Fang’s blood is sweet, his smell in liquid form, rich and heady. I drink and drink, losing myself in the intoxicating taste of it. I barely notice when Fang tries to pull away, and when he forcibly yanks his arm out of my grasp I snarl at him, trying to take it back. He places a hand on my chest and I start, looking at him, confused. He seems paler, almost translucent.
“I don’t want you taking too much, blood loss can affect even me.” I blush at that, embarrassed, and he smiles, pulling me close
“Now what?” I ask, the taste of him still on my tongue.
“Now we wait. It won’t be much longer, and it will be painful; but I will be here so don’t be afraid.” He reassures me because I have started to tremble. “Would you like me to distract you?” I nod, “what should I talk about?” he seems genuinely perplexed.
“Anything,” I whisper. I think for a moment. “Tell me what we do.” I am curious about this, but I hope I’ll actually be able to comprehend at least some of it.
“Very well.” He nods, as if satisfied with my choice.
I don’t get a chance to hear much, as soon as Fang starts talking, there is a stabbing pain in my abdomen. I gasp, doubling over at the sheer enormity of the pain. Fang holds me tighter, but doesn’t continue. The stabbing spreads, as if knives are being shoved through my insides, tearing and ripping them to shreds. It slowly works its way up from my abdomen. When it reaches my head I scream, unable to bear it, burying my head in Fangs chest as he crushes me against him; his strong arms shaking along with my spasms. The pain in my head subsides to a bearable level, but then starts in my bones, along with cracking and splintering noises as my bones lengthen, changing my body structure completely. I can feel muscles building, hardening along my body; but I am swallowed again in the pain of my head as my skull shifts, lengthening. My eyesight blurs momentarily, then snaps into sharp, almost painful focus; I can see perfectly in the pre-dawn gloom. I inhale sharply, entranced by the rainbow colors of the dust motes floating in the air, and find that I can smell things I could never smell before; dust, the sheets of the bed, the fainter traces of Fang’s scent from his previous visits here. I hear a faint noise and realize that it is the rushing of my blood, and of Fang’s. Our heartbeats seem painfully loud, as does the shifting of the house, and the mattress springs’ soft creaking. The pain slowly ebbs away, leaving me as drained and shaken as I was only a moment before.
I slowly uncurl myself, feeling slightly stiff, and stretch. I jump when my feet touch the end of the bed because I was sure they didn’t before. I scoot up careful not to wake Fang, resting my head beside his on the headboard and grinning when I notice that we are the same height, even though I’m not sure why I do. I laugh, feeling slightly confused, and Fang starts, opening his eyes. He gazes at me, his lips curling up in amusement at my evident wonderment, though I notice a touch of concern; for what I’m not sure.
“Feeling better?” He mumbles sleepily. I nod, smiling at him. “Nice teeth,” he half-yawns, then smiles back.
Realizing what he means, I run my tongue over my teeth, and nearly cut them open on my fangs. I’m startled, again without really knowing why; this makes me even more confused, but I am determined not to show it. For Fang’s sake. We simply sit there for a while, watching the rising sun slowly push the shadows across the room. When the whole room is full of light, we slowly get up and dress. I am shocked to find that my clothes don’t fit, I am sure that they did yesterday; they are several inches too short. As if I’d grown nearly a foot and a half overnight. But that wasn’t normal. Fang looks at me for a moment; I know my confusion is apparent on my face.
“I guess we’re going to town today.” He hands me a pair of boots, his, and a long sleeved shirt to cover the gap between my jeans and shirt. He then leads me downstairs and through several rooms, more than I thought could fit in such a small house, and out the back door where a sleek black Harley waits.
