a Fallen From Grace Short
by Nicola C. Matthews
**A word from the author:
This is a short based in the Before the Sun Rises universe. It is a rough, unedited draft. It is a spoof, a parody, and meant to be fun. It pays homage to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and one of my fave bands, Davey Suicide. The characters and events in this short are completely fictitious. While some similarities to real persons, places, and things may be intentional, the story is not to be taken as fact. Any similarities between real persons, places, or events which may have been intentional was done so to pay homage only. This story contains violence, adult themes, situations, and language and is intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised.
Copyright 2019 Nicola C. Matthews
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to any other written publication is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover art and interior graphics by
Bloody Feather Graphix Team
He blinked in the dim light, his eyes quickly adjusting as he stared at the woman who was standing in front of him, still holding the hood which had previously been covering his head. He tried to speak, but his words were muffled, incomprehensible from around the gag stuck between his teeth.
She smiled, a mere stretching of the muscles, but it didn’t quite reach her blue eyes.
“Nice to see you’ve decided to join me, Suicide,” she said, her voice quiet and relatively unremarkable.
He frowned, his head pounding, a relatively new sensation for him. Or at least one he had not felt in well over three decades. He couldn’t say he really missed it, the throbbing pain in his temples which usually followed a night spent binge-drinking and partying.
He tried to speak again, mumbling.
“Sorry,” she said as she reached out, her hand pausing in midair. She tilted her head, regarding him as she spoke. “Now don’t do anything stupid, hear me? You do and I’ll put this right back in place,” she said as she popped the ball gag out of his mouth.
He licked his full lips, brown eyes staring at her. She seemed oddly familiar, but then again, he had seen and met so many women over the past few decades of his undead life. It was hard to be sure. His nights were nothing but a sea of roaring fans, days shut up either sleeping or creating the next album.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked. His words were still slightly slurred, his brain fuzzy and sluggish, another feeling he did not miss since becoming immortal.
“Oh, where are my manners. I’m Phoenix,” she said as she tossed the gag to the floor. “Better now?”
He nodded, his dyed locks dancing in the air. He decided not to say anything for the time being as he studied her. He needed time for his senses to return to normal. Right now everything seemed impaired, even his sense of smell.
He followed her with his eyes as she paced slowly back and forth in front of him. He was sure he had seen her somewhere before, and not just at a concert. Her eyes were the type of bright blue one didn’t forget easily. The rest of her, however, was another matter.
Her hair was the same shade of auburn and fire-engine red he’d seen on literally thousands of other women both young and old. She was short, at least compared to his six-foot-four-inch frame. Neither pretty nor plain, but she wore far too much makeup and was dressed in the most hideous leather-and-latex ensemble he had ever set eyes upon. Her cheeks were round, her hips even rounder, and she tended to favor her right leg when she walked.
“What the hell did you dose me with?”
“Blood Burner. It was either that or Ultra-V.”
That explained it. That shit would knock any self-respecting vampire on his ass, the mixture of hardcore tranquilizers, hallucinogens, and downers making for one head-pounding cocktail.
“You know Ultra-V can put a vampire into a death-coma for months, right?”
“Yeah, which is why I decided to go with the Blood Burner. I need you alert and coherent.”
She stopped in front of him, quiet and still, watching him. She crossed her arms beneath her chest, her tacky outfit squeaking slightly as the synthetic fabric rubbed together. As the seconds turned into a minute, and then two, she began impatiently tapping the toe of her knee-length high-heeled boot. She looked like a Halloween reject who was pissed because she couldn’t go trick-or-treating.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“I’m sorry, did you want something?”
Her mouth popped open.
“Did I?” she stopped, shaking her head as she sighed. “Yes, I do actually,” she said as she leaned down to place her hands on the armrests of the chair he was occupying. She moved closer to him, just staring into his eyes.
He took a deep breath, an unconscious habit he had obtained over the years, breathing in her scent, trying to figure out what she was. His nose must have still been on vacation. All he could smell was the latex of her outfit, the coconut scent of her shampoo, and the various scents of grease, oil, and gasoline still lingering on the concrete floor. Her skin, however, still remained a mystery.
