FSE

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It was supposed to be a routine delve. A new place to explore. And for the most part, that was true. The old crumbling fort was indeed a new place to explore. Along with a few bits and pieces of valuables to be found, and the loot from the defenders of this place, simple highwaymen and robbers, bandits, it was looking to be a good haul.

But something else had become apparent now. This old fort had secrets. And now they were known. One could try and guess the how. Or maybe the why. But it didn't matter now because any who could talk up above in the fort were dead. The dead told no stories or secrets. Looking into the cell beyond, to the creature that sat in it, well, that could be refuted. Or maybe stay true.

Yellow eyes as sharp as knives watched back. They were Human eyes. But no human eyes could turn a deep shade of yellow like that. And no Human eyes watched prey so sharply. She was a vampire to be sure. It could be seen in her eyes and her gaunt face, as fangs like razors would occasionally be visible through the movement of her lips.

She was pinned. Chained to the wall tightly and bound so that she never had a chance to escape, never had a chance to move. And she was feral. Feral vamps were the result of starvation. Not enough food and they withered, their mind decaying away until the only instinct left was to be fed. And she was feral to be sure. Whoever pinned her here, so long ago, obviously did not care for her.

Scraps of clothes, long faded from their colour clung to her body, now just barely hanging on in tatters. Her body was shown in full quite easily. Everything was thin. Hollowed away to visible bones, ribcage and all. But even now, there was an admirable quality to her. Vampires, as much of a scourge on human life as they were, always had that special quality to them.

Never aging. Never dying truly. And as such those who became afflicted in their prime of youth could be very, very persuasive to the baser instincts of man. All too often that was their trump card. Permanent undeath, sealing them to their fate as a dark, depraved creature of the shadows, and yet eternally trapping them in the image of what they were.

Looking over her, it was easy to see this was the case. Where she in a healthy state, she would have been quite fair. Why, even now it was all there. Even on pale skin and her sunken features her form still remained, showing hints of what she could be. But the true curiosity was not her womanly features that had managed to remain so intact.

It was the eyes.

She remained motionless. Bound to the wall of her cell by chains she could never break. But her eyes watched. Not the vacant eyes of a feral. Not the bloodshot, veined eyes of one who had gone mad. But intelligent eyes. They followed movement, the movement of a finger, before returning to watch.

There was a sense of pity, watching her. How many had come and gone from this place? How many men had this fort exchanged hands into? And she was here, always. A spectacle. A freak show in the basement. This was why she was watching. Because there was a pause. It was hard not to watch her back.

And suddenly, the idea was there. What if......... the cell door was broken? What if........those chains were broken? What would she do? At first the answer was obvious. She'd jump the closest living thing and bleed it dry. But those eyes. Those eyes watched. And then. Another idea. All of the occupants of this fort were dead now. There was nobody here. Nobody to watch. Nobody to scoff at unseen acts.

Unseen acts..... Her body, as starved as it was, still held that forever trapped, undying beauty to it. But maybe, maybe, something could be arranged. She was smart. That was plain to see. But just how smart was she? Time to find out.

The old cell door was tougher than it looked. Despite the rust and the aging it held up well. But enough persistence, and a little bit of thinking and it was no longer an obstacle in the way. She did not move or did not stir. But she watched. And she was close now. Close enough to touch.

Tracing a finger across her lips, those shrunken lips, trying so hard to remain as they once were. Undyingly beautiful. It was satisfying to watch. Those eyes stared up to look but her lips moved. Trembled as fingers held them, passing over them. Fangs poked out and her mouth quivered.

She was restrained so well that she couldn't move an inch. But something said that if she really wanted to, she could bite. She could give into that feral need. But she didn't. She only watched. Tracing fingers from her lips, straying down past her chin and along her neck, to the remains of delicate curves on her chest. Certainly not as full as they could be. Not as heavy and weighty and supple. But they were still there.

And there.

You could see it. In her eyes as skin made contact with her. Fingers grasped at soft supple flesh. A hand that toyed with her chest and those small mounds, passing close to her heart. Her heart had long since stopped beating. But that warmth from a hand, the hand of something living excited her.

Her eyes told the story, sharp as ever and bright in the darkness of the cell. No man had touched her that gently in a very, very long time. Not even her own kin either. Her eyes didn't hold offense. They didn't hold a deep hatred as if you were some swine touching her and groping her. No. They understood. They wanted. They wanted so much more than to be fed.

