I had walked with him till the graveyard.
He would not rest in the sepulcher,
He wanted to return to his former haunts.
Is he dead? I often wondered.
They all called him hellion.
He liked it.
I looked at his coffin.
The tomb had rotted.
The rancid smell –
I looked at Succubus,
The body was white but his blood was warm.
His lips were still soggy with the blood he had guzzled.
Succubus called his women “My fair lady”
They felt his shockwaves in their feet.
They liked him as did I adore Succubus and his thirst for blood.
“Succubus” I called out his name.
He rose from the grave.
No, he did not look like a story book vampire,
With colossal fangs.
Neither did he dislike garlic and crucifixes.
Nor was he a cannibal –
His sense of humor was dark like mine.
He never was emotional.
I panicked when he delved his canines in my neck.
He said, “Let not your blood go for waste”.
He said he will return again for me, my blood.
I approached the bench where he sat sucking my blood.
He was gone.
The Moirae. Series: Incubus/Succubus -- Rosana Mendes Campos