This excerpt will be of an entire Chapter of Redemption Obsession.  Today, I’m going to release the entire First Chapter.  This is a M/F piece with a bit of vampirey goodness.  Absolutely adult.

Chapter One
A Cultivated Garden
June 8th, 1861

There was a garden on the west side of the house hiding beneath the eaves from the most dramatic weather. It wasn’t an elaborate affair really, just large enough for one person to manage with a little sweat. Over the years the plot had known many crops from daisies to carrots to strawberries and each was a labor of love not necessity.

A patch nearest the house had always been plagued by weeds. As fast as they could be removed, they often fought their way back within a few days, peeking through the lush soil like a child guiltily peering down the stairs Christmas morning. Though that small section had been quarantined for years, it now bled its brown scraggly foliage into the green of rose stems and parsley.

Anne noted all of this from the window of her bedroom that overlooked her pride and joy. She was ten years old when her father helped her clear out the area for her first planting. Seventeen years later, life wasn’t nearly as lustrous as it was then. Too many things had happened—too many things hadn’t happened. The dichotomy was painful to bear and she made her decision on how to end it.

She glanced across the yard at the setting sun, frowning back a bitter sensation that boiled in her chest. The emotion threatened to overwhelm her to tears, but she swore she wouldn’t cry again, not when she was so close to her solution. Her weakness was already going to be on display for the world. There was no reason to compound it with further humiliation.

Turning back to her vanity, she sat down and peered into the mirror. She was dressed for the occasion in the same black gown she had worn when her mother was buried. It hung low on the shoulders sweeping in a subtle arch revealing a field of pale skin. The corset gave her breasts some lift, which in turn revealed a liberal amount of cleavage. At the waist, the skirt flared out and fell to her ankles.

A black silk choker wrapped about her slender neck and it was bound in the center by a perfectly oval onyx. Matching earrings dripped from her ears—two black dots on white gold threads. During the funeral, she wore a shawl and a veil to add some modesty to the otherwise risqué dress.

Anne glanced down at her recently manicured hands—hands that were accustomed to working outside looked alien to her in their pristine condition. Turning her arm to point her palm toward the ceiling, her eyes examined the trace of vein that meandered along a patch of white toward her fingers.

Anne reached with her free hand and lifted the implement of her release—a long blade she spirited away from her father’s study. The knife had been in her family for generations and it had tasted blood on many occasions. Death was a frequent visitor in her household and it had fed well on friend and enemy alike.

The world had changed considerably. Modernizing was a catchword that was supposed to mean the same thing as safe. The truth was that even with elaborate clothes and gorgeous carriages, larger homes and defined table manners, universities and monarchies giving way to citizen governments, none of them mattered. They were nothing more than elaborate facades hiding the true nature of humanity. Why did people try so desperately to obscure the chaos that ruled their hearts? None of it made any sense to her.

“Not as bad as all that.”

The silky masculine voice floated on the air near her ears and yet it was so quiet she could’ve sworn it was confined to her thoughts.

“Is the world truly so bleak that you would plan such an end?”

Anne’s heart beat faster and though a part of her wanted to turn around, a rational side told her there’s nothing in the mirror. You’re imagining things. Or was she? Could this be a voice from heaven? Was it a final warning against a mortal sin? Or was it just her conscience begging her to stay her hand? All this played out in her mind, demanding her attention, distracting her from her cause.

“You have a flare for the dramatic,” the voice continued on, louder now.

There was definitely someone in the room.

“Dressed in your funeral finery, you look vastly more striking than those strumpets that scorned your company years ago. And they did it for what? Religious convictions?” The man tsked. “So much for the concept of togetherness and acceptance, hmm?”

Anne couldn’t swallow past her dry throat. There were words in her mind, but she couldn’t find the strength to give them voice. She remained perfectly still.

“I’m looking down on your little garden,” the voice spoke. “Do you feel that it’s beyond its prime? That it’s hopeless? It’s only lost what you’ve been unwilling to give back you know.”

“I…” Anne tried to complete a sentence but merely raised her hands to her chest, clasping them tightly together. The knife was temporarily forgotten.

“Yes, I know your mind. There’s nothing left to live for. No point. The deaths you’ve had to endure, your mother, your sister and your cousin, all weigh heavily on your soul. Now you and your father are alone. You feel fragile, exposed, aged beyond your years. All of this creeps in like the cancerous weeds that dominate your garden. Like the struggling daisy, you feel overwhelmed. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Anne whispered, shaking her head so that locks of hair danced before her eyes. “I just…I can’t…”

“You can’t? You won’t. There’s a big difference. But you’re right. This existence, this life has no purpose for you.”

