by Sky Winters
“Geez, kid. Do you have any idea what this means?”
“I think she does,” said Moroz. “And so do you, if you want to stay with our little organization.”
Shaking his head, Michael trotted down the small set of stairs in the middle of the room, his belly jiggling with each footfall.
“I know, I know,” he said, pulling his pistol from his holster.
“And use the wood-tipped bullets,” said Artem, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the white marble pillars. “We don’t know how far along her little transformation has gone.”
“Fine, fine,” said Michael, pulling the magazine out of his gun and switching it with a different one that he took from within his beige jacket pocket.
The magazine in place, he finished his walk over to Miranda.
“Geez, kid. I hate to have it end like this, but you kinda made your bed here, you know?” he said, looking at Miranda with pity.
Miranda stared him down while attempting to pull apart the chains that bound her hands behind the chair. The strength that she felt from before was still there- more present, even. As she pulled her wrists away from one another, she could feel the metal pull, as though it were made of taffy.
“Just get it over with,” said Miranda, staring him down, her attention on the loosening bindings.
Michael sighed, lifted the pistol, and aimed it at Miranda’s face.
“Best of luck in the next life, kiddo,” he said, the hammer of the gun pulling back with a metallic click.
But just at that moment, the chains snapped, and Miranda’s hands were free. Tilting the chair to the side, she focused her mind, and time once again seemed to slow down. But instead of simply feeling as though her reflexes were faster, time almost crawled. The vampires in the room moved in slow motion, and she could see Michael’s face shift into a raised-eyebrow expression of surprise as he witnessed Miranda’s escape.
Hitting the ground on her side, the marble floor hard and cool, she pulled the chains binding her legs with her now-free hands. She watched in shock as she moved at a normal speed while the world around her proceeded at a slow draw of a pace. She ran towards Michael while cocking her fist back, and drove it into his stomach, the soft girth yielding easily to her fist. But before he could react to the blow, she grabbed Michael’s wrist and yanked the pistol from his hand.
Miranda felt the strain of moving so quickly drain her by the second, and realized that she wouldn’t be able to maintain the speed at which she was moving for long. She focused, raised the pistol and took aim at the first of the vampires that stood in various parts of the room. Taking aim, she cracked off a shot at the forehead of the first one, then swept her aim to the next one, and took another shot. She repeated this process twice more, delivering a round to each of the vampires.
Then, Miranda’s reflexes slowed, and time shifted back to its normal speed. Looking up, she stared into the face of Michael, who looked at her with the same shocked expression painted on his face that he had when she first began moving.
“What the hell did you do?” he asked.
And as though to answer his question, the four vampires blew into separate great coughs of black ash, the wood-tipped bullets doing their deadly work.
Artem was the only one of the vampires who remained, and he looked over the events of the last few seconds with a wicked smirk that barely masked his rage.
“Oh, you’ll pay for this, darling,” he said, rushing towards Miranda.
But with a quick raising of her pistol, she put his head in her sights and fired a single round. Through the smoke at the end of the barrel, she saw that Artem had stopped in his tracks, and raised a hand to a small, black hole on his cheek.
“Oh, darling, not the face,” he said, before exploding into a whirl of black ash.
Moroz turned on her heels, surveying the scene with shock. An instant was all it took for her to realize what had happened, and when she did, her eyes turned to Michael, now the only other person besides her and Miranda in the room.
“Kill her!”
Michael’s expression turned from one of surprise to one of determination. He reached for the gun, but Miranda moved from him with an effortless turn of her body. He dove for her once more, this time with both hands, as though trying to scoop her up. Once again, she pivoted her body and moved out of his reach. One last time, he went for her gun, and winded by his previous attempts, this time he didn’t come close.
“Just…just give me that fuckin’ thing,” he said, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, his lungs taking in deep draws of breath.
