Laura

By Larilyn

Disclaimer –Laura is the creation of J. Sheridan Le Fanu. Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series belong to Joss Whedon, the WB and UPN. I, unfortunately, am none of these people.

Spoilers – Through Season Seven of Buffy

Rating- NC-17

Author’s Note -

In 1871 & 1872, J. Sheridan Le Fanu serialized his novella, Carmilla. This story was one of Bram Stoker’s inspirations for his classic horror novel and quintessential vampire story, Dracula.

In Carmilla, the protagonist, Laura, tells of her companionship with the mysterious Carmilla and her own subsequent illness.

It is not necessary for a fanfic reader or Buffy fan to have read Carmilla in order to understand my humble sequel. Still, I believe that any vampire aficionado should read Le Fanu’s tale on principal.

Happy reading,

Larilyn

Perhaps you know my story. Perhaps you know of my lovely Carmilla. Perhaps not.

Whether you do or not is of little consequence. Just know this: My story did not end with Carmilla’s. It will, however, end with a Slayer.

My name is Laura, and I am a vampire.

I was not turned in an everyday way, with a sloppy bite and an afterthought. My transformation was slow and well-planned. Carmilla drained me bit by bit, day by day. I had no concept of what was happening to me. Now, I am immortal and without my lovely Carmilla.

Decades have passed, styles and manners have changed, and still I pine for my Carmilla.

My travels have taken me far from my beloved Europe. I find myself now in Buenos Aries, waiting for a Slayer to come and end my miserable existence. She will do so for love. And, that is the noblest reason of all.

How did I come to this? Waiting for my end? Why, because of love, of course.

This is my story.

I walked languidly down the streets of Buenos Aries. The sultry heat made me feel libidinous as well as somnolent. Like many vampires in my line, the sunlight gave me little trouble. This strength was balanced by a terrible weakness. The God that I had loved so dearly as a mortal had abandoned me. I had a nearly devastating sensitivity to religion. Even a simple hymn could undo me.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Carmilla.

Her thick dark hair that I had so loved to play with cascaded over slender shoulders. Oh, could my beloved have been reborn at last?

As I have watched the decades pass I have made an observation: God only has so many designs. Eventually, everyone’s face must be painted upon another.

When the girl turned I was horribly disappointed. Only the hair was my Carmilla’s. Where my beloved was pale, this girl was dark. Olive skin stretched across a face that was not delicate, but strong. She was lovely, this girl, who I later discovered was called Kennedy.

My eyes passed to her companion. Blazing hair framed a cherubic face. Alabaster skin highlighted her ruby lips and emerald eyes. This girl was a jewel! After a hundred and thirty years, I was in love again.

Carmilla has given me many gifts; eternal beauty, unnatural long life, and the ability to confound my prey.

I use the word prey with considerable trepidation. I am no animal. I am a lover. Am I to blame if the ones that I love must suffer so grievously? Their hardship is the price to be paid for passion.

"Excuse me," I asked the lovely pair, "Do you speak any English?" Upon my face I wore the guise of a disconcerted traveler.

"Yes," the gem responded, "Are you okay?"

"No. I’m afraid I’ve been robbed. I’ve lost my passport, my credit cards, everything. Can you point me to the British Embassy, perhaps?"

I knew immediately that these two lovelies were American, just as I knew that they were lovers. But after a hundred and thirty years, a mastery of an American accent had eluded me. I instead chose an upper-class British accent to speak with.

"Oh, gosh," my little jewel answered, "I don’t have any idea where it is."

"We’re American," the darker girl said.

"Of course, I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you." While I spoke, I kept my eyes on my jewel’s, pleading my case.

"Wait. We can’t let you wander the streets alone. Is there anyone we can call?"

"I’m afraid I have no one."

"Well why don’t you come back to our place for the night? We can check the yellow pages for the Embassy for you."

"I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you like that."

"Don’t be silly. We’d love to have you. Right sweetie?"

The younger girl whispered into her ear, "Will, we don’t even know her name.

I concentrated my gaze until my quarry was won into my favor. She extended a delicate hand and introduced, "I’m Willow. And this is Kennedy."

"Laura," I offered.

There was no longer any doubt that Willow would become mine.

It quickly became obvious what my new hostess was. It was in the way she moved. It was in her confidence. Can you imagine the state I was in when I realized that I was under the same roof as a Vampire Slayer?