Getting to town seems to take forever, although I have no idea why it should have taken less time. Surely it takes just as long as it usually takes. The town seems different to me, and I wonder exactly what has changed, because I can’t remember how it looked before. This sudden realization throws me off for a moment, and my grip on Fang loosens slightly. He looks back at me, concerned, but I merely smile at him, lost in my musings. Why is it that I am so confused this morning, and does it have anything to do with me not remembering how town looked before? Before I can get very far on that thought Fang stops in front of this dingy-looking little store that I don’t remember at all, even being confused like I am.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wolf
There is one thing that I do like about the full moon. The change comes easier, and you are able to change without having to strip down or rip whatever you’re wearing at the time. Your clothes sort of just turn into fur, and then back into clothes. Of course, stuff that isn’t clothes doesn’t change; like packs, or swords, so you do have to lug that around. I stood in the calf-deep snow behind the shack and faced the forest that spread out in front of me. The fierce wind was stinging my face, swirling the snow around, so I quickly surrendered to the pull of the moon and felt myself simply melt into my other form. There was a brief moment of dizziness, then I tipped back my furred head and howled.
I turned my head, checking on my load, then trotted under the canopy of the forest, feeling the change instantly. The forest stilled the howling of the wind and reduced it to the barest breath, so that I was able to travel more comfortably. I stretched my trot out, gradually picking up speed as I followed the faint tug that grew stronger with every second. I was soon grateful that I had taken every opportunity to eat a full meal; I would need all the energy I could get for the fifty mile trek into the Canadian wilderness. Once I had settled myself into a proper run, I kept myself on constant vigilance, scanning continually for any sign of danger. I wanted to avoid as much trouble as I could, it would be better for me to arrive fit and healthy, not to mention strong, instead of injured. A lone was supposed to return so that the Alpha knew that they were able to fend for themselves. If I showed up to the meet injured, or even hungry, Farra would pounce on the chance to force me to re-join the pack; where she could keep an eye on me. My nostrils flared, and I sifted through the smells, noting which ones were prey, and which ones were forest; no danger yet. My biggest fear of course was humans. Not that they would kill me on sight, because wolves are endangered here now, but I would make a pretty peculiar sight, trotting around with a sword on my back.
My stomach rumbled suddenly, and I sighed mentally, I checked what I could see of the sky and told myself firmly that it was much too early to stop for the night, let alone to think about hunting. But I automatically started looking for sign of prey, and smelling the wind. I looked up again, it was getting dark, but the trees had obscured the fact; it was already dark enough to be twilight under the canopy. I catch a whiff of rabbit and freeze, inhaling deeply, pinpointing its location. I sprang suddenly, flying upward in a short, lethal, fox-like jump. I landed squarely on a pair of rabbits, breaking their backs and killing them instantly. My mouth watered as I picked them up, but I refrained from eating them searching for a spot to stop for the night; it would not be good for me to eat them raw and then change only to lose my supper.
I stopped in a small clearing, not really all that much, but it had signs of having been a campsite before, which was good for me; people are less likely to notice the remains of a fire in places where there have been fires before. As soon as I’d changed back, I got a fire going and gathered enough to last the rest of the night. I skinned the rabbits with the hunting knife I keep in my boot and set them to cooking on a spit, turning them idly as I watched the flames. I had two days to complete the journey, with fifteen miles under my belt already. I could make it, I knew, but it was a question of how soon. As soon as I finished off the rabbits I stoked up the fire to keep it going and hunkered down for the night.
I turned my head, checking on my load, then trotted under the canopy of the forest, feeling the change instantly. The forest stilled the howling of the wind and reduced it to the barest breath, so that I was able to travel more comfortably. I stretched my trot out, gradually picking up speed as I followed the faint tug that grew stronger with every second. I was soon grateful that I had taken every opportunity to eat a full meal; I would need all the energy I could get for the fifty mile trek into the Canadian wilderness. Once I had settled myself into a proper run, I kept myself on constant vigilance, scanning continually for any sign of danger. I wanted to avoid as much trouble as I could, it would be better for me to arrive fit and healthy, not to mention strong, instead of injured. A lone was supposed to return so that the Alpha knew that they were able to fend for themselves. If I showed up to the meet injured, or even hungry, Farra would pounce on the chance to force me to re-join the pack; where she could keep an eye on me. My nostrils flared, and I sifted through the smells, noting which ones were prey, and which ones were forest; no danger yet. My biggest fear of course was humans. Not that they would kill me on sight, because wolves are endangered here now, but I would make a pretty peculiar sight, trotting around with a sword on my back.