Anne heard movement for the first time, a footfall near the window.

“That guilt you’ve been dealing with, the emotion that stayed your hand for the briefest moment lies outside this window. Who would tend the garden? Who would tend your father? How could you forsake seeing another sunrise? You think you’re abandoning it all, but really, that happened already. I don’t think you could sever ties any faster without intentionally destroying them.”

“What do you want?” A tear was sliding down Anne’s cheek now and her eyes became a vibrant shade of dark blue. The effect made her look so alive in the mirror as if mocking her intention.

“You.”

His tone was so direct that her heart caught in her throat. Finally, she turned to look at him and her eyes widened at the sight.

The man that stood before her was blessed with an unearthly youth. Perfect skin was pale though retained a hint the darker tone of a gypsy. Black hair tumbled down his back, tied into a tail revealing a widow’s peak. He cut a lithe figure, a feature mirrored by high cheek bones and a somewhat gaunt appearance.

The outfit was that of a gentleman—a black coat and white shirt beneath with an elaborately tied cravat. It seemed out of place on him as if he were used to something far less expensive. The boots were tall and well polished, covering the bottoms of his pants.

Despite her evaluation of his appearance, she didn’t dare meet his eyes. That would be acknowledging that he really was there. It was an absurd feeling and it left her frustrated and embarrassed. She wanted to feel outraged and wondered how he got in. Was he some dread spirit? Was that why he wasn’t casting a reflection?

Fear gripped at her as she was reminded of this fact. She had never been much of a superstitious person but this was right out of a fairy tale that her grandmother might have told when she was a child. For a brief moment, the despair that had driven her toward suicide was forsaken for this new puzzle.

“Why?” Anne finally thought to ask. She couldn’t fathom why he would invade her room. However fleeting, however peripherally, the mere thought of being wanted, even by this bizarre person, brought a shimmer of hope to her heart.

“Because you’ve been unwanted for so long,” he spoke as if he were answering her thoughts as opposed to the question. “Your father doesn’t even look at you anymore. He sees your mother in your face, in those sharp features and that smooth skin. He sees your sister in those glittering eyes and hears their laughter in your voice. You remind him of death so he treats you as if you embody doom. Since the death of your last relative, you’ve been dead to him as well. You might as well have drowned in that boating accident you escaped from. Maybe that was even expected.”

“How can you speak so lightly about all that’s happened?” Anne asked in a trembling voice. “How can you be so irreverent?”

“Why not?” He was leaning against the window frame as he spoke. “That sort of thing happens all the time. Granted, it happened to you in greater frequency and in a smaller time frame, but others suffer day in and day out. Your pain was over quickly. You’re the reason it lingers. Imagine a debilitating disease without the funds for a possible cure or the withering of flesh as age trims away the edges of what once was a great person. Compared alongside what you’ve gone through, it makes your complaints to be somewhat petty.”

His reprimand pushed her over the edge. The knife was knocked to the floor and she buried her face in her hands, crying with all the desperation that had driven her to want death. How could he be so cold? Was he there merely to mock her pain? Was this God’s preface to hell? Eternal torment could never be as horrifying as her life had been. Nothing could, nothing would.

“It’s not just the others, is it?” the voice asked in a knowing sort of way as if intending to draw attention rather than look for the answer.

Anne looked up with her brows furrowed. Through the blurry vision her tears created, her calm tormentor was a white blur against the backdrop of waning twilight. His arms were at his side, but the gaps between them and his body were filled in by their obscured outlines. It occurred to her that he looked something like an angel. Perhaps he was a messenger from God, someone to give her the final chance to return to the fold before she destroyed her soul forever. “I don’t know what you mean,” Anne said firmly. “I don’t.”

“Of course you know what I mean. You haven’t found love in this life. You don’t believe in it anymore. Such a frivolous waste of time, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “Love’s just a measure of man’s vanity to convince a woman to go to bed with him and a woman’s tool to not have to live with her parents for the rest of her days, to avoid the grim title of spinster. Love’s not a state of being or an attainable virtue. It’s a weapon of statecraft and the eternal struggle between the sexes.”

“That’s so cynical,” Anne swallowed hard.

“And yet I was about to say that bitterness doesn’t become you.” He chuckled. “Perhaps we both have a lesson to learn.”

 “Yes, how would you know?” Anne cried. “How do you know anything? All your long-winded speeches don’t amount to much when there’s so much pain and misery. How does anyone survive it? How?”

