A Breath of Silence, a Vampire Story

By Allister Rodgers

I took a wicked breath of a storms raging darkness to survive my people hiding just underneath the cloak. As you read through these dark leafs of a strange existence gathering just underneath the witching hour of darkness you will find, in this passage, there is a dark frightening savoring taste of insatiable erotic pleasures starting to infest restless desires inside you.
You, the inquiring reader, the innocent courageous seeker, will find as well, an undeniable high measure of fresh sensual seductive sins overflowing with private sensational waves of sizzling virgins. I watched my girls dress and became a seeker as I saw the overwhelming urges boiled nightly inside their lonely dark rooms. I watched them lying innocent and naked fighting the season of the fires and the sinister will of imagining a slave mongers touch roaming the kept forbidden zones while mentally tugging the soft pulp of fine oiled black brilliance of long coiling stalks over laying a fresh nest of newly found silken growth on their smooth flesh
Read, as the seductive under-cooked sensational lures capture your attention and rattle your imagination with haunting sounds of their inner erotic chains. As you read, you too will find, you will also be unleashing, unto your soft deep throbbing tissue a devouring ancient madness, searching out insatiable pleasures found in a sensuous darkness that roam in the rich curious minds of innocent virgins. Very soon, you will become aware of the true close knitting presence and the soft caressing spirits whispering selfishly around you, cursing the gathering winds. As you sleep and toil, be aware of the sounds in the wailing storms that will howl and enter your bedrooms rushing hunger, brushing sensitive hairs and steal your most private hidden desires.
Relax, and abandon your fears and carefully read as, a deformed beautiful presence starts to materialized in the wild bush, secretly watching you, stimulating your comfort zone and making you restless. The presence touches you even in the privacy of your bedroom invading your dreams even in the shower! In your very next raging storm
Believe as I did and Fear the Innocent Brush of the Caressing Wind

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496938596

Allister Rodgers

Allister Rodgers is a passionate writer with multiple works in the making. He began writing in 1988. He became lost in storytelling and wrote numerous unpublished manuscripts. His semi-erotic horror fantasy stories have captivated his family and friends for years. Their enthusiastic reactions and his love for story telling has encouraged him to pursue writing for pleasure and as a profession. Amazingly, he is always overflowing with a creative imagination and he writes to thrill his readers and fantasize their every sense. Allister attended engineering school where he lives in Orlando, Florida with his pet pit, Sugar.

Book preview

© 2014 Allister Rodgers. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/25/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3860-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3859-6 (e)

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 Breathless

Chapter 2 Sum Thing Wicked, This Way Cum

Chapter 3 Innocent Impulse!

Chapter 4 The Hunger

Chapter 5 A Virgin’s Seduction

Chapter 6 Kamisha’s Shower Scene

Chapter 7 The Family Party&The Desires Of A Supermodel

Chapter 8 The Party

Chapter 9 The Blue Dome

Chapter 10 Girls…Get Set, Bend

Definitions

PREFACE

I will Confess, my Sins’ so you can Sharpen your Bite..

Readers Be Warned!

After the sound of gun fire echoed no longer and the foggy smoke cleared, Raven Blackstone looked down at her powerful black cat Midnight. Raven noticed the wild strangely remained quiet across the plan. Tired and scared Raven walked out of the comfort of the caves shadow where she lived and hid from any danger. Raven stroked her long brilliant black strains away from her eyes. Raven screams lingered as she came to a halt at the edge of the cave opening and her eyes began to search and discovered something horrible, something grave and something Raven already suspected and dread the smell of gun powder and fresh blood running its horrible course across the field from slain family member to family member.

Raven buried her slain family members. That morning she gathered dry desert weeds and started a barn fire and watched their souls funnel into the eternal angry wind cursing the air.

Raven Blackstone was a young strikingly beautiful vampire and the last living and breathing family member of the strange Blackstone clan. Raven was blessed to be alive and cursed as a abomination, a chameleon that will soon blend into the dangers of the ever changing terrain of the fifth season the season of storms, to avenge her family. Now, Raven welcome the feverish blood line that usually awaken her with a rare surviving pulse persuading her to roam the night..

