Bonus story: Preparing For The Hunt

She sat at the bar in one of the nondescript dives darkened against its regulars ugly mugs. Stale beer and smoke lined the air in a visible haze with more than hints of desperation and depression beneath them. Places like this were a dime a dozen in a mega-city like Neo-Chicago. Over the decades the hustle and bustle of white and blue-collar bodies and El-trains morphed into the steady bob and weave of crowds two and three times their elder’s size. Over them were the intermittent whir of the light-rails and near-silent engines of electric, public and private transports. Gusts of wind from the city’s collective– albeit quiet– roar, made the Windy City’s name all the more apropos.

She’d been there at least six hours, had nursed two or three drinks in that time. Obviously of the Femme Fatale variety, she was all decked out in leather, calf-high boots, and pierced just about everywhere to be seen– and in a few places that couldn’t be. The metal accented piercing, blue eyes that would swallow whole anyone whom looked into them. Straight, brown hair fell around her leather shoulders that folded and crinkled in as she sipped a warm beer.

Her eyes were drawn sideways as a man entered the bar across the room. A gust of wind blew his clothing with a wild tousle from a passing train, sucked the door shut in a slam. He marched up to the bar, ordered a scotch, threw it back. He slammed the glass down, motioned for another pour. She watched him carefully, one leg crossed over the other at the knee on a high stool.

“Rough Day?” She asked behind a drink.

He made a half nod, slugged back another shot, slammed the glass down again, “Laid off.”

She raised a brow, spoke with a curiously still upper-lip, “Sounds rough to me.”

He cast a glance at her, saw her in full; a hint of arousal tainted the air, as it did with all the men that saw her for the first time. Most never got past the first advance, but something about her said she might let him go further, if not all the way, just for the fun of it.

He leaned on an elbow to face her, “Never seen you here before.”

She gave a sly smile, “I’d imagine I’m here when you’re working.”

He smirked, “Well my the day’s not so rough then. What d’you do then?”

Her mouth made grandiose motions with the words, “This and that.”

He inched along the bar toward her. She could smell the half-erection in his pants, the course of arousal that stank like a high-school boy’s locker room– all testosterone and revving engines. She tilted her head toward it for a silent, subtle whiff. He missed the movement, sensed her interest from the slight glaze of her eyes. In truth, her heightened sense of smell was as much a weakness as a strength– especially when hunting. All she needed was one, minor whiff to trigger the animal inside her.

She tongued her sharpened incisors and canines, kept them hidden from him. They were frightening at first appearance, kinky afterward. The result of a failed attempt to embrace an illness she’d received in her teen years, she’d learned the hard way not to show them prematurely.

He seemed to make a motion, as if to hesitate and ask her permission. She made no protest. He moved forward, allowed by the dulled glaze her thoughts had left in her eyes. Between her heightened senses and her careful evasion of baring her teeth, most of her inner-resources were too occupied to notice him before he’d sidled up beside her in his lean.

He slugged back another shot, eyed her body with a heavier breath than his last. Most would have missed it, even she might have, were she not so intent on remaining focused after the last oversight. The erection was probably full-on by now, or at least as full-on as denim would let it get. Her ultra-attentive eyes flitted downward at a lump, each breath through her nose tinted by his scent.

He ordered another shot with a twist and a wave that shifted the air toward her, bathed her in testosterone and pheromones. Her body trembled, her groin warm. Hot blood flowed through him, but she wanted it hotter, faster. She slid off the chair without volition as the bar-tender slid over shot.

She stopped him from drinking with a quiet lean, whispered into his ear, “I want you.”

The erection was full-on now. She eased back with a long, sensual inhale through her nose. Beneath her leather coat and t-shirt her nipples hardened, panties already wet with anticipation. She slugged back the shot, made eye contact. Her piercing blues swallowed him whole. He swayed after her as she led him out by a hand.

His feet clomped along, leaded by a curious insulation that left him numb to the world, but kept his body fiercely alight. They maneuvered out of the bar and into the alley beside it. It would’ve smelled of piss and trash were it not for the overpowering scents of animal lust. She pulled him to the back wall, the least offensive smelling of its depths. An aggressive shove threw him against the wall. Her hands writhed as her tongue fought to take control of his. He submitted, hand loose against her side as she slid down, ready to swallow him more wholly than before.

When she came back up a few moments later with a long swallow, she kissed up a trail his neck to suck at his collar bone. Then, her tongue skirted his jugular. Numbed by pleasure and confusion, he almost didn’t notice when she her teeth sank in. Hot blood flooded her mouth. A hand grabbed her hair with passion. Then, pain; his eyes went wide, neck struggled against her. He was light-headed by the time he saw his death coming.

She climaxed with loud, wailing moan as his last bits of blood drained from his pale body. She pushed away from the wall, chest heaving. His corpse slid sideways, limp and empty. Her tongue circled her mouth. She swallowed hard, the mixed ambrosia of sweet cum and coppery blood a cocktail of Nirvana. HPPD– Hypovolemic photo-phobia disease– had given her half the recipe, but she’d concocted the rest on her own. It made it all the sweeter to suck them dry before she drained them, once more embraced the term “vampire.” It was a romantic notion of course, she was just another afflicted soul, but whatever she was, she was grateful for it’s gifts.

She returned to the bar, gave the tender there a knowing look. When she sank back into her seat, she lifted her beer to nurse it, only to see a gaggle of men enter ready to drink and party. She tongued her sharpened teeth and once more prepared for the hunt.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Bonus story: Preparing For The Hunt

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s