Bitten

By Lee Allen

A tale of murder, fear and desire…

A serial murder investigation draws near its conclusion. For seven years the killer has evaded capture, but the police finally have their prime suspect in custody – a man who claims to be a vampire over three hundred years old.

PC Holleigh Ryder is tasked with the most unsettling and challenging assignment of her career. All she wants is to get to the truth and achieve justice for the murdered women, but this has been no ordinary case and it is far from over.

The vampire has his own endgame in mind, one that may leave the police praying they had left the damned undisturbed in their graves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716092220

Lee Allen

Born in South Wales, Lee Allen was writing from a young age, developing his fascination with mystery and thrillers. His debut Those Crimes of Passion was published in 2012, and he is currently working on his second novel.

Book preview

confession.

Now

Sunday, 14th February, 2021

St. Valentine’s Day

00:00

Slivers of moonlight glittered through the slats of the blinds, which clacked together gently, rousing Holleigh from her light slumber. She turned over and rubbed her eyes, screwing them half-closed in an effort to decipher the blur of her bedside clock.

The blinds clacked again, startling her. The window was open, the wind moving the slats back and forth behind the curtains, which were half drawn, billowing slightly outwards. She hugged her goose-pimpled torso under the cotton and rose from the bed, surprised she had managed any sleep at all. She felt nauseous with nerves, anxious at the outcome of the impending operation.

Her mind drifted once again to the argument she’d had with Ethan several days earlier. It had not been pleasant. She had a job to do tonight and he did not react well to it. She recalled the rage in his eyes and his raised voice, his mockery at her faith in what her job stood for and that justice would prevail.

There is no justice, he had told her, only the means-justified end crafted by those powerful enough to pull the strings.

Recalling his expression of hatred for what she represented, the twisting feeling in her gut brought her close to tears. Years of emotional strain, both personal and professional, were to be put to the test tonight. Many, she knew, would be of the opinion she had made it far worse for herself. She had become distracted with Ethan and she should have expected his reaction and his feelings on the subject of what she had done; what she proposed to do. She had the sudden thought that she may not survive it. But the wheels were already in motion.

She reached past the blinds and slammed the window beside the door that opened on to the narrow balcony outside the apartment, hoping to shut out the cold. Love bites on her breasts and thighs glowed purple in the silver light. With the rest of her body gripped in a vice of cold, she still felt the heat in those wounds, while her vulva throbbed with warming sensitivity. She drew the curtains tight and sat back on the edge of the bed. She recalled Ethan’s blazing eyes, the twist of his mouth, the contortion of his face, his scorn and contempt.

Then he had kissed her. She still felt the force of that kiss even now, as his whole body clashed against hers. They made love with an aggression that she still felt jarring, conjuring conflicted thoughts and emotions. There was something raw and vulnerable in the aftermath of a sexual encounter. To have succumbed to animal desire and allowed another to physically experience you so intimately. It was both comforting and unsettling.

She let her body drop back on the bed and closed her eyes. She had simply to wait. She slid her black cotton shirt dress up around her waist, her fingers slipping beneath her black lace hipsters. She could withstand the burgeoning desire no longer, the thoughts of him that invaded her mind, the desperate need for him to invade her body over and over again. Her fingers felt cold as she touched herself, her fingertips circling, stroking. She closed her eyes, chewing her lip.

How many watched her curtained windows from outside? Waiting for movement. Within, she stoked secret desire. Still, days later, she could smell the sex in the room from her and Ethan’s passion. It was almost time now, the reason for Ethan’s wrath. She recalled his dominion over her, overcome now by the effect he had upon her. She let herself cry out, a soft emission piercing the night air. She sighed, allowing a smile to linger on her lips.

She pulled her dress back down her legs, getting up off the bed and walking down the corridor to the bathroom to freshen up and change into fresh underwear. Over the sound of the running tap, she heard something that may have come from outside. She switched off the tap, listening intently.

The tinkling of smashing glass came from the bedroom.

She walked on bare feet to the bathroom door, looking down the corridor to the room at the end. Quietly, she moved into the corridor and approached her bedroom. The moonlight cast a faint shadow on the floor ahead. Her curtains were parted.

Reaching the bedroom door, she peered around the architrave into the room. Seeing nothing, she edged around the doorframe and inside, looking at the shattered window visible between the gap in the curtains.

