Barry was back in the main seating area by the stages with Anya in his lap, her tongue in his ear. He glanced back to see Paul crossing the room with the dancer from earlier.
“Barry, I’m going to go with—”
“I know. I’m coming too.”
“This will be a night neither one of you will forget,” said Viktoriya, flashing a sultry grin.
Barry was certain she was right.
* * *
At the house on the edge of town, Barry and Anya didn’t waste any time with small talk. Anya began disrobing as they walked through the front door. Viktoriya and Paul strolled leisurely behind them, her hand clenched on Paul’s ass and her mouth whispering lurid promises into his ear.
Inside, Anya grabbed Barry tightly in her arms, and they drifted up the stairs, making out furiously as she undid his pants. Upstairs, she flung open a door and pushed Barry into a bedroom already lit with candles. Anya shoved him into a chair and mounted him as the door slowly closed behind them. Barry was excited to pick up where their lap dance had left off at the club.
She started nuzzling her face against his neck, her tongue flicking against his skin, teeth nibbling. As she leaned forward, he felt his penis slip through the fly in his boxer briefs and the tip shift into her wetness. Without a thought, he slammed his body into hers, sinking himself into that hot wetness that he so desired.
As he drove himself into Anya, she lost control as well.
With a gasp as Barry hit the spot, she sank her teeth into the side of his neck, preparing to take the pleasure that outshone the heat in her crotch. Barry bucked against the sensation, inadvertently slamming himself harder into Anya.
This was Anya's favorite, hot rough sex combined with feeding. As she felt his blood hit her tongue, she knew she would come soon. She continued bucking on Barry's cock, worrying his neck like a hound.
The sudden agony of the razor sharp teeth ripping away at the side of his neck snapped Barry out of his ecstasy. He went limp, slipping from inside Anya.
He grabbed her under her arms and pushed the ravaging bitch away. Although his muscles rippled with the strain, she barely moved. Her lithe frame belied the massive strength her limbs possessed. She tightened her arms and legs around Barry, burying her face in his neck again.
He tried to break free, straining against the inhuman power. Realizing this tactic wasn't working, he tried a different idea. Barry planted his feet against the floor and pushed with all his might.
The chair tipped backward, taking its occupants off balance. As the chair went past the apex of its track, the legs, not made for the weight of the two, buckled and broke free, spilling the pair to the floor.
Anya released her grasp on her prey, as the momentum brought their combined weight down onto her arms and legs. She sprung to her feet, a snarl escaping her lips as she saw her dinner recovering its own feet.
Barry snatched up a piece of the wooden chair, wielding it like a club, as he circled away from Anya. He looked at the bitch that bit him like a dog. She had a look on her face, as if this was some kind of bad joke.
The feral blonde was beyond displeased that her meal was fighting back. She opened her mouth wide, so much wider than what should’ve been anatomically possible, reminiscent of a snake unhinging its jaw.
Her fangs descended.
These were not your classic pointy canines, though. Semi-circular ridges of serrated bone dropped from sockets in front of her normal teeth. The effect was not unlike the mouth of a shark. The sight was enough to turn Barry's blood to ice.
The blonde beast flung herself at him. Rather than trying to dodge, he swung the chair leg like a bat, swinging for the wall. The wood struck the stripper in the face.
Barry felt a cracking sound run through his hands, unsure if it was the wood or her skull. There was also a burning in his chest as her sharp nails ripped through his white cotton shirt, raking the skin of his chest. They sliced open the face of the demon etched in his skin, drawing more blood.
Anya fell to the floor with a howl, shocked that this mortal could cause so much pain. These locals didn't even think to fight back, let alone do it with such force. She whipped her head, glaring at Barry from a kneeling position. Barry drew back with his improvised club and swung underhanded with all his might. Anya's left hand shot out, catching the end of the wood. The fracture in the wood that started on the impact with her face doubled as it struck her hand. Barry lost his balance, falling forward toward the source of the burning in his neck and the wetness on his shoulder.
The splintered remnants of his club were driven by two hundred pounds of muscle into Anya's chest. Just as he had forcibly driven his member deep into Anya's body earlier, he now drove this hard shaft deep into her black heart as he turned out her lights.
A dying shriek escaped her serrated mouth before she became still.
Realizing what he had done, Barry panicked. He pulled up his pants and ran out the door, but hearing the shouts of Viktoriya ahead, he ducked into the next room.
With a burst of luck, it was empty. He closed the door as quickly and quietly as he could. He stood with his ear to the door, waiting for the right moment.
He heard Viktoriya calling for Anya as she passed by. She sounded pissed. He most definitely did not want to be here when she found the mess he’d left.
When he heard the door of the room containing the dead thing slam open, Barry opened the door and bolted for the front. He saw Paul peeking in the hallway, holding his pants up by his waist and looking confused.
He grabbed Paul by the arm as he passed, taking note that Paul’s shirt was as damaged as his own. Paul snapped out of his stupor with the force of Barry snatching his arm.
They hit the stairs as horrible shrieks and the shrill cries of demons filled the house. The pair passed through the front door and disappeared into the pitch black of night.