“And what, pray tell, is that?” he asked as he turned to look off to the side. “Did I fail to sign enough autographs for you? Did your shirt fade? Did my manager promise you some one-on-one time? Because I don’t do that shit, at least not any more. I’m sorry if he suckered you into sucking his dick or something-”
The sound of flesh hitting marble echoed through the dim room. He hardly felt it.
“Dammit!” she squealed as she jumped back and cradled her hand, dancing around as if her feet were on fire.
A slow grin spread across his face.
“No,” she hissed as she shook her hand, the pain quickly subsiding. She turned to stare at him, her blue eyes glowing in her face, elongating slightly before going back to their human shape and color. “Not exactly.”
Shifter? Metahuman? Something new?
He sighed. This was getting out of control. He had no idea what was going on, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was quickly telling him he needed to get out of this situation, and fast.
“Lady, it’s getting late. Just tell me why I’m shackled to this chair and I’ll see what I can do. No, I’m not going to turn you, probably couldn’t even if I tried, seeing as you’re not even human. At least not fully. No, you can’t have my blood. And contrary to whatever stories my shitty manager may have told you, I don’t go around sleeping with random humans, metahumans, werewolves, or whatever you are. I don’t feed from fans, or ask them to be my companion for the duration of the tour. I’m sorry if you did any type of favors for him, but you still have to buy a meet-and-greet pass just like you do with a human band.”
“What?” She shook her head, laughing a bit. “Favors? Dude, this isn’t the eighties. I’m not a groupie, a fang-whore, or a vamp tramp. I don’t want you to turn me, I don’t want to be your companion, and as far as your manager goes, just – eww.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Your debt,” she stated flatly.
She grunted. “Has listening to all that metal fried your brain? Did you forget about little Buffy’s birthday party?”
“Buffy?” he asked, his angular face completely devoid of any emotion or recognition.
He still stared at her blankly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“For the love of my soul,” she muttered as she walked out of his line of sight.
He could hear her moving around behind him, the sound of something scraping across the floor, metal against concrete. He winced, the sound like nails on a chalk board.
She returned a few seconds later, pulling a large table with her. It was littered with various instruments – gags, restraints, forceps, a drill, hammer, some type of medical retractor, and a various assortment of floggers and whips. She positioned the table to the side, her hands skimming over the variety of tools and toys.
“Look, lady, I don’t know what your kink is, but I’m really not into all that. No judgement or anything. I mean, your kink is your own, but I’d really like to leave now.”
He watched her closely, the nervous fluttering of his stomach growing in intensity.
“Don’t be absurd. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then why are you dressed like a BDSM mistress from hell?”
She looked down at her outfit before giving him a go-to-hell look.
“You know, I’m really going to enjoy this,” she said quietly as she reached down to pick up one of the floggers.
She walked around to the back of his chair, the sound of metal gears and cranks filling his ears. The chair he was in moved, transforming, breaking apart as he was slowly put into a standing position, his arms stretched out to his sides. The rusty mechanism groaned in protest as it was locked into place.
“Now, where was I?” she asked, not expecting an answer as she walked back in front of him, flogger in hand.
“I don’t know what you’ve been reading on the Reddit forums, but I’m seriously not into this scene okay? I know all the fans keep saying I’m a sub or a bottom or whatever after that Torture Me video came out, but I swear none of it is true. It’s just a music video. Whatever this Buffy chick told you is probably a lie. Sorry if I hurt her feelings.”
“Again, not what this is about,” she said as she turned back to the table, examining the equipment.
“Butter beans!” he suddenly yelled.
She glanced up at him.
“Tacos? Basketball! It’s basketball isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Derek put you up to this, right?” He laughed. “Leave it to Derek to come up with the best practical jokes. But there’s always a safe word. If I guess it then I get to go. That’s how this works.”