“I have lived it, my dear.” He stepped across the room, extending his hand to touch her cheek, but stopping short. Fingers balled into a fist as he drew back. “Because I know how the world works and how the independent organisms move through it. I know what drives humanity and what creates the angst that you’re toiling through right now. All of these things I’ve had to learn and they’ve all had a cost. Sometimes the payments were more than I thought I could bear, but as you can see, here I stand and as I said before…it’s not as bad as all that.”

“You have a lot of lofty words and fancy philosophy,” Anne scowled. “But you haven’t told me why you’re here. What are you? Are you an angel? A demon? Am I hallucinating? What do you want?”

“Reasonable questions.” He turned to look out the window. “The very act of asking them says something about your perception. It would be nice to think of myself as something divine, but then I’d be walking down your path, fooling myself about the world and my role in it. I would be complaining or feel compelled to kill myself because I was not true to my beliefs. You are in denial of all things—your place, your suffering, my existence. Laboring on to cite you more examples wastes time that could be better spent elsewhere.”

“I just don’t understand,” Anne said with a painful desperation in her voice. “Why can’t I just die in peace? Why does even my end have to be full of torment? I know that I couldn’t find anyone…no one would look at me. Not after all that’s happened to my family. Not after they thought—” The words caught in her throat and she clenched her fists in frustration.

“Since they thought you might’ve helped your cousin to die?” He finished for her. “Of course not. Would any father allow his son into the arms of a potential murderess? Even one as stunning as you? Perhaps not at present, but what about the future?”

“What future?” Anne shot back at him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sasha,” He inclined his head slightly. “And I’ve come to offer you a future apart from all this…death.”

“What do you mean?” The danger in his tone sent a chill through her veins like icy fish disturbing a warm river. He was so confident, so knowing and so utterly without regret. Death itself wasn’t as frightening as this man and his strong will. Whatever he wanted or had to offer could not be good. Was this the will of a benevolent deity or was he from some power in the underworld?

What if it was just paranoia? Ingrained spiritual nonsense from the church? Maybe everyone was wrong. He seemed to have the answers.  Even without looking into his eyes, she could feel that he had a plan. Whatever it was, it surged from him like waves of heat from a stallion after a hard gallop.

“I want to save you the fate of the garden, Anne,” Sasha replied to her question. “I want to bring you peace and let you see the world through a new set of eyes. Opened and aware, you’ll finally have the faculties to appreciate your experiences rather than react to them.”

Anne stood from her chair and walked up beside Sasha, staring out the window at her garden. It had been a long time since she saw it through a filter of love. It had been therapy against all the monstrosities she’d experienced and the neglect she felt from those around her. Life had proven to be universally unfair for it could be taken away with mind numbing rapidity. That same act of swift resolution could continue to torment for years.

The weeds were completely out of control, far worse than she had noticed before. The other plants were suffering though the signs were subtle. She had worked too long in that little patch to lose the capability of seeing even the slightest sign of impending disaster. If she was gone, would anyone tend that garden? Or would it wither away to another bitter memory?

It would rot and overgrow, becoming a grass mound of bugs and death. Burrowed in the filth, unwanted creatures would launch forays into the house until nothing would be done for it other than to dig it up and start over. All if she just surrendered her life, it would all be over. Though she knew that such earthly concerns would falter, the bit of life that clung to her cried out against the injustice.

“What can you do?” Anne was hoping to put some strength behind the question, but it came out meek and submissive as if she was hoping that he would take charge. She prayed that he would lead her on what she was unwilling or incapable of seeking alone.

Anne felt cold fingers touch the edge of her chin, gently turning her head from the window. She looked up into rich, brown eyes gazing down at her with the most resolute kindness she had ever seen in her entire life. She could spend a lifetime staring into his soul, exploring the depth of overwhelming thought and creativity. His gaze made her feel small, insignificant to the power that came from total mastery of the self, a mastery she could only imagine submitting to, never possessing.

“You don’t have to be outside anymore.”

Sasha’s words were strangely effecting—a double meaning spoke to her soul. How long had she felt like an outsider? How long had she wished she could be a part of something? Or was it anything like that at all? Was it really about being a part? Or was it about surety? What was sure in life? Nothing. All the precautions in the world, hiding under the bed or locking the door, dressing warm against the cold or taking covering up against the burning sun, none of them mattered if it was time to go.

Nature was uncaring. The world continued on whether the fragility of life and love endured, whether or not the petty squabbling and concerns of mortality ended in peace or disaster. It helped bring her terror into sharp focus.