* * *
Viktoriya ran to Anya's side, pulling her upward, hoping beyond hope that she had survived the stupid American's attack. Anya's body, limp and cold in her arms, was beyond recovery. Viktoriya even tried to feed her some of her own potent blood, shredding the skin of her own wrist with her wicked teeth. However, there was no response from Anya's still corpse.
Viktoriya dropped the body to the floor and spun around, desperately looking for retribution, but there was no one in sight. She left the body behind her as she flew to the front of the house, looking for the bald drunk and his friend. They were nowhere in sight.
The front door was ajar.
She knew where they would go. Paul had told her everything she needed.
* * *
They ran as hard as they could, for as long as they could. About five blocks over and two down, they stopped to catch their breath. Barry was also starting to get lightheaded, a combination of blood loss and the adrenalin wearing off. His shredded shirt was soaked with his blood, pulling away with a sickly sensation with every sudden movement.
"Stay here." Paul pushed Barry into the shadows of an alley. "I need to find out how to get back to the hotel." Barry staggered back against the rough brick, his hand pressed to his neck, hoping to staunch the blood flow.
Paul glanced back over his shoulder at Barry as he headed off. Amusingly, the blood that stained Barry's ruined shirt, as well as the black and white tattoo under it, helped camouflage him in the shadows.
Paul looked for an open shop, but was disappointed to find there were none open at this late hour. Once he got a block away, he found an older man, obviously in his cups, staggering down the street. He slowed his stride as he neared the drunk.
"Mi scusi. Speak English?"
The old man looked at Paul through bleary eyes, as if trying to place his face. He shook his head, understanding enough to know he didn't understand after all.
"Derosso Grande?" Paul waved his arms, trying to get the codger to get his meaning.
"Derosso Grande? Due," as he pointed in the direction Paul had come from, "tre," toward the right.
"Two up and three over?"
The old man nodded. "Due e tre."
Paul took the old man's hand in his own, feeling how thin and creased it was, and shook it firmly. He turned back in the direction he had left Barry and darted down the street.
The old man watched him leave and then thought to himself, Poor American. Doesn't he know the Derosso Grande is run by vampires?
* * *
Viktoriya stalked out the front door of the house. She sniffed the air. The scent of blood was strong. She glanced back at her children, gathering behind her with vengeance in their eyes.
Viktoriya growled. "These two humans killed Anya. Spread out. Find them. They’re heading back to the Derosso Grande.”
The undead whores flew out into the night with cries of bloodlust, their eyes glowing in the darkness, searching for their prey. They scented out the splashes of the bald American's blood on the pavement. There was quite a bit of it.
If only the human hadn't gotten that lucky blow in on Anya, she would have been feasting on him right now while the local men all but begged for the same treatment.
Viktoriya reached down, touching a spot of crimson on a stone, and brought the precious fluid up to her nose. She inhaled deeply, cherishing the scent before licking her finger clean.
She looked up the street ahead of her, knowing full well where he would be going. Any other night, stalking her prey would be a fine activity. On this night, she just wasn't in the mood.
* * *
Paul found Barry slumped on the ground, leaning against the wall behind a trash bin. He was afraid that it was already too late, but he steeled himself to learn for sure. He reached out and shook Barry.
A muscular arm swatted his hand away. Even weakened as Barry was, that smack hurt. Paul underestimated the power his roommate possessed. Now he understood how Barry was able to kill that thing so easily. He thought about it for a second and realized the proper name for the blonde was vampire. Not the romantic sparkly things that were all the rage these days. Sure, they were seductive, but those were the teeth of a ravenous predator, a creature whose only reason for existence was to consume.
"Come on. We need to get back to the hotel. I think it will be safer there."
Barry looked up at him, his left hand still firmly pressed against the gash in the side of his neck. He was lucky beyond belief that when the whore bit him, she didn't hit any major blood vessels. He would have already bled out, long before reaching this nice spot in the shadows. As it was, his normally olive complexion was now washing out to an ashen tone.
Paul grasped Barry's right hand and helped him to his feet. He looked at the reality star, so far from his star-strewn walks in New York, reduced to a pale bleeding mess on the streets of Italy.
"I found out where the hotel is. It's just another block up and three that way." He pointed off to his right. "Let's get inside now!"
Barry nodded his agreement, wincing as the action opened the scabbing on his neck, allowing a trickle of blood to seep past his fingers.
The two continued on the relatively short path to the Derosso Grande, feeling as if they were running a marathon. In reality, they were running a much harder and damaging race than any marathon.
They were running for their very lives.
* * *
Viktoriya met up with a local girl they had turned when they arrived in Derosso. She was a stunning brunette with some of the longest legs seen off a runway. Her white blouse was opened quite low, showing off her ample assets pouring over the cups of a black lace bra.
"Cristina, you know where the Americans are, do you not?" She needed to make certain her children were as observant as she.
"They are staying at the Derosso Grande. I watched them arrive earlier this evening."
"Good, because we are taking them tonight. All of them. Well, all but one, perhaps. I have not decided that one's fate just yet. The rest are on their way now. We will join up with them and attack as one."