Leaving her form, tracing down her stomach and down lower, with satisfaction the reaction was sweet. Pressing beyond the scraps of her clothing, underneath it and in the middle of thighs that could be restored to their former beauty, her lips quivered and her eyes wavered.

And it was decided.

It was a silent declaration. She was starved. But she was not feral. And she enjoyed that touch. It was time to enter into agreement with her. Because she was alluring. The way she yearned for that touch. The way her lips quivered and showed hints of fangs. The way her eyes watched.

Nobody in this fort would see it. Nobody would tell of the acts committed. For the dead told no tales.

A simple prick on the finger did it. The poke of a knife, stinging. Vampires never fed on the dead. Their bodies yearned for warmth. Were drawn to it. Cold blood, their own blood, was no good to them. It was obvious. Nobody was left alive up above or down here. But it made it all the sweeter.

Her eyes focused on that speck, narrowing as predatory instincts clawed at her. It brought a smile to one's face. Because she knew what was going to happen. She knew that prick on the finger that was bleeding was for her. She strained on the chains, drawn to it in excitement. The old chains didn't budge. And it was with some satisfaction that she could be teased.

Just slightly.

The slow movement of a finger getting closer to hers, as her eyes were drawn to it. So close to her face that she would lunge but couldn't. And then, a pause. Gripping her jaw with the other hand, and watching her.

"Slowly. No biting."

Her eyes, focused solely on that speck of blood looked back up. She understood. She agreed. Bringing that finger closer, so close that it could almost touch, and then finally, the moment. A slow smear across her lips, colouring them red. Her lips trembled, flaring as her fangs bared. But she remained patient. And there. The slow trace of those lips was done. They looked better in red.

And then the gentle backing away of a finger, signaling that she could do it now. Her tongue appeared, swiping across her lips which had already partially absorbed the blood themselves so eagerly. That was nice. Watching her do that in hunger. Desire. Want. Her eyes watched you the entire time, focused. Her yellow eyes seemed to grow in strength and her hunger became apparent now.

A long ragged breath escaped past her dry mouth, her lips partially restored to what they once were, a long sigh of dry air that wanted to be a moan or a gasp but didn't have the strength. Yellow eyes closed in satisfaction as if she hadn't had this in centuries, savoring every moment. But a surprise for her when that finger returned to her lips.

A brief moment of fear as her lips curled and her fangs bared, wanting to kill, but were restrained by the intelligence of hers. Fangs didn't tremble and extend like a snake. Her jaw didn't snap like a vice grip. Lips instead closed, sucking. That free and idle hand found itself drawn to her again. Tracing along curves and cupping what little remained of her starved body.

Her skin was cold, always. But in the presence of heat, it warmed, clinging to it and trapping it. For every caress, for every touch, no matter where that hand found itself, even in her most vulnerable of places, her most sensitive and private, her lips sucked gently. Affectionate, thankful even. And she began to regain strength.

Slowly, drip by drip as she cannibalized on blood, feeding on it, her skin changed, no longer so sunken and dry. Filling out and regaining what was lost. She was a powerful one then. She was a creature of strength and esteem. To regain such strength back from even the few small morsels that she was starved of.....

And yet she whimpered, fangs extending as that finger pulled away, trying to catch it. She was held upright, stuck to that wall in chains, helpless. How she ended up here, would likely never be known. But such thoughts were no longer important. Because now she was no longer feral. Now her form had filled out partially, no longer sunken and frail, no longer skin and bones. But enough to really show how much of a creature of desire she was.

She was a creature of desires. And she was a creature to be desired.

Time to see if she held up to her end of the bargain.

It was always better to be safe than sorry. Not all the chains would come loose. Just the ones in the right places. The chains that bound her legs. Although heavy set iron, massive shackles for one so feminine and seemingly frail, they must have been put here for a reason. Those reasons were lost to time now, time eroding away at the chains faster than it did to her.

And with a few good hard swings from a hammer or even a sword, they broke, freeing her lower body to move for the first time in an uncountable number of years. She remained pinned up on the wall, those skinny legs hanging off the floor helplessly. But she didn't seem to mind. Because her eyes watched.

Watched the removal and unstrapping of armour. Looked over the body of the living, breathing being who had watched her back and not only watched, but did something more. They appraised, roamed over what her hands could not. One could tell that she was excited.