I should have left immediately but I was lost to the charms of the lovely Willow and she was equally under my spell. It was a combination of my innate persuasive abilities and Willow’s kind nature that kept me in her home while we waited for the British embassy to bring me a passport that did not exist.

How I loved walking through the gardens with Willow. Conversation came easily between us.

Once on our daily walk she asked, "When did you…you know…know?"

"When did I know what?" I asked coyly.

Willow blushed gently.

"When did I know that I preferred feminine company? After I met Carmilla."

Willow smiled, "What a pretty name."

"Her face was lovelier still," I admitted. "Her eyes were deep and dark and I loved to lose myself in them."

My Willow looked a tad melancholy as she walked beside me. "Where is Carmilla now?"

"Murdered at my father’s hand."

"Oh, Laura, I’m so sorry."

"And your lost love, Willow?"

She looked at me with surprise. She did not realize that her grief was so transparent.

"It does not take a second sight to see your sorrow, my dear friend.

"Tara. Her name was Tara. She was murdered too."

"Then we share the same burden, Willow."

Eventually I came to realize that the fact that Willow’s lover was a Slayer was actually a blessing in disguise. The foolish girl never realized that what she sought to hunt was right under her own roof. Night after night she left Willow in my care.

Willow retired for the evening well before Kennedy came home from her hunts, leaving me ample opportunity to sneak into their bedchamber and indulge in Willow’s honeyed blood. I initially fed at her neck, quite demurely. I left only the tiniest of punctures. But my passion grew for her as we spent time together. After several weeks she had begun to consider me a friend.

One afternoon, my lovely girl wandered out into the garden with heavy steps.

"Goodness, Willow, are you not feeling well?"

My nightly visits had done little to diminish her beauty. The jewel toned flowers could not compare to her.

"I look like shit, don’t I?"

"I would hardly say that," I answered. "But you do look a bit under the weather."

"I think I have the flu. And these damn bug bites are driving me crazy." She scratched the punctures that I had given her. "I swear the little bloodsuckers are attracted to me."

"As sweet as you are, I would not be surprised."

This elicited a smile from her. Her smile went right to my unbeating heart. I did love her so.

That night I grew more bold.

Kennedy, as was her custom, had left for her nightly hunt. Willow had retired early to her chamber, citing fatigue. When I was certain she was well and truly asleep, I stole into her room.

Like some ethereal being, she floated on a mattress of satin and feathers. Her hair was spread out like a flame on her ivory satin pillow. One arm was flung lazily over her head and a bare leg was carelessly peeking out from her coverlet.

I knelt next to her bed and drew back the bedclothes. To my surprise, Willow was deliciously, scandalously, nude.

Surely you must appreciate the temptation.

I reached out with a trembling hand to touch her nubile flesh. Her breasts, the color of old snow, fit my hands perfectly. I squeezed ever so gently and then drew my fingertips down to tickle her smooth stomach.

Her eyelids fluttered and I was unsure whether I wanted them to open, or remain closed.

Open they did. Willow blinked sleepily. I heard her blood pump harder. I smelled her feminine juices begin to flow.

"Laura?"

"Shhh," I scolded as I leaned down and laid a tender kiss upon her ripe lips.

My hand traveled southward to caress her nether regions. Delicately, I parted the lips of her sex and worked at the center of her pleasure.

The dear girl gasped at my brazen action.

From my lips I bestowed upon her flesh such tender kisses as I traveled down her body.

Oh, to taste her desire!

I could not control my insatiable lust for little Willow. My mouth found her core and I suckled upon it.

Willow writhed beneath me. How I wished that I could watch her without breaking the connection between my lips and her sex.

She achieved her release with a tremulous sigh.

In one passionate movement, I turned my head to the side and sunk my fangs into the supple flesh of her inner thigh.

Oh, but there is a danger in becoming lost in one’s desire. I did not hear the Slayer until she cried out, "What the hell?"

I turned to her and hissed like an animal. Before she could strike a death blow, I transformed my tangible self into a mist and escaped, leaving my Delilah upon her bed.

Now I wait. My trail will not be hard for a Slayer to follow. She will undoubtedly catch me in my sleep and put an end to me.

I have no regrets.

In a hundred years I will never find another jewel as lovely as Willow.