Feral

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Feral Page 20

by Serafini, Matt


  "It's not all like that."

  "No. Of course not. I forgot about the miserable spouse you'll tire of fucking. The bratty children you'll fool yourself into wanting because you can't bear to face the empty nights alone. People chase these things while conceding their wildest dreams. Maybe you're clinging to the moment where your friends, each and every one of them, ultimately disappoint and abandon you. They'll buy pine boxes of their own, bunker down with sexless spouses while trading their own dreams for a suburban family. Settling while wondering, fantasizing about the life they might've had if they'd just had the courage to take it. You'll see those people less and less, never again in some cases, until you're in your backyard, alone, a can of beer in your fist, wondering when things changed. Because no one ever tells you that they do. Sure you'll have children that you might love, but a part of you, the honest part, will suppress resentment of them. Because maybe you'd be happier had you bothered to spend some more time in the world looking for what you really want? It goes on and on, Allen...the misery. And it does not end. I did not curse you, as you're so passive-aggressively implying. I rescued you."

  "Quite the sales pitch."

  "It is not a sales pitch. I have been alive a lot longer than you. I have seen this happen time and time again. I do not want it for you."

  This was getting messy.

  Allen contemplated the ways in which he could escape—a variation on the whole 'I'm going out for milk or cigarettes' thing. He bounced some ideas off his proverbial wall, though none would stick.

  He'd tried leaving once and it brought him right back. Groundhog Day with werewolves.

  Werewolves.

  No, they don't exist. This is—something else. It had to be.

  Elisabeth stood with her back to him, though her neck was craned. She smiled, but it was impossible to return the gesture. What in the hell was worth smiling about?

  He found his resistance melting, replaced by an urge to go to her. Taste her lips, then everything else. Try as he might, there was no way he wanted to be anywhere but beside her even as Sondra Gleason crept back into his thoughts.

  There was no remorse for the gypsy steak, but the innocent girl, whose only crime had been looking for her parents, haunted him. And it was going to take more than pussy to make him forget.

  What about Molly?

  That churned his guts. He'd spent a lot of time wishing that Molly would go away. Forever. That night in the dorms when she'd pulled her signature attention grab by storming out of Reilly's party in tears, all because Allen claimed she gave a terrible blow job (she didn't, but all was fair in love, war and the break-up).

  After every junior girl had finished berating him, he might've been quoted as saying, "I hope she dies in a car accident on her ride home."

  But he hadn't meant it. It had been late in the evening and his stomach was saturated with cheap college beer. Now that her fate had aligned itself with that earlier wish, at least the end result of it, it was impossible to feel any lower.

  And while his stomach twisted and wrapped itself in regrettable knots over these murders, there was shameful relief in the knowledge that she'd never make his life uncomfortable again.

  He wouldn't confess this to another soul, not even Elisabeth. Not because she wouldn't understand—he was sure that she would—but because it would be acknowledgement of his turning.

  "It gets easier, lover. That's all I wish to say. Believe me."

  He wanted to believe, but every thought brought discomfort. This couldn't hurt any more. He was tired of the guilt.

  She lured him up and they walked in the nude back to her home. The throbbing pain subsided, becoming an inconvenient ache that made Allen wonder if there was hope for him yet.

  He tried getting into the bathroom alone, but Elisabeth wouldn't have it. She fed him a line about "buckling at the knees" in his weakened condition before insisting on being in the room with him. She leaned nude against the pedestal sink, watching him soap off his naked, bruised body.

  He glanced at her, naked and cross-legged, covering her curves with a deliberate pose that might've been natural if not for the woman in question. Her slender arms obscured what would be a satisfying view of perfect tits. The tease was enough to get the blood flowing again. No sense in hiding it, either. She should see how badly he needed it.

  Elisabeth was looking, too. A sideways glance explored his naked, sudsy body. She smirked, enjoying the private show he provided.

