Read the first 28 pages of my Vampire Vintage Book One : Belladonna in Hollywood. Enjoy!



~ Alex.

Gimme, gimme some of that Vampire Money...

"Gimme, gimme some of that vampire money..."  -  My Chemical Romance


Well, yeah. That would be nice.

I just read the latest Tweet from Gerard Way and it simply said "Gimme gimme some of that vampire money."

And I thought, what does that mean? (I've not got the new album yet and only seen a couple of the new videos online, so I didn't realize Vampire Money was one of the tracks on it.) I figured he was going to be in a vampire movie or something.

So I Googled. Found it was a song title and then came across this article -

http://www.musicrooms.net/alternative/20448-gerard-way-twilight-has-romanticised-goths.html

(Check out the second tower ad, right hand side. Oh, the irony.)

The article made me really sad. I thought, well shit, he's not gonna star in the movie version of Vampire Vintage now, is he? Damnit! (Vivant was actually in-part inspired by Gerard Way's look and his theatrics.)

Joking aside, (yes, I know he won't star in my movie, nor will I probably ever have a movie,) but, the thing that made me sad about the article was this - Gerard Way said he is now totally over the whole vampire/goth thing.


Why?

Because of the sparkly one. Because of the overexposure and watering down of the subculture. Because of the cynical packaging and marketing of the goth / vampire as a commodity.

In essence, I can see his point and to a greater degree, I concur with his analysis.

But.

I remember a day, a day before My Chemical Romance were famous, before they were the apple of every purple-haired emo goth's eye. They were nobodies. Virtually unknown. But I loved their music. They inspired me. And now that everybody else loves them and is inspired by them, I still love their music. I am still inspired by them. Because what the music meant to me, what it said to me, what I felt when I listened to it, I felt in my heart and in my soul. And there is nothing on this earth that could possibly tear that out of me. Nothing. And just because they are now one of the top bands in the universe, I have no intention of turning my back on them nor withholding the cash I spend on CD, DVDs etc. I cannot switch off what I feel for their music just because a few million other people like them now too. Those few million people have taste, I say. And I'm a till death kinda girl.

If I could talk to Gerard Way and to anybody and everybody else who are burned out on vampires, just because of misplaced media overexposure, this is what I would say. Some of us loved vampires before they sparkled. Some of us wrote vampire fiction before they went to high school and had strangely-named offspring. Some of us have always written about vampires - even before they were part of every-day tween memes.

And some of us loved vampires and gothy things when it seemed that nobody else did, and, indeed, would laugh at at those of us who did for doing so.

For me, the whole Twilight / paranormal romance / teen / tween slash, slash - whatever - aren't even part of the genre I write in, or the genre that I love. Twilight has never been marketed as a vampire book and is not being made an icon by vampire lovers. It has been adopted by those who read romance books.

But for every icon that's made there's always an iconoclast waiting in the wings. There's always something else will come along to capture the hearts and minds and the Big Thing of today will be fish and chip wrappers tomorrow.

I say keep the faith! Don't turn your back on us - we didn't do it. We were hijacked by High School Musical with fangs and a million canine-toothed Fabios on bad POD covers. I'm waiting for the day I see a picture of Kim Kardashian and Justin Beiber with fangs. That day, I may slit my own throat in despair. (Not really, but you know what I mean.)

None of this is meant with disrespect to The Twilight Saga or the Twilight movies or Stephenie Meyer - I've never read it, seen it, met her. There is a place for Twilight and there is a place for us - for everybody. It just makes me sad that people who loved what we love don't want to be on our 'team' anymore because of those things. And they don't really have anything to do with us.

But no matter what anybody else does, what anybody else writes, anybody else says, no matter how uncool or out of favor they become (they won't,) I will still love vampires. I will still love goth and the gothic. I will still write really cool vampire books. Because that's me.

Never give up.

Never lose hope.

Never let anybody take from you that which you love.

And above all - "Be yourself, don't take anyone's shit and never let them take you alive." (G Way.)

- Alex. < --- Runs with vampires. Stakes boys who sparkle. (I'm just kidding!)

MAKE THE STREETS RUN VAMPIRE RED - Out Now in Kindle!

