The Rapture

I stir from slumber, my senses slowly awakening to the warmth and comfort surrounding me. The silken sheets caress my skin, a reminder of the intimacy shared with Arlo. His body is pressed against mine, our limbs entwined in a tangle of limbs and unspoken desire.

As consciousness fully returns, I become acutely aware of Arlo’s arousal, his member pressing against me, a testament to the passion that still lingers between us. A soft moan escapes my lips, a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Arlo’s eyes flutter open, a sleepy smile gracing his lips as he meets my gaze. “Good evening, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

The intimacy of the moment washes over me, a wave of warmth and contentment. I nuzzle closer to him, my hand tracing the contours of his chest. “Evening,” I reply, my voice a soft purr.

The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. It’s a new night, filled with possibilities and the promise of shared moments with the man I love. And as I lie in Arlo’s arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my own.

Arlo’s hands roam over my body, exploring every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that matches my own. His fingers trail down my spine, causing shivers to dance along my flesh.

He presses himself against me, grinding against my thigh with a hunger that matches mine. Our movements become urgent and desperate as we lose ourselves in each other once again.

Pressing against my exposed skin, feeling it twitch with every thrust as he holds me tightly against him. Our bodies are slick with sweat and desire, the room filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the wet slapping noises of our movements.

Arlo’s hands roam over my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He trails kisses along my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath my earlobe. His teeth graze my flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Arlo pulls away slightly and looks into my eyes with a mix of desire and uncertainty. “You okay?” he asks breathlessly.

I nod slowly, my voice laced with equal parts hesitation and need. “Yeah. just thinking about everything that’s happened lately.”

He nods understandingly before diving back into the rhythm we had established earlier. The bed creaks beneath us as we move together in perfect harmony - a symphony of moans and gasps that echo through the room.

I feel him inside me, his hardness filling every inch of me. A wave of pleasure washes over me as my body releases on him, my orgasm ripping through me like a freight train. My breath hitches in my throat as he thrusts deep inside me, his own climax building with each powerful movement.

Arlo’s hands grip my hips tightly, guiding us both to the edge of bliss. I can feel the tension building within him, his cock throbbing against me. The air is thick with anticipation as we both teeter on the precipice of ecstasy.

But just as we’re about to crash into oblivion, Arlo pulls out abruptly and lies next to me, panting heavily. His eyes meet mine, a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling within them.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”

I let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto my side to face him. “Oh come on,” Playfully, running a finger along his jawline. “You can’t resist me?”

The evening moonlight paints the room in soft hues, casting a warm glow on Arlo and me as we emerge from the tangled sheets. Our gazes meet, lingering on the contours of each other’s bodies, the lingering traces of passion evident in our flushed cheeks and tousled hair. My aura pulses with a vibrant energy, reflecting the contentment and love that fills my heart.

As we dress, Arlo’s eyes follow my every move, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “You should dress up for the evening,” he suggests, a playful smile curving his lips. “I have something special planned for your one-week vampire anniversary.”

Excitement bubbles within me, a delightful anticipation for whatever Arlo has in store. “Oh?” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

He chuckles a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. “It’s a surprise,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of mystery. “But trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

His words ignite a spark of curiosity, fueling my eagerness for the night ahead. I can’t help but wonder what Arlo has planned, what secrets this new world holds for me. But for now, I’m content to bask in the warmth of his presence, knowing that whatever the future holds, I’ll face it hand in hand with the man I love.

Arlo’s touch is gentle as he places a red satin blindfold in my hand. The fabric is smooth and cool against my fingertips, a tantalizing prelude to the mystery that awaits.

“Why haven’t we used this before?” I tease a playful lilt in my voice.

A mischievous grin spreads across Arlo’s face. “I can get all the straps you want later,” he whispers, his voice laced with a seductive promise. “But tonight, put this on so you can’t predict where we’re going.”

He reaches behind my head, his fingers brushing against my skin as he secures the blindfold in place. A soft kiss lands on my forehead, a tender gesture that sends a shiver down my spine. Then, he takes my hand, his grip firm and reassuring.

