The Making of A Monster

By TakersLover

The dark figure watched as the man stepped out of the saloon and onto the street. He had been following this man for weeks now, watching him, and studying him. Never before had a man intrigued him the way this one did. Mark Calaway was a rouge, an outlaw. He stood nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders, a massive chest, and powerful tree-like arms and legs. Yet his face was angelic, framed by his dark auburn hair; his eyes were a piercing sage green, able to hold one mesmerized in their depths; and his lips, surrounded by the mustache and goatee he wore, were soft and sensuous. The figure found himself wanting to kiss those lips, to caress that massive body, and to sink his teeth into that thick neck and taste his warm, sweet blood. He almost felt envious of the woman who had shared his bed only moments before.

Calaway certainly loved women, and the women loved him. They found him irresistible and he never had trouble finding a woman to share his bed. He also noticed that Calaway tended to prefer married women, probably attracted to the danger of being caught. It amazed him how he could kill a man, be it in a fight or cold blood, then that very same night, make slow passionate love to a woman, sometimes the victim's own wife.

He followed closely as Mark made his way down the crowded street to the hotel, noting how, for his size and beauty, he seemed unnoticed by everyone. He held his breath as the Sheriff walked past, tipping his hat to Calaway, who in turn, tipped his hat and muttered "Good evening." Although the Sheriff had wanted posters of the man all over town, he didn't seem to recognize him. The figure smiled wickedly, it was going to be a pleasure killing this one.

Mark felt a presence as he walked into the hotel, as if someone were watching him. He stopped after climbing the stairs; turned, leaned on the railing as he surveyed the room below, and found whom he was looking for. The man was leaning against the wall next to the door watching him with an evil gleam in his eyes. He had seen the man several times over the past few weeks. He was obviously following him, probably a bounty hunter or a husband hell bent on revenge for the pleasures he'd taken with his wife. He smiled at the thought. Although he knew it was wrong, he found lonely, married women better company than whores as they usually enjoyed pleasing a man more -since they did it for pleasure and not for money - and didn't expect anything from him in return. A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned and walk to the end of the hall and into his room. He would find out who this man was and why he was following him. And he would find out tonight.

Mark locked the door behind him and walked across the room to the window. Leaning out, he saw a cart full of fresh hay on the other side of the small ally. He perched himself in the window, having to lean half way out to accommodate his large body, and took a deep breath before launching himself across the alley and onto the hay, landing with a thud in the middle of the cart. Rolling off, he stood strait and dusted the hay from his clothes then made his way to the front of the hotel. Peeking inside, he saw the man ascend the stairs and start down the hall, and quickly followed. Soundlessly he climbed the stairs and crept up on the man as he broke into his room.

The man stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide with shock as he looked around the empty room. How could Calaway have gotten away? The only exits were the door and the window. The window overlooked the alley, the wall outside dropped strait down, giving him no possible way to climb down, and he certainly didn't use the door. Baffled, the man turned to leave and found himself standing face to chest with a very big, very angry Mark Calaway.

"Who are you?" Mark asked. The tone of his voice was deadly and the look in his eyes murderous.

Thank God he's a mortal. The man thought as he stared at him.

After a moment of silence Mark reached out and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him into the air until he was eye level with him. "Don't make me ask you again." He said, in the same deadly tone, and loosened his grip enough to allow the man answer.

The man smiled at him. "My name is Armand."

"Why are you following me?" Mark's voice was more threatening than inquisitive. He didn't miss the evil look on his face or the look of desire, as Armand devoured him with his eyes.

"You're an interesting man. I want to get to know you better." Armand answered calmly.

His words, the smile on his face, and the calm tone with which he spoke left Mark feeling uneasy. "You've got the wrong man." He replied as he slowly set him down on his feet.

"No, I've got the right man." Armand answered looking into his eyes, capturing him in his amber gaze. "Perhaps you don't understand." He continued as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I want you."

Looking into his eyes, Mark felt his will power begin to fade rapidly, as Armand put him under his spell.

