TEMPTED: Demon/Cleric Short Story

So, I got obsessed with this writing prompt and now I have a short story! Morrigan help me, now I want to write a book 😂 

TEMPTED

"Wake up."
Ethan groaned and hugged the pillow tighter, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He'd been having a pleasant dream, one of those where you can see a memory from another perspective. 
A hard poke with a sharp nail on his ribs made him flinch.
"Ow, was that necessary?" reluctantly, he opened one eye. Purple cat-like eyes were the first thing he saw. Even after months of looking at those unearthly eyes he felt a small swoop on his stomach; not fear precisely, but the recognition that he was in the presence of someone with vast power.
That someone lifted a brow in an unimpressed gesture. "You will be late for work, again."
Ethan smiled. That accent, it had been his doom since day one. 
"And as you've been saying, your boss is already displeased with you," Zath'tarith drawled in his most bored tone.
Ethan snorted and rolled to lie on his back. His boss, Bishop Rossi, had never hidden his deep suspicion and dislike for him. 
If he only knew half of it, Ethan mused.
Rossi was a traditionalist, the recent tolerance towards demons was something he despised. Ethan was certain the old man would happily start another crusade if he could. But tides had changed, decades ago humans had been terrified of demons and the Church had happily hunted them down; that was until humans began to befriend and even fall in love with demons. Not all demonic races were the same after all, while some enjoyed causing havoc and pain, others simply wanted a life outside of the dark dimension they'd been trapped in for millennia. Zath was one of the latter of course.
"Maybe I should perform an exorcism or banish a demon to get on his good graces, my post is in the balance," Ethan mused. "Any of your buddies fancies making a show?"
Zath pinned Ethan with a look that blended exasperation and affection. "I'll ask, now get your pale ass in the shower."
Ethan chuckled and sat, running a hand through the thick strands of brown hair that stuck up in all angles. He lived in a small apartment just a block away from the church where he worked as a Cleric. He could've had small quarters within the church, but the wards would not allow his half-blood and demon friends through and that would be a tragedy. 
He barely had time to register the movement before finding himself firmly pinned down by Zath. The high-class demon's pupils were blown, his eyes almost black. Ethan licked his lips nervously feeling the tremendous contained strength on the hands that held his wrists; he flushed bright pink when Zath's eyes traveled down his body. He'd always seen himself as average at best, lean and athletic but miles away from the Greek god looks of his boyfriend. 
"Weren't you the one telling me to get out of bed?" Ethan asked on a tremulous voice as Zath leaned down to kiss a torturous path from his shoulder to his neck. The demon grinned, ink-black hair half-shielding his eyes.
"Maybe you can be 15 minutes late," Zath said, capturing Ethan's mouth in a kiss before he could respond.