“Wow, you are something else,” she said. “You really don’t remember promising the head of the Corleone coven that you would play at his childer’s birthday party?”
“So … not a practical joke then? Dammit,” he muttered as he sighed. “Look, I’m not in charge of tour dates, I just go where my manager tells me. I’m sure it’s just a mix-up.”
Her arm whipped out, faster than a normal human, her fist landing squarely on his jar. His head barely moved, the resounding crack of flesh hitting marble filling the room, but it was still a solid blow.
“Dammit, that hurt,” he said through clenched teeth.
He opened his mouth, working his jar to the left and then the right. She sure packed one hell of a punch to be so damn small.
“It’s not supposed to feel good,” she replied. “Now, do you or do you not remember promising the head of the vampire mafia that you would make a special appearance for his childer’s birthday party? You owed him some money, couldn’t pay because of the whole legal thing with your last label, so you agreed to a tradeoff – you and the rest of your band show up as the special guests for his childer’s birthday party, play a two-hour long set, and your debt is forgiven. This ringing any bells?”
He was silent for a long moment, making her wonder if he was just going to shut down on her completely. Finally he nodded, a slow movement of the head.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, feeling his undead heart sink to his feet. This shit was not going to end well. “I gave him Bud’s name and number, told him to call with the date and time. Told Bud to make sure he cleared our schedule for whatever date Spike gave him. That was the last I’d heard of it. We don’t have a break in our tour for another three months. I assumed we would be playing that party during our time off.”
“Well, Suicide, that would put you about four months too late.”
“Wait. What do you mean, four months late? When the hell is her party?”
“It was last month, on the thirteenth to be exact.”
”Well, you are most certainly fucked, that’s for sure.”
“I’m going to kill my fucking manager. I should have known better than to leave something like that up to him. I can’t believe he would do something like this, though. It has to be a scheduling mix-up or a conflict – something. He wouldn’t just ignore Spike’s calls.”
“You trusted a guy named Bud, so what did you expect?”
“You’re not funny.”
“Good, ‘cause I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Look, if you’ll just let me call Bud, or Spike for that matter, and I’ll get this whole thing straightened out. We can reschedule, maybe bring in some more bands this time. I’m good to my word. I owe Spike, and I’m willing to make this right.”
“Too little too late I’m afraid,” she said as she tossed the flogger to the side and picked up the drill. “A vampire’s childer only celebrates her one-hundredth birthday as a member of the undead once, you know. Since you failed to hold up your end of the deal, the time has come for you to pay.”
“I can get the money I owe him. Tonight. Just let me make a quick call and I can have all of it delivered before the sun comes up.”
“Again, it’s too little too late. Spike isn’t interested in your money. Now he’s after your blood.”
She flicked the switch on the drill, pulsing it a few times, the high-pitched whine filling the room.
“You can’t kill me. There are too many people who know I’m indebted to the Corleone family. Too many vampires know of my connection with him. I don’t show up for my set tomorrow night and everyone is going to know who axed me. The last thing Spike wants to do is draw more attention to his coven. The Council would have his head.”
“I have no intentions of killing you, Suicide. Lucky for you, Buffy is such a huge fan of Suicide Nation she managed to talk her sire out of dusting your ass. That’s not to say what I’m about to do won’t be incredibly unpleasant, but hopefully it will be a nice reminder of what happens when your debts go unpaid. Something to think about the next time you get cocky at the tables.”
Phoenix turned on the drill, pushing it quickly into his leg, the tungsten drill bit easily ripping through his marble-like flesh. The engine let out a piercing shriek as it hit bone, the stench of burning vampire flesh filling the air as blood poured down his leg in tiny rivulets. She pulled it out and immediate plunged it back into his leg a few inches over, driving it down until the metal bit was buried as far as it would go. She pulled it out and repeated the same process again, and again, and again.
He winced at first, teeth clenched, but as she continued to force the metal bit into his bones over and over, his uncomfortable grunts soon turned into howls of agony. He grew lightheaded as the blood seeped out of the holes, his body rushing to heal itself before he lost too much of the precious elixir.