Miranda said nothing. With quick steps, she closed the distance between her and Michael, and standing in front of him, drove her knee into his stomach. The blow hit with a deep thud and Michael’s body went upright at instant speed when it hit. Then, he stumbled backwards and into a waist-height white marble pillar topped with a gold-colored vase. He collided with it, tipping the pillar over and onto his head. With a thin crystalline shatter, it broke apart on his head, covering him in white gold-painted dust and rendering him unconscious.
“Quite the display,” said Madame Moroz, her severe features surveying the scene that Miranda had caused in the span of only a few moments. “It appears that the blood had more of an effect on you than we had anticipated. We were right to try to get you on our side.”
“Tell me where Roman is,” said Miranda, not acknowledging a word Moroz otherwise said.
“Right here.”
Miranda watched Moroz’s eyes look up just past Miranda’s shoulder, and she turned. Miranda saw the tall figure of Roman step into the room from around the curve of one of the hallways.
“It would appear that neither of you respond well to being restrained,” said Moroz, her face taking on a tight, prim expression.
Roman ran to Miranda’s side, and looked her over with eager eyes.
“I’d ask if you were OK, but it looks like you haven’t had too much trouble taking care of yourself.”
“Nothing some vampire reflexes couldn’t handle,” Miranda responded, trying to restrain the joy in her voice upon seeing that Roman was fine.
“An adorable reunion,” said Moroz, turning her back towards them and walking towards the glass expanse of the arched, wide window.
“Madame Moroz,” said Roman, stepping towards her, his hands in tight fists, “it’s over.”
A low, crone’s cackle left Moroz’s mouth.
“You think anything that happened here tonight matters? That what happened anywhere in the city tonight matters? Even if you kill me, and that’s a big if, you haven’t even had a taste of the power of the Old World. Our numbers are uncountable, and our reach is vast, so vast. You may hold us back for a time, but we’ll return. You New York children have no idea of the powers that are arrayed against you.”
“Whatever you throw at us, we’ll fight off,” said Roman.
But as Roman spoke, Miranda watched Moroz as a grey, creeping mass crawled over the skin of the back of her neck. Moroz straightened her posture, and stretched her arms down and out. The same grey creeped over her hands, covering her skin in what looked like hard, ash-colored scales.
“What’s happening?” said Miranda, turning to Roman.
“Why, my dear,” said Moroz, her voice taking a deep, inhuman tone, “just a taste of our power.”
Then, Moroz turned, Miranda gasping at the transformation. Moroz’s skin was now covered in scales, her grey hair in tight black cords, like a bundle of insect legs. Her face was monstrous, like an unholy combination of a human and a bat, with arched, flared nostrils and deep, long angles from the bones beneath. Her eyes were red, burning orbs, and her teeth were rows of yellowed, razor triangles.
“Now you see the true face of the vampire,” said Moroz, raising a long, scaled finger towards Roman and Miranda.
Miranda didn’t wait for her to say another word. She raised her pistol, and fired three quick shots at Moroz. But to her shock, she saw that the
bullets had no effect, instead bouncing from her skin as though they were made of rubber.
“Come, children,” she said, her fingers curing in a gesture of beckoning.
Roman sprang from where he stood, rushing at Moroz. But with an effortless sweep of her arm, she swatted him, sending Roman flying across the room on a low arc. Miranda raised her gun again, but before she could fire a single shot, Moroz raised her palm and pushed it forward. Miranda felt as though a great, invisible weight collided with her, and she went tumbling backwards, landing in a heap in the middle of the room, her room launching out of her hand and skittering across the floor, far out of reach.
Her face pressed against the floor, Miranda looked over at Roman, who was struggling to his feet. But once he stood upright, Moroz rushed towards him at an incredible speed, slamming into his body and launching him into the wall behind them, which he slammed into with a sickening crack.
“You see, children?” Moroz asked, her prim voice barely recognizable through the strange, demonic pitch in which she now spoke in her new form. “It is useless. Your only hope is to surrender, and to pray your deaths are quick ones.”