****

15 minutes turned into half an hour. Ethan was fumbling with his robes as he entered the office on the back of the church, dreading the telling off he was going to get. Still, a stupid smile adorned his face.
To his surprise, Rossi wasn't there yet. A sour-looking nun was waiting for him though. She was new, he wasn't sure of her name.
"Bishop Rossi is indisposed, you will lead the mass in 15 minutes," she all but barked handing him a sheet with a sermon.
Ethan blinked, trying to hold back the panic before it could begin to build. Speaking in public wasn't his thing. And giving sermons about purity and guarding oneself against evil demons didn't help. If the Church ever found out he was more than just acceptant of half-bloods, that he was, in fact, a very gay and definitely not chaste cleric they'd sack him. And he needed to remain inside to warn his friends of the unauthorized attacks the Church launched against demons. 
Cursing under his breath, he rushed towards the altar. He decided to tune out his own words as he led the congregation in prayer and began with the depressing sermon. 
Rossi has outdone himself, Ethan thought wrily. 
The candles began to flicker as the temperature in the room dropped. Ethan blinked to focus, the congregation began to whisper and look around searching for the source of what was an unmistakeable supernatural presence.
A vortex of black and purple light formed right in the middle of the aisle. A 6-foot-5 male stepped right out of the portal, black hair falling straight to his shoulders. The demon idly flicked his fringe back in place as a collective gasp erupted from the congregation; no one dared to move.
Ethan stared in disbelief at his boyfriend, standing right there and reminding every single faithful that high-ranking demons were capable of breaking the wards set by the Priests.
'This is not a good time,' Ethan thought, aiming his mental strength to Zath.
The demon took a few steps closer to the altar, fixing the cuffs of his black shirt. 'I can see that.'
Ethan could hear his drawl, he fought back a smile. 'Is there something you need?' 
'No, it is you who needed something from me, remember?' Zath asked.
'Oh! Right, yeah.'
Ethan bit his lip thinking about how to begin with the impromptu show, but his mind was still on swooning mode and not cooperating.
'Fuck's sake, Ethan, at least pretend to banish me,' Zath said, a malevolent grin spreading on his face. 
It should scare Ethan, it really should. Normal people feared 600-year-old demons. But Ethan had never been normal; his pulse was racing for an entirely different reason. 
"Shoo, naughty one!" as soon as the words were out, Ethan cringed.
Zath's incredulous snort wasn't helping either. 
"You aren't making me feel very welcomed, cleric," Zath said aloud, his deep voice carried the timbre he used when he wanted to terrorize humans. One swift glance at the still shock-paralyzed congregation told Ethan how effective it was.
"You aren't welcome in these holy walls," Ethan said with faux sternness, Zath's arched brow told him he wasn't doing a good job. "Not unless you repent for your sins."
Zath chuckled, purple eyes brimming with mischief. "But sinning is so delicious, cleric."
A shiver ran down Ethan's spine. Don't I know it, he thought.
Ethan took the bible from the pulpit, holding it as a shield. "Then I shall have to banish you. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, ego eieci te!"
Zath took a step back and hissed, anger shining in his eyes. "We shall meet again, cleric," he warned and then disappeared in a burst of purple energy. 
Ethan schooled his expression into grim resolution and triumph, trying not to laugh. Zath was by far a better actor than he was. 
The congregation remained silent for a few heartbeats and then erupted in cheers and began to thank Ethan profusely. He plastered a reassuring, beatific smile on his face as he blessed them all and promised no demon would ever enter the church as long as he or Bishop Rossi were there to stop it.
His position in one of the last openly traditionalist churches had been secured with the assistance of his demon boyfriend. Ethan was sure his friends would thoroughly enjoy the irony, he sure did.

©Selene Kallan 2020
________________

Let me know what you think! 😘

HOW NOT TO SUMMON A DEMON by Selene Kallan.

So, what happens when I am stuck with a scene in my two WIPs? I write a short story. It usually is related to my series, but I ran into this awesome Writing Prompt and Voila! Now I have another WIP! 

Um, I see a pattern here...

HOW NOT TO SUMMON A DEMON by Selene Kallan.

“A cookbook!” I cry excitedly.

I stop on the page that has the title: the cure for colds.

That’s what grandma called chicken soup.

Maybe with grandma’s instructions, I can cook a semi-decent dinner without lighting the kitchen on fire.

I repeat the words, barely understanding myself. I must be drunker than I thought, and it doesn’t really sound like soup ingredients.

A flash of purple light coming from my left blinds me for a second.

“Ahh! What the Hell!” I shriek.

I blink, fighting to see again, and then immediately regret it.

There is a giant man with wings in my kitchen. Black, towering wings full of shiny onyx feathers.

Not a man, I realize. A demon.

A shiver blasts down my spine.

Grandma had told me long ago about demons, and I would’ve believed she was completely nuts if I wasn’t able to set things on fire and move things with my mind at times. Or if I had not seen her do magic.

“You are not my chicken soup, are you?” I ask.

His pale face is oddly emotionless, but his eyes flash with anger. “Do I look like a chicken to you?” he asks, voice arctic.

“Uh, well, in my defense, you are kinda feathery,” I mutter, gesturing to his wings, unable to quench the drunken humor despite knowing he can fry me, quite literally.

Damn it, I should not have gotten wasted. But why the Hell would grandma leave a grimoire in the kitchen?

Even weirder, how could I read the spell?

I can see the gibberish clearly now, but it had seemed like English before.

The demon’s purple eyes narrow with suspicion. His towering black wings graze the ceiling. The faint scent of smoke and ash makes my nose itch, and I have to tilt my neck to look up at him. He’s about six-foot-eight, and the leathers enhance his powerful and elegant frame. I usually feel tall and awkward, but right now I feel tiny. My eyes roam his body and my gut clenches painfully. No hooves, no tail, and no stench.

