Fan Fiction by VTW
This is a stretch for me. I was hesitant to do this story because it is such a fantasy. There is no Llanview, no Viki, and no Starr. They do not exist in this tale. The only thing that is the same is Todd's name. Free your mind and believe.
I hope I do not disappoint.
Peace and love VTW
Santa Cruz, California
|Morning sunlight streamed into the sumptuous bedroom and fell across
the muscular body of Thomas Todd Lord. He cracked open one hazel eye and
groaned slightly. "Shit," he mumbled incoherently as he groped for his steel
He sleepily peered at the dial, and yawned a huge jaw-cracking yawn. Nine o'clock. His stomach rumbled hungrily. "Kato!" He yelled at full volume. The windowpane rattled slightly.
A small, thin Japanese man appeared almost immediately. "Yes, Mr. Lord?" He inquired politely. He had been in Thomas' employ for two years, and so far the relationship was a smooth one. Kato was placid and serene, nothing rattled his cage. He was also loyal to a fault. He would be in Thomas's service until the day he died. He owed Mr. Lord his life literally.
Thomas sat back against the headboard and scratched his chest. "I'm hungry," he said lightly.
Kato inclined his head. "The usual, Mr. Lord?"
Thomas tipped his head to the side and smiled. It was a full sensual smile. Utterly self-satisfied, unrepentant, and sly. "What do you think?" He quipped.
"Very good, sir." Kato backed out of the room on bare feet and disappeared down the hall.
Thomas stacked his hands behind his head and ruminated about the day ahead. It was going to be a full one. He had a meeting with his lawyer at eleven, a luncheon at one o'clock with his editor, and then another meeting at four with his stockbroker.
Thomas wrote extremely violent, highly successful, crime novels. He cranked three out in just two years and was currently working on his fourth. He wrote them under the pen name T.T.L. There was no picture on the jacket covers of his books and no information about him whatsoever.
That's precisely how Thomas wanted it. No one knew who he was and he wanted it kept that way. This was merely a hobby for him. He had more money than he knew what to do with. It was pleasant acquiring more, but the kick for him was the writing. When he tired of it he'd quit, until then he was enjoying the mental stimulation.
A soft tap signaled Kato. "Come in," Thomas said.
Kato walked in carrying a heavy wood tray as if it weighed nothing. Thomas smiled a little. He was constantly amazed. Kato was slight of build. If he weighed one hundred pounds he was lucky. The Japanese man wore loose white pants and an eastern looking coat with a high collar. He gently set the tray down on the king size bed.
"Will that be all, Mr. Lord?"
Thomas waved him away with a negligent flick of his wrist. The aroma of freshly brewed café au lait wafted through the air. Thomas smelled it the minute Kato poured the grounds into the coffee maker.
The bread was perfectly toasted as always. Light golden brown with the crusts trimmed off. Out of season strawberry's heavy with dew, were displayed invitingly in a cut crystal bowl. Thomas had them flown in from Hawaii.
He selected one and sank his white teeth into the fat berry, savoring the feel and texture of the sweet fruit as it hit his taste buds. He picked up a thin sliver of toast and disposed of it in two neat bites. He took a small sip of the coffee and blotted his mouth with a snowy white linen napkin.
Thomas gazed at the last item on the tray and smiled slightly. He always saved the best for last. He lifted the heavy silver and crystal chalice and held it up to the sunlight. He ran his tongue over his upper lip and let the hunger sweep through his entire body.
He closed his eyes briefly as the almost sexual feeling infused his being. He brought the cup up to his nose and breathed in the coppery, musky fragrance. The thick, scarlet liquid was still warm. Thomas lifted it to his mouth and drank deeply. His strong throat contracted as he drained every drop from the chalice. His eyes fluttered shut as the feeling of power rushed through him like quicksilver.
He grinned and bit his lower lip. He loved his life, he loved who and what he was. His unusual amber eyes glowed feral, like a tiger's. His vision was supernatural and the world around him was as sharp and focused as cut glass.
He rose elegantly out of bed and headed for the shower. His long hair fell to the bottom of his spine. His complexion was olive and flawless, not a mark was upon it except for the eight tattoos he wore on his skin. One was just under his navel. The Archangel Michael was standing with his head bowed, arms crossed in front of him with his sword, and his wings folded over his body like a shroud.
The wings were brilliant emerald with saffron colored hairs, they looked so feathery and lifelike it was both astonishing and unnerving. Thomas barely noticed it any more, but always aware of it always.
The other seven were ancient names; they were tattooed on the back of his neck. His hair covered them, no one saw them. Ever.
He dropped his midnight blue silk boxers on the plush carpet and stepped into the granite shower.
The hot spray beat against his body like a thousand fine needles. Thomas felt every drop hit him. He could count them, if he chose to. He toweled off briskly and quickly got dressed. The navy blue Armani suit was loose and hip. He slipped on a pair of blue-tinted wire sunglasses. They were slung low on the bridge of his nose.
He stepped out of the remote house, high in the Santa Cruz Mountains and breathed in the fresh, crisp autumn air. Winter was fast approaching, he mused. He climbed into his black Viper feeling like a million bucks.
He looked like exactly what he was.
A modern day vampire.
|To be continued|
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