The world plunges into darkness, leaving me to rely on my other senses. The scent of Arlo’s cologne, the chill of his hand, the gentle sway of our bodies as we move, his arua radiating beside me - these become my guides, my anchors in this unfamiliar territory. Excitement bubbles within me, a delightful blend of anticipation and surrender. I trust Arlo completely, and I know that whatever he has planned, will be an unforgettable experience.

The elevator dings, signaling our arrival in the lobby. As we step out, my stiletto heels encounter a surprising obstacle - a soft, crumpled heap on the floor. I nudge it with my foot, feeling the silky smoothness of a blouse and the rougher texture of denim. A playful giggle escapes my lips as I realize we’ve left a trail of discarded clothing in our wake.

With each step, my feet encounter more remnants of our passion, a tactile reminder of the night before. I kick a stray sock aside, its cottony softness contrasting with the cool marble floor. A tangle of lace brushes against my ankle, a delicate whisper of intimacy.

Arlo’s hand tightens around mine, his laughter a warm rumble in the quiet lobby. “Looks like we need to pick up when we get back,” I repeat, my voice laced with amusement. The mess in the elevator, a testament to our passion, will have to wait for our return. For now, the night beckons, and I’m eager to discover what Arlo has in store.

As we enter the garage, the cool night air envelops us, a refreshing contrast to the enclosed space. The distant hum of traffic and the twinkling lights of the city create a symphony of sounds that fill the silence. Arlo’s arm wraps around my shoulders, drawing me closer, his scent a comforting presence in the growing darkness.

He opens the door to the car and helps guide me. Arlo reaches over as he straps me in. “Is this what you like?” He teases me.

“Maybe a little tighter and more restrictive,” I reply.

He then shuts the door softly. I can hear his footsteps watching his aura walk around the car and enter on his side. As we leave the garage I hear the rhythmic clicking of the streetlights as they change colors, the muffled conversations spilling from passing cars, the distant laughter of revelers enjoying the warm night – it all washes over me, a sensory feast that both delights and overwhelms. As we head to our mystery location.

A car pulls up beside us at a stoplight, its occupants casting curious glances towards Arlo’s sleek vehicle. Their voices, barely audible through the closed windows, speculate about the hidden world within these tinted windows. Little do they know, the true spectacle lies not in the material possessions, but in the intimate connection unfolding between Arlo and me.

His fingers trace a teasing path along my thigh, a playful distraction from my attempts to decipher our destination. I suppress a giggle, my senses heightened by his touch. The blindfold, once a barrier to the world, now feels like an invitation to explore a deeper connection, to rely on instinct and intuition rather than sight.

The engine roars to life, a low purr that vibrates through my body as we accelerate into the night. The wind whips past the car, carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. A smile spreads across my lips as I realize where we’re headed.

The car slows, as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, the excited chatter of a vibrating nightlife, and the distant splashes of sealife create a symphony that fills my ears. My aura senses paint a vibrant picture of the scene – a tapestry of colorful auras intertwining and dancing against the backdrop of the moonlit beach.

Excitement bubbles within me, a sense of anticipation for the surprise Arlo has planned.

Stepping out of the car, the world explodes with sensory detail. The salty tang fills my nostrils, the cool breeze caresses my skin, and the rhythmic symphony of the waves crashing against the shore envelops me. The vibrant auras of the beachgoers dance before my eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions and energies. Freed from the confines of the car, my senses are heightened, the world around me pulsing with life.

Arlo’s hand finds mine, his touch grounding me amidst the sensory overload. “Can I take off the blindfold yet?” I ask, my voice laced with anticipation.

“Not yet, my love,” he replies, a playful lilt in his voice. “Just a little further.”

His words spark a thrill of excitement. The mystery deepens, and my curiosity grows with each step we take toward the unknown.

Arlo’s aura, a vibrant mix of excitement and anticipation, guides me forward as we navigate the bustling beachfront. I can sense the curiosity emanating from the crowd, their auras flickering with questions. Whispers and hushed conversations follow in our wake, some expressing disapproval at my blindfolded state, others intrigued by the playful mystery of it all. A few even trail behind us, their auras buzzing with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“We’re going to be going up some stairs, so be careful,” Arlo warns, his voice a gentle reminder of my temporary vulnerability.