My stomach rumbled suddenly, and I sighed mentally, I checked what I could see of the sky and told myself firmly that it was much too early to stop for the night, let alone to think about hunting. But I automatically started looking for sign of prey, and smelling the wind. I looked up again, it was getting dark, but the trees had obscured the fact; it was already dark enough to be twilight under the canopy. I catch a whiff of rabbit and freeze, inhaling deeply, pinpointing its location. I sprang suddenly, flying upward in a short, lethal, fox-like jump. I landed squarely on a pair of rabbits, breaking their backs and killing them instantly. My mouth watered as I picked them up, but I refrained from eating them searching for a spot to stop for the night; it would not be good for me to eat them raw and then change only to lose my supper.
I stopped in a small clearing, not really all that much, but it had signs of having been a campsite before, which was good for me; people are less likely to notice the remains of a fire in places where there have been fires before. As soon as I’d changed back, I got a fire going and gathered enough to last the rest of the night. I skinned the rabbits with the hunting knife I keep in my boot and set them to cooking on a spit, turning them idly as I watched the flames. I had two days to complete the journey, with fifteen miles under my belt already. I could make it, I knew, but it was a question of how soon. As soon as I finished off the rabbits I stoked up the fire to keep it going and hunkered down for the night.
Angel
I hurry to do as he asks, struggling to keep quiet as I rummage around in my closet, then turn to face him, expectant. He listens for a moment, although I hear nothing, and then beckons to me. I walk over to the open window where he stands, suddenly nervous. He picks me up, kisses me fiercely, then puts me through the window, silently maneuvering me through then letting go so I land on my feet. I wobble, but don’t lose my balance; turning, I see he’s already there, picking me up silently and starting to run, faster than any human can go. I hide my face against his shirt, out of the wind he creates, and drink in his scent; relishing the feel of his arms around me.
We stop sooner than I had anticipated but, looking around I realize that we have left the suburbs far behind, and the city with it. Fang sets me down in a lawn of tall grasses that is in need of cutting and points to the small house in the middle of it. It’s rather worn looking and old.
“That is where I stay when I am near here. I know it’s not much but it’s warm and dry.” He takes me by the hand, twining our fingers, and leads me to the door. He reaches for the knob and it swings open silently. I wonder why it wasn’t locked, then realize that it probably was.
Fang doesn’t stop to let me take in my surroundings; as soon as we’re through the door he pulls me to him and into a passionate kiss, drowning me again in his scent, his black curls tumbling around me. He is very tall, I’m five-six and my feet raise a good foot and a half off the floor. He pulls away and, while I’m still recovering from the head rush that the lack of oxygen caused, picks me up, literally sweeping me off my feet and carries me up the stairs. He smiles down at me, and so suggestive is his grin that I start to untie the laces of his shirt, exposing part of his chest. Since he’s carrying me, that’s all I can do; so I content myself with laying my head on his shoulder and trace the swirling pattern of the tattoo that shows half its form where the shirt lays it bare. He goes faster. Smiling slightly, I trail my fingers down his chest and he picks up more speed. I slowly lean in, keeping my hand on his abdomen, and kiss him on the neck. He takes the stairs two at a time, kicking open the door and breathing heavily for the first time all night.
I lean up and he kisses me, hard and passionate, leaning into it. He slowly walks forward and lays me on the bed that dominates the room. Fang is suddenly looming over me on the bed, his eyes inscrutable through the red glow. He slowly leans down kissing me gently as he, just as gently, pulls the old shirt I wear to bed over my head. I reach down, sliding my hands up his torso as I divest him of his shirt. I can hear him fumbling with the button of his pants in the darkness, then he stops, kicks off his shoes, and lies down beside me. His eyes smolder as he looks at me and I can sense that he is impatient; I wonder what could be stopping him and reach out, but he stops me.
“You’ve, never done this before, have you?” I feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassed. I shake my head and see his teeth glint in the darkness as he smiles. He strokes my hair, “we’ll just have to go slow then.”
He leans in to kiss me, pulling me close. Gently, he rolls so I am lying on my back; then it happens, so utterly unlike anything I was expecting that I gasp slightly, and clutch Fang’s shoulders. He stiffens, thinking he’s hurt me, then relaxes again kissing me on the neck. I’m so caught up in everything that I don’t notice when his fangs break the skin; but I notice when he starts to suck my blood. It isn’t really painful, but I’m uneasy and push him slightly and he stops; raising his head to look at me, a dazed expression on his face. There is blood on his lip.
