Behind him came the sound of frantic footsteps.
Tony turned, his shotgun pointed back the way he had come, convinced more of the vampyres were coming and determined to take some of those fucking bitches with him.
Two figures turned into the alley where he was crouched.
Tony raised the shotgun and aimed.
“Stop!” Paul shouted, raising his arms. “Don’t shoot. We’re human!”
“Who the fuck are you?” The former Police Chief of Derosso abruptly demanded.
Paul stood his ground defiantly. “Me? Who the fuck are you?”
* * *
Paul always had a keen sense of direction for as long as he could remember. Even placed in a town or a city he didn’t know, somehow he could always easily find his way around. It was like he had some kind of sixth fucking sense or something.
Paul had first discovered his talent when he had been about twelve or thirteen. He and some local kids had been playing down in Thetford Forest, when the others had all decided to play a cruel and nasty trick on him. Teaming together, the group had taken their little rich friend deep into the forest and abandoned him, thinking it might be funny if he managed to get lost.
All of them were shocked and surprised when Paul made it back out of the forest to their bikes before the rest of them. They knew nothing of his talents, and as Paul grew, he kept it that way.
Paul could not explain how it worked. It was like he had some kind of internal compass built inside of him or something.
A pity it never turned out to be a moral compass, Paul thought, then suddenly realized they were travelling a person light.
“Shit, where’s Lucy?” Paul asked. He had been so lost in his thoughts and concentrating on where it was they were going that he hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
Angela shrugged.
“Did you not even see where she went?” Paul asked her.
Angela shook her head.
“Fuck, we need to go back!” Paul said and turned to head back the way they’d come.
“No time,” Angela told him and, indeed, Paul could hear the fevered cries and squeals of the vampyres and their revenant pets closing in on their position.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“How much further?” Angela asked.
“Just around the next couple of corners,” Paul replied. “I think.”
“Then come on. She’s a big girl. She can manage on her own. Knowing Lucy, she’ll probably try to psychoanalyze them to death or something.” Angela grabbed him by the hand and started pulling him away from the sounds of pursuit.
They turned the next few corners in a hurry. To Paul, everything had become a blur as he began to lose his focus.
As they turned into a back street that he hoped would lead them round to the rear of the police station, a solitary figure in the alley stood and aimed a shotgun in their direction.
“Stop!” Paul shouted, raising his arms. “Don’t shoot. We’re human!”
* * *
“My name’s Paul, and this is Angela. We’re kind of…tourists. We came to Derosso on a …sight-seeing holiday.” For some reason Paul didn’t feel comfortable revealing he was on a singles holiday, especially after the way things had turned out tonight.
“Well you picked a fine time to visit,” Tony Forelli told them. “A really perfect fucking time. Welcome to Derosso, folks. Please enjoy your stay.” “You’re telling me,” Paul said in agreement with Tony’s sarcasm. “What the fuck is up with this town? It’s like 30 days of fucking night out there!”
His eyes flew to the two corpses lying in the alleyway.
One of them looked to be a vampyre from the sharp talons she was exhibiting. Paul thought he recognized the other from the bus, even with half her throat and her heart ripped out.
Suddenly he realized who she was.
“Oh crap,” Paul muttered.
The man, who still hadn’t identified himself to them but seemed to display a strong sense of authority, turned to look at what Paul was staring at. Paul thought he knew who he was too. If his suspicions were correct, then this was the Police Chief and the dead woman on the floor was the guy’s mother, who Paul had spoken rudely to on the bus.
Angela quickly sprang forward and savagely attacked the stranger with her cleaver. Her first blow opened up his stomach, causing his guts and intestines to fall to the floor. As he collapsed to the floor, his face frozen in shock, Angela swung her cleaver up in a back-hand and promptly broke his jaw.
The man, who Paul had quite rightly identified as the Chief of Police, was dying. Tony barely had a chance to register what was happening before Angela was upon him, savagely ripping at him and biting him and feasting on his flesh.
Paul turned away, sickened.
“What. The. Fuck. Angela?” Paul could not fully comprehend what it was he was actually seeing. Shit. Was Angela one of the monsters? Since when?
“Actually, Angela died some time ago,” Viktoryia said, stepping out of the shadows and into the alley.
As the vampyre on the floor before him raised her head, Paul could see she no longer looked anything like Angela. Her features had changed. Now she looked exactly like what she was, one of the stripper girls he’d seen at the club.
“Nina, here, is one of our strongest mimics. She can take on different forms, cloud human minds, for far much longer and more effectively than any of us. Actually, I’m quite jealous.
“She killed Angela and fed upon her a couple of hours ago and has been maintaining your friend’s identity ever since. It was her job to bring you to me if all my other attempts to snare you failed.”
Viktoryia stepped forward before Paul could move back, away from her. Her fist lashed out and smacked him full and hard in the face, almost breaking his jaw the way he’d attempted to do with her earlier. In agony, he fell to the floor.