MAKE THE STREETS RUN VAMPIRE RED
Vampire Erotica Stories by Alex Severin

US - CLICK HERE TO BUY! - $0.99

UK - CLICK HERE TO BUY! - £0.74

The debut solo collection from Vampire Erotica writer Alex Severin.

Alex Severin's unique brand of dark, erotic prose will kick you in the ass and grab you by the heart.

Set in the novel world of the VAMPIRE VINTAGE series, this is an introduction to characters your will be seeing a lot more of in the near future.

With a Foreword by Alex Severin, six VAMPIRE VINTAGE stories (three online favorites and three exclusives,) a lengthy novel excerpt, and a SECRET story online you'll find a link for in the book. There's also four bonus stories too.

DON'T HAVE A KINDLE? NO PROBLEM!
You can download FREE Kindle Apps HERE for : Windows PC , iPhone, Mac, Blackberry, iPad, Android & Windows Phone 7.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Foreword by Alex Severin
The Birth of Lord Ruthven
Some of Your Gothic Blood
Sucker Club, Soho, LONDON, W1
Fuckin' Hardcore
Secret Online Story : Go to - www.************.com
Drain the Blood
Bloody Lovers
Excerpt - Vampire Vintage Book One : Belladonna in Hollywood
BONUS STORY 1 : The Modification of a Stupid Cunt
BONUS STORY 2 : Charlotte's Attic
BONUS STORY 3 : Little Prick
BONUS STORY 4 : The Blair

US - CLICK HERE TO BUY! - $0.99

UK - CLICK HERE TO BUY! - £0.74

From THE BIRTH OF LORD RUTHVEN
A short note at the top of the story page stated that a novel, Bloody Love had been born from this short story and was due for mass market publication very soon.

+CruxShadow666+ began to read.

He was perched on the edge of his seat, his breathing rapid, muscles taut as he read. Soon, the throb between his legs became unbearable, his cock rigid and pressed hard against the hot leather of his trousers. He fumbled frantically to pull them down but his zipper was stuck and the material adhered to the excited sweat on his skin. He huffed and puffed, panted, swearing at his uncooperative pants and vowing to kill them if they did not comply.

From SOME OF YOUR GOTHIC BLOOD He thought his neatly trimmed Van Dyk beard made him look like a hot Satan. Eddie Crowe really and truly thought he was the shit.

But this wasn’t going to be any ordinary night of stringless sex. These three gothic goddesses wanted something more from Eddie Crowe other than raw, animal fucking. They wanted something else from him – The Goth Star – but it wasn’t his body, it wasn’t risky impregnation, infamy and child support.

It wasn’t just his body they were after.

They wanted what was inside him.

From BLOODY LOVERS
Only when she was sure every candle was lit and in place did she turn off the main light in her apartment.

There were dozens of them, all shapes and sizes, but each one made from virginal-white wax and placed in a black glass holder. They covered every flat, stable surface in the room.

A plume of heady-scented incense smoke swirled lazily into the air; the room was filled with the aroma of red and black berries and a hint of frankincense, a top note of exotic spices from far away places. The scent made her think of excited sweat on dark skin.

From VAMPIRE VINTAGE : BOOK ONE – BELLADONNA IN HOLLYWOOD
And now, back home and in her room, radio on and again listening to the sound of his voice, Belladonna could now see his face when she closed her eyes, could see his hypnotic stare. She felt the tide of her blood rise, throbbing inside her like never before, and found the rhythm of her own hips as she sweated in the dark.

He had helped her on the arduous journey to being a woman, made her feel things she had never felt, want things she had not experienced, things she knew nothing of before. And now, she wanted much more of him than just his words. She wanted to feel more than the touch of her own hand and the sound of his voice.

From THE MODIFICATION OF A STUPID CUNT
I stare at my dark reflection, at the scars where searing brand marks once were, at the pieces of metal he raped my flesh with – coils of wire, steel plates, metal springs and spikes and studs – tiny pieces of pain scavenged from dead machines.

I cut away these scars now, cut them out with surgical steel that flashes in the half-light. There are more scars now, bigger, deeper, uglier. But they are my scars, scars that I have made. I chose to make these, not him. I have erased his signature from my skin – all except one. I always leave one. I cannot bare to remove every trace.

