He skated toward her swiftly, his feet and legs well acquainted with the rhythm of skating even though he had not worn a pair of skates in almost a year.

Magdalene's warm smile was a beacon of bright whiteness under the dark bridge and he had only to imagine how divine her lips would taste in the cold.

Samuel abruptly tilted his body to an angle and with both blades cut a sharp edge on the ice. He stopped inches from his wife. "Like stealing candy from a baby."

"My gorgeous boy," beamed Magdalene. "I heard the sirens and I saw the helicopter lights. I think you pulled the entire police force away from their posts to chase after you. You are such a devil."

"I'm the devil you know and love," said Samuel, pushing his pelvis into his wife's body. He planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. Desire raged like a fire inside Samuel's loins...

I stand knee-deep in water

so cold, and fall even lower

than imaginable, below the ground

where dreams are no longer believable.

I only want his body to take me home,

to show me the way, to needing,

to knowing that I want no other man,

to come inside me.

I tell him everything,

when the cock strikes havoc

around midnight.

Magdalene felt him between her legs, crossing them, trying to take her mind off the fact that her panties were soaking wet. This man seated beside her was almost too much, too much for her fantastic imagination. If only he knew what dirty deeds she had conjured up while he spoke.

He wore relaxed fitting pants and a black, crew neck shirt, with white buttons; the first two undone, opening up to his chest; black hairs speckled lightly across. His sandals were well worn and his toenails groomed.

She thought how funny it is that women notice the most unusual aspects of a man.

"I realize it's impolite to ask personal questions about someone I've only just met but they really are the best questions to ask after all," he remarked.

"OK now you've piqued my interest," she replied.

"You're not involved with anyone?"

"Alas I'm an unclaimed treasure," she answered.

He liked her light-hearted humour.

In that small passage of time, when she bit into chocolate and opened her mouth to describe to Sir William the joyous sensations within her, he leaned in and kissed her. He pressed himself hard against her, forcing the compression of his body to hers, not allowing her to pull back, and pushing her to the wall. His hand brushed across and rubbed one nipple ever so slightly. Into her mouth went his tongue to taste hers, covered in chocolate, sweet with flavour. He felt the intensity of her emotions overcome her; she did not resist his passion. Her body moved into his and opened as a pear would split to a sharp blade. And when her breath stopped short and he sensed she was near to passing out, he scooped up her light frame and brought her to the bed. Every part of his vampire body came alive; his hunger smouldered for her blood, for the taste of her lips, her skin, her armpits, her thighs, to explore and taste every sublime crevice wholly with mouth, eyes and hands. His senses would become one with her body.

Sir William withdrew to throw off his jacket. He stepped out of his trousers and tossed them to the floor. Next came his dress shirt followed by his under garment. His naked body, aroused and ready, remained above Catherine, letting her eyes prey on him, to see and believe that what was happening was actually happening. The man who would seduce her with his mere presence would change her life forever, as only a master could with a weapon of power.

Catherine lay before him with chocolate on her lips, her gaze focused on him. She wanted what every young lady wanted but was raised to refuse until marriage. She would take him into her deeply and completely, until all logical sense would cease to exist. She wanted nothing more than to be devoured by him, from toe to head, from lips to breast, from bum to...

Magdalene: Even the smell of fruit made me salivate. I had taken a fresh kill in the morning and already my stomach growled. Sir William, at the height of his powers, could drain multiple women in one day. With my newly inherited memories, I brought up one particular memory of Sir William living in a cave, surrounded by dead and drained naked women, bodies strewn everywhere, their necks punctured and faces blue, absent of any life. Sir William had gorged himself until his stomach bloated round. I didn't know why he was forced to hide in a cave. I only knew he had escaped a hoard of angry men with clubs and pitchforks, hunting him down like a werewolf. But despite the death around him, the women offered themselves to him like sacrificial lambs. And one by one, they fell at his feet, worshiping his dark nature.

The very thought of such a scene of debauchery made me tingle. I was ready for more blood.

"All we know from his letter," I said to Kevin, "Is that Sir William wants us to visit this particular pub, which will apparently bring us to an extraordinary find, the likes of which have not been known by anyone in all of humanity."

"Fuck!" said Derek, "That sounds fucking ominous," he finished.

Auntie cuffed Derek on the head and he laughed in reaction. "I'm going to take the boot to that rear if you don't clean up that mouth."

"Yeah," mocked Kevin, "What kind of example is your setting for Finn?" he said, intentionally using 'is' instead of 'are'.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" mimicked Finn, excited about his new word.

"Yet another myth, of which they abound... coffins and wood spikes and garlic cloves and coming out only at night, all nonsense, as though being blessed with immortality could be defiled by sunlight, nor do I have to subject myself to sleeping in the cramped quarters of a coffin. I do not sleep one wink, in truth. I meditate, which is as close to slumber as I come.

Myths perpetuated in pop culture are generally wrong, such as the demonstrative symbol dating back to Roman times when emperors executed Christians, criminals or gladiators... a thumb pointed upright in fact meant death, whereas a thumb pointed downward signified a sword being sheathed into the ground but of course the belief has been incorrectly re-used in film. It gives me a laugh... these enduring myths are far older than me," said Sir William.

"You don't sleep at all?" she asked.

"Never," he replied.

"Ever?" she asked again.

"You don't dream then," she surmised.

"Dreams I miss, I must confess. And what of your dreams?" he inquired.

"My dreams have crazy patters. I can't figure them out at all."

"You lose your shoes or purse quite a lot, do you not?" he asked.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Instinct," replied Sir William.

He didn't have to touch her

to know her thighs were as smooth

as the hour long.

He didn't have to feel her skin,

to know his grasp would slip

in his hands

holding her firmly

he needed only,

to stroke her hair once,

its length longer than his fingers

wanting the nape of her neck,

he knew her.

The quiet breathing, the subtle looks, the continuance of body, the fluidity of lithe limbs and the propulsion of unrequited love; all were physiological qualities playing out in him, for he thrived as the ultimate for centuries without equal challenge, until he encountered a free-thinking woman. And every woman wanted him, in the very old past before women were permitted a voice, long after women won emancipation, and well before women knew better of him. All women wanted to be devoured and made whole by him.

But not her.

He was unprepared for her ambivalence, for the unbreakable love she held for her husband that fortified her iron will. He truly believed she would die before betraying their love and because of it, he wanted her all the more. To bed her for one night, before hurling himself into the deep well of eternity, before transferring the burden of knowledge and responsibility, he wanted her to want him, to become a possession of his reality of time and future.

Sir William removed two nectarines from the bottom crisper in the refrigerator and cut the fruit into halves, coring the centre pit and placing the fleshy treats onto a small plate. He then poured a glass of fresh water into a beer pint glass. He smelled the soft, fragrant aroma as he handed the food and drink to Magdalene.

"Kindly follow me into the dining room," my dear. The crispness of the day's light, exploding through the kitchen window, cast long shadows of Sir William's profile against the beige walls.

I reveal to you

my nature and secrets

when you listen quietly

I tell you what I mean

when the blood is pumped into my veins.

I pursue your heart

and fall toward the day.

When last it arrives,

first to tremble

is the morning grass.

Where else will logic lead you to,

in my haunted cave, wet?

Will you paint your likeness

on my walls?