I guess I should introduce myself. My name is known only to those I trust, but most call me the Blue Daemon…or as I suffer petty mortals to name me, “Damon.” I am currently channeling this part of my story through a mortal with the pleasant pen name of “Bones Of The Damned”…only sometimes he runs it together for some odd reason. I really don’t understand you mortals sometimes…so easily amused. And the “She” I mentioned? Well, that’s a little longer of an explanation.

     Her name was Mariah, and she was about as “normal” as I am…in her own fashion. You see, the Magick I use is subtle: an enhancement to the tone of my voice, a little mystical tint to my eyes, hidden reserves of strength and endurance, on rare occasions empathy. Mariah, on the other hand, was the unfortunate offspring of a Succubus and what I like to call a Classic Vampire…immortal unless their life is shortened by an ash stake to the heart, or even better, a silver one. Silver bullets don’t work…that’s a fairy tale. Ask Mr. Stephen King, silver bullets would tumble and be perfectly useless. They would never shoot true. Garlic annoys them like a skunk annoys humans. Crosses and holy water are a myth: the man Jesus had not the power to defeat such as they. They cannot be touched by direct sunlight or glass-reflected sunlight without suffering major burns that quickly consume the entire body. In fact, most don’t come out until well after sundown and only stay out until an hour before sunset. They have their sunless meeting places, and the loners have their lairs filled with all the amenities necessary to lead their lives both night and day. And the Succubus part of her was just that: a Sexual Vampire, draining a man’s strength and spirit through sexual acts before draining his lifeblood from a torn-out throat…although there were plenty of times her twin natures were seperated, victims sexually drained but without a mark on their neck (she didn’t bite hard, or long, unless she was feeding) or vice versa.

     And her feeding was how we met. She had latched onto one of my minions and was toying with him: draining him sexually as much as she could while slowly, patiently, MADDENINGLY draining his blood. I came upon them as the fool was late for a meeting with me. I grabbed her by the throat and threw her against the wall of the shabby hotel room, choking her for a second before just holding her against the wall with my forearm, my hand still resting lightly on her throat, nails sharpened to points barely brushing her jugular…it wouldn’t kill her if I tore it out, but it would her like hell until she had time to heal. I dodged her attempt to wrap her legs around my waist by stepping on one dainty little foot and grabbing the other with my tail. I guess she hadn’t noticed it yet, as I rarely let it out from the black leather trenchcoat I prefer to wear, but she admired it now…although I don’t see what sexual fantasy she derived from a whip-like tail the same shade of blue as the rest of me (even my eyes) with an arrowhead tip that, at it’s widest, was about the size of a frisbee, or a pie tin, and in length exactly matched the length of my forearm, edged and tipped like an arrowhead as well…said tip currently poking the sensitive area just behind and beneath her ankle, digging in just enough to draw a bead of blood.