Second Cup 4

“Ever since boarding this cruise, I’ve also yearned for the
life I used to have.”
“Ah, the brines of the Caribbean have caused many an
undead to veer from their destiny. We would be wise for the
knowing. Come. Let me show you these fickle seas from on
high.”
Before she could protest, Striga flared his evening jacket
around them and took off into the night sky.
They soared as one above the cruise ship. Circling wider
over the Lesser Antilles isles, Striga filled Mora with tales of
vampires lost to the whims of the salty mist. Locked in Striga’s
arms, her senses heightened with exquisite pleasures that
should have remained buried: the kiss of wind teasing her raven
locks; the ocean’s tang and fragrance assailing her face. Never
before had she flown in human form, the sensation erotic as a
whisper of silk on bare skin. Her eyes, long barren of emotion,
splashed tears into the sea below. What made her ache for what
she’d once been? Was it the swells shimmered with moonlight,
the vast spray of stars, or this kindred spirit who held her close?
A hint of brightening sky had them hasten back to the ship.
Mora hesitated, reluctant to leave Striga’s arms. His eyes held
his own sorrow.
“For many decades I have plied these waters, feasting well
from this mode of existence, secure in my lidded berth. Never
before has the Caribbean played its siren song for me. Now I
fear it calls. I should never have held you to what was once my
heart, for I am doomed by the sea to have it throb again. I will
seek you out tomorrow night. Till then, it will be agony.”
Stunned by their intimate journey, a dazed Mora stumbled
to her suite to share the encounter with Anya.
“What were you thinking? Did you even feed? Hurry, get
into the trunk before full sunrise.”