I’ve not just summoned a demon—I’ve summoned a high-ranking demon. Only the most powerful demons look like him, almost completely human, grandma had explained. There’s a black crystal sword strapped to his hip, and daggers to his thighs. Not to mention, somehow I can sense his unearthly contained power, like a massive chasm with no bottom, ancient and unending. I gulp.

Oh, gods. I’m so dead.

“And just why were you using magic to make chicken soup?” he asks, his tone mocking and disdainful.

“I wasn’t. I was trying to read a recipe for chicken soup.”

He cocks a brow and examines me as if to see if I’m lying, then he snorts. “Summoned by an inept half-human, shameful.”

“Hey!” I snap. “Watch your mouth!”

His face grows stony as he leans to my eye level. I keep my arms crossed in defiance even as my knees feel weak.

I’ve just shouted at a high-ranking demon.

That goes high on the stupid-shit-I’ve-done list.

He blinks and pulls back in surprise. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Uh, no you haven’t. I’m sure I’d remember.”

His wings vanish in a blink of purple light along with his leathers, a black suit and a matching shirt replace them. It really doesn’t do much to dampen his intimidating aura.

His eyes focus on a spot above my head, and I follow his gaze to find my grandma’s photo resting on a tall shelf. She is sitting on the porch with me on her lap, a book opened in front of us.

“Magdalena,” the demon mutters, surprise and recognition in his deep voice.

I freeze. “You know my grandma?”

A flicker of something akin to sadness flashes in his face so fast I’m not certain if I imagined it.

“When she was about your age, she summoned me as well,” he says, zeroing his gaze on me again. “Only she did it intentionally, and it had nothing to do with cooking.”

I blink. My grandma knew a demon. The same grandma who had warned me never to peek into her magic books and grimoires, to be a good little witch even if I felt like setting my bullies’ asses on fire.

Then something much more important finally hits me through the numbness of the rum.

“You called me half-human.”

“Did I?” he asks with calculating purple eyes. That unnervingly knowing gaze narrows on my left cheek. “What happened?” he demands, jerking his chin to point at the growing, throbbing bruise.

“I fell,” I lie.

He cocks a brow. “On what? A male’s fist? You summoned me using my real name, which means I am bound to do a deed for you. Give me the name of the idiot so I can deal with him and go back to my business.”

I blink, feeling my stomach cramp with uneasiness.

“There’s no need for you to intervene. He is worse off than I am, believe me,” I say, trying to keep my voice leveled. “And unless you want to make me my chicken soup, I have no use for demon favors.”

“For now,” he says, his tone giving me chills.

I recoil as he leans to take the old notebook from the counter. The heat of his body makes me shiver. I’ve not turned on the heating.

“Where is Magdalena?” the demon asks. “I’d like to give her a little talk about hiding such material better.”

I blink several times as the old notebook magically turns into a leather-bound book. The pages are yellow and full of symbols and what I think now is some bizarre form of Latin.

“How did you—”

“It was glamoured,” he says, eyes hard on my face. “Where is Magdalena?”

Icy pain cuts through my chest. “The funeral is tomorrow.”

He goes preternaturally still. “How did she die?” he demands.

I try to swallow the knot in my throat. “Heart attack.”

His brow knits as a horrific thought crosses my mind.

“She’s not… I mean, she knew how to summon demons.” Oh gods, I think I will vomit. “She’s not in Hell, is she? Please tell me she’s not.”

He snorts. “Foolish girl, a mortal must exchange their soul for wealth or power in order to end up in Hell, or have done wicked deeds. Her soul was among the purest I’ve ever encountered.”

I breathe again as the room spins. The rum, lack of sleep, and hunger are taking a toll.

To my surprise, the demon catches me and sets me down on a chair, his hands warm against my arms, face a few inches away. Just then, I notice how extraordinarily handsome he is—sharp features and pale skin that makes a beautiful contrast with inky black hair. His purple eyes lose some hostility as he examines me back. Amethyst, I realize. His irises look like they’re made of perfectly cut and polished amethysts.

His head snaps toward the door, brow furrowing.

“What—” I begin to ask as the door is pounded on several times.

I flinch. The noise does not help with my throbbing headache.

“Dinah! I know you’re there! Open the door, you little bitch!” Daniel screams.

My eyes widen. How did that psycho find me so fast?