Miranda listened to the heavy steps of Moroz upon the floor as they grew closer and closer. Struggling to her feet, she faced the horrible monster that Moroz had changed into. Her clothes torn from her by the transformation, her body was lean and sinewy, her limbs ribbed like pipes, her hips jutting through her stretched, grey skin.
“Just close your eyes, little one,” said Moroz her hand reaching towards Miranda, who could barely stand, her body wracked with pain.
And Miranda did. It was all she could find the strength for. But just at the moment she felt herself get up, the form of Roman rushed into her vision, colliding with Moroz and sending them both onto the ground in a wild tumble. In Roman’s hand, Miranda could see a small, silver blade, which he raised over his head and brought down into the Moroz’s shoulder, the point of the blade parting her scales and penetrating her.
Moroz let out a low wail, shoved Roman away from her, and regarded the knife which was now protruding from her body. Wrapped her boney fingers around the hilt, she pulled the blade from a shoulder and whipped it across the room, towards Roman, who moved his body out of the way of the deadly blade’s path.
“You’ll need more than a few ounces of silver to do that job,” said Moroz, her tone mocking.
“How about a few pounds?”
Miranda turned towards the voice that spoke from the other side of the room, and was confronted with the sight of a dozen of those who attacked the other apartments this evening. The voice belonged to Kieran, who stood with Nora at his side. Each member of the group looked ragged and worn, but all carried weaponry of different types, from pistols to automatic weapons. Miranda and Roman shared a quick look before dropping to the ground in anticipation of what was surely to happen.
Raising their weapons, the group opened fire in a torrent of bullets, the expanse of the room filling immediately with the pounding of gunfire. The crashing and ringing of the bullets against the walls of the apartment sounded out, and Miranda covered her ears to block out the booming of the weapons. But a shriek from Moroz cut through the bass of the gunfire, and Miranda could see her body reel with the impact of dozens of bullets. Then, the gunfire stopped, as quickly as it had begun.
Moroz stood, barely, one angled, scaled arm resting against a nearby column, her chest expanding in rapid breaths.
“You fools,” she said, turning towards the group. “Have your little victory. But know that I and my kind will not rest until we have ripped this city from your pathetic grip.”
Moroz then walked towards the window, which was now covered in spider web cracks and clear divots from the impact of bullets. Standing straight, a pair of wings sprouted and spread from Moroz’s body, a sickly tearing sound accompanying their span. The wings began to flap, and Moroz’s body lifted from the floor. Miranda stood, the gust of air from the flapping of the wings blowing against her body. And before the rest of the group could react, Moroz angled her body towards a broken pane of the window and flew through it. Miranda watched as her scaly, grey form shrank smaller and smaller as it flew deeper into the inky expanse of the night sky, before finally disappearing amidst a twinkling cluster of stars.
Then, out of the side of her vision, Roman approached, his hand outstretched. Miranda clasped it, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. Miranda pressed her face against his chest, feeling the warmth and security of his body.
“Hey guys, don’t mean to kill the mood, but…” said Vincent, approaching the pair, his feet cracking over broken marble and glass, “what do you want to do about that guy?” He stuck out his thumb towards Michael’s unconscious body.
“I think he’s due for a review of the standard practices of the NYPD.”
“Time to go,” said Roman, as the two looked out through the cracked glass of the window, towards the stretch of the city beyond.
Chapter 17
Miranda ran her hands over Roman’s bare chest, her hips rocking back and forth in slow, drawn-out motions. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel the fullness of him inside of her, his cock reaching the depths that Miranda felt could only be achieved when she climbed on top and took him for a ride. Reaching behind her head, Miranda undid the tie that held her hair in a ponytail, letting her chestnut locks spill out and over her slim shoulders. She watched Roman’s face as she moved on top of him, savoring his expression of winced-eyed pleasure, feeling his prick move slowly in and along her as she lifted her hips up and dropped them back down over and over.
