Flashes of Fiction: Ease

Got a fantasy short story for you, more than a drabble this time.

Today’s Prompt:


There’d been an age when the fangs had been a problem, but that age was past. There’d been an age when his animosity with the sun had been a problem. That age was past for more reasons than one. There’d been an age of secrecy and stalking, but that age was past, replaced by an age of sharp smiles and seduction, and oh, by the legion, it was easy.

It hadn’t been this easy since he’d made himself a god of the Aztecs. He’d stolen a different form, then; one of theirs. It had been ages before he’d been successfully slain. His body was always slain in the end, and it always took a a spirit-age to claw his way back to the mouth of hell and out into the world of flesh—and blood.

He had taken possession of this body just prior to the Edwardian era, and had been making his way in the world of that most dangerous prey—man—for more than a century since. But now… he stroked his victim’s soft brown hair and chuckled. Now, he lived in what he fancied to call the New Edwardian era.

“What’s funny?” she asked as she fawned over him. Fawning—so like a fawn, she was, except that even the newest-born deer was wiser than to trust its natural predators. She should be, too. Humans had always been uneasy around him. However he’d tried to allay their fears, they had ever been skittish, sensing the demon and its blood lust, boiling just below his facade of flesh and skin.

But now, all he had to do was tell these girl-children what he was, and they would forgive every warning that should have set the hair at the nape of their neck to standing. Now, they would follow him into secluded places and think the danger of him titillating. There was the joke of it!

“Funny, darling?” He tapped her nose with a pale fingertip. “You are.”

The idiot giggled as though she understood. He kissed her pulsing jugular, and sank his fangs into it. He’d taken mincing sips before, and longer draws—she’d let him, of course; he’d explained that he needed it ever so—but this time he drank until he felt that he would burst. The fledgling woman in his arms went limp, limper, then as limp as she’d ever be.

The vampire stood, and the husk of a human fell to join the leaf litter at his feet. If she’d even noticed death stealing over her, he thought, she’d probably found it romantic.


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