Raven revenge was in the air. She watched her dead family angry spirits thunder into the clouds. The huge cluster of clouds swell even bigger as it darkened the plans. The winds started to move with a vicious intent. Raven came closer to rub Midnight and watched as a major storm control by the ancestors’ spirits started brew. Raven was curious. She remembered the tales and raised her other limb into the air and felt the waves slap into her wild prints as she received a thriving pulse…

Her two wonderful seeds had been cursed. She lowered her free hand to her belly and felt the pulse of not two but three heart beats. One pulse was calm beating average and the while the other beautiful abomination kicked wildly. Raven was pregnant with two beautiful girls’ surviving one violent beast. One will live humble as a lamb, while, the other, will grow into a breeder of beast to avenge and carry on the family. Raven knew she had to leave. Before she did Raven’s eyes carved the rocky cave she only knew. There was the name Naomi. Naomi was Raven’s distant jealous cousin that vanished long ago one night. Deep inside the bedding Raven saw the green marbles shinning like always, it was where they use to play. Raven hand return to the calm side of her belly. I will call you Emerald, the lamb, said Raven. and then she touched the other side where another storm was also brewing, I will call you Jade Blackstone, the sin eater said Raven, then she looked down at Midnight as if her understood.

The black sky was toiling with mountains of revenge. The winds blew and the tree tops lay over to the fury of the angry storm. The dark sky opened up and released a frightening bolt that touched down. Raven was paralyzed in her tracks. She humbled as the ceremonial flash ignited fires sticking her from her head to her toes. Her muscles tighten as she was lifted into the air. Her senses open to the wild as the storm gave birth to tiny hot and chilled storms that searched about her surface bursting with sounds and stories and bedding sins of the ancient pass and exploding as they eventually collide.

When provoked, Raven was quick to rely on her legendary gifts, and she became aggressive by shifting, violently, into the winds. She would then join her family of the night to continue her search for a rare, virgin pack that would survive her family.

Raven wiped her tears away. With the anger swelling and the beast brewing inside, she turned to the heavens, stretched her limbs, as if to reach her pain, to the ends of the earth. Raven felt the fury. She screamed and bellowed, vibrating a tone of revenge beyond the flat lands.

Raven’s inner storms ascended out of her gully in a swirling force and descended her wild spirit into her deadly companion Midnight’s thick fur. Their spirits sometimes joined together to control the deadly food chain. Midnight raised his large front paws, snarled and moved in closer, feeling Raven’s pain. His coat of thick, black fur gave her comfort. Raven remained there tightly clutching his skin to control the overgrown, wild urge to hunt and rest her spirit.

That awful morning of the killings, Midnight’s coat shivered from the chills that were sent throughout his massive build, ready as the secret groom. She put her snout in the air where she caught a strong bloodline scent that made her leave the caves of Africa to seek revenge and a new life, living amongst the mortals of Paris.

The journey into the new terrain was long and dangerous as they crossed new boundaries. Suddenly a pattern of lights caught her eye and, there, Raven left Midnight at the woods’ edge, only to join him by night. Raven crawled out of the slime of suburban Paris and stepped onto the black tar roads.

In a few years, after nights of tears, Raven Blackstone met Tish, a thriving model that became Raven’s close friend and companion at Breathless, Raven Blackstone’s supermodel empire. This is where she searched for her new family, a brave pack of wolves that would revenge her family.

It was in Paris, Raven Blackstone and her twin daughters started building a new family, by offering Tish, a stateside supermodel, as well as other young, high-end models, a lengthy contract.

The strikingly glamorous girls knew little of Raven’s secrets, but they soon discovered there was even more gifts, glamour and secrets than they bargained for. There were rumors and myths living in the towers.

The virgin supermodels were soon visited in their sleep by spirits living in an ancient storm, thriving with whispers and soft persuasions. They encountered roving, caressing shadows that generated erotic desires that nightly seduced their bodies with hot-blooded dreams, to ripen their flesh.