Arlo’s voice, a touch louder amidst the ambient sounds of the beach, guides me with gentle precision. “Careful, there’s a step up here,” he warns, his hand squeezing mine reassuringly. “Now, just a few more...”

His tone shifts, a hint of triumph in his voice. “There it is!” he exclaims, his excitement palpable.

The anticipation builds within me, a symphony of questions and possibilities swirling in my mind. Each step taken, each whispered instruction, solidifies the trust we have in each other.

The final step brings a change in the air. A delicate sweetness, reminiscent of flower nectar, tickles my nose. My heart quickens with anticipation. “Arlo,” I ask, my voice hushed, “are we at the Moonlit Gardens at the Obsidian Promenade?”

I can practically hear the proud smile in his voice as he replies, “Correct, my love. It seems I’ll have to try more difficult tests next time.”

A shiver runs down my spine as he moves behind me, his fingers gently untying the blindfold. The darkness lifts, and my vision floods with a breathtaking scene. The moonlit gardens shimmer with an ethereal glow, the bioluminescent flowers painting the landscape in a symphony of vibrant colors. My heightened senses amplify the beauty, every petal, every dewdrop, a masterpiece in its own right.

Arlo’s lips brush against my neck, a tender kiss that sends a wave of warmth through me. He takes my hand, leading me towards a secluded table adorned with a reserved sign. The night is young, the air alive with possibility. As I settle into my seat, gazing at the man who has captured my heart, I know that this is just the beginning of our extraordinary journey together.

Arlo’s chivalry extends even to the Moonlit Gardens, his hand gently guiding my chair as I take a seat at the candlelit table. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across his handsome features, highlighting the warmth in his eyes.

Our server approaches, a young woman with a timeless aura that betrays her vampire nature. “What can I get for you two lovebirds tonight?” she inquires with a knowing smile.

“Two glasses of Sanguine,” Arlo replies smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine.

As the server departs, Arlo reaches across the table, his fingers lightly tracing the back of my hand. “Evie,” he begins, his voice laced with admiration, “I’m constantly amazed by you. Your ability to learn, your intelligence... it’s truly unparalleled.”

A blush warms my cheeks at his praise. “Thank you, Arlo,” I murmur, my heart fluttering.

“But I didn’t bring you here just to shower you with compliments,” he continues, his tone turning serious. “I brought you here because I want us to get to know each other better. We just met, and your world has been turned upside down. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

His words resonate with me, a reassurance that amidst the whirlwind of change, our connection remains a priority. I nod, my heart swelling with gratitude.

“I feel the same way, Arlo,” I reply, my voice soft but firm. “I want to learn everything about you, about this world. And I want you to know everything about me, too.”

A smile graces his lips, a reflection of the unspoken promise that hangs in the air. Tonight, under the glow of the moon and the bioluminescent flowers, we’ll peel back the layers, revealing our true selves to each other. And in doing so, we’ll forge a bond that transcends the boundaries of our worlds.

“Arlo,” I begin, my curiosity piqued by his past connection with Vivienne, “were you two ever... an item?”

Arlo’s expression darkens, a shadow passing over his features. “Vivienne and I have never been an item like you and I are,” he states firmly, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “We have been together, but I have never had feelings for her. I will never forgive her for the things she has done and made me do.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the romantic ambiance of the Moonlit Gardens. I reach across the table, my hand finding his, offering a silent gesture of comfort.

”How was she as your creator?” Wanting to know more about this person who is bubbling the blood in anger inside me.

“She was awful as a master,” Arlo continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was, and in some ways still am, her slave. Luckily, she appears to have moved on, but she still has that desire for control, to possess all that she believes is hers. Not as people, but as toys.”

His pain is palpable, radiating from his aura like a mournful melody. I squeeze his hand, my heart aching for the suffering he endured.

“I feel like she still has feelings for you.” I finally ask, knowing this is painful but wanting to know how I feel and the worry I too share about her.

“As far as feelings go,” Arlo adds, his voice hollow, “I don’t think she cares for anyone more than the enjoyment they can bring her or how they can further her nefarious goals.”