“Do I…can you…” The questions formed on her lips, but ended with her thoughts. She closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly in a silent form of acceptance. For the first time, she felt giving into fate was the right choice and that she was in good hands.

Time passed by. A minute seemed like a year when finally she felt Sasha’s fingers dance like feathers up her arms to her neck. The sensation brought goose bumps to her skin, making her body shiver with a mixture of delight and surprise. She’d never felt the touch of a man before, but she’d thought about the subject a thousand times. Intimacy was the thing she craved most in life and it’s the one thing that she was denied time and time again.

Sasha’s hands moved around her back, unhooking the choker and dropping it to the floor. It seemed to take a little too much time to fall, the clack of the onyx on the hardwood a few moments later than Anne would’ve thought. His fingers continued to move, sliding up her head and plunging into her black curls. A moment later, he removed the sticks binding her hair and it toppled passed her shoulders.

Anne’s body was all shivers. She had never been so aroused in her life. Every ounce of her being was longing for more of his touch, but his fingers merely teased their way back down to her shoulders. There they paused for just a moment, then quested onward down the front of her gown. There was a lace there that kept the bodice closed and, though the gown wouldn’t come off with her corset on, her breasts could easily be revealed by a few well-placed tugs.

The knot was undone first and her nipples were greeted with a light breeze, a sensation that brought them immediately to full attention. Anne expected more teasing, she expected anything but what happened. All at once, she felt the hot of Sasha’s mouth close over her breast, his tongue moving around the nipple softly as he sucked. Though it was a sudden movement, his action wasn’t rough. Quite the contrary, it was just the right amount of attention to make her body shake and her loins stiffen with desire.

When she thought that she wouldn’t be able to take much more, he brought a hand up and pinched the other nipple, causing her to jump. Finally, the passion was too much to bear and she lost her grip on the concept of impropriety. She lifted her arms and cradled his head, holding him in place as he continued to suck and lick.

As soon as Anne felt stable, she realized that she wouldn’t have had much of a choice with her knees beginning to shake from his tender ministrations. There were so many things that she wanted, but didn’t know how to ask for, motions she could envision in her heart, but could never describe with words, places she wanted to be touched that were too taboo to mention.

Anne barely realized that Sasha had stopped tending to her nipples when suddenly, her corset was torn. The tatters fell to the floor as he violently cleared the path between him and her hot aroused flesh. She let go of his head and nearly stumbled back, but he caught her about the waist and lifted her up. He settled her on the bed and held her with one arm while removing the rest of her ruined garment.

She shivered from cold and fear, unsure of what was happening next, but certain that she no longer had any control over it—if she ever did to begin with. There was no stopping now. She had to trust Sasha implicitly for good or ill and, despite her mental trepidation, her body was already accepting the inevitable.

Anne was moist and hot between her legs, a sensation she had felt before but never so intensely. Her eyes were still closed, but she heard another rip of clothes, fabric settling on the floor. Sasha was hovering over her, she could feel his presence and shortly, his lips, kissing her bare stomach, ever moving slowly down.

Some locks of Sasha’s hair had escaped their bonds, the ends tickling Anne’s skin with every ragged breath that she took. Seemingly by instinct, she separated her legs as he kissed her abdomen, his mouth nearly hovering over her sex. She held her breath and clasped at the bed covers in anticipation.

Sasha hesitated, breathing softly on the fold of skin he was about to taste. Certain she could not handle the suspense any longer, she gasped as he brushed the tip of his tongue gently against her, taking a long leisurely lick that tore a moan from her throat. He paused, letting her writhe in frustration before returning for another pass.

Anne’s moans became incessant. She reached down and took hold of his head in a wanton moment of desperation, pulling him against her. His tongue had perfect rhythm, working with her body’s motions and keeping up with each convulsive display of pleasure, dragging out every second of sensation. He seemed to govern the mounting pressure in her loins, dragging it higher and higher…

All at once, Anne’s eyes opened wide and her mouth was open with a silent scream. She spread her legs further apart, bucking her hips to give him better access. Waves of orgasm flashed over her like chills during a fever, lightening her head and burning her senses into one cohesive entity of delight.

Anne felt tears leak out of her eyes. She shivered and moaned through a series of experiences she never would have imagined possible. Never in her wildest fantasies had she felt something so beautiful.

When Sasha stopped and mounted the bed, Anne realized that he was completely naked. She could not have asked for more. His body was as handsome as his face—lithe, muscular… His penis was erect and, as it came to rest against the wet folds between her legs, she realized just how demanding the hunger in his eyes really was.