Quickly Viktoryia was upon him, her hot breath breathing close in his ear. “That was for earlier, and this…this is for what we never had a chance to finish…”
With one hand, Viktoryia tilted his head back, granting her access to his throat. She began to slowly and sensually lick and caress it with her tongue. Paul could feel her lips brushing against him. Despite himself, he was getting incredibly aroused.
There were a thousand reasons why he should be afraid, but all he felt was turned on. Her other hand slipped down to his crotch and began to tease and play with what she found there. Despite the terror and adrenaline coursing through him, Paul was erect and bulging in his trousers.
As she unzipped his fly and pulled out his straining erection, Paul felt Viktoryia’s slick wetness between her own legs, slipping down and gripping him tight. Dipping her head, Viktoriya buried her fangs into his neck as she mounted him and rode him to climax.
Warm, hot blood filled her mouth as she drank deep. She kissed it back into Paul’s own mouth in a coppery and bloody caress.
Paul was lost in sexual pleasure like he’d never known before. Finally, he was hers, the bond and connection between the two of them made complete.
As Viktoryia continued to feed, bringing Paul to the very edges of death, around them Derosso continued to burn to the ground. Viktoryia didn’t care. She was done with this shitty little town.
It was time to move on.
* * *
Paul Clarkson shielded his eyes as he emerged from the terminal into bright light and prepared to board the plane that would finally take him home.
Fuck, he thought, that was one hell of a dream back there in the boarding lounge. It must have been inspired by the news reports on the screens in the airport about the town of Derosso burning to the ground in a forest fire. Shit, I’d only been there a few days before.
His memories of the last few days in Derosso were all hazy, a good sign that he had probably had a good time. His neck throbbed where, at some point, one of his many conquests must have bit him.
Fuck it, Paul had decided. The old man can keep his fucking money!
> The other passengers sitting in first class were a strange bunch, Paul noted. Mostly smart, sexy business women, but all of them for some bizarre reason wearing crimson shades.
All of them, as one, made a point of looking up and staring at him as he climbed aboard the plane. Though in some ways it was kind of flattering, Paul also found himself feeling more than just a little bit unnerved by this.
Suddenly, Paul felt a wave of panic coursing through his body as he recognized some of the faces and the true memories of his recent holiday started to bleed through the fog currently inhabiting his brain.
Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. It wasn’t a dream, he thought. He turned to flee, find a stewardess, and get the hell off of this flight before it could depart, but a cool hand on his shoulder stopped him from escaping.
Behind him stood Viktoriya, likewise clothed in sexy business attire, quite literally dressed to kill. Crimson tinted glasses shielded her eyes, just like all the other women in this section of the plane, and her lips shone with a lip gloss Paul thought he recognized as Blood Crave.
It was the same shade that Jenna had been wearing just before she died. Thoughts of all the others who had been at the resort with him sent a shiver coursing down his spine. Of all of them who had arrived there in Derosso, Paul was the only one who left alive.
He was no longer sure which of them had gotten the better deal…
Relax Sweetie, Paul heard, as much in his mind as with his ears. You’re mine now. Everything is fine. We belong together. Wherever you go, I‘ll find you, so you may as well just stay here with me.
Paul tried to scream but found the words, the very breath, stolen from his lips as Viktoryia took his head in both hands and kissed him. Hard. Her tongue slipping deep between his lips and into his warm, wet mouth.
Viktoriya was right. There was no escape for him anymore. The two of them were connected. He had become her human servant whether he liked it or not.
Wherever he went from now on, Viktoryia would follow…
Paul had never felt so trapped and helpless in his life.
Silently, he took a seat and sat down in the plane. A moment later, he felt his mind and thoughts start to cloud once more.
This was his life now. He supposed the sooner he accepted it, the happier he would be.
Epilogue
Kitten stepped out of the shower in her hotel room, toweled herself off, and sipped at a vodka and cranberry juice as she donned a soft, silky robe provided thoughtfully by the hotel.
It had been a rough week this week with modeling assignments up and down the whole of Rome, and she’d barely had a chance to have five minutes to herself. She was looking forward to heading back home and trying to relax for a few days before she had to start back at work back in the good ol’ US of A.
She hoped she might hear something from that guy she met on the plane this week on her flight over here (Barney…Harry…Barry. That was it.) but had heard nary a word. She hoped he was okay. She saw on the news that the resort he had been staying in burnt to the ground. So far, his name was not listed, that she had seen, on any of the reports of those who were found dead and identified.
A dull knock sounded at her door,
“I didn’t order room service,” Kitten began as she moved to open the bedroom door. It was the third time this week someone had tried to deliver things to her door. During her stay here, Kitten had become a minor celebrity. A strong hand pushed against it before she could reach it, breaking the chain, as a very disheveled and burnt smelling Barry burst into her room.
“Barry…Barry? I was just… just thinking of you. My God, are you all right?”
Barry stared at her with dull, flat eyes. Almost dead in fact. There was not the merest hint of recognition or sparkle in his gaze.
Barry smiled, and his grin revealed a mouth lined with teeth, way too many teeth. Sharp teeth.
Kitten tried to scream but it was already too late.
Barry pounced on her and quickly tore out her throat as he attempted to satisfy the insane hunger running through his veins.
