Chapter 3: The Feeding
The cold point of Lilith’s fangs pressed against the frantic pulse in Edgar’s throat. His breath hitched, a dry click in his throat that echoed the frantic stutter of his heart. Terror, cold and absolute, surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the thick, drugging sweetness saturating the air. He squeezed his eyes shut behind his smudged glasses, braced for the tearing pain, the draining pull. Tyler’s choked gurgle and Mike’s broken whimper replayed in his head.
Lilith’s grip tightened impossibly, pulling his head back further, exposing more vulnerable skin. He felt the shift in her breath, the slight parting of her lips. Her crushing softness pushed into his back. This is it. Stupid. So stupid. Should’ve listened to the warnings.
But the bite didn’t come.
Instead, a low, questioning hum vibrated against his skin. Then Morwenna’s voice, sharp with sudden, predatory interest, cut through the heavy silence. "Lilith... wait."
A beat. The pressure of the fangs vanished. Lilith’s body went rigid against his. Edgar cracked his eyes open, his vision blurring the edges of the vampires surrounding him. Isolde, who had been idly squeezing her own breast while watching, had straightened up, her emerald eyes wide and fixed downwards. Morwenna tilted her head, a slow, unnerving smile spreading across her blood-stained lips as she stared intently at Edgar’s crotch.
He followed their gaze. Oh god. Even through the terror, his body, saturated with their aphrodisiac scent and the sheer, overwhelming proximity of their impossible curves, had betrayed him. The bulge in his jeans wasn’t just noticeable; it was obscene, straining the denim, tenting it outwards in a blatant, undeniable outline. It looked painfully hard. Violently alive. Freaking ridiculous.
"Sweet night everlasting," Lilith breathed, her voice thick with sudden, raw hunger. Her crimson gaze snapped from his crotch to his face, then back down. The cool, amused detachment vanished, replaced by something primal, feral.
Isolde moaned, long and low, a sound of pure, unadulterated lust. "Oh... oh Lilith! Look at it! It’s... it’s pulsing!" Her hands flew to her own massive breasts, squeezing them compulsively. "The scent! The musk!"
Morwenna, for all her condescending calm, didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him with preternatural speed, her pale blonde hair cascading forward. Before Edgar could even process her movement, her face was buried in his crotch. She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring wide, a shudder wracking her voluptuous frame. "Mmmph! Oh, fuck. Lilith," she mumbled, her voice muffled against the denim, thick with a hunger that stripped away her haughty veneer. "It smells... divine. Like raw power. Like... like sunshine and salt and..." She inhaled again, a long, greedy drag that made Edgar’s hips jerk involuntarily. "...like the most potent ambrosia." Drool glistened at the corner of her pouty lips.
Lilith was next. With a growl that vibrated deep in her chest, she shoved Edgar slightly away from her body only to sink down herself, joining Morwenna. Her long black hair brushed his thighs as she pressed her face against the straining denim, inhaling with a desperate, animalistic intensity. Her crimson eyes rolled back slightly. "Gods... yes," she groaned, her voice guttural. Her tongue darted out, impossibly long and pointed, licking a thick, wet stripe over the bulge. Edgar cried out, a sound of shock and unwanted, overwhelming sensation. He felt the damp heat through the fabric.
Isolde couldn't stand being left out. With a dramatic gasp, she practically threw herself down, shoving between Lilith and Morwenna, her fiery hair a cascade over his fly. "Move! Let me! I need it!" She inhaled, a loud, snuffling sound, then moaned, long and loud. "Ohhhh! It’s better than fear! Sweeter! Hotter!" Her tongue joined the others, lolling out obscenely long, lapping and probing at the outline with frantic desperation. Drool dripped freely from all three mouths, soaking the denim, mingling with the pre-cum Edgar couldn’t control. The air filled with the wet sounds of their feral nuzzling, their hungry inhales, their choked, lustful moans. They rubbed their faces against him like cats marking territory, their heavy breasts pressing against his thighs, the scent of their milk mixing nauseatingly with Edgar’s own arousal and the lingering coppery tang of his friends' blood.
For a few horrifying, surreal seconds, they were less like ancient predators and more like starved beasts discovering a feast. Edgar stood frozen, trembling violently, caught between terror at their feral intensity and the devastating, involuntary throb of his own traitorous body responding to the wet heat and relentless, overwhelming scent.
Then, abruptly, Lilith wrenched herself back. She stood up, breathing heavily, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, smearing drool. Her crimson eyes were still dilated with hunger, but a flicker of control surfaced. "Sisters!" Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding. "Compose yourselves! For Erebus’s sake!"