The moonlight shifted around her. Before she could react, hands gripped her wrists, fingernails that felt like claws digging into her skin. She cried out and was spun around, a long finger tilting her chin upwards. His eyes were beautiful, shining a deep crimson from the midst of the silver flooding the room. She gazed at them, breath catching in her throat.

He kissed her mouth slowly. She tasted metal. He stooped and touched her neck with his lips. She felt her orgasm rising again, feeling a sharpness piercing her skin, groaning as the man drew on the fresh wounds.

A crash invaded her senses, accompanied by shouting and activity spilling into the corridor. He was pulled away from her and she became aware of his snarling and hissing words, but could not decipher their meaning.

A hand reached out to steady her. Looking up, she saw her superior, Detective Superintendent O’Neill, beside her.

You’re okay, PC Ryder, it’s over. We’ve got him. We finally got him.

Exhibit HR13

Centuries teach you patience. To wait quietly in the shadows, biding one’s time. The years are like the tide, sometimes washing gently over you while you bask in the heat of a summer’s day, sometimes thrashing ferociously around you as you shiver under the might of winter. No matter its temperament, it is eternal. As am I.

I watch you while you sleep. I am the dream which you cannot remember. I am the frisson of desire you cannot satisfy. Mine are the eyes from which you cannot quite shake free. Mine are the lips you feel brush your neck as you doze.

Your blood weaves a map throughout your body. It is a map I have studied intently. The essence of life; it is a drug so intoxicating, even a drop holds the power to enslave, its lethality beyond any other substance. For its sting is not death; it is the sustenance of life. I feel it pulsing, my tongue and lips heavy in wanting.

I burn for you deep in my soul. My body yearns for the touch of your skin. It aches to taste you. To consume you. You are mine. The time approaches. I shall wait no longer.

There are moments when you sense me as keenly as I sense you now. You know those moments to which I refer, don’t you? When a thought or fantasy indistinct runs through your mind – nothing more than a blur, a shadow – being something or someone close by, but which you cannot quite grasp. Yet, still you feel it. With your mind. With your soul. You feel me.

You wonder, am I a memory, or a fantasy, or a premonition? I exist in all three, as much in yours as you in mine.

Soon, you shall know my tortured soul, as I know yours. Your blood unlocks a gateway into these labyrinthine chambers. You feel me close now. I can feel your heartbeat. Oh, how we shall dance.

You cannot feel a soul more than when it is consumed by flames. I burn for you, and from my smouldering ashes I shall rise for you. If my desire had a name, my love, it would be yours.

Now

01:00

Holleigh’s eyes narrowed in cold appraisal. Her pulse quickened, her heartbeat becoming more audible. Her palms were beginning to sweat.

How does it feel to be sitting opposite your killer, Holleigh? His voice grated like metal on stone, echoing from the corner in which he sat, rigid in the chair to which he was bound.

The temperature in the room was dropping. The overhead light flickered momentarily, while its droning background noise threatened that it would blink out at any moment.

That sounds like a threat.

How could you have any idea what it was?

I’ll ask the questions, thank you.

The suspect held up his hands in apparent acceptance, a smile twisting on his lips. "I apologise, Detective."

I’m not a detective, sir, as well you know.

That is true. Though it excites you to act like one. I can smell it.

Holleigh’s eyes narrowed again. She watched his long fingers, resting on his knees, fingertips gently massaging the cotton of his trousers. Her eyes rose to meet his. He was watching her again with unblinking eyes.

Tell me, Holleigh, seeing as you enjoy playing detective so much. Who am I?

You’re the murderer of seven people.

He laughed. It lasted little more than a second before he regained his composure.

"Alleged murderer, PC Ryder. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He leaned forward, only by a fraction. The light seemed to dim further, closing them both in tighter. You have apprehended me, arrested me on suspicion of committing seven murders, your assault, and a further assault. Yet, you have no idea who I am. You have little evidence. You know nothing about me to be in a position to suggest a motive for me to commit such crimes."

Holleigh smiled at him.

I simply wish to talk to you, sir.

Of course you do. PC Ryder wishes to speak to me. PC Ryder who still wears the clothes she wore to entrap me. Your legs create a beautiful illusion of length, by the way, when they end in such exquisite shoes.

