The Vampire’s Kiss
“I thought vampires were men,” I stammered. “With fangs. Who sucked the blood out of your neck. Like Dracula.” The beautiful, pale brunette who called herself “The Countess Valencia” smirked. Her face was inches from mine; her eyes were mesmerizing. Her scent was intoxicating. Her presence, powerful. “Blame it on those stupid, male chauvinist Victorians,” she said. “When a few idiots caught wind of our little society in the nineteenth century,” she explained, “they couldn’t wrap their puritanical minds around the idea that a group of powerful women could derive mystical sustenance by sucking the semen from subservient cocks. “Or at least, they couldn’t bring themselves to print the truth in their novels. So, they twisted the facts into a tale of undead male monsters sucking blood; disgustingly enough, Bram Stoker and the other perverts …