Daddy's Immortal Virgin

DADDY'S IMMORTAL VIRGIN

by

Christa Wick

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Pomegranate Girl on Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Christa Wick

Cover art licensed from and ©
romancenovelcovers.com

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT - ALL CHARACTERS 18
AND OVER

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participation in any or similar activities contained in this work
of fiction.

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**********

DADDY'S IMMORTAL VIRGIN

**********

There were five of them -- weak for their
kind but still stronger than any human. Desperate, they threw their
bodies against the boarded up windows and doors of the house we
sheltered in. With each hit, they shrieked in hunger and pain.
Their attack was uncoordinated, the need for human blood driving
any rational thought from their minds. Had they stuck to one entry,
attacking in turns, they could have entered en masse and my
stepfather Ray and I would have died in that house, our corpses
turned to bloodless husks, our limbs torn and littering the wooden
floor.

As it was, they entered one by one through
different rooms, enough time passing between their breaches for Ray
to deliver a true death to the intruder and brace for the next
attack. Machete in hand, Ray moved like the ex Navy SEAL he was.
Blade met neck, head separated from body, one more bloodsucker
down.

Except for that last one, the one that was
smart enough to hold back just a fraction of a second longer while
its companion burst into the room through a shattered window and
lunged at Ray. That left Ray with his back exposed to an open
bedroom door.

Once those fuckers get their teeth into you,
it's all over. Your will evaporates, overwhelmed by some kind of
paralyzing ecstasy. I'd seen it happen to my mom when the outbreak
was just a week old. My half-brother Mike was dead before the end
of the first month. Whether it was family, neighbors, or strangers
we saw on the road as everyone fled Dallas, the bite had the same
effect. The victim immediately stopped fighting and started
moaning, but not in the oh-God-I'm-dying way. Some of them started
stroking themselves...down there. Mom did.

So did Daddy Ray when that last one got its
teeth into him.

The machete dropped to the floor. His eyes
glazed over and his head lulled back, exposing more of his throat.
One hand cupped his cock, which had gone instantly hard and was
bulging against his zipper.

That was all in the first five seconds before
I unfroze from the panic that gripped me and scooped up the
machete. Vampires are most vulnerable when they are feeding. This
one was no exception. Mouth locked on Ray's neck, he stared at me
with one baleful yellow eye that flashed silver when the light hit
it. He kept on sucking while I stepped behind him and raised the
machete over my head. The thing had time enough to kill me a couple
times over but he couldn't stop feeding.

I brought the blade down low on his neck,
afraid that I'd chop straight through and take Ray's head off, too.
The blow severed its spinal cord but it wasn't enough to kill it
and the wound started healing immediately, bone re-knitting, gaping
muscle and blood vessels straining toward one another to reform. I
brought the blade down a second time, cutting clean through and
into Ray's flesh.

They both dropped to the floor, the vampire's
head rolling to a stop at my feet.

I sank to my knees next to Ray, examining his
upper back. It was a nasty wound -- about an inch deep and eight
inches long. I rolled him on his side.

"No, no, no!"

His throat was ravaged, so much blood gone
from his body the wound wasn't even bleeding any more. I pushed him
onto his back and put my head against his chest as I listened for
any sign that he was alive.

"Please, daddy!" I clutched his shirt,
pressed myself tight against him as sobs began to wrack my body.
"Don't leave me, daddy. I can't lose you, too."

One second I was holding him, the next I was
pinned hard against the wall. Ray's hands gripped my shoulders, his
stare feral and hungry. He pressed his cheek against mine and I
heard him inhale.

For a second, I thought everything was going
to be okay. Yeah, he was injured badly and clearly in shock. But
he'd just inhaled and the dead don't breathe -- not that anyone can
tell, at least.

But they do scent.

That's what he'd just done -- scented me like
I was dinner.

"So thirsty, baby girl..."

Nineteen is too young to die. I swallowed
hard and slowly shook my head. "Daddy, no...please, please,
please."

He pulled back a little at the sound of my
voice, studied me and raised his curled hand close to my face. I
had half a second to recognize the new danger. It was just like
when that guy outside Albuquerque tried to steel the truck from us.
He'd put his pistol through the window and ordered daddy out.

Told him to stick his hands up.

I shook my head again, pleading with him.
"Don't, daddy, please."

The strike to my temple came too fast to see.
One second I was standing on my own two feet, begging Ray not to
kill me. A heartbeat later, I was unconscious.

**********

I woke in a clean bed, with satin sheets
covering my naked body. The dirt that had caked my skin in our
boarded up hide out was gone. My hair was freshly shampooed. For a
second, I thought I'd just woken up from a very long and very, very
bad nightmare.

But the bed and the room were unlike any I'd
ever seen outside of a magazine. This was a rich man's room. The
whole place screamed money, from the four-poster walnut bed with
its velvet drapes to the huge dresser with a plasma television and
mini-bar on the opposite wall and on to the marble-tiled bathroom I
could see through the open door.