“There, that’s eight so far,” she said as she pulled the drill out again. “You keep screaming like that I’m going to have to gag you again. Sensitive ears and all,” she said as she took a step back, looking up at him with a large, happy grin on her face.
“What the hell are you doing? I told you I could get Spike his money. Why are you doing this?”
She ignored his questions, her only response to plummet the drill back into his leg two more times.
“There, now. Ten more on the other leg, and then we’ll move on. My orders were very clear. You missed Buffy’s one-hundredth birthday party, so you get one-hundred of whatever punishment I deem fit. Dealers choice,” she added with a laugh.
He screamed as she repeated the process on his left leg, the pain so great his body was shaking. He could feel the cracks snaking up his bones from the wounds, the rock-hard frame cracking beneath the abuse even as his body healed itself.
“You know,” she said as she took a step back to admire her handy work, “I’ve always wondered if you separated a vampire’s leg bones if you could make them taller. Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we? How about another two inches to your height, make it an even six-and-half feet?”
She grinned at him before turning sharply on her heel, tossing the drill onto the table. She picked up the hammer, a chisel, and the odd-looking metal retractor before moving back to him. She bent down to look at his wounds, reaching out to rip the denim from his legs, exposing the injuries.
“Hmm, you don’t seem to be healing up as quickly now,” she said as she moved closer.
She straightened up, inching closer to him as she stood on her tip-toes, her eyes searching his face.
“Maybe you just need some refreshment,” she said quietly, her lips a few centimeters from his. “I don’t know if you particular like harpy blood, but I’m not opposed to giving you a little taste to make you feel better. Can’t have you passing out on me, you know. Where would the fun be in that?”
She inched closer, tilting her head to the side, exposing the length of her neck.
The rhythm of her heart came to his ears, quick and steady, like the humming of a bird’s wings. He could hear the rush of her blood through her veins, feel the heat of her flesh. The scent of her skin came to him finally, spicy and sweet, unlike anything he had ever come across in all his years as a member of the undead. He felt the desire stir, the thirst for blood and the hunger for sex, all intermingling together as it always did, feeding on each other, until he could no longer distinguish his lust for blood from his lust for the sins of the flesh.
“What’s to stop me from ripping your throat out?” he asked, his voice low and husky as he regarded her through half-closed lids.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she replied, looking up at him through her black, mascara-coated lashes.
He felt the cold, sharp tip of the chisel against his temple, pushing just hard enough to slice through his skin. He hissed, but didn’t try to resist.
“This won’t kill you, but it’ll take your brain long enough to knit itself back together that you won’t be able to walk by yourself for a few months. I’m sure that’ll put quite the damper on the rest of your tour.”
“You know I won’t be happy with just your blood,” he said hoarsely, feeling his fangs already growing longer as the scent of her flesh and blood called to him. He wanted to feel her blood on his tongue, taste her on his lips, feel himself buried inside of her.
She smiled as she looked at him, her lips brushing across his as she pressed herself closer to him. She slid her hand down his chest, the tips of her fingers digging into the waistband of his jeans. She could feel his muscles contract beneath her touch. He looked so delicious strapped to the rack, helpless, completely at her mercy, just the way she liked her men.
His lips captured hers, brutal and demanding. She moaned, pressing herself closer to him, one leg wrapping around his waist as the chisel fell from her hand, clattering to the floor, forgotten as the desire rushed up to claim her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand gripping the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him closer as their tongues danced together, teasing, tasting.
“Cut!” a deep voice yelled somewhere behind her.
She grunted, breaking their kiss as she place one hand on her hip, turning around sharply.
“Ugh, now what the hell is wrong?”
“Tone it down, Nikki. We’re shooting a horror flick here, not a porno.”
For info on the Before the Sun Rises Series, its characters, slang terms, and behind-the-scenes information, check out the Before the Sun Rises Companion Piece on Wattpad. Ready to start the adventure? Grab The Red Fang, book 1 in the Before the Sun Rises Series for just $0.99.