The virgins’ flesh were being visited nightly and seasoned by Raven’s inner brewing storms. Their stolen secrets were recycled into a life-size fantasy, with a living pulse. Then the supermodels were sold into a rare, thriving slave trade. While, at the same time, the slave traders were pursued by the doomed kin. The haunting bloodline gave Raven revenge and a reason to survive. The very same kin, whose past bloodline left Raven’s family slain and scattered across the wild plain was none other than Paris’ Chief Detective A.J. Johnson. As she smelled his bloodline, it, feverishly, overwhelmed her with a blood thirst.

* * * *

I took a wicked breath of a storm’s raging darkness. Soon, I joined the rush in the violent storm and entered their warm bedrooms, where I brushed, caressed and slithered them with my very own private nightmares, soothing my beautiful pickings.

I grew anxious as I hovered and gaped my mouth of madness open and slithered another intense dagger. They shifted in their sleep and trembled to my touch as I invaded their dreams.

I inserted the steamy bedtime stories of the ancient past with my ancient tongue, lathering forbidden language to my favor. I was cursing the quivering earlobes of my chosen virgins to survive my rare family of shadows, hiding just underneath the cloak of darkness.

As you read about this dark world of a strange existence, gathering, just within the witching hour of darkness, you will find, in this passage, there is a dark, frightening, savoring taste of insatiable, erotic pleasures that will start to infest restless desires inside you.

You, the inquiring reader, the innocent, courageous seeker, will find as well, an undeniable high measure of fresh, sensual, seductive sins, overflowing with private, sensational waves of sizzling virgins.

I watched my girls dress and then became a seeker, as I saw the overwhelming urges boiling, nightly, inside their lonely, dark rooms. I watched them lying naked and innocent, fighting the season of the fires, and the sinister will of imagining a slave monger’s touch, roaming the kept, forbidden zones. I, mentally, tugged the soft pulp of fine-oiled, black brilliance of long, coiling stalks, overlaying a fresh nest of newly found, silken growth on their smooth flesh.

Read, as the seductive undercooked, sensational lures capture your attention and rattle your imagination with haunting sounds of their inner, erotic chains. As you read, you, too, will find yourself unleashing, onto your soft, deep, throbbing tissue, a devouring, ancient madness. You will search out insatiable pleasures, found in a sensuous darkness that roamed in the rich, curious minds of innocent virgins. Very soon, you will become aware of the true, close-knit presence, and the soft, caressing spirits, whispering selfishly around you, cursing the gathering winds. As you sleep and toil, be aware of the sounds in the wailing storms that will howl and enter your bedroom’s rushing hunger, brushing sensitive hairs, and stealing your most private hidden desires.

Relax and abandon your fears, and carefully read as a deformed, beautiful presence starts to materialize in the wild bush, secretly watching you, stimulating your comfort zone, and making you restless. The presence touches you, even in the privacy of your bedroom, invading your dreams, even in the shower. In your very next raging storm.

Believe As I Did and Fear the Innocent Brush of the Caressing Wind.

Chapter 1

BREATHLESS

I, Raven Blackstone, bred the night that embodied the fierce winds. In the quiet, dark, solid night there’s a thunder festering in the dead silence. It’s where I lived and breathed. I survived to search and harvest the hidden desires, and I nurtured the innocent whispers of virgins. Soon, sleep came over them as I listened to their private, sworn secrets, escaping their lips.

As the models toiled, their curious nature evolved and melted into an infested mist of young lust that developed a hot vapor of sweet, seasoned nectar. I became a warm, slithering breeze, caressing the desires and dreams of curious virgins until their hopes materialized into fantasies and nightmares.

Inside the nest of the mammoth swirl, I cornered, devoured and nurtured the remnants of their emotional dreams. As the beauties slept, they feared the overcast of weary shadows.

Nightly, I always groomed and cast my spells, causing tiny cold rivers to tremble with sweat over the innocent. Once again, I rushed my burst of air into their sweltering bedrooms. I stole their hidden urges and persuaded them into my developing winds, surviving and recovering the hunger games, soothing the Thirst of the Savage Beast.