Morwenna jerked away as if burned, scrambling back onto her knees, a faint blush staining her pale cheeks as she hastily wiped her mouth. She avoided Edgar’s stunned gaze. "Right. Yes. Unseemly. Pathetically embarrassing."
Isolde whined, still nuzzling, reluctant to leave the source. "But Liliiiiiith... just a little more? It smells so gooood..." She licked her lips, her eyes glazed.
"Now, Isolde!" Lilith commanded, hauling her upright by the arm. "We are Ancients, not alley cats! Control your baser impulses!"
Isolde pouted dramatically, smoothing down her dress with trembling hands, her gaze still locked on Edgar’s crotch with undisguised longing. "Fine. But... look at him. He’s terrified. It’s pathetically cute. And that... endowment." She shivered.
Morwenna regained her icy composure, though her eyes kept darting downwards. "Indeed. A perplexing juxtaposition. Utterly helpless, yet equipped like a... like a fertility god's bastard offspring." She sniffed, trying for disdain but failing to mask the raw hunger beneath. "Needs tending. Properly. Not like... that." She gestured vaguely at their earlier frenzy.
Lilith nodded, regaining her predatory grace, though her chest still rose and fell rapidly. She looked Edgar up and down, a slow, predatory smile returning to her lips. "Agreed. This requires... atmosphere. Comfort. A more... appreciative setting than this dusty parlor." She stepped close again, her cool fingers brushing his burning cheek, making him flinch. "The feeding room is... functional. But for this?" Her gaze dipped pointedly. "We need the bedroom."
Before Edgar could process the horrifying implications, Lilith’s arm snaked back around his waist. Simultaneously, Morwenna grasped his left arm with surprising strength, her touch cool and firm. Isolde, with a giggle that was half-manic, half-ravenous, seized his right arm.
"Oh yes! Much better! Plush pillows!" Isolde chirped, squeezing his bicep.
"Less... interruption," Morwenna added tersely, though her grip was possessive.
Lilith’s crimson eyes locked onto Edgar’s terrified gaze. "Hold still, little sunrise. We wouldn’t want you stumbling."
With terrifying ease, ignoring his sputtering protests, his weak attempts to dig his heels into the worn carpet, they lifted him clear off the floor. His lanky frame dangled between them, their impossibly strong arms holding him aloft as if he weighed nothing. His glasses slid down his nose. The world tilted. He saw the high, cracked ceiling, the cobwebs in the corners, the dusty chandelier drifting past as they turned. The heavy, sweet scent of their milk and arousal filled his nostrils, mixed with the damp patch cooling on his jeans. Beneath him, the soft, crushing pressure of their voluptuous bodies pressed against his sides and back – Morwenna’s cool, firm grip, Isolde’s jiggling softness rubbing against his arm, Lilith’s solid, commanding presence anchoring him.
They moved swiftly, gliding rather than walking, carrying him out of the parlor, past the groaning, blood-smeared forms of Tyler and Mike, whose plight was now horrifyingly eclipsed. Down a darker, narrower corridor they went, lined with doors that seemed to whisper as they passed. Edgar caught fleeting glimpses of other pale faces in the deeper shadows, eyes gleaming with curiosity and undisguised hunger, watching the procession.
"Almost there, little scholar," Lilith murmured, her breath chilling his ear. Her thumb rubbed a slow, possessive circle on his hipbone through his jeans. "We’re going to take such good care of you."
The door at the end of the corridor swung open silently. They carried him across the threshold into a room dominated by an enormous, ancient four-poster bed draped in heavy, dark velvet curtains. The air here was marginally less dusty, thick instead with the scent of old perfume and something deeply intimate. With surprising gentleness, they deposited him onto the plush, yielding surface of the mattress. He bounced slightly, sinking into the softness.
Before he could scramble away, three pairs of hands – cool, strong, possessive – pressed him flat onto his back. Lilith, Morwenna, and Isolde loomed over him, blocking out the weak light from the hall, their inhumanly beautiful faces etched with predatory hunger barely restrained. Their crimson, emerald, and ice-blue eyes raked over him, lingering on the prominent, damp bulge in his jeans, their chests rising and falling with rapid, anticipatory breaths. The symphony of their feeding on his friends was distant now, replaced by the heavy silence of the bedroom and the frantic hammering of Edgar’s own heart against his ribs.
Lilith leaned down, her flowing black hair brushing his chest, her crimson gaze pinning him. "Now," she purred, the sound vibrating deep in her chest, thick with dark promise. "Let's see what other surprises our little sunrise has for us." Her hand drifted towards the button of his jeans.