Jen Ricci

Aspiring horror writer from across the pond, Jen Ricci is based in not-too-sunny London. She has published horror, erotica and gothic poetry with various UK publications- Xcite, BDSM Magazine, Scarlet Magazine, Vampire Chronicles and more. She has also published a collection of Erotica under the pen name of J.K.Moore, 'E-rotica', available on Kindle for £ 2.99 or in print (but it's more expensive!). She is currently writing a study on vampires and sexuality.


By: Jen Ricci
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Roland was standing, as beautiful as a statue, a few streets ahead: she could follow the trail of his scent. She knew he had come looking for her: the night was going towards dawn, very gently. He smiled as soon as their eyes met. He was wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans probably stolen while she was dancing at the club.

Zara smiled, in recognition, and also with relief: it was good to come back to what she knew, no secrets or explanations. Maybe the sun and air had been good once, although that life seemed now a far dream, and was mostly forgotten: now, she fed from darkness and blood. It wasn’t really a matter of liking one or the other, or else.  It was really, what it was. That life, which she had once loved and revered, so full of promise,  was now an image she could not feel, integrate within herself, anymore: talking to Tom has somehow brought back, faintly, human feelings and thoughts, long forgotten, long buried somewhere.

That was, at the end of the day, not entirely relevant to the plot: it was an episode, a small insignificant episode in a long saga.  It was what it was. When human, there had been hunger for food, emotions, knowledge maybe: as a vampire, that hunger had become a need, a driving motor to her existence, the one and only aim, which was driving her very actions each and every moment. Life was now a habit, love an addiction and in a grip that was never going to be released.

She was, really, feeling something near to happiness as she saw Roland. The stark contrast with her present self, and long forgotten feelings stirred by Tom’s presence, had made her feel uncomfortable.

“My Love,” and Roland took her hand, gently. “You look, as usual, ravishing…did you feed well, my dear?”

“I haven’t fed, as a matter of fact.” Zara felt his cold hand in hers, equally cold. “I spent some time talking to Tom…my then fiancé when I was a mortal. To tell you the truth, I was planning to feed…but I then didn’t have the stomach to do it, on him.”

She looked annoyed with herself. “Have you been listening to my conversation?” she added, knowing he had.

“With the cop?” he said the word ‘cop’ as one would say worm, cockroach, crap. “Yes. I have.” He smirked “It was hilarious when you were trying to explain you are a vampire without telling him you are one…that was sweet.” He sounded amused. He was jealous.

She wasn’t scared of Roland in any way: she felt protected by him, and there wasn’t in his words any hint of hostility towards her. She did detect coldness though, and could only think of it as hostility towards the human who had once been her lover.

He said no more. Every hint of coldness had gone and the expression of his face was now one of love. He held her hand up, kissed it, a long heartfelt kiss, and pulled her towards him, embracing her; they waltzed around, a couple of steps. As they stopped, he curtseyed, and smiled, charmingly. Zara, responded, and flashed a smile, and her pointed fangs were fully visible…but what was a smile without joy? Her expression was feral, predatory.

“You are, Roland, a true romantic.” She curtseyed in turn, when he released her from his grip. “And I would blush if I had any blood left in me.”

He laughed. Oh what a winning choice this had been! He had definitely chosen the right companion to walk with him on this long trip of the soul.

He knew, instinctively, that meeting her then lover had stirred some old feelings: in order to erase the events of the evening, he had to create new ones. The human, in his grotesque charade of badly arranged emotions, had to be left in the past, where he belonged. She had never been his, at any rate, not in this encompassing, everlasting way in which Roland and she were entwined and joined, for eternity. The human had no chance of bringing Zara back to his life: yet Roland did feel the compulsion to erase the memory of this pathetic rival.
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