But he held out. Every ounce of her soul ached for him to release inside her, to take her body and pleasure himself as he had pleasured her. His patience was absolutely maddening.

Their lips met and she could taste herself on him, a fact that made her kiss him all the more hungrily. Tongues wrestled a moment, circling as their emotions intensified. She ran her nails down his sides, which made him arch his back—the final bit of pressure needed to slide into her.

Anne was far from prepared for how it felt and though it might have been premature, Sasha took advantage of gaining entrance. He began slowly, still kissing her despite her shivering gasps between their kisses. His long member moved in and out in ever more rapid strokes, the contours meeting hers perfectly and, as her hips started to move in time with him, she could finally feel his body tremble with his own delight.

She had no idea how long they made love, but with all the suddenness of his arrival, Sasha’s eyes opened wide as he took her roughly by her hair. With a quick motion, he pulled hard, exposing her slender throat. She felt his body tighten with climax at the same moment that sharp teeth pierced deep into her skin.

Again, her mouth opened in a silent scream as a wash of agony danced along her nerves from her neck to her feet and back to her head. It was followed by a perverse ecstasy as her blood ebbed out of her into his mouth. Her heart beat rapidly in the confusion of terror and pleasure rolled into one. The sucking sensation was so tender, she wondered at how bad it could be. The horror of the situation was lost on her. Everything was bliss.

Anne’s extremities began to numb first, but she didn’t notice, her fingertips, her toes and shortly her ankles and elbows. It was colder in the room despite the sweat on her skin and she was having difficulty breathing. Her heartbeat had slowed, struggling to throb with less and less to pump.

Darkness closed in on her peripheral vision and the only thing she could feel was Sasha’s hot lips drinking her in and a few trails of her own blood dripping along her shoulder onto the bedding.  Consciousness was about to depart, her heart would follow it. A voice whispered in her head, speaking to her as if it were in her very thoughts.

You’ve met death.

It mocked her. Anne knew she hadn’t met death yet, but merely tasted its beginning.

 “How will you embrace it? With vigor? Or complacency?”

Anne didn’t have the energy for much, but she managed to moan, trying to turn her head.

“What’s this?” the voice asked gently, just before soft lips placed a kiss on her ear lobe. “If you want it, then all you have to do is take it.”

Anne wanted it. She wanted it more than anything, but how was she going to take even the most necessary of things? Her body was dying, her cells failing along with everything that was her. It would all be gone in a few moments. In many ways, she was already dead.

“Come now, are you giving up?” the voice asked. “Like the others? Like your relatives? Surrendering to death? Your adversary you thought to meet on your own terms? I’ve brought you to him and now you can spit in his face. Or will you let him ravish you as I’ve done?”

The will in her heart drove her on for she had no other reserve of strength. In a moment of pure animal lust, she lifted her head and latched herself to a wound on his neck. Somehow, she instinctively knew it would be there and the way her lips circled it so tenderly, it was as if she had done it a thousand times, like a babe’s uncanny motion toward a nipple.

It came out in a rush, hot and fragrant and it burned her nose as if bile had backed up in her throat. The blood rushed along, filling her body with its heat. Every passing moment revitalized her senses, returning her lost strength. Muscles twitched, her body exploded once again into a pleasurable rush of convulsion. The very taste of gore felt as though it were sending her toward another climax.

Blood ran down her chin, dropping to her bare breast to make a lazy trail all the way to the hair on her abdomen. She swallowed as quickly as she could and Sasha held her tightly, cradling her as one might a child.

Anne had her fill long before Sasha was spent and, as he lowered her back down on the pillow, he rose and pulled on his pants.

“It won’t be a pleasant change, my love,” Sasha said while looking over his torn shirt. “But when you get through it, and you will, you’ll be happy again. The seed I’ve planted today will blossom and, when you wake from your sleep, it will be akin to rebirth. It’s a gift to you. The eternity of your creation now resides in your veins. You’re as timeless as a rose. It’s my gift to you.”

Sasha’s final words hung at the edge of her subconscious mind and, as she heard him leave, she wanted to cry out to him. Her body felt strong but was rapidly descending into a heavy sleep, one she feared she’d never wake from again, one that she knew was to be fatal. Had he killed her after all? Was her trust misplaced? Did she trade one death for another? When the last vestiges of light faded from her sight, she realized the truth.

No, she wasn’t dead, not in the conventional sense. Something was happening. Anne believed his words, it was a gift and it was timeless. It was exactly what she wanted, but more importantly, it was what she needed.

Anne figured it was far past time that death gave a little back for all it had taken. It owed her and she was happy to collect.

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