Fear rears its ugly head and I can’t help but shake. I’m in no shape for round two. The bruises still hurt and I feel too weak.

The demon growls, startling me, and moves toward the door with long strides. He opens the door and Daniel’s blue eyes widen in terror. His forehead has a big purple bump from where I hit him with the skillet.

The demon looks down at Daniel as if he’s a particularly annoying vermin, then he takes the six-foot-two football player by the collar and hauls him off his feet as if he’s weightless.

“I see you weren’t lying about fighting back,” the demon says to me as he takes in Daniel’s wound, voice as cold as ice, amethyst eyes bright with an eerie glow. “Nevertheless, I say he’s earned a little punishment, don’t you think?”

Before I can answer, the demon sends an invisible coil of chilly power around Daniel, who lets out an unearthly wail and flails madly for a second before the demon drops him to the ground.

Thanks to the heavens, there are no neighbors around for at least a couple of miles.

Daniel picks himself up, still wailing like a banshee, and runs to his car, rushing inside and revving it up. Mud is lifted off the damp ground as he maneuvers out of the property in a matter of seconds.

“There, he will not be back, I can assure you that,” the demon says, eyes normal again, his expression slightly less murderous.

I stare at him, stunned. He didn’t get a request out of me, but still helped me. I can’t deny a dark part of me enjoyed the sheer terror he put into Daniel, but I don’t want to owe him. “Dammit, I would’ve preferred you making me that chicken soup.”

He sighs. “We will see each other soon.”

“Huh? Why? I thought the deal was off—”

He disappears, just like that, in a flash of amethyst light.

I take a deep breath and close the door, staring into the empty living room.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

Even though it is quite insane to thank a demon for scaring off your obsessive ex-boyfriend.

Meh, I’ve done crazier shit.

©Demon Warden, Selene Kallan, 2018.

****UPDATE: Here's the novel inspired by this prompt: DEMON WARDEN. Only 99 cents until April 26, 2024.

AMAZON US (Free with Kindle Unlimited): 

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Other countries: https://books2read.com/demon-warden-1/

 

