Chapter 1

If he didn’t want me to come back, then he shouldn’t have repeatedly raped me. Ironically, the constant sexual torture—with his immortal stamina and inhuman appetite—were like soft gentle fore-play compared to what he ultimately put me through. Sebastian was one evil twisted fuck. A sadistic monster of the worst kind. And I would make him pay, dearly—somehow. There wasn’t much a tiny framed 19-year-old mortal female could do against the likes of him. He was as invincible as he was feral, savage, and evil.

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 higher than shit on Ecstasy—when he took me. I wouldn’t have had to walk if my dickhead (ex)boyfriend Brian “Fuck-face-retard-stupid-asshole” Donovan hadn’t skipped the Halloween party early, with some other fucking skank bitch (wait ... did I just call myself a skank bitch?). But here I was; 4” Prada Safiano heels in one hand and LV Clutch in the other, staggering down the side of “Rich Mother Fucker” Heights on a road barely lit by a quarter moon. My fake tail swung about as it peeked suggestively from under my favorite Gaby Hearst skirt.

When I first saw him, my drunk ass couldn’t comprehend the horror before me. He stood in the center of the road like, half a football field away. His cloths were blacker than black but his face was so white, I mean deadly fucking pale, you know? And shit! His eyes were red AF. I staggered to a halt and blinked several times to see if he were real. Then, there he was ... standing right in front of me, just, like ... that. His eyes weren’t just red, they fucking glowed. And he had fangs! Fucking fangs! And that’s when the horror hit me.

It didn’t just hit me, it consumed me to my very soul. Ya ‘know when the EMTs put that Narcan shit up some junkie’s nose and they are like, instantly not-high and freaking out? Bitches, that ain’t nothin compared to this. I was not only sober AF from the booze and X—I was scared so fucking shitless I pissed myself right there. My heart was instantly beating 200 times a minute and I felt like I was suffocating under his awful gaze. It was one of his tricks I guess—paralyzing his victims with sheer terror.

I probably tried to scream but his colder-than-ice fingers suddenly wrapped around my throat, crushing away any sound. In less than a second, he shredded my $5000 dress and tore it from my little body. I don’t remember dropping my clutch and shoes, but the next sensation to penetrate my petrified brain 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 and higher.

All they ever found of me were my shoes, purse, shredded dress (who wears panties to a Billionaire’s Halloween Rave?) and tail.

I don’t know where he took me but it seemed to be some old musty, long abandoned church or something. I just remember finding myself at his mercy as he began feeding, raping and butchering me.

Getting bitten by a vampire has been compared to a lover’s intimate kiss—where the victim finds herself turned on and under some intense erotic spell. Yeah, well that’s a bunch of bull-shit! Let me tell you there is nothing erotic or titillating about having your throat ripped open by a monster with poisonous fangs (not just two either). The pain is beyond anything you can imagine 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. No, not this sadistic, merciless fuck. He fed on more than just my blood. He savored my pain and terror as well, and was a master at prolonging and intensifying both. With my shattered vocal cords, I was unable to express any of it with so much as a squeak. When he penetrated me with his undead cock it was like being stabbed with a white-hot/colder-than-ice poker. That he was far bigger than I could handle was trivial. He tore my tiny vagina apart as he raped me. My insides felt like they were being seared. He fucked me with wild, inhuman strength and abandon. I felt my pelvis crack and shatter under his assault but that pain too, was of no consequence to me.

I felt the unbearable shame and helplessness of being taken and used, I felt burning flames incinerating me from inside out, from my neck to my uterus. I felt the certainty of death just beyond my reach. But most of all, I felt the soul-shredding terror of being victimized by this evil, evil creature. Then he came in me and the fiery, electric, tearing pain got even worse. It was incomprehensible that I could 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, tried willing myself (praying) to die, just to make the agony stop. But his control over my mind was like an iron fist. There would be no mercy from insensibility or death. He fed on me again, shredding the other side of my throat while his claws tore gaping rents in my flesh. I didn’t bleed because there was hardly any blood left in me.

Oddly I remember noticing that, as he ravaged me and fed, his skin seemed to become less cold, while his eyes became a lighter pink as well.

It seemed an eternity, this state of perpetual terror and agony. With every slash of his wicked claws, he opened a new fiery source of pain that only added to my suffering. He bit and chewed on my breasts shredding them and exposing my pale ribs. Just when I thought he couldn’t cause any more harm or damage to my dying body, he flipped me over and began all over. Then he raped my ass.

Having my pussy shredded by a red-hot baseball bat was one thing, but this hurt rose to a whole new level. Burying himself deep inside me—I felt my shattered pelvis crunching under his terrible weight and crushing thrusts. His fangs bit into my shoulder while his claws continued tearing and rending the flesh of my back and hips. And it went on and on for eternity. Why couldn’t I just die?

But I didn’t die. Well, I guess I did ... sort of. At least they pronounced me dead, when I was found and taken to an Emergency Room. The damage was beyond anything anyone had ever seen, outside of a war zone. I was practically in pieces.

I woke up in a body bag.

My thrashing and banging weren’t from any sense of claustrophobia, in fact the terror was gone ... completely. No, what remained in full force was the horrible burning, ripping, freezing agony in every part of my body. I was being incinerated, deep frozen and electrocuted all at the same time. That steel-like grip over my mind was absent however. I still couldn’t scream so I moaned as loud as I could while my body spasmed. The thumping and banging eventually got the attention of a very freaked out morgue attendant. He got so far as opening the cooler and pulling my tray out before my thrashing caused me to flip off the stainless-steel pan, to the hard linoleum floor with a splat. I guess he lost his shit and fled because a team arrived shortly, 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 other 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.”

“Let’s get a STAT CT. We gotta find where she’s bleeding from!”

Apparently, my body had done a few repairs while I was in stasis, because when they began pouring blood into me—it didn’t pour all over the floor. But they kept doing lab tests and couldn’t figure out why my blood level stayed so low. So, they gave me more and more blood. They went through two coolers of it before they felt I was stable enough.

A small part of my brain was conscious of all this, while the rest of me was still being burned, frozen and electrocuted. They gave me every pain med they had; morphine, fentanyl, Dilaudid, Demerol—nothing eased my pain. Small wonder. I wasn’t suffering from simple mortal agony. This was demonic. And no amount of narcotic could ease it.