  The forceful way that Elisabeth got what she wanted aroused him. Never before had he met a woman worthy of worship. Shame over his bloodied hands swirled down the drain with soapy grime, leaving him newly cleansed of the day's dreadful acts. He stepped out onto the cold tiled floor, staring straight into Elisabeth's calculating eyes.

  What was behind them? It was that aura of mystery that made her so exciting, so alluring. Mystique was a huge part in this attraction and while he needed to know everything there was to learn about Elisabeth Luna, it could wait. He wanted to be a willing subservient to her manipulator.

  "You...are...amazing," he said.

  "Show me."

  He dropped to his knees before his goddess and she uncrossed her legs. He leaned inward toward her hips, brushing against her inner thigh while planting small kisses on an upward trail.

  Elisabeth yanked a handful of his wet hair, tugging it with savagery. His eyes darted over her breasts to find her gaze.

  "Not yet," she said.

  "Yes," he said, steadying his breathing. "I've waited long enough for this."

  "Then let me hear you say it…"

  "I want you," he said and attempted to shake free of her grip.

  She only solidified it, tugging his head harder to keep it angled. He saw a twinge of amused cruelty on her face now. Was this nothing more than a game to her?

  "What do you want, my love?"

  "I want you."

  "No. I said...what do you want?"

  "I want to kiss you. Taste you everywhere. I need it, Elisabeth."

  She released her grip like a satisfied master. He went straight between her legs, massaging her with his tongue. Her body stiffened, trembling with her own anticipation as he danced around the surface, teasing to taste the pink.

  He loved feeling her body shake. She was as into this as he was. Maybe Elisabeth only pretended to wield all the power in this relationship. Maybe there was a way to tip the scales and seize a little control.

  That was the alpha wolf talking.

  He continued his taunt, adamant that she wouldn't get what she needed so soon. She'd made him wait all this time, and he wasn't finished savoring it. All of the sights and smells of being this close, he wanted to experience them all. Slowly.

  Elisabeth exhaled a frustrated sigh of ecstasy while his tongue brushed against her sex.

  She pulled another tuft of hair and guided him to where he needed to go. Allen obliged, tasting her sweet juices on his tongue.

  Her moans grew into far climbing cries, and her muscular thighs locked against his ears. Her hips gyrated in rhythm with his jaw thrusts.

  She slid down off the sink and pulled him up toward her face, slow enough for him to leave kisses across the rest of her body as he climbed to greet her.

  He drank in the rest of the sights offered by her gorgeous body, entirely without flaw. Then he saw her face, vulnerable for the first time. It only made him want her more. Not in lust, there was something more stirring in the center of his chest.

  "Do you love me?" she said between kisses.

  "I love you," he said, panting.

  Tears fell from her eyes, slicking her cheeks and cascading over her lips. Her quivering mouth found composure long enough to ask, "Do you understand why I had to do this to you, then? For you?"

  "Yes."

  "And are you angry with me for doing so?" Her hands tugged the back of his neck, and their eyes locked. Elisabeth's mouth dangled open and her heart raged. She hung on his every word, instilling him with more po
wer than he'd ever had over anyone.

  He couldn't bear to see her like this.

  "I'm not angry," he said. "I don't think I could ever feel that way about you."

  "You're mine now, lover. Say it."

  "I'm yours."

  "Again."

  "I'm yours, Elisabeth."

  It had to be this way. He would give anything to be with her, and if she had no problem doing the things their kind did to survive, there was no reason he couldn't learn to do the same.

  This kind of happiness was worth fighting for.

  They fucked face-to-face on the bathroom floor, their hands gripping every part of each other's bodies with avarice. Beads of sweat formed on their heaving chests, eyes locked in a dead stare as their bodies came together and broke apart in a succinct rhythm scored to inaudible music.

  "I love you," Elisabeth whispered. Their eyes stayed locked. "You feel how wet I am, that's for you. All for you. Now fuck me harder."

  Allen knew from then on that he was never going to leave her.