Have to feed, he thought. I need flesh and blood. I neeed to feeeed…..
Barry buried his mouth deep within Kitten’s neck and began to rip and tear and chew. Kitten died in seconds.
But Barry was still hungry.
Leaving Kitten’s body where it lay on the carpet, Barry left her room and headed next door.
Abandoned to her fate, Kitten opened her eyes.
God, she suddenly felt hungry…
Chapter 14
Alternate Ending #4
Bury The Needle
Michael Fisher
Barry watched Paul go into the back with the stripper. He knew full well what happens in the champagne room. They (the staff) always said there was no sex in the champagne room, but Barry had gotten more ass in the VIP rooms in this kind of place than they would have the public believe.
He turned his attention back to the stage, taking notice of a tattooed blonde off to the side. He went to raise his beer to his lips only to remember that he was still holding that bimbo's cocktail. He looked at it closely. It wasn't the sparkling scarlet of a vodka and cranberry, nor was it the opaque red of a Bloody Mary. It had the thickness of watered-down syrup.
Fuck it, he thought, as he brought the straw in the drink to his lips. He figured that he had already spent enough in this dump. He might as well get a free drink. Drawing deeply on the straw, his mouth was filled with a flavor that reminded him of fruit juice from a tin can. The sweet, cloying taste had a background metallic flavor. Maybe the mixer came from a can. It was sweeter than he normally liked. He usually preferred the oaky flavor of a good scotch or the crisp burn of vodka. However, it was a free drink, and you don't turn away free booze.
As he took a couple more pulls on the straw, he noticed the blonde with the ink was looking right at him. A wicked grin split her face. He had seen that look many times before, usually before one of the many vapid groupies would try their best to rock his world.
Sometimes they succeeded.
He looked back at her and returned her smile, experience backing it up. Barry had done more sexually in his twenty-four years than most guys did their entire lives. The stripper's eyes narrowed, almost as if she could truly see what she had in her sights. A predator of a different sort, one of emotions.
An old man sitting in front of the stage was waving a twenty euro bill at her, hoping to get her attention. She simply waved it off, as she hopped down from the stage and crossed the room, a panther stalker its prey.
Barry's eyes never left the blonde's. Tracking her progress, his smile became wider. He continued sipping the peculiar drink. His taste buds adjusted to the sickly-sweet flavor, and he was now enjoying the taste. The last dregs of the drink slurped up as the dancer stopped in front of Barry. The straw fell from his mouth as he realized that he may have finally met his match, a sexual being to outshine his own bright light.
She reached out her right hand, her long thin fingers gently grasping the glass, and she set it on the table. All the while, the fingers of her left hand stroked his cheek and neck, teasing that sensitive spot just below his ear. He nuzzled his cheek against her hand. Her skin was so warm and inviting, pulling him toward her. His eyes never left hers until the feeling became so strong, he couldn't help but close his eyes to block out the rest of the club.
Once his eyes closed, Anya's smile changed, shifting from a seductive grin to a hungry slash, her lips parting to show her wicked teeth, sharper than any normal human should possess. She knew she was to follow the usual plan. Take the tourists who decided that wandering into Feral Hearts was a great idea back to the house where they would be kept and harvested.
Barry's eyes flashed open as he felt the stripper straddle his lap. He hadn't paid for a lap dance, so he leaned back to enjoy the ride.
"So, can I interest you in more?" Her thick Russian accent, with a touch of a lisp, made it so much sexier. Barry figured that this dance was k
ind of like the taste that a drug dealer gives away, to hook future addicts. Obviously, it worked, judging by all the locals taking up the seats.
She ground her pelvis against Barry's groin, the heat of her body causing a reaction in his. He was stiffening under the attention she was giving him.
“Would you like…more?”
“Hell yeah, I want more. Is there a VIP room we can use?”
She stood and, taking Barry by the hand, led him down a dim hallway, lit by scarlet lights which barely allowed him to see where he was being led. He absentmindedly stroked himself through his trousers as they walked. He wanted to be ready when they got there.
Anya twisted the old brass knob, allowing entry to a small room outfitted with a small wooden table and chair, as well as a red sofa. It wasn’t for watching TV (he knew that from experience).
Anya pushed Barry down into the simple, straight-backed chair and resumed her attention. He smiled widely as she continued grinding against his pulsating bulge. Anya reached down between their bodies and unzipped Barry's fly, allowing his organ more room to be teased.
Barry shivered at the touch of her warm hand as she freed him from the fabric prison. She slid forward on his lap, the softness of her skin and the thong she wore tantalizing him further. He felt the cleft of her lips parting under the fabric, stroking his throbbing erection between them. The heat of her body was driving him crazy, making him throw what little self-control he currently had out the window.
So close, Barry thought. All it takes is for her thong to slip to the side, just enough, and I'll be fucking her right here, like so many of the others. This one is different. God, her pussy is so hot, the hottest I have ever felt.
Barry started returning the attention, thrusting himself against her, feeling the wetness soaking through the cloth, sliding against his skin. It drove Barry even wilder, making him thrust away with abandon. He could feel the cloth moving…
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