The Cycles Legend –

I could feel the rush of the thriving, silent pulse happening as I watched the wind’s vicious cycle churn, freezing thoughts and dreams of hot mist that clearly deformed their secrets that, now, materialized in the horizons. I suffered our demises, lived the curse and bred in the squalls of the violent whip. I heard the whispers in the wind, while I rushed to judge the ancient tales, nightmares and virgins’ innocent fantasies, into the storm’s witching hour.

Usually there’s a quick reaction, as I inhaled the jewels and became feverish to the wild taste. Then I roamed, hunted and thrashed the violent thunder across the dark skies. There, inside the winds, I whispered and released stolen secrets into the forever skies. Suddenly, there’s a star burst of precious, kept emotions murmuring the restless fever. Gently, I began to nurture the gathered secrets, as if I was in my very own rocky den. I became a caretaker. A keeper of sworn sisters’ shared secrets, overseeing a violent whip that will eventually rain nightmares inside the descending dark levels of the midnight plains. I rustled, unseen, in the gust of a whirling darkness, where I coiled my hunger into a thriving, deadly spirit, feeding my insatiable hunger, while I hunted at the very top of the savage food chain.

Although I nurtured the cycle’s constant whip that, sometimes, presses me on and off the catwalk, the legions and I are, constantly, pursued by a reeking, robot detective. The detective, sometimes, followed me into the natural blown elements. Still, as he closed in, I remained untamed, maintaining and vigorously defending a host of my hidden valuables and unique treasures, which was better known in the surviving family pack as a bee hive of desperate honey dreams. Inside the nest, I stormed particular desires, dreams and nightmares in the haven overflowing with droppings of sweet honey nectar. There, I was caught off guard and stalled once again, listening to the eruption of soft sleepless whispers that heightened their curiosity. I yielded to the hatching sounds of restless desires and precious virgins’ secrets, soon to be living nightmares.

Almost instantly, my instincts swarmed, and I tasted the hot boils. The uncommon flavor inspired the air as I joined the blood rushing stories of victims. I sorted and separated the sensations whirling inside the excited gust. Next, I carefully incubated the premature mist, which warmed the treasured haze of the virgins’ cravings that spewed into the eternal cycle. I fed the lengthy sighs into the colorful vapors of my ancient ancestral spirits that lived and deposited urges into the vast pockets of the violent eastern wind.

As I gazed from afar, the seal was broken and the innocent honey overflowed like a waterfall of darkness, delivering a spring-like glow that sprayed secrets into the surrounding landscape. There was a total breath of silence infesting the growth in the woods surrounding Paris. I claimed the dramatic shift as my siblings’ pipeline, my hidden dream, my beautiful virgins’ desires and finally, my breath of pure protein. It is the fallout in a raging storm, which produces a variety of life cycles.

As time passed, I listened to the moaning tone of Tish, the first precious murmur I gathered one past night as I privately thought of her sprawling, lucid emotions that had materialized into an intriguing fantasy. The self-made fantasy reeks of erotic dreams of a curious virgin as the weight transcends into a visible full-size vivid nightmare.

Above, I listened to the emotional storm cry out until the celebration started up below. There’s a howling in the nearby woods, then a wailing followed. Midnight screams darkened the skies and odd shapes formed into shadows that quickly gained sinister personalities, moving in the bush. I always paid close attention to the next cycle as their hidden desires burst sensations across the grains of soil and filtered the root system. Below, the infestations of roots erupted like a wild breath, budding the feral beneath, as the miracle advanced like a newborn sibling.

I only watched as the soft, crystal tones of virgins splattered the tree base, forcing protein into nature with a sliding, crippling crawl, like an injured sloth slowly stealing away in the night. The persistent dark, deformed pulse crafted its moves from the rearing wind as it inched up the legendary live oak.

As a keeper, I saw the fresh, deformed sounds serve its purpose as a sacrifice and soon dissolved as an