Head throbbing, I slowly sat up, the sheets
falling to pool around my hips. Upright, neither my ears nor my
eyes wanted to function. All I could hear was something like the
muted drone of a huge engine. My vision would clear for a few
seconds and then everything would start swimming together
again.

Sinking back against the mattress, the pain
ebbed. Gingerly, I touched my temple, felt the small lump and tried
to remember how I'd gotten it. All I could remember was the house,
daddy with his machete, three bloodsuckers newly dead and one of
them shattering a boarded up window.

I had to find Ray. He'd tell me what the hell
was going on.

Memories coalesced.

Ray...the bloody machete falling from his lax
grip.

Ray...

No-no-no.

Whatever it was, I didn't want to remember,
not yet. Closing my eyes, I pushed my hands under the blanket, my
fingers gently traveling over my flesh in search of injury.
Reaching the top of my thighs, I gasped. Not only had someone
washed me, they'd shaved me, too. My mound was completely smooth,
the silky blonde hairs gone.

I opened my eyes, my sight slowly adjusting
to normal. Above me, secured to the ceiling, was a mirror. At least
I still had a reflection. That was something to be thankful for and
I'd take whatever I could get.

My relief was quickly shattered by a loud
moaning. The sound was a thousand miles beyond wrong -- kind of
like mom and Mikey and Ray once those bloodsuckers had gotten hold
of them. But the throat these moans issued from clearly wasn't
human.

That's when the feeding noises started.

Shredding.

Growling.

Slurping.

The moans intensified, their rough edges
smoothing into words.

"Fuck me."

"Drink me."

Shit-oh-shit! They were feeding on each
other!

I looked around the room, frantic for some
kind of weapon. There was a lamp turned on beside the bed, but it
looked like the only light in the room. Unlike bloodsuckers, I
couldn't see in the dark and I couldn't afford to lose the
illumination by smashing it. I got up, stumbled to the bar and
found a wicked long corkscrew.

"Yes, yes, drink me, fuck me!"

My stomach clenched and I skittered across
the carpet, sprawling head first toward the toilet bowl. A splat of
vomit hit the rim, then another. Food too scarce for there to be
anything left in my stomach, dry heaves followed until even those
stopped.

Standing, I turned on the faucet, scooped a
handful of water and drank it. Looking up, I saw my gaunt face in
the mirror and, behind me, a pair of pants.

Just pants -- like they were being held up by
nothing but the air that filled them.

Fuck, it was done feeding on its own kind and
I was desert!

I spun around, gaze scanning the floor for
the corkscrew I had dropped or anything else I could use. I
screamed, the word half prayer, half call for rescue. He just had
to be close by, had to be alive. He promised he would never leave
me.

"Daddy!"

"I'm here, baby girl."

His voice, right there in the room with me.
But it couldn't be. There was just me and...it.

I shook my head, refusing to look up. "No.
Not you. Not one of them."

"Jess, don't be afraid, honey. Look at
daddy."

I couldn't stop shaking my head. Couldn't
stop repeating those words over and over. "Not you..."

The thing in front of me raised its hand to
offer the corkscrew, the spiraled end about half a foot out of
reach. "You were looking for this?"

My gaze crawled up the makeshift weapon to
the hand holding it. Strong, masculine. A familiar scar started at
the protrusion of the wrist bone and traveled up and over a tattoo
of an eagle perched on an anchor, its claws clutching a
trident.

A flick of his hand and the corkscrew landed
neatly in the trash can. He bent, part of his torso coming into
view as he reached for something alongside the door frame. I didn't
have to look up to know this couldn't be Ray, no matter what the
voice sounded like or that scar and tattoo. We'd spent the last few
months living off of scraps, always on the move. The body in front
of me was sculpted muscle.

"This will do you better, Jess."

The thing was holding the machete by the
blade, the handle close enough I could take it.

A little cry broke from me and my knees went
all rubbery. I grabbed hold of the towel rack to steady myself,
aware, all over again, that I was buck naked. I was frozen between
grabbing the towel on the rack or the machete.

He flipped the weapon so that he had hold of
the handle once more. He brought the flat of the blade up under my
chin, forcing me to raise my gaze.

It was him. Daddy. Unharmed. Alive.

I gasped, feeling like I'd just been punched
in the face. Not alive, but not dead. He was one of them now. Fear
flooded me. My hand shot out, wrapped around the machete's handle
and jerked. He could have kept me from taking it but he didn't.

"You can kill me any time you want, Jess. I
won't try to stop you." He backed up a little from the door's
threshold.

Behind him on the bed I could see a freshly
placed robe. Short, slinky, the blue a close match to my eyes. Not
much but better than a towel or being naked in front of daddy. I
moved a little closer to the door but couldn't bring myself to step
over the threshold until he backed up a little more.

"I brought you a robe. We'll find more
clothes for you later." His gaze drifted down over my body,
stopping for long seconds at my breasts and again at the top of my
thighs.

Shock was fuzzying up my brain and I realized
that he'd bathed me, shaved me, placed me in the bed naked. And
then he'd had dinner while I slept -- draining one of them.