“Don’t you want to be together with me forever?” he seems hurt, and I nod quickly ashamed of myself. “This is the only way that can happen, you must become like me.” He leans back down, covering the wounds on my neck with his warm lips and pulling my hot blood into his mouth.
I clutch at his shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under his smooth taunt skin and press myself against his hot marble torso.
When it is over we lie side by side on the rumpled bed panting for breath. My mouth is dry and my throat is parched, I feel almost drained, spent and exhausted. I start to shake, tremors wracking my frame, most likely from loss of blood. Fang looks at me concerned, then reaches over me to grab something off a small table. It’s a pocket knife and as I watch, he makes a small cut on his arm; dark blood wells up from the incision. He helps me sit up and sticks his arm under my nose; weakly I shake my head.
“Go on, before it closes up again.” I shake my head again. “This is important,” He growls, impatient, suddenly I’m frightened. “Do you want to die from shock or loss of blood?” I shake my head, resigned now, “then drink.” I look down, the wound has closed up again, but before I can think another cut appears and I lower my head, pressing my mouth against his flawless skin, and drink.
We stop sooner than I had anticipated but, looking around I realize that we have left the suburbs far behind, and the city with it. Fang sets me down in a lawn of tall grasses that is in need of cutting and points to the small house in the middle of it. It’s rather worn looking and old.
“That is where I stay when I am near here. I know it’s not much but it’s warm and dry.” He takes me by the hand, twining our fingers, and leads me to the door. He reaches for the knob and it swings open silently. I wonder why it wasn’t locked, then realize that it probably was.
Fang doesn’t stop to let me take in my surroundings; as soon as we’re through the door he pulls me to him and into a passionate kiss, drowning me again in his scent, his black curls tumbling around me. He is very tall, I’m five-six and my feet raise a good foot and a half off the floor. He pulls away and, while I’m still recovering from the head rush that the lack of oxygen caused, picks me up, literally sweeping me off my feet and carries me up the stairs. He smiles down at me, and so suggestive is his grin that I start to untie the laces of his shirt, exposing part of his chest. Since he’s carrying me, that’s all I can do; so I content myself with laying my head on his shoulder and trace the swirling pattern of the tattoo that shows half its form where the shirt lays it bare. He goes faster. Smiling slightly, I trail my fingers down his chest and he picks up more speed. I slowly lean in, keeping my hand on his abdomen, and kiss him on the neck. He takes the stairs two at a time, kicking open the door and breathing heavily for the first time all night.
I lean up and he kisses me, hard and passionate, leaning into it. He slowly walks forward and lays me on the bed that dominates the room. Fang is suddenly looming over me on the bed, his eyes inscrutable through the red glow. He slowly leans down kissing me gently as he, just as gently, pulls the old shirt I wear to bed over my head. I reach down, sliding my hands up his torso as I divest him of his shirt. I can hear him fumbling with the button of his pants in the darkness, then he stops, kicks off his shoes, and lies down beside me. His eyes smolder as he looks at me and I can sense that he is impatient; I wonder what could be stopping him and reach out, but he stops me.
“You’ve, never done this before, have you?” I feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassed. I shake my head and see his teeth glint in the darkness as he smiles. He strokes my hair, “we’ll just have to go slow then.”
He leans in to kiss me, pulling me close. Gently, he rolls so I am lying on my back; then it happens, so utterly unlike anything I was expecting that I gasp slightly, and clutch Fang’s shoulders. He stiffens, thinking he’s hurt me, then relaxes again kissing me on the neck. I’m so caught up in everything that I don’t notice when his fangs break the skin; but I notice when he starts to suck my blood. It isn’t really painful, but I’m uneasy and push him slightly and he stops; raising his head to look at me, a dazed expression on his face. There is blood on his lip.
“Don’t you want to be together with me forever?” he seems hurt, and I nod quickly ashamed of myself. “This is the only way that can happen, you must become like me.” He leans back down, covering the wounds on my neck with his warm lips and pulling my hot blood into his mouth.
