, reddish hair, and looked sickly. I touched her face, and she died, just like that. Her life force entered me, what little was left. The burning, freezing, electrocuting pain lessened-if only a tiny bit. I knew then what I needed, even more than blood. Life.

I stepped around her bed to the next curtain and found another younger woman lying there. She was blonde, healthier, and wide awake. She looked startled at first as I stood there staring at her. I smiled, and she calmed. I wanted her! I wanted her in every way imaginable. I wanted to fuck her, drink her, and drain her of her sweet, intoxicating life force. So, I did.

I pulled the flimsy gown from my tiny body and felt her desire as I climbed onto her bed and lay atop her. Our lips met, and I felt an incredible surge of warmth, love, passion, pain-numbing, extraordinary…stuff. I drank her kisses deeply and stuck my tongue into her mouth, moaning with ecstasy as she gave me everything. My body felt warm for the first time in… I couldn’t remember.

Then she froze in shock as if she’d awoken from an erotic dream-only to find it was a nightmare. She struggled weakly, and I felt her emotions flooding her mind: confusion, disbelief, outrage, and sweet terror. I drew her into me, and her struggles ceased. It was over quickly, and I climbed off her corpse, feeling frustrated yet wonderful. My pain was gone! No. I shuddered, feeling it deeper within me.

Apparently, the pain would always be there. The trick was to fill myself with enough life energy to push it back, making it nothing. I was already brimming with life, and the feeling was incredible; euphoric.