Hunting Night

Hunting Night 

The pub was crowded. Electro-pop loud enough to make conversation impossible, red and blue lights flickering psychedelically. Couples, and groups of women moving to the beat on the dance floor, careless. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of fresh sweat and expensive perfume reached his nostrils; his throat closing with the burning pain he could never quench, mouth watering. 
‘So much to choose from,’ he mused. 
He opened his red-rimmed eyes, his lips stretching in a half-smile half-snarl. 
‘Why choosing at all?’ he wondered, making his way through the dance floor, delighting in the sea of potential preys.
Some women looked at him with open interest; he smiled nonchalantly casting an aura of allure around him, no that he needed it. He was 6-foot-1, with pale skin, dark eyes, and brown hair; his features resembling those of an ancient Greek statue. A few men and women moved out of his way with frantic heartbeats. Their unconscious mind warning them of the threat, the bloodlust he hid under his charm. 
‘It’s a good thing most are stupid enough,’ he thought ruefully. 
He sat at the bar watching, choosing; the pain in his gut was not strong enough to make him lose focus, yet. No, he wanted to take his time, make the night count. 
His eyes landed on a pair of impossibly long tanned legs, covered partially by black, knee-high boots. He slowly trailed his eyes up the perfect feminine figure barely hidden by a short, strapless black dress. Something stirred inside him, a faint echo of what used to be his obsession, many years back. He had tried a couple times to give in to lust, but it wasn’t the same anymore, not after knowing what true pleasure was. His eyes scanned her collarbone and swan neck, her blood-red lips. His mouth watered again, he swallowed feeling parched as her light blue eyes locked with his black stare. 
He felt his cheeks lift as she smiled timidly at him; she was perfect, long raven hair falling free to her waist, her skin unmarred and chiseled features. He got up walking towards her; she kept her eyes on him as she danced, lifting her arms above her head, half-hiding behind her hair.
He grasped her waist pulling her towards him, her eyes leveled with him. She was a tall woman, and even taller on 4-inch heeled boots. 
“Hello, gorgeous,” he purred. 
She smiled, biting down her full lip. “Hello.”  
He leaned in pressing her tighter against him; his cold nose trailing a path from her exposed shoulder up to her neck. Her scent was intoxicating, molasses and almond, almost too sweet, but perfect nevertheless. He swallowed hard enjoying the sight of goosebumps on her silk-soft skin.
“Let’s get out of here, baby,” he whispered looking directly into her eyes. She nodded immediately, her face devoid of emotion, hypnotized. He took her hand and pulled them both out of the crowd, heading for the rear exit. 
Cold night air welcomed them; the odor of burned fuel and garbage made him wrinkle his nose. He pulled her closer inhaling deeply. 
‘Much better,’ he thought, taking her to another alley, a more secluded one, without exit.
She panted when he roughly pushed her against the wall; his cold hands wrapping firmly, almost painfully on her hips.
“M-maybe we can find a better place?” she suggested with whisper-like voice. 
He laughed softly trailing his hands up to her waist, pressing her against his body.
“No, I’ve waited long enough,” he growled.
His sight sharpened, making her the central focus; he ignored the pain caused by the descent of his sharp fangs. He smiled showing the doe-eyed girl the truth about what he was, knowing she wouldn’t live to tell his secret. 
Her wide eyes regained focus, full lips pressing on a wry smile.
“Oh well, if you insist,” she purred. 
Her pupils stretched into vertical cat-like slits, the blue color melted into a silver-white hue; the opposite of his crimson feline stare. He let her go stepping back, seething with surprise. 
“Now, now, it looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” she mocked taking a step towards him. Her voice cold, unearthly.
He stepped back automatically feeling cold, raw power ooze from her. His otherwise impassive heart fluttered, his breath coming in slow bursts. Every cell in his body screaming he should run, blocking the desire of breaking her neck. A part of him wondered if the limb-numbing fear was her doing, or his instincts.
Regaining some control he squared his shoulders, looking into the burning eyes of the female; fighting to shut off the alarms ringing in his head. Run, run, run! 
“What do you say if we part ways?” he asked with feigned nonchalance. “You are no longer… appealing.”
She shook her head, a lock of raven hair falling from her shoulder. “I don’t think so.”
He clenched his jaw not to swallow his frustration. His fangs cutting the inside of his mouth.
“What do you want?” he demanded with equal parts of dread and anger.
She took a measured step towards him. “You have killed a woman a night in the last week, leaving their dry corpses to be found.” She shook her head, eyes blazing with anger. “A careless blood-addict, taking innocent lives, risking us all.”
He hissed, recoiling. “I have covered my tracks.”
She snarled, white fangs visible through her lips. “You call decapitation covering your tracks?”
His fear subsided when anger flared. “And who are you to point your finger?”
She clenched her fists taking a step towards him. “Your executioner.”
He threw his fist at her face, almost losing his footing as he swung at thin air. She had moved faster than even his eyes could register.
She smiled wickedly showing him her longer, sharper, white fangs. “Pathetic.”
His anger evaporated, swallowed by instinct. He turned to run at full speed, only to fly backward, his back slamming hard against the musty brick wall. He stayed down for a second, the alarms in his head ringing louder. 
‘No! This can’t be happening! I will kill her!’ he thought desperately.
She allowed him to stand and fight. Every single one of his blows missed his target, she either moved or blocked him effortlessly. Her silver feline eyes dead, not showing anger, pleasure or fear; and he knew it then, his life was truly over. 
He thought about that fateful night ten years before, the last time he had enjoyed sex. He couldn’t believe his luck when the most beautiful woman in the party had taken him to her hotel room. Her almond black eyes and porcelain face were carved in his memory. She had given him pleasure and then caused him pain so intense he begged for a quick death. Instead, she cursed him, making him like her. A monster.
The sickening sound of his sternum breaking brought him back to the present. He fell on the dirty, humid floor, the roar of his heart on his ears. He almost laughed at the irony of feeling more alive than he had in a long decade just when he was about to die. The last thing he saw was the female beauty taking his head in her hands.
She didn’t have to use her full strength to break his neck. Even for a low-class vampire, he was weak; at least compared to her. She straightened looking down at the unconscious blood-addict sprawled on the ground, opening her senses to confirm no-one was near. Her eyes returned to the pale-blue color, fangs retracting causing an unpleasant sensation she had grown accustomed to over the centuries. She slid her fingers inside her right boot, pulling out a sharp, foot-long blade. Her stomach clenched with disgust, not at him, but at the one that had turned him into that. A second class vampire with a penchant for wickedness, no doubt. 
She hated having to destroy his kind, knowing there was no other way to stop them. Low-class blood addicts could not be taught or threatened to stop. She had tried that once, and the subject of her experiment had broken her heart and almost killed her. Only born purebloods like her, and the ones turned by the purebloods -second class vampires- had some semblance of self-control. 
‘Not all of them, clearly,’ she thought angrily. 
Ignoring her clenching stomach she brandished the blade, cutting his head off in a swift motion that barely produced a splatter. She cleaned the blade on his clothing before sheathing it back in her boot.
She picked up her purse and took out a small perfume-like vial, and a lighter. Carefully, she sprayed his remains, taking a few steps back before tossing the lighter. Orange-red flames erupted violently, the scent of rapidly burning flesh made her nauseated; but she had to endure it, had to make sure his nature remained a secret. It was bad enough there was an organized group of humans hunting down her kind. The last thing they needed was for the whole human population to know the truth.
In less than a minute, flesh and muscle had disappeared, the bones breaking due to the alchemical heat. It was a good thing he’d chosen such a secluded place. The flames died out quickly; after less than 5 minutes the remaining bones were churned beyond any recognition, the rest was only ash. She got close enough to make sure the fangs had wasted away erasing all evidence. Satisfied, she moved fast, becoming a blur as she almost flew through the dim alleys back to where her car was parked. 
She slumped against the leather seat taking a deep breath; hating the taste of his burnt flesh behind her tongue. She could remember every face, every blood-addict vampire she had killed. The events of that night were bound to be repeated, sooner or later. 
She straightened, bringing the roaring engine back to life. She knew who had made him, she had felt her corrupted scent on him.
‘That crazy bitch! When will she stop?’ 
The answer was, of course, never. Not unless she made her. And that she would do.
‘After all, what’s immortality good for if I don’t make some enemies?’ she mused, feeling a smile spread across her face. 