I clutch at his shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under his smooth taunt skin and press myself against his hot marble torso.
When it is over we lie side by side on the rumpled bed panting for breath. My mouth is dry and my throat is parched, I feel almost drained, spent and exhausted. I start to shake, tremors wracking my frame, most likely from loss of blood. Fang looks at me concerned, then reaches over me to grab something off a small table. It’s a pocket knife and as I watch, he makes a small cut on his arm; dark blood wells up from the incision. He helps me sit up and sticks his arm under my nose; weakly I shake my head.
“Go on, before it closes up again.” I shake my head again. “This is important,” He growls, impatient, suddenly I’m frightened. “Do you want to die from shock or loss of blood?” I shake my head, resigned now, “then drink.” I look down, the wound has closed up again, but before I can think another cut appears and I lower my head, pressing my mouth against his flawless skin, and drink.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wolf
I woke to the sound of someone calling my name. Not for real, but inside my head. I listened for a while; loathe to answer the bitch’s call with the full moon still a week away. I ignored both her voice and the tugging that started in my gut in response, that is until she snapped at me.
Hey Fido, get up!
I bristled, snarling mentally at the insult, but she ignored that and sent me insidious remarks about what would happen to me if I didn’t make it to her in time. I growled quietly at each one, but got up and started getting ready for the journey.
I hate Canada. Especially in the winter time, not because of the cold, though it is an inconvenience for travel when all you have is a motorcycle; it’s not the country itself, or the people in it. Well, one person; Farra. I hate Canada because I have to drag my ass up there every month so I can get a little peace and quiet the rest of the time. So you can imagine that I was reluctant to cross the border, and not just because I don’t have a passport. I made it there about three days before the full moon; and the effects of the waxing moon were telling on me. I was shaky, paranoid, exhausted, and sporting a permanent five-o’clock shadow no matter how often I shaved. Whenever I went through a town people avoided me like I was an addict; I certainly looked the part. In spite of that I made it to my hideaway on the border without incident. The hideaway is nothing more than a shack where I can stash my bike, but I was grateful for its protection nonetheless. The North Dakota winter was harsh, there was already a foot of snow on the ground and more coming down, with clear signs of a blizzard on its way. I half considered just hunkering down there in wolf form until the storm blew itself out, but I knew the tugging of my gut would only be harder to resist in wolf form. Plus Farra was likely to send someone after me if I were late.
I sighed and started getting ready to leave. I don’t like taking a lot of things with me when I’m traveling, but there is always the risk of getting myself hurt, pack fights are likely this time of the month, and there is also the (slight) possibility of meeting a Hunter, so I was prepared. I slung the small pack over my shoulders then turned back to my bike and carefully extracted The Tooth from its bindings. The Tooth is a four-foot broadsword, a perfectly formed killing instrument, able to hack through bone and even toughened vampire skin with a single swing. Its grip and pommel were simple, leather wrapped (no silver of course) without decoration and a full two hands in length for extra swinging power. The blade was four inches wide and three and a half feet from hilt to point, housed in a simple reinforced leather scabbard and hung across the back in a harness. I carefully adjusted the straps so that the sword would still hang comfortably after the change and settled The Tooth on my back. It may not have a very creative or frightening name, but The Tooth has never been made fun of. I adjusted the straps one last time, then open the door and step out into the storm.
Hey Fido, get up!
I bristled, snarling mentally at the insult, but she ignored that and sent me insidious remarks about what would happen to me if I didn’t make it to her in time. I growled quietly at each one, but got up and started getting ready for the journey.
I hate Canada. Especially in the winter time, not because of the cold, though it is an inconvenience for travel when all you have is a motorcycle; it’s not the country itself, or the people in it. Well, one person; Farra. I hate Canada because I have to drag my ass up there every month so I can get a little peace and quiet the rest of the time. So you can imagine that I was reluctant to cross the border, and not just because I don’t have a passport. I made it there about three days before the full moon; and the effects of the waxing moon were telling on me. I was shaky, paranoid, exhausted, and sporting a permanent five-o’clock shadow no matter how often I shaved. Whenever I went through a town people avoided me like I was an addict; I certainly looked the part. In spite of that I made it to my hideaway on the border without incident. The hideaway is nothing more than a shack where I can stash my bike, but I was grateful for its protection nonetheless. The North Dakota winter was harsh, there was already a foot of snow on the ground and more coming down, with clear signs of a blizzard on its way. I half considered just hunkering down there in wolf form until the storm blew itself out, but I knew the tugging of my gut would only be harder to resist in wolf form. Plus Farra was likely to send someone after me if I were late.