"Why so soon? I thought we were going to let them settle into the ways of the village for a few days first." Cristina looked a bit perplexed by Viktoriya's decision.
"The one with the tattoos, the muscular one, killed Anya like a beast in the forest. She was only trying to gain some sustenance, and he slaughtered her. That is why they all must die!"
Cristina's eyes went wide in shock at the news her sister was dead, brutally murdered by this human. Then, they narrowed in rage as she quietly swore to herself that none would survive the night.
The two women, luscious in appearance, vicious in action, stalked up the cobblestone lane, closing the distance to the hotel. They would await their sisters’ arrival before approaching the hotel directly.
* * *
Paul half-carried Barry as they neared the hotel, the once powerful man weak from blood loss. Both men were looking rapidly about them, hoping that Viktoriya wouldn’t find them.
The hotel's doorman saw them approaching and, thinking they were drunk, held the door open. When they entered the circle of light cast by the overhead bulbs, he saw their blood-soaked clothing and his eyes went wide. He knew this was going to be bad. Once they were through and on their way to the rooms, Carlo left his post during his shift for the first time since he started the job fifteen years ago.
The walk down the long hallway seemed interminable. Paul leaned Barry in the corner of a doorway every so often to catch his breath. As they made progress down the long passageway, Barry became more riled up, as if the proximity to their room was giving him clarity. By the time they reached their door, Barry was standing up without assistance, still holding pressure on his neck, pacing about the hallway.
"Paul, we need to get into the room and lock it up!"
"I get it! I saw them too, you know."
Paul pulled the room key out and, after a few failed attempts, opened the door to their room and pushed Barry in, slamming the door behind them.
"What the fuck did you do? What did you do?"
"I had to! She turned into a fucking monster! A fucking she-bitch monster!"
"Now they’ll be looking for us, you asshole!"
"Hey, man, she fucking bit me! What was I supposed to do?"
They heard a slamming sound from the hallway, quickly followed by a pounding on the door. Both heads whipped around, staring at the door, praying it wasn't one of those things.
"Who the fuck is that?"
“It’s Lucy. You guys are waking the dead with your racket!”
Paul rushed to open the door and saw the attractive woman before him, looking more than a little irate. She took in the sight before her, noting his ripped shirt and how it was soaked through with sweat. It didn't matter to him though. He had more to worry about than what some bitch on a trip thought of him.
“Why did you say that?”
“What?”
“Why did you say we woke the dead? Why did you fucking say that?”
“Oh my God, are you on something?”
“Close that fucking door! You’ll let them in!” Barry shouted at Lucy and Paul.
“Let who in?”
Paul reached out, glanced up and down the hallway, and dragged her into the room. He started to slam the door but noticed Jenna standing outside their door as well.
“What is this, a fucking convention? Get in here!”
Jenna followed them into the room as Paul slammed the door behind her, looking through the peephole.
“What are you guys—” Lucy was obviously confused by what was going on. Paul was hoping they wouldn't have to explain, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't get an option.
Jenna clutched her arm with a shaking hand.
“Lucy, look at Barry.”
They saw the state Barry was in, his shirt covered in brownish coagulated blood, shredded in the front. He still kept his hand on his neck, just in case the bleeding hadn't stopped completely.
“Barry, are you all right?”
“Do I fucking look all right to y
ou, Lucy?”
“What happened?”
Paul shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself. "That strip club, Feral Hearts…we had a few drinks, I had a few lap dances, and next thing we know, we’re back at this house on the edge of town and this blonde bitch was gnawing on Barry's neck like a fucking vampire.”
“What do you mean vampire?”
“I’m telling you, Lucy, they were fucking vampires! I killed the bitch that bit me.” Barry was getting worked up even more by the conversation. He started pacing back and forth frantically.
Lucy put her hands on her hips. “Paul, did he take anything while you were at that club?”
He looked at Lucy, unable to believe she had suggested it. “If he did, then I took the same drug myself.”
Lucy was incredulous. “So you murdered a stripper? We have to go to the police.”
“No! No police!” Barry charged across the room and got in Lucy's face. “They’ll throw me in jail, and then they’ll definitely get me!” His neck was starting to leak blood again as his pressure went through the roof.
Paul approached the pair, shaking his head. “You heard Stefania. The police are in on the whole thing anyway. We’re fucked.”
Jenna noticed movement on the street across the large expanse of grass outside the window as shapes gathered on the rough stone surface.
“Uh, Lucy, I think you should see this.”
“See what?”
“Just come over here.” Jenna's face was ashen with the realization of what was happening.
“They’re here? They’re fucking here? They found us! We’re fucked!” Barry was losing any semblance of control, screaming, waving his arms around.
Lucy ignored this, walking around him, and took in the sight outside the window.
The small plaza in front of the hotel was full with a large group of women, their lithe bodies barely covered with skimpy garments. They showed more skin, pale skin, than would be acceptable on the streets of America. All of their eyes were glowing a sinister crimson, the color of blood made light.
Feral Hearts Page 25