Do my shoes have any bearing on your psychopathy, sir?

He brushed the question away with two of his fingers.

PC Ryder still tries to entrap me. She still wears the shirt dress that hugs her figure so tightly that I could map out every inch of her.

He leaned back in his seat.

Tell me, PC Ryder, how does Holleigh feel about her body being used to ensnare your prey?

She could not bring herself to avert her eyes from his unblinking gaze. His eyes were hollow, bloodshot, the faint glimmer of dark red in their irises. They gleamed at her, something burning in their depths with hypnotic intensity. Staring into them was like staring too long into a fire, feeling the heat in your cornea, your tear ducts reacting; and, yet, still you cannot avert your gaze from that blazing beauty. He bared his teeth, fangs gleaming.

She awoke the tablet in front of her, which projected to the monitor that hung on the wall above the table.

I’d like to talk to you about Ashleigh Moretti.

You haven’t answered my question, Holleigh.

My opinion has no bearing on this interview.

Forgive me, I didn’t make myself clear. PC Ryder answered her question without needing to speak. I meant Holleigh’s question. Who am I?

I intend to find out.

I’m sure you do. But seeing as you have no idea, I should probably shed some light on your behalf. I am a gentleman, after all.

What did those victims do to incite the rage of a gentleman?

All in good time. A lady knows how to wait.

Does she?

The corners of his mouth raised slightly. He leaned forward, the silver chains clanking as they resisted his movements. His voice was quiet.

How often do you think about me when you are alone at night?

Holleigh raised an eyebrow at him.

Despite all you believe about me, you think of me often. I can feel the caress of your mind every time I cross it. You are conflicted. You seek the monsters in the dark. If I am as diabolical as you believe me to be, do you truly think these chains can hold me? You believe that looking upon the face of evil will solve all your problems and your mysteries. Why not consult a mirror? Humanity is the evil in this world.

Holleigh leaned forward herself, locking her eyes on his face. She blinked, her eyes traversing his pale skin.

Should a gentleman not tell you at least a little about himself before he gains entry to your home in the middle of the night?

His lips parted as he smiled, a broad, open-mouthed smile, revealing his pure white teeth. Holleigh watched his mouth, studying the trajectory of his full lips.

"Very well, Holleigh. An introduction, belated as it may be. I am over three hundred years old. After all this time, here I am, ensnared by you. Perhaps, I loathe you for it?

I have killed many people. You know me as a vampire, and yet you believe I do not exist. My kind feed on you in the darkness of the night. Your denial protects us. Your fear galvanises us. But you need not fear; we are not required to kill to survive. We kill only when we wish to. Or are forced to. Just like you.

As he spoke, she could see his sharp, elongated canines. He touched the tip of his tongue against a sharp point, drawing blood.

She closed her eyes.

Have you ever been my Valentine?

He chuckled again.

Holleigh selected an image on the tablet, which appeared on the monitor. It was the photograph of an envelope – paper thick and expensive, the colour of creamy coffee in marble effect, a red wax seal snapped in half where it had been torn open.

For the benefit of the recording, I am showing the suspect a photograph of Exhibit HR6 on the monitor, an envelope that was sent to my address, that of Police Constable Ryder. I received this envelope seven years ago, today. There was no return address, no indication who may have sent it. Did you send this?

Anything you can imagine is possible, Miss Ryder. Tell me, what did this envelope contain?

Nothing.

Nothing?

The envelope was empty.

The muscles on his face remained impassive.

The evening of the 13th to the 14th of February, 2014. Can you describe to me your movements on those days?

You expect me to remember?

You’re several hundred years old. What’s seven years in comparison?

Touché. Very well, PC Ryder, here’s the agreement. I shall answer your questions, I shall tell you all I know about these unfortunate victims, and then I’m going to taste you. Do we have a deal?

Holleigh felt the breath escaping her lips. They felt dry. She passed her tongue over them, considering the implications of the situation she was in. The room was closing in around her, the temperature plummeting. She realised she had held eye contact with him without blinking. She parted her lips to speak, sure he would be able to detect the minute tremor in her lower lip.

Do not concern yourself, PC Ryder. Holleigh has already answered my question.