From LITTLE PRICK
It took him a whole minute to shoot his load – in and out a couple of dozen times; my tired, bored pussy drier than the Sahara, the pussy he couldn’t get wet if he poured a bucket of water over it.

I fucking loathe him. His flesh connecting with mine in any manner makes my skin crawl, makes my gut tighten.

I hate the cruel straight line he calls a mouth. I have always found it at odds with his elegant speech, the words he uses, his impeccable pronunciation. It just does not seem right that such eloquence should come from that hateful gash in his face.

From THE BLAIR
It was a dark and brooding building; twisted, sparsely leaved vines clawed their way up her facade like painful arthritic fingers. The wild and unruly grounds reached up from the earth as if they were trying to pull the house down into the comfort of her muddy womb.

Her broken windows were like soulless, sightless eyes. But Victoria knew the building was not soulless – she felt that within those rotting walls lived the souls of many.

Vampire Stories - Fuckin' Hardcore by Alex Severin

F U C K I N ' H A R D C O R E . . .

A 'Vampire Red' short story by Alex Severin.

ORLANDO, FL - 1.25am - NOVEMBER 24th

Paul heard the throb of the music coming from inside the Death Row club. It was like a heartbeat, strong, steady, exciting.

He sat alone in the diner across the street, his nose buried in a well-worn book. His copy of Bloody Love by Lily Transyl was already tattered, the spine rubbed and cracked, the cover creased, and some pages dog-eared from folding them over to keep his place.

Certain paragraphs in the book had been marked with luminous yellow highlighter pen. But now, after reading Bloody Love so many times, Paul barely needed to consult the text any more - he could recite page after page without faltering and swore that he knew the entire book by heart. And he was sure that Lily Transyl could read his mind, he was sure that Lily had written Bloody Love just for him. It was the book he had always wanted, the book he would have loved to write and the book that he would treasure forever. And tonight, he would do what he'd always wanted to do, inspired by Lily's words, sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was telling him to carry out his will.

Paul's body seemed to vibrate with excitement, anticipation tightening each muscle with deliciously painful little knots.

God, please let her be there. Please let her be there. I need this.

He waited patiently.

Each time the music swelled as the front door of the club was opened, Paul would feel a shock of electricity running through him as he searched the throng of bodies for her.

She called herself Belladonna.

He tapped his foot rapidly on the floor, on edge with anticipation, as he read and chewed on his black-lacquered thumb nail. He tutted at himself, worried in case a chip of nail polish was wedged in his teeth. It would absolutely ruin the look of his custom fangs if they were covered in flakes of bitten off nail varnish.

Paul's heart almost shot into his throat as he saw her curvaceous, killer body strut out into the night air as if she owned it, as if the very street she walked on belonged to her.
Dozens of people outside spoke to her as she passed by. She said nothing, but threw them a smile and carried on her way down the street.

Her skin glowed in the moonlight and the humid night air made her body shimmer with a touch of sweat. Her clothes, black shining rubber, looked fluid. Paul imagined smearing black liquid latex over her body, smoothing his hands over her curves, the swell of her breasts and the tight buds of her nipples.

"Gothic flesh," he whispered, and licked his lips.

As he stepped out into the night he began to perspire profusely, his clothes wet through in moments. He trembled as adrenaline raced through his system.

Tonight's the night.

Tonight they will come.

Belladonna took the same route from the club every time. She was always alone. Paul had often wondered why she was always on her own - such a stunning, fuckable chick would surely have her pick of men or women, or both.

He picked up his pace as she reached the dark alley she always took. Paul had the notion that she was inviting an attacker, practically goading him to do his worst.

He was mesmerized by her form, bathed in alternate flashing red and darkness from a buzzing neon sign that read Live Sex! and entranced by the gentle sway of her ample ass as she sashayed down the alley. He imagined taking a bite out of it as if it were a huge, fleshy peach, and instead of sweet, sticky juices running over his face, there would be the piquant taste of her blood.

The degradation of his surrounding aroused him - he knew what went on in this alley, day and night. Blood crushed into his cock and he adjusted himself as his skin-tight leather jeans became uncomfortable.