Prey: Part Two

Read the first part here: https://selenekallanfantasywriter.blogspot.com/2017/05/prey-part-one.html

Prey

Part 2

I remained silent the whole time I spent in the tight trunk that stank of bleach. My hands were tied almost painfully with a rope behind my back, my bare feet were free. I heard the melody of one of Elvis's songs that I least liked, and Williams’ annoying voice singing along.

The car stopped, a white light blinded me for a moment.

“Get out slowly,” he ordered in a somber voice, I felt the cold metal against my neck.

I moved slowly out of the car, felt the damp, sticky earth under my toes, the sound of an owl in the distance, the unmistakable smell of the forest. He hung the flashlight on his shoulder.

“If you try to run, I'll slit your throat, you understand?”

I laughed, loud and strong without being able to avoid it, he looked at me confused. With a swift movement of my wrists, I broke the ropes as if they were made of paper. I could hardly bear to pretend that he had succeeded in knocking me out with his silly chloroform.

He was paralyzed for a moment and then he tried to stab me, I took the knife away with ridiculous ease. For my amusement I bent it in front of him with two fingers, he gasped.

“W-what the hell?” He stuttered. His eyes were no longer cold but panic-stricken. 

What an idiot. If he’d been a bit more observing he would have realized I had stood on broken glass and didn’t have a scratch. I let go completely of my human façade and looked at him with a wicked smile, he shouted at the sight of my glowing, silver eyes and tripped with his own feet when he tried to flee. I moved faster than the human eye and grabbed him by the neck lifting him off the floor, he could well weigh 1 kilo, it was nothing for me.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to be the prey?” I smiled, showing him my big white fangs. He howled, I laughed.

I liked to see him suffer, he deserved it, what I would do to him was nothing compared to what he had done. It had actually taken me by surprise that he'd attacked me on the first night of my arrival. He'd taken a bit more time with the others, but then again maybe they hadn’t provoked him as I did.

He tried to kick me, I threw him with half my strength making him fly more than 20 feet; cries echoed on the forest as he fell on the ground. Before he could get up, I twisted both arms behind him, breaking several bones, he howled in pain. Hmm, maybe I should thank him for taking us to a lonely place.

“What a crybaby!” I laughed.

“Damn bitch!” he screamed.