I sighed and started getting ready to leave. I don’t like taking a lot of things with me when I’m traveling, but there is always the risk of getting myself hurt, pack fights are likely this time of the month, and there is also the (slight) possibility of meeting a Hunter, so I was prepared. I slung the small pack over my shoulders then turned back to my bike and carefully extracted The Tooth from its bindings. The Tooth is a four-foot broadsword, a perfectly formed killing instrument, able to hack through bone and even toughened vampire skin with a single swing. Its grip and pommel were simple, leather wrapped (no silver of course) without decoration and a full two hands in length for extra swinging power. The blade was four inches wide and three and a half feet from hilt to point, housed in a simple reinforced leather scabbard and hung across the back in a harness. I carefully adjusted the straps so that the sword would still hang comfortably after the change and settled The Tooth on my back. It may not have a very creative or frightening name, but The Tooth has never been made fun of. I adjusted the straps one last time, then open the door and step out into the storm.
Snow
It's snowing here, so i have found myself with nothing much to do, there being no classes today. I'll probably be hanging around here for a while, not much else for me to do but write.
Playlist
hey, I will be posting a new playlist soon, I just have to get the right code. There will now be two playlists, Angel and Wolf.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Angel
He comes to me in darkness, his ebony hair shining in the moonlight, pale skin glowing from the light streaming through my open curtains. Slipping into the darker abscesses of my room he makes no sound; his eyes burn, awakening my senses and rousing me from the deepest of sleeps. He is a Hunter; the enticing perfume of him wafting to me from across the room easily confirms that. I shiver, shifting towards the wall. The Hunter “disease” can only be spread to a person of the opposite sex, in this case me, it’s obvious why he’s here. I’ve heard stories about girls changed into Hunters that make my ears burn just thinking about them. The process is supposedly very erotic, until the pain starts.
The Hunter shifts in the shadows, aroused by my fear, and his eyes begin to glow a hellish red. A whimper escapes me and I press against the wall and wrapping my covers tightly around me. In all the stories, their eyes glowed red when they were ready to … start. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself not to cry out; silent tears dribbling down my face and soaking the bedspread. My ears strain to catch the slight sounds as he steps towards me; my heart is throbbing somewhere in my stomach. The delicious perfume gets stronger, grabbing me, drowning me in an ecstasy of scent. All thoughts are washed out of my head; a warm glow starts in my chest making me gasp, then spreads to my fingers and toes.
I open my eyes; I had stopped crying what seems like ages ago. I sit up, letting the covers slide off, and face the godlike figure standing two feet away smiling at me. The smile makes him so beautiful that I can’t help but smile back, a welcoming smile. He steps toward me and I forget everything except his face and the warmth spreading through me.
Through the warm haze I hear him speak, he has the most beautiful accent, but I can’t seem to place it. A foggy thought drifts through my mind, something about his accent and teeth… but it is gone in the next second. I try to focus as he speaks again, and this time his words break through the warm fog in my head.
“…you may call me Fang.”I wonder vaguely if that’s a nickname, there’s no way it could be his real name. “I would love to tell you my real name my dear,” it’s as though he’s read my mind, “but I seem to have forgotten it. Time will do that you know.” He smiles again and this time the moonlight glances off his sharp pointed teeth.
The fog in my mind lifts fully for a moment and I gasp, shifting back towards the wall. But the gasp fills my nose with his sweet perfume and I stop; lulled back into stillness.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes, he sits on the edge of my bed, his face inches from mine. The long black trench that he wore lies crumpled on the floor, his double swords lying neatly on top. I don’t remember him taking them off. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is low and soft, seductive. “I want to be with you; forever.”