His words, though honest, carry a weight of sorrow that I can’t ignore. I sense the lingering scars of his past, the wounds that Vivienne inflicted on his heart and soul. At that moment, I vow to be a source of healing for him, a beacon of love and light in the darkness that still haunts him.

“Arlo,” I begin, my curiosity piqued by his earlier mention of the Lords, “tell me more about them. What do you know about Alistair?”

Arlo’s gaze sweeps the surroundings, a flicker of caution crossing his features. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“He is a benevolent dictator,” he confides, “a leader who genuinely cares for his people but who also demands unwavering loyalty and obedience. He rules with an iron fist encased in a velvet glove, his authority unquestioned and his power absolute.”

Leaning back, he returns to a more conversational tone. “Alistair’s origins trace back to the early days of Christianity, a time of upheaval and religious persecution. He was once a Roman senator, a man of wealth and influence, but his life took a dark turn when he was turned.”

He pauses, swirling the blood in his glass thoughtfully. “As the leader of our faction, Alistair holds ultimate authority over all of us. His word is law.”

“What were the names of the other Lords?” I inquire, my curiosity deepening. “And tell me about them.”

Arlo’s eyes light up, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze. “Before Alistair, there was Seraphina,” he begins, his voice laced with a certain fondness. “She was a Viking who truly embraced what we are - the freedom, the power, the immortality. Seraphina is charismatic, adventurous, and impulsive, always encouraging creativity and individuality, and living life to the fullest. The Masquerades, for instance, were started by her.”

He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “But while she can be frivolous at times, she’s also fiercely protective of her people and will not hesitate to defend them from any threat.”

His words paint a vivid picture of Seraphina, a powerful and enigmatic figure who seems to embody the essence of the vampire spirit. I’m intrigued by her, drawn to the idea of a leader who embraces both the darkness and the light within our kind.

“What did you think of her rule?” I inquired, eager to glean more insights into Arlo’s perspective on the former leader.

Arlo’s smile widens, a touch of wistfulness in his eyes. “Unlike Alistair, she only visited Veritas near the end of her reign, about 27 years ago,” he explains. “I’m not sure what brought her here, but maybe it was what Alistair mentioned.” He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“I liked her as a leader,” he continues, his voice filled with a genuine warmth. “I enjoyed working for her. She encouraged us to embrace our strengths and pursue our passions, while still maintaining order and ensuring the safety of our kind.”

Arlo’s tone shifts, a hint of unease creeping into his voice. “I don’t know much about Balthazar other than what others have told me,” he admits. “But he turned nearly 5,000 years ago. He’s the most strict of the Lords.”

He pauses, his gaze distant as if recalling fragments of long-forgotten tales. “He was the one who was outvoted when they agreed to the treaty with the other supernatural factions. That decision sparked a war between the three Lords, with Seraphina and Alistair’s most loyal followers fighting against Balthazar’s armies. Many lost their lives, and it only ended when Balthazar was trapped for nearly 100 years in his Romanian castle.”

The weight of history hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the ancient conflicts that have shaped the supernatural world. Balthazar’s name evokes a sense of unease, a lingering threat that even Arlo seems wary of.

“Arlo,” I inquire, leaning closer, “what kind of work did you do for Seraphina?”

His expression softens, a touch of nostalgia in his eyes. “I’ve always tried to stay out of the politics of the factions,” he confesses. “Seraphina recognized and respected my wishes to remain neutral.”

He pauses, swirling the blood in his glass thoughtfully. “Most of the work I did when I left Vivienne in Neo-Edo and came to Veritas was as a runner for the Shadow Market, moving imported goods. I’ve always had my finances, so I’ve never needed to work for anyone else. I just ever did the minimum that I was required to do. But I will say, when Seraphina came to town at the end of her reign, things got a lot busier.”

His words paint a picture of a man who values his independence, a lone wolf navigating the complexities of the supernatural underworld. Yet, there’s also a hint of intrigue, a suggestion of secrets and hidden dealings that lie beneath the surface. I can’t help but wonder what role Arlo played during Seraphina’s visit, and what adventures and challenges he faced in those tumultuous times.

