Chapter I: The Headless Cross, page 10Mature

Sir Nigel Moorcock was a mystery to everyone who ever met him. As a historian, he would speak profusely about his glorious lineage, but was always elusive when it came to his more direct family. People in general would say Sir Nigel was a man who lived in the past. He seemed to be only at ease discussing historical topics and around old things, and he was rarely seen outside of the History Aisle, as though he lived in here. He was also, to his students' delight, incredibly clumsy with computers, but that seemed to be his only flaw, for his ability to capture the students' minds had become legendary in the College. His odd physical appearance contributed a lot to his charisma: Sir Nigel was a tall man who was said to be in his fifties, with the only clues about his age being his slightly greying temples and the one or two wrinkles around his mouth. Other than that, he looked just as fit and vigorous as a young man, and many a woman wouldn't mind his company. His dark hair, hazel eyes, and very pale complexion that gave him an otherworldly appearance, his graceful manners and old-fashioned suits that gave him the untimely charm of a Victorian gentleman, were noticeable assets as well.

As he finished discussing business matters with Miss Rofocale, the Professor went to entertain his other guests, when he heard a shy female voice behind him:

"Would you like a glass of champagne, Professor?"

"Amelia," he replied with his deep, rich voice, as he turned round and recognized one of his doctorate students dressed as a waitress, holding a steel tray of glasses. "How nice of you to spare some time to help here."

"Oh, don't mention it, Professor, I would do anything..." she stopped and blushed violently. For you, was what she was about to say. Like a lot of female students, she had developped a crush on Sir Nigel. There was something in his deep voice, something stoic yet primal, that aroused her, and she was ashamed to admit it. "Anyway," she said, "would you like some champagne?"

"Thank you, darling, but I never drink... wine."

She didn't know what, but something in his voice in the last words made her breath short and her heart beat like crazy. She felt hot, feverish. She began to tremble, and she didn't know where she found the courage to ask:

"Professor... I was wondering... would you mind helping me with a particular point in my thesis? Tonight?"

Sir Nigel smiled a victorious smile, as if he had one a contest she didn't even know was taking place, and invited her to wait for him in a nearby empty room. She went there and sat by a window, not bothering to turn on the light. She just sat there in the dark, watching the occasional lightning outside, listening to the rain... it was agonizingly long. What was happening to her? Her hands were moist. She began to come back to her senses... maybe this was not a good idea... but as she was about to leave, here he came at last, and her doubts disappeared and she felt her mind and body giving themselves up completely to him.

"I don't know if that's right," she whispered, trembling.

"Shh," he murmured, "don't worry dear, you will love it..."

Feeling like hypnotized, she closed her eyes and waited anxiously to feel his hands unbutton her shirt... one button... two button... three buttons... then he softly pulled her collar away from her neck... oh God, she thought, excited, he was going to kiss her neck! She was already expecting the sensations, and... she gasped, and moaned in a mix of pain and pleasure, when she felt his teeth dig in her neck, and she felt the warmth of her own blood pouring out of the wound. But she didn't fight, instead feeling herself go, go into a deep torpor...

Sir Nigel raised his head and wiped the blood from his lips with his handkerchief with one hand, while holding the unconscious girl with the other hand. His white fangs were now clearly visible, abnormally long, and his eyes were gleaming red. There were now four young men in the room with him, one of whom being the sick-looking waiter. The four of them looked just as sickly pale, except that their sunken eyes were now vivid, red, predatory eyes, as they beheld the unconscious girl with savage appetite.

"Take her to the grinder," Sir Nigel ordered. "I'll be coming down in a moment. And don't you dare taste her, my boys."

"Master," one of the boys moaned, "we're starving..."

"You'll find pockets of medical blood in the freezer downstairs."

"When... when will we be allowed to hunt for fresh food?"

"When you're old enough, my boys. In the meantime, do as I say, and don't forget your survival depends on my noble protection. Oh, and by the way... I'm getting tired of the twenty-something taste. Please fetch me a younger one next time."

The End

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