The perfume emanating from him is so sweet and heady that I almost swoon. My heart is beating rapidly, and my breathing is so shallow that swooning seems even more likely. He caresses my face, setting shivers crawling up and down my spine.
“Come with me, into eternity.” He breathes into my ear, and then his lips are on mine for the briefest of seconds. For such a small kiss, it’s powerful enough to make me melt. I fall into his arms, clutching at his white linen shirt and feeling the throbbing heat come off his body in waves. He breathes in deeply; drinking in my scent, then stiffens slightly, listening. I peek over his shoulder at my clock, its little numbers glowing in the darkness; green for his red. Three a.m. I hear a door slam.
“That’s my father,” I whisper, panic driving off the fog.
I feel his laugh more than hear it, “I take he doesn’t like my kind.” He gently releases my panic-clenched fingers from his shirt.
“He’s a cop, he’ll kill you if he finds us.” I look up at him frantically. I don’t tell him that my father hates “cleaning up” after a Hunter job.
Fang’s smile fades at my serious tone; I know what I said was true, and so does he. His face takes on a more serious expression and he stands up, retrieving his coat and swords from the floor. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t.” he tosses me one of my small bags. “Pack a few things, quietly, we’re leaving.”
The Hunter shifts in the shadows, aroused by my fear, and his eyes begin to glow a hellish red. A whimper escapes me and I press against the wall and wrapping my covers tightly around me. In all the stories, their eyes glowed red when they were ready to … start. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself not to cry out; silent tears dribbling down my face and soaking the bedspread. My ears strain to catch the slight sounds as he steps towards me; my heart is throbbing somewhere in my stomach. The delicious perfume gets stronger, grabbing me, drowning me in an ecstasy of scent. All thoughts are washed out of my head; a warm glow starts in my chest making me gasp, then spreads to my fingers and toes.
I open my eyes; I had stopped crying what seems like ages ago. I sit up, letting the covers slide off, and face the godlike figure standing two feet away smiling at me. The smile makes him so beautiful that I can’t help but smile back, a welcoming smile. He steps toward me and I forget everything except his face and the warmth spreading through me.
Through the warm haze I hear him speak, he has the most beautiful accent, but I can’t seem to place it. A foggy thought drifts through my mind, something about his accent and teeth… but it is gone in the next second. I try to focus as he speaks again, and this time his words break through the warm fog in my head.
“…you may call me Fang.”I wonder vaguely if that’s a nickname, there’s no way it could be his real name. “I would love to tell you my real name my dear,” it’s as though he’s read my mind, “but I seem to have forgotten it. Time will do that you know.” He smiles again and this time the moonlight glances off his sharp pointed teeth.
The fog in my mind lifts fully for a moment and I gasp, shifting back towards the wall. But the gasp fills my nose with his sweet perfume and I stop; lulled back into stillness.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes, he sits on the edge of my bed, his face inches from mine. The long black trench that he wore lies crumpled on the floor, his double swords lying neatly on top. I don’t remember him taking them off. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is low and soft, seductive. “I want to be with you; forever.”
The perfume emanating from him is so sweet and heady that I almost swoon. My heart is beating rapidly, and my breathing is so shallow that swooning seems even more likely. He caresses my face, setting shivers crawling up and down my spine.
“Come with me, into eternity.” He breathes into my ear, and then his lips are on mine for the briefest of seconds. For such a small kiss, it’s powerful enough to make me melt. I fall into his arms, clutching at his white linen shirt and feeling the throbbing heat come off his body in waves. He breathes in deeply; drinking in my scent, then stiffens slightly, listening. I peek over his shoulder at my clock, its little numbers glowing in the darkness; green for his red. Three a.m. I hear a door slam.
“That’s my father,” I whisper, panic driving off the fog.
I feel his laugh more than hear it, “I take he doesn’t like my kind.” He gently releases my panic-clenched fingers from his shirt.
“He’s a cop, he’ll kill you if he finds us.” I look up at him frantically. I don’t tell him that my father hates “cleaning up” after a Hunter job.
Fang’s smile fades at my serious tone; I know what I said was true, and so does he. His face takes on a more serious expression and he stands up, retrieving his coat and swords from the floor. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t.” he tosses me one of my small bags. “Pack a few things, quietly, we’re leaving.”
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