Seven Years Earlier

Friday, 14th February, 2014

00:20

Ashleigh bent her wrists against the cuffs that locked her hands tight against the headboard. She folded her trimmed fingernails into her palms as he sucked on her neck, a handful of hair grasped in his strong fingers. He leaned up on his elbow to look at her face, a strand of blond hair trailing across her cheek with his hand as he ran his fingertips over her lips. She sucked them, hoping he would take the hint that she wanted his lubricated fingers inside her.

She’d had sex with him three times before. They’d met at Carmilla, engaged in a conversation that neither could follow through the pulsing beat and drunken haze. He may have told her his name, but she hadn’t heard it. She hadn’t told him hers and had stopped him before he had a chance to repeat his question when she pretended she hadn’t heard him ask.

I like strangers to tie me up and make me come, she shouted into his ear, his body folded close so he could hear her. She could smell the cologne wafting up from his neck. There’s only one rule when you fuck me. I’m your goddess. Everything you do is to pleasure me. Deal?

He had laughed, eyes searching her face for sincerity. In the dance of light and shadow, it was easy to pretend she was someone else. He agreed. He would tie her up and make her come, as requested. He told her he had one rule too. She wasn’t to speak unless she was spoken to.

Why do you dye your hair?

I’m not keen on my natural colour.

I am. His head moved to her small breasts, flattened against her chest, taking a small pink nipple between his teeth and pulling gently. He tightened his grip and she twisted her wrists again. He moved down her naval and ran his flat tongue over her shaven mons veneris. You ought to embrace it.

He moved down her right thigh, kissing his way down her legs, caressing both thighs with his fingers. He could feel her blood pumping harder beneath her skin under his fingertips; smell her intensity. He ran the tip of his tongue over her swollen lips.

She moved, straining against the cuffs.

He moved his mouth down her left thigh, watching her from between her knees, breathing in her moisture. He moved back up her thigh, running his tongue over her vagina again, teasing her clitoris with its tip, moving back to her vagina, maintaining this teasing rhythm.

She moaned gently, wrists straining harder against the cuffs. She wanted to grab his head, to claim the power. He felt the tension through her body.

He sucked her clitoris hard and she moaned loudly, caught somewhere between intense pleasure and painful sensitivity. Her hands balled into fists as he sucked her hard again. She couldn’t handle it; it was too sensitive, yet one more suck would have her come all over his face.

It had taken him only twice to work out how she liked it best, what got her to climb to the peak where all the energy of her body was flooding to her vagina, clitoris engorged with blood. B-positive. He’d tasted her blood when he bit her lip the third time he’d made her come.

Pushing her thighs up further, he circled her clitoris again, teasing the final moment. She was almost there, seconds from orgasm, blood pumping to her groin. He bared his fangs, pushing her left leg aside, biting into the flesh between her thigh and her vagina.

22:30

PC Sam Peters drummed his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently as PC Colin Johnson opened the passenger door.

Look at us, sad bastards, Sam said as he took the coffee gratefully. Valentine’s night and we’ve just got each other for company, waiting for something to happen.

Quiet night at least, Colin muttered, hissing as the coffee scalded his tongue.

Sam gulped his own coffee.

You seen the new PC who’s on probation?

Yeah, saw her a few days ago.

Fuck me!

You asked her that? Colin laughed.

Well, wouldn’t you?

Redheads aren’t my type. Too feisty.

Oh, come on, Col, when are you going to realise it’s not all about the quiet life? I would.

The radio crackled into life. All units, anyone close to 14A Eastwich Road, reports of a disturbance.

Here goes, Colin muttered as Sam responded to the call.

Maybe I’ll give her my number, Sam continued, fastening his seatbelt. She can only say no, right?

Two and a half minutes later, they pulled up outside the flats, a house converted into four apartments by the property developer several years earlier. As they left the car, they could hear shouting and banging. Sam looked through the communal door, which was panelled with double-glazed glass. 14A was on the ground floor, at the back of the communal corridor. He could see a man outside the door. Sam hammered on the glass, but received no response.

He turned to his radio. Who made the emergency call?

Resident of 14B, the radio crackled. Sam pressed the buzzer. An elderly man responded, hesitant.

Sir, this is PC Sam Peters, responding to your call. Could you let us through the communal entrance, please?