I lifted him by the neck again, the flashlight on the floor pointed towards me, that was good I wanted him to see what was going to happen, he looked at me terrified. I could imagine how funny I would look in my blue bolero pajamas, disheveled and without hiding the monster that lived inside me and I fought to keep locked up most of the time. At that moment I wasn't even trying to restrain myself, the adrenaline in my veins made me euphoric and the hunger merciless.

“Please,” he pleaded.

“The most cowardly of your kind are always the most wicked,” I observed, the bastard was trembling like a leaf.

“Let me go,” he shouted and whimpered. 

I couldn't help laughing again. “I don’t think so.” 

“Please, I’m begging you.”

“How many of the girls you have tortured and killed said that?” I hissed angrily as I remembered how I had tied the loose ends that the police overlooked. More than twelve young women missing, all single, all with the same signs of cruelty. Anger raged through me as I remembered the horrible wounds on the bodies of the defenseless girls.

I lost control and bit him hard on the carotid, his shout was deafening. I drained him dry in less than two minutes. I regretted not having been able to restrain myself enough to make him suffer a little more, but hey, what the hell?

****

I rang the bell of the blue house with a smile, in my hands the clean glass plate. Having to throw away the pie was sinful, but my stomach could not tolerate most human foods. I'd tasted just a bit of the filling with the tip of my finger. I'd suffered many a stomach ache decades before as I experimented with what foods my stomach could tolerate.

Madeleine opened the door for me, her hands trembled. She had a thin coating of sweat on her forehead, though she was impeccably dressed.

“Do you feel fine?” I asked with all the innocence I could fake.

 “My ... My husband is gone,” she said in a choked voice. “He left me, said he would never come back,” she looked at the coffee table where the cruel note I hated to write was, but it had been necessary. I placed the dish in the nearest chair.

“I'm sorry,” I said, taking her hands.

“And now what will I do? The children, the house ... I can’t ... I can’t... I have no one...”

I caught her before she dropped to her knees, then took her to the spotless white couch and helped her to sit down. Damn bastard, he'd destroyed her self-esteem. It hadn't been enough to destroy all those poor defenseless women.

“You'll be fine,” I said, squeezing her thin shoulders carefully, she hiccuped.

“Look at me,” I ordered, he glazed and teary eyes pierced through me. “It will be all right.”

Her face went blank with the force of my hypnosis. 

“You will take care of your children, you do not need him, you never did,” I pushed. Her mind held no resistance.

“He was not worth it, you're a beautiful and capable woman,” I continued with more strength, she stopped hiccuping, I let her go.

“It will be all right,” I said, she was blinking in confusion.

“What will I do to get money?” she asked calmly, I offered her a handkerchief.

“Well, you make some incredible pies,” she looked at me in surprise. “Who doesn't love a good pie?” I asked with a grin, she corresponded with an authentic smile.

“Everybody loves pies,” she agreed in a strong voice.

Even vampires, I wanted to say.

****

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Prey: Part One

Prey

Part 1

I got out of the car with a big smile on my face. The bright yellow sunlight made everything sparkle: the windows, the roof and even the leaves of the trees of my beautiful new house. Several children were nearby, laughing happily, I smiled once more.

The men who carried all the boxes inside looked at me sideways, I sat on the lovely porch pretending not to notice the way their eyes were on me when they thought I didn’t notice, and that was despite the big hat that covered most of my face.

“She’s beautiful,” one murmured.

“And still unmarried, it seems rude,” his companion replied, giving me a rather audacious look.

I looked at myself surreptitiously, the light blue dress was slightly loose, my shoes were not high because I am 6-foot tall. I sighed, it wasn't the first time I had to deal with comments like those, and apparently, it would not be the last.

Once they left I changed my outfit to something more comfortable, an overall spotted with beige paint and low shoes. I had painted the house myself a couple of nights before; the solvent tang was still an assault to my senses. I organized almost the whole house by the end of the afternoon. It was a beautiful bungalow with a white fence, the American dream, well except for the husband that I would most likely never have and the children I could not birth.

After a long shower I put on a nice yellow dress with a bow on my back; my hair fell to my waist, tied in a fluttering ponytail. Deciding that staying indoors with such beautiful weather was sinful, I went to the porch and sat on the swing to enjoy the sunset and its rich colors and aromas.

After a few minutes a couple came up my way, I leaned my head to a side with a smile. The man in his forties with black hair and cold blue eyes looked at me too, his wife in her late thirties, blonde and beautiful stared at the house.