He inhaled deeply and smelled the scent of piss, old and new, and his eyes rolled as the thick soles of his black boots squelched onto a spent condom. A discarded hypodermic smashed beneath his feet and he wondered if there was death in the blood residue on the needle.

He looked down a dark side street, just off the rancid alley and saw bodies writhing together among piles of festering trash. His lip curled in disgust but all the while his cock grew steadily harder.

Belladonna half-turned her head and slowed her pace - she knew somebody was following her, somebody who was breathing heavily, breath baited in anticipation of something. She rolled her eyes.
Paul was sure she was allowing him to catch up with her after he'd been distracted by the side show in the garbage.

Ever-so-slowly, she turned around.

Paul stumbled backward against the slick alley wall as his knees buckled and all the strength drained out of his body.

Her eyes were wild, the irises black and shining. But there was something behind her eyes, something feral, something ancient, that shone, iridescent like illuminated amber - the glint in a cat's eyes catching the light.

She grinned at him as she reached out and grabbed him by the throat, effortlessly raised him clear off the ground and slammed him into the wall. As his mouth opened in a vain attempt to scream, she could see his custom fangs glistening with his excited saliva.

As she spoke, he could see the gleaming white tips of two pin-sharp incisors.

"What you gonna do, badass, bite me?"

Paul tried to scream but she was squeezing the air from his throat, crushing his larynx and his vocal cords.

"All you fucking wannabe vampires - you're giving us a bad rep."

The vampire stabbed her sharpened black nails into the flesh of his throat, tearing away skin and flesh and fat. She put her mouth to the pissing red wound and drank.

Belladonna rubbed his cock through his leathers as she fed on him, and laughed as he reached out, desperately trying to grab her right tit. His body spasmed then stiffened in the throes of orgasm even though he knew he was dying.

Paul's moans of pain and pleasure were an eerie gargle that rushed from the gaping hole in his throat.
"Damn, you're fuckin' hardcore!"

Belladonna laughed uproariously at him, her face painted with an expression that was close to admiration. She shook her head, grinning as she hooked two fingers into his mouth and under his tongue and yanked down hard.

She let go of him and his shocked body slid down the wall and landed on the piss-stinking alley floor.
As the vampire looked at her latest victim, she felt a fleeting stab of pity for him - an old habit she had not quite lost. He was so young and she wondered, momentarily, what he was like, what he did for a living, if he had a lover who would mourn him.

Then she spat on him. He was meat. Cattle to be herded for her sustenance. He was no more to her than a cheeseburger was to him. Food. Nothing more.

She walked away without a backward glance at the sack of skin-covered bones she left behind. He was all but dead now, drained of blood, no more than a pile of bones and ripped flesh.

The poetic irony of his demise did not escape him as death began to shroud him.

He had spent his whole life longing for his belief, his strongest faith, to be proven beyond any doubt - that vampires - real vampires, immortal vampires - existed.

His plan to draw himself to the attention of a real vampire was that if he drank human blood, slept in a coffin, lived a nocturnal existence, and showed dedication and respect for such a life, that his wish for immortality would be granted by them.

Paul smiled at the cutting irony of his murder, but the sensation didn't feel right. He reached up a shaking hand and touched his face; his brow knotted as he felt for his chin, only to touch his upper teeth and feel his tongue lying against his opened throat. Belladonna had ripped off his lower jaw and now all that hung from his face were strips of torn skin and ragged flesh. He choked out a gargled laugh, an unnatural sound that made his own skin crawl. The sound was wet sucking and dry blowing as blood and air escaped straight from his lungs and our through the hole in his neck, and out into the night air.

I did it. I did it! I'm gonna be a real vampire now . I'm gonna live forever.

Paul reached out and grabbed hold of his discarded jaw bone. He was certain, that if he held it in place before he died, it would miraculously reattach itself and be good as new when he woke to his new life as an immortal vampire.

The last drop of life ran out from the torn artery in Paul's neck; he slumped, dead, face down in a pile of human shit. The last thing he heard was the rattle of his jaw bone hitting the ground beside him.

© Alex Severin 2004