Armand's smile widened as he took Mark by the hand and led him over to the bed. "Sit down." He commanded gently and Mark did as he was told. Standing directly in front of him, he took Mark's face in his hands. "You are a beautiful one." He breathed as he pressed his lips to Mark's. Slowly he began kissing his way across his face and down to his neck, sucking and nibbling until he could no longer suppress his hunger. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, sank his fangs deep into Mark's neck and began to drink. Mark's heart pounded in his ears as blood poured from the wound, filling Armand up and temporarily quenching his never-ending thirst. He heard Mark's heartbeat becoming weak and pulled away from the feast. Looking down at him, he began to feel guilty about having taken him so soon. He had wanted to take him as a companion, not necessarily as a lover, although he wouldn't mind that, but as a friend. He was lonely, as were most of his kind, and he longed for someone with a soul as evil as his to share his nights with. And Mark Calaway was just that man.

He watched him for a moment, taking in the beauty of his face, then laid down beside him, leaning on his elbow and whispered in his ear. "Do you want to live?" He asked, already knowing that he would save him whether he wanted him to or not.

"Yes..." Mark answered weakly.

Armand smiled and bit his own wrist drawing out the blood Mark needed to survive. Holding his wrist above Mark's mouth, he whispered, "Drink".

Mark tasted the first drops of blood and closed his mouth, only to open it again at the feeling of the hot liquid sliding down his throat. Reaching up, he grabbed Armand's wrist, pulled it to his mouth, and sucked violently, drawing the blood from him easily.

After what seemed like an eternity to Armand he pulled his arm from Mark's mouth. "Enough." He said breathlessly. Mark had taken too much and it left him weak and tired.

Mark sat up, intent on getting away from Armand as a jolt of pain coursed through him causing him to double over.

"What have you done to me?" He demanded before falling to the floor.

"I killed you." Armand answered simply, "And then I gave you life." He laid exhausted on the bed and listened to Mark's body as it changed.

"What are you?" Mark asked, now standing at the foot of the bed looking down at him. The pain was still there, but not as strong.

"I am a vampire, as are you." He answered gazing proudly at the brand new monster standing before him.

"No" Mark replied in disbelief. This could not be happening to him. Vampires were only myths, legends created to frighten children.

"Yes." Armand said gently. "Tomorrow I will take you out to make your first kill. You took too much from me and I will have to recuperate before hunting again."

"And what if I want to kill tonight?" Mark asked as he walked closer to the bed.

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't know the first thing about hunting or killing." Armand answered smugly.

"Oh, I know more than you think." Mark answered venomously.

"Do you? Where are you going to find your victim? Where are you going to take him?" He asked closing his eyes.

Mark walked to the side of the bed, sat down on the edge, and leaned over Armand, one hand resting on each side of his shoulders, bringing his face inches above his. "I've already found him and I'll take him here in my bed." Mark answered.

Armand's eyes flew open as he heard the danger in Mark's voice, afraid for the first time in nearly a hundred years of what might happen to him.

"You have to leave if you want to feed." Armand said desperately, trying to find a way out of what he knew was coming. Although he knew he wouldn't die from the loss of blood, he would be left weak, helpless to defend himself until he could feed again.

"No, I don't." Mark said as he lowered his lips to Armand's neck, sank his teeth into his veins, and drank every drop of blood that his body had to offer.

He knew instinctively that Armand couldn't be killed this way, but he knew how he could. He stood, walked to the wash basin and washed the blood from his hands and face then collected his things from around the room. After pulling the curtains open, he tied Armand's hands and feet to the bed, then pulled the bed in front of the window.

Taking one last look around he walked out of the room and outside to where his black stallion was waiting, shoved his bundle onto the back of the horse and climbed up. He thought about what had happened for a moment feeling the tips of his fangs with his tongue then noticed the sun coming up over the horizon. With a registered sigh, he turned his steed, rode to the cemetery and quickly found an open mausoleum, claiming it as his for the day.

The End
©TakersLover 2001

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