“Good evening,” said the man. “My name is William, this is my wife Madeleine, and you are?”

“Jane Glass,” I said.

“Welcome to the community,” he said, reaching for my hand.

I got up and took his hand suppressing a wince.

“Thank you,” I said.

Madeleine handed me a provocative blackberry pie, my mouth watered, I inhaled deeply.

“Oh, it smells delicious,” I complimented her. She smiled, it did not reach her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said in a shy voice.

“It tastes even better, my dear wife is an excellent cook,” he said, putting his arm around her thin shoulders on a possessive gesture, she shook a little.

The man looked at me from head to toe, made a half disapproving gesture to see my casual hairstyle, lack of makeup and comfortable shoes. I could tell he wasn't particularly happy to have to crane his neck to look at my eyes. 

“It's a big house for a single woman,” he said, his cold eyes scanning my face. Caveman, I almost said.

“I have many books,” I replied with a smile as cold as his expression. “You can borrow as many as you want,” I said to Madeleine. Her eyes widened with both fear and longing.

“I'm sure a beautiful woman like you will soon find a husband,” he said ignoring my offer to her. His pathetic flattering making me nauseated. 

Madeleine lowered her shoulders but remained silent. She seemed to have given up on arguing with him.

“I think I prefer a Golden Retriever,” I said with a snort. William’s expression changed for an instant, something dark and twisted in his eyes. Madeleine looked at me frightened, a warning in her expression. Quickly, he controlled himself again.

“Well, let's hope you fit in well in the neighborhood,” he said, retrieving his false smile. 

“Later,” I said, taking a step toward the door. “Thanks for the pie, Madeleine”.

“You are welcome,” she said in the same submissive voice.

Once they left, I entered my house. 1972 and there are still idiots who believe women are just cleaning machines and child breeders. I breathed deeply suffocating my anger.

I put on my pajamas and went to bed a few hours later, but could not fall asleep. I got up to get something to drink not bothering to turn on the lights. The humming of my new refrigerator welcomed me as I took a glass and filled it with almost freezing water. Leaning on the counter I drank big gulps, the thirst burning my empty stomach barely receded.

Someone grabbed my neck roughly and put a cloth over my face, the glass shattered on the floor near my feet. I felt the horrible smell that burned my nose, my stomach twisted. I half shouted and struggled without much strength, fading away in a matter of seconds.

****

Read Part 2 here: https://selenekallanfantasywriter.blogspot.com/2017/05/prey-part-two.html

Hunting Party

HUNTING PARTY

A rush of wind filled my nostrils with the scent of liquor and sewage, clenching my teeth I repressed a gag. I stopped for a moment while considering going to a better part of town. Don't be a prude, I reprimanded myself, forcing my feet to keep moving.

The ambiance was clouded with the sound of drunk and klutzy laughs from the men, and women in the nearby illegal taverns. It was definitely no place for a woman to wander alone. I could feel the danger creeping under my skin, there shouldn't have been a respectable man in at least a mile round, not that I was looking forward to finding one. No, the evil would have to do.

I wandered with no rush the filthy stone streets, my steps echoing on the emptier parts of that wretched place. The only people around me —women selling their bodies, their clients, and the homeless—, didn’t even notice me at all. My empty stomach twisted, starved to its limit. I couldn’t help a weak pant when the pounding in my head grew stronger. I kept moving struggling to ignore the sensation of illness. 

A stream of the cold autumn wind stroke me, lifting my long black coat and ruffling my loose hair; a slight scent of blood drew my attention. I expanded my senses around me, exploring; a suffocated moan reached my ears, completely different to the sounds of fake pleasure coming from the alleys. It was a sound of fear, of frustration. I used it as a guide.

It didn’t take me long to find the alley in which the terrible scene took place: a young woman with a broken nose covered in blood and tears, and a man — not that I thought he was one —, forcing his way under the girl’s dress. With no hesitation, I threw a punch right to his face, he fell to the ground immediately. 
She cried without sound paralyzed by fear. Her scent and garb indicated me she worked as a bartender, something completely inappropriate; she looked so young, probably 15 years old. Her hair was a complete mess, she was a complete mess. I got closer to her.

“Hey, look at me,” I ordered. 
Her brown eyes focused on mine at once, pleading; tears falling down her chin. She was so small. She tried to talk