The door buzzed. Sam pulled it open and marched through, Colin behind him. They approached the man, who was still pounding his fist against the wooden door of flat 14A.

Ashleigh, I know you’re in there. Open the fucking door.

Sir, what appears to be the problem? Sam asked.

My girlfriend is ignoring me. She’s in there with someone else.

Please try to remain calm, sir. Your name, please?

Craig, Craig Carter.

Thank you, Craig. Have you tried giving Ashleigh a call?

Yes. She isn’t answering.

Do you expect her to be at home specifically at this time?

Well, I don’t know.

Perhaps you could try giving her a call later on? You know what women are like. Sam gave Craig a conspiratorial grin. He turned to Colin.

Wood splintered as Craig kicked his boot through the bottom panel of the door.

Sam reacted to the sound, pulling both of Craig’s flailing arms behind his back, as he now shouted Ashleigh’s name again.

Fuck’s sake, he mouthed to Colin, who approached the door.

Hello? he called. Police. Is anyone at home?

He stooped to look through the remains of the bottom panel of the door. They would need to secure it. It would be more useful if the girlfriend was at home and had simply been ignoring her cantankerous boyfriend.

The bedroom was at the end of the hallway, and Colin saw that Ashleigh had been at home. Only she wasn’t any longer. He looked back at Sam, who still had hold of Craig, though he had calmed down considerably after being restrained. They’d been speaking too soon about their quiet night.

23:05

DI Harper pulled his paper suit on over his own suit. He especially hated the shoe covers and had failed to get used to them, convinced he would slip in them at any moment. He flashed his warrant card at the officer outside the flat, moving up the hallway. He could see the young woman’s body, naked, laid out on the bed, wrists tied to a bar of the headboard.

What have we got? he asked the Crime Scene Manager as he entered the room.

Good evening to you too, Inspector, Dr James, the pathologist, replied as he carefully examined the corpse’s legs.

Harper rolled his eyes, glancing at the CSM.

ID?

Name’s Ashleigh Moretti, twenty-three years old according to her driver’s licence. Boyfriend battered his way in here in the presence of uniformed officers. They found her like this.

For Christ’s sake, how did they manage to let him do that?

The CSM shrugged as Harper turned his attention back to the pathologist.

No, I don’t know the time of death. No, I don’t know what killed her.

Any initial observations? Harper sighed.

No fatal injuries, no signs of violence. Rigor is developed, probably died sometime last night or early this morning, but no more than twenty-four hours ago. That’s all I’ll say on that right now.

Anything else?

Two observations to note before we move her. There are no visible signs of hypostasis, yet she has evidently remained in this position for some time, yet no significant signs of lividity to indicate this or any other position.

Suggesting?

The pathologist looked vaguely in his direction with raised eyebrows. As well as his gruff manner, he had a habit of not making direct eye contact.

You’d swear there wasn’t a drop of blood in her.

There’s no evidence of blood anywhere.

That’s where you’re mistaken. Look here. He stooped to indicate with a gloved finger a trickle of dried blood at the top of her inner thigh. Which brings me to the second observation. With his finger he circled the bruise that darkened the skin behind the dried blood, lastly indicating a double-puncture wound in the centre of the bruise.

Harper bent closer. Any ideas?

Several. But if I were a betting man? I’d say she was bitten.

Now

01:27

Should I repeat my question? Holleigh asked after a moment’s silence.

That shan’t be necessary. He leaned forward again. I heard you the first time.

If you could please answer the question then, sir.

I did not know Ashleigh Moretti, nor, to my knowledge, have I ever come into contact with her.

Holleigh breathed deeply to give herself pause for thought.

Did something go wrong? Did you not mean to kill her? Did you drink too much?

He tilted his head slightly and considered her for a moment, his eyes narrowed to glinting pinpricks.

I don’t make mistakes, PC Ryder. If I drink enough to kill, I’m doing it deliberately. I can balance someone’s life in my hands, I can bring them to the brink of death and keep them there. I never accidentally kill anyone.

Holleigh swallowed. He inched his fingers slightly in her direction. She flinched.

He looked again to the photograph of the empty envelope on the screen.

Does he frighten you?

No, you don’t.

His hollow eyes glanced back to meet hers.

I suppose you hoped these were from an admirer. Well, you can be satisfied with one thing. They were.

"You admit