  ***

  Anton Fane watched Julianna stand before the head-to-ceiling vanity mirror, frantically trying to look pretty for the fast-approaching visitors.

  He balled his hands into iron-locked fists for how much he resented this charade.

  "Do not bother," he said, taking a place beside her.

  But she paid him no mind. "Yeah, I'm going to hustle downstairs to greet them looking like a bloody poser."

  Fane ignored the insubordination. "Whatever you do to yourself, it doesn't matter. You're a mongrel and everybody knows it."

  "Toss off, then," she said. "I've got to look me best. Anything less says more about you than it does me."

  The bitch had a point. Julianna had to look unattainable for the business partners tonight—not to mention the small group of fledglings that were due to be released into the wilderness.

  She had to look the part of a huntress, which meant every single guest had better ogle her at least once. Turning heads wasn't a problem for her. Even in her human getup, she was desirable. Her stark, shoulder length white hair contrasted nicely with her golden brown, perpetually tanned skin. Her breasts were large, but not excessive, and fit nicely in the palms of his hands. Her bum was smoother than a pear, toned and as firm as her ample tits. Those long legs were nicely shaped, infused with just the right amount of muscular definition.

  Fane loathed the gangly form of these fleshbags, but Julianna was undeniably the pinnacle of their kind.

  Besides, she was his own personal doll and he found much enjoyment in watching her build herself up for any such festivity. Having amassed an impressive collection of attire from every corner of the world, her attention to wardrobe was meticulous. So much that he'd commissioned several of the top clothiers around the world to create exclusive outfits tailored to her flawless shape.

  A worthy investment, he thought, watching her slide a crimson red thong into place around her shapely ass.

  There was a knock at their chamber door, but Fane didn't open. The scent belonged to Konstantin.

  "A car just passed the gatehouse. It's Eastman."

  Fane placed a powerful hand on Julianna's bottom and caressed it with appreciation.

  "You're right, you know. I want you to look your best. You will be the envy of everyone, man or woman, at tonight's ceremony."

  "Right, then," she said, brushing dark eyeliner under her carefully tweezed brow. Her hands worked with a surgeon's precision.

  Fane threw a robe around his physique and stepped into the hallway, looking down at Konstantin.

  "Keep your eyes open, sentry. After what happened to your brother and the others, I don't want any mistakes. These next few days are going to be very important."

  The sentry nodded and led Fane down the dimly lit corridor, through an ornate pair of double doors leading out onto an opulent balcony overlooking the grand hallway.

  Rory Eastman stood against the door in a threadbare button-down shirt, but his disheveled appearance didn't stop there. A stream of gauze wrapped about his head, masking his right eye, which was stained with an expansive circle of crimson. His receding hairline was ruffled and his breathing hadn't yet returned to normal from whatever had worked him up.

  Admittedly, it was worth seeing him drop by to see him in such disarray.

  "Please, Anton. I need your help."

  "You're supposed to be in the city with our partners, Eastman. Do not tell me that you can't handle the simple task for which I've enlisted your services."

  Eastman looked exhausted and he waved the comment away. "It's nothing like that, we accomplished what you wanted. But..."

  "So you found me somewhere that will work?"

  "Your friends took me all over the city scouting locations, and I've got the perfect one...a private place down by the docks. I'll be signing the preliminary paperwork with my loan officer in the morning. We even have someone we can set up as a manager...he won't ask a single question, and we'll be in business."

  "Good," Fane said, no longer able to mask his contempt. "But I think we will use my own people for this."

  Eastman's eye was glazed, staring up at the chandelier as though it were a rocket from the future. Fane wanted to refrain from asking what happened, as he didn't much care, but Rory Eastman was instrumental in purchasing the property in question. He'd have to stay alive for a little longer, at least. If they needed to hire someone for the front office charade, so be it. There was no rule stating that he wouldn't meet with an unfortunate end once the deal was done.

  "Tell me what happened."