This silent deal, this truce of sorts.

It was befitting of both sides. Both hungered for something. Both could offer something. So why not take it? Why not take what none would ever see? Why not revel in that dark little secret?

A return to that feral, starving being up on the cell wall. A return of that finger to her lips, now partially restored, tracing around them in their curves as her tongue followed. Eyes watched in hunger. Lips fought off desire to bite and jaws to snap shut. Legs, pale but beginning to return to their smooth curves reached out, wrapping around and pulling with surprising strength.

The one free hand fell to those legs, sliding along cold skin that was beginning to take on more life, more smoothness. Toes, feet pressed against bare skin against a backside, pulling tight and digging their short claws into flesh with just enough of a pinch to pressure one forwards.

She wanted more than blood. She wanted that other feeling too. And her form, skin and flesh that was cold but clung to warmth asked for it. This was the deal. And it was a good one at that. Now wasn't the time to waste. Now, now was simply the time to enjoy.

Her fingers, sharpened claws both clenched shut in the chains that bound them and a feeling of cold washed over on finally meeting her thighs. Cold enough to be discomforting at first but it was quickly eroded as her body began to work. She was cold but she absorbed the heat of the living and clung to it tightly. Activity, movement and touch warmed her and she took on a pleasant feeling soon enough.

It no longer mattered who was whom now. Both wanted their own ends. Both wanted that feeling to be satisfied. Pale legs and sharpened claws always pulled tight, entrapping hips in hers. Ragged, dry breath that was returning to life had to break the gentle sucking of lips on that one finger that remained at her mouth diligently.

Something long and ragged, breath that was beginning to stir in temporary warmth, laced with exasperation and pleasure. And through it all, what always caught one's attention was not the motion of her body, curved and supple returning to form. Not the rounding hips, now hot from constant contact, not her insides which begged for this kind of attention after so long.

Even the game of cat and mouse as her fangs extended in want, her tongue following along in the wake of blood, and the gentle sucking of lips as chains rattled in the dark. What was so pleasurable to watch was those eyes. So human but so distant in their sharpness. So primal and focused in their deep yellow gaze that was locked only on the other pair of eyes that watched her back.

Her legs were doing most of the work now, her body gaining strength as she was able to move her hips even while being completely pinned up above. Her legs found easy motions with hips, ushering them and then letting them retreat, only to press again in want. One free hand was put to use as it traced her features that bounced and rippled gently, finding one of her hands that were chained up against the wall.

Fingers opened and clasped tightly with every thrust and motion and two breaths, both becoming hot in the dark of the cell and the cool of the air down here rang out. Short gasps exchanged in this trade. This dark little secret. Watching her eyes, locked in that primal gaze of hers that was so hungry, one didn't even notice that they'd arrived at their peak.

Once already now to be sure. But the will to keep going, the will to use her as she was pinned like this, was intoxicating. So intoxicating that as chains began to strain, stretch to their limit and then bend and groan, iron breaking under her formidable willpower to move again, that it was too late.

Iron bent and groaned, stretched to its limit as some small portion of her power returned in the wake of given blood. She was no longer feral and starved and her body showed it. Her mind, indomitable, was joined with her again and her will to move snapped the iron like toys. Her hips trapped and sealed, locked in place.

As the iron snapped and broke free, her weight no longer held, she collapsed forwards. But it wasn't a collapse. It was a lunge. A leap forward onto prey that had wandered so close to her willingly. And she had now pinned her prey. Still clinging to it affectionately with her legs, still having her insides encompassing warmth as her own hips wanted it.

She was free now, finally.

And in return for her freedom a smile graced her lips as they fell down upon others. One couldn't tell if she was biting or kissing. But the smile remained on her lips.

A whisk of a hand and she blew out the torches down here in one fell swoop. A heartbeat, strong, and panicked rang out in the dark and she could feel it, running a clawed hand across it as she kept her embrace. Frightened, afraid, alive.

The only visible after image in the dark being those eyes of hers, unchained and freed now, able to do whatever she desired. To whoever she desired. She needed more blood. More. More food, more power.

But perhaps not one to prey upon like others.

For she wanted more of what was being so affectionately given.

A mortal body, heat and warmth and desire. Her own dark little secret to keep, that she was addicted to one who strayed across her path. She toyed with that idea.

But then again, it could be said......

The undead never told their secrets either.