Running her hands along Roman’s flanks, she took in the feeling of his solid muscles. She leaned her body forward until she was face to face with Roman, and let her hair fall from her shoulders and onto his face. Roman took a long inhale through his nostrils, smelling the scent of her tresses. Gradually, Miranda increased the pace of her hips, shifting from a gentle rocking back and forth to a more aggressive bouncing. The pleasure increased the faster she moved, and gasps began to escape her mouth. Roman’s face tightened as Miranda sprang on top of him, and she felt his hands move from where they rested on her hips up towards her bouncing breasts, which he cupped in his hands. Lifting his head slightly, he brought one of her pink, hard nipples into his mouth and gave it gentle sucks before moving on to the other, his mouth sending surges of electricity through Miranda’s skin. He then moved his hands back down to her buttocks, and pulling his right hand back, he brought it down on the soft flesh of her ass with a smack, a loud cracking noise echoing through the space of the bedroom.
Then, with a grunt, Roman grabbed Miranda’s hips and moved her from her position on top of him, sliding his cock back inside of her without a moment’s delay. Miranda gasped as he slid into her, the full length of his prick filling her with ease. Roman propped himself up on his elbows and began rocking his own hips back and forth, moving in and out of Miranda at a frenzied pace.
And as he fucked her, as he filled her over and over again, a strange urge gripped Miranda. She found her eyes drifting to his row of white teeth, and she caught herself imagining what it would be like to feel his fangs in her skin. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she realized she wanted nothing more.
“Bite me,” she said, her words slipping out through a breathless pant.
Roman looked at her, as though to confirm that he heard her correctly. Miranda nodded.
“Please, please,” she said, turning her head and exposing the thick cord of her jugular to him. And out of the corner of her eye she watched as Roman’s fangs sprouted, a hiss escaping as though some deeper, animal instinct was being tapped into. He pulled back his head and brought it back down, plunging his teeth into the delicate skin of her neck. She could feel the exact second the fangs punctured her, followed by his lips clamping onto her.
At that moment, Miranda felt Roman’s cock in her, his lips on her neck, his fangs in her skin, and the trickle of blood from where he was su
cking her- the combination of sensations almost overwhelmed her, and brought Miranda to the brink of orgasm. Then, she felt a groan from Roman’s mouth rush across her skin, the vibrations running through her. This was followed by the feeling of his orgasm, as he began to come inside of her. And the feeling of this sent Miranda over the edge. Orgasm ripped through her, rocking her body with a series of quivering shakes. Roman lifted himself up from her, and the sight of her deep, red blood dripping from his face served to turn her on even more, her orgasm blossoming to its final intensity.
Roman moaned as he finished himself in her with a series of slow, full pumps of his hips. Then, spent, he collapsed on top of her, and Miranda felt the first trickles of cum drip down her inner thigh. Roman lay in a heap on her, his breath heavy and quick. Miranda wrapped her arms around him, and they lay there like that for several minutes, until they regained their breath.
“That was something I wasn’t expecting you to ask for,” he said, rolling off of her and wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his forearm.
“What can I say,” said Miranda, watching Roman lean in and lick the skin of her neck clean, “if things are going to be different, might as well go all in.”
Roman wrapped his arm around Miranda, the light from the moon filling the otherwise-dark bedroom of his apartment.
“Something I can’t help think about,” said Miranda. “At the meeting. Moroz was the only one there.”
“They must’ve known we were coming, and left her to do the dirty work.
“Then that means the Old-Worlders are still here?”
Roman nodded, his face grim.
“And there will be more. They won’t stop until they’ve taken over this city,” he said.
Miranda had been watching TV over the last few days. There had been no mentions of her as the suspect in the murders. The entire story seemed to have been swept aside, as though it never happened. The calls to her phone stopped. And no mention of Michael, either. An anonymous call she made to the precinct turned up nothing. It was as though he never existed.