  "My daughter," he said and coughed. "I fed on her." His face was anguished and Fane couldn't tell if it was out of tortured remorse or merely physical pain. Knowing what he knew of Rory Eastman, he guessed the latter.

  "And when you did, she fought back, is that it?"

  A shameful nod.

  The truth was that Rory Eastman wasn't fit to run with any pack, let alone his. He was a lecherous man, and that wouldn't have been a detriment if he weren't also spineless and stupid. A father's lust for his daughter was nothing new, but it became a problem when it called unneeded attention to Greifsfield.

  Fane patted him with contempt. "You're in pain, Eastman. I thought I explained that all of this will pass in no time?"

  "But my eye," his voice was dominated by sobs. "She destroyed it."

  "It too will return. You're varcolac and therefore do not suffer the indignity of human frailty. Why don't we do this...go upstairs and get cleaned up. I'm having a gathering in the early morning hours. The last round of resort guests that my people identified have been here with me for a few days, enjoying their stay in my, ahem, wine cellar. I want to give the newest among us the thrill of the hunt without sending them into the wild. All they have to do is go downstairs to find their pick of will-be victims. I find it breeds confidence if their first kill goes off without a hitch. So what do you say to having a little fun later?"

  Eastman grinned like a kid in a candy store. "No problem, boss. I had a big night planned with the daughter, but maybe she should cool off in my trunk for a while still."

  Seven

  Jack felt like an Agatha Christie character. All around him, people were disappearing without a trace. Not just friends, either. According to Officer Sean West, Sheriff Trever Ingram was on sick leave as of Friday morning.

  "He said he was going to check in with me. This was two nights ago." The Greifsfield Sheriff's Office was considerably less depressing in daylight hours. It pulsed with regular office sounds: a humming printer, ringing phones and idle chitchat.

  The door leading to Sheriff Ingram's office was closed with the shade drawn.

  The officer behind the front desk was more interested in an issue of Outdoor Hunting Magazine than being of any real help. He dropped his head into the palm of his hand and swiveled his eyes, stopping just short of an eye roll.

  "What was this regarding?"

  "The Big East. I was staying
there until two nights ago. Someone broke into my room and..."

  "Oh yeah." Officer West's attention fell back to the article listing the best ways to preserve venison. "Sheriff Ingram took that up with resort management on Friday. His Deputy, Collins, wrote that report up last night."

  "Was he going to alert me? I brought it to the department’s attention."

  "Sheriff's sick."

  "Ah, so you're saying he's out sick?"

  Officer West didn't appear to register the sarcasm. "Here's what happened. Your follow-up call must've slipped through the cracks."

  "Great. I think that clears everything up."

  "Here's what else we know. The town drunk over in Cheshire tried sneaking onto resort grounds thinking he'd break into some of the more secluded cottages and rob them blind. That's about all I can say, but go ahead back to your vacation now. Ain't nothing else to worry about."

  "Missing friends?"

  "Who's missing? No reports have been filed. Says right here your buddy's shacked up with one Elisabeth Luna. And if Mr. Eastman thinks his daughter's missing, he'll put a call in directly."

  "You're right...I guess I can rest easy."

  "Look, Deputy Collins spoke to Assistant Manager Davies yesterday. The resort agreed that the best thing to do would be to pile on some extra security. You folks won't be able to take a shit without passing through a security checkpoint up there."

  "Case closed, huh?"

  "As far as you know, guy. You can sleep safely tonight, rest assured. Got something else I can do for you?"

  Under other circumstances, he would've pressed harder on Lucy's disappearance. It wouldn't do any good to put them on Molly's trail since that pederast, Balthazar Davies, had most likely covered her trail. At this point, the best option was to sit down with Rory Eastman and have him get people to look for his daughter. Lucy wouldn't want that, but the guy had the resources to get things done. What other choice was there?

  Jack gave Officer West the emptiest 'thank you' he had and exited the station, burdened with dread. Roughly ninety minutes of daylight remained in the day and he planned to be off the streets long before sunset.

 

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