“What changed when Alistair came and became the leader?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Arlo takes a deep breath, his expression turning slightly grim. “Well, the minimum wasn’t enough for me anymore,” he admits. “I had to work in the shadows for him, reporting to him every week during that silly Masquerade.”

He pauses, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “The last three years, I was tasked with looking out for you and reporting what I saw. It was like he could hear my thoughts.”

Before I can even ask, Arlo continues, his voice softening. “This isn’t unusual in itself,” he explains. “We often keep track of people going into the medical field, as we need people working at the hospital for obvious reasons. Your case was a little odd just because of how young you were. We usually don’t vet people to turn until their last year of school to see if they’ll be a good fit.”

A wave of understanding washes over me. “Then I know I was turned early,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t usually turn people until they’ve proven themselves as a medical professional.”

Arlo nods, his gaze meeting mine. “Alistair saw something in you, Evie,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. “Something special.

“Alistair wasn’t expecting me to be the one to turn you,” Arlo reveals a hint of amusement in his voice. “He likely wanted to do it himself, probably a year or so into your profession as a doctor, as that’s more normal.”

He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “He wasn’t unhappy, as he understood the situation, but he wasn’t too excited when I told him I had to turn you a week ago.”

A wave of curiosity washes over me. “What did he say?” I ask, eager to know Alistair’s reaction to my unexpected transformation.

Arlo chuckles softly. “He simply said, ‘Very well, Arlo. I trust you made the right decision. Bring her to me when she’s ready.’”

“That’s when I told him you were here and needed to feed,” I reply, a pang of guilt hitting me. “I’m sure you remember the night. I’m sorry it happened that way. I didn’t know what to do, and I had to tell him. I didn’t know he would make a spectacle of it all.”

My voice trails off, the memory of that chaotic night still fresh in my mind. The fear, the confusion, the overwhelming sense of helplessness – it all comes rushing back. I glance at Arlo, searching his face for any sign of resentment or anger. But all I see is understanding and a gentle warmth in his eyes.

“Any other questions, Evie?” Arlo’s voice, a soft caress in the quiet of the night, breaks through my contemplation.

Before I can respond, a sudden metallic clang resonates, and a suffocating darkness engulfs my senses. A helmet, cold and unforgiving, encase my head, muffling the symphony of auras that once danced before my eyes. It’s as if a thick blanket has been thrown over my perception, leaving me disoriented and vulnerable.

Through the muffled sounds, I hear Arlo’s grunts of exertion, the sickening thud of blows landing, the frantic shuffle of feet. He’s fighting, struggling against unseen assailants. Panic claws at my throat, my instincts screaming at me to protect him, to fight back.

I try to rise, to break free from the confines of the helmet, but a powerful force slams me back to the ground. A weight presses down on my chest, pinning me in place. I struggle, my muscles straining against the relentless pressure, but my efforts are futile.

Rough hands bind my wrists and ankles, the ropes digging into my skin. I’m lifted off the ground, my body suspended in an agonizing limbo. Through the haze of the helmet, I hear Arlo’s desperate cries, his voice filled with a primal rage. He’s fighting his way towards me, his aura a blazing inferno of fury and determination.

Then, a voice cuts through the chaos, a voice that chills me to the bone. “Arlo, honey,” it purrs, a sickening sweetness laced with malice. “Obey.”

The command hangs in the air, heavy and ominous. Arlo’s struggles cease abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. A sense of dread washes over me, a cold premonition of the darkness that awaits.

Panic surges through me, a desperate symphony of fear and adrenaline. I strain against the ropes, twisting and pulling with all my might. But the fibers, cold and unyielding, seem to tighten with every movement, a cruel mockery of my struggles. It’s like a Chinese finger trap, the more I fight, the more ensnared I become.

My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos around me. I can’t see, I can barely hear, and the suffocating helmet dampens my aura senses. I’m trapped, helpless, at the mercy of unseen captors.

A sob catches in my throat, a desperate plea for freedom that goes unanswered. The darkness presses in, a suffocating void that threatens to consume me. But even in the face of despair, a flicker of defiance remains. I will not surrender. I will not give up. I will find a way to break free, reunite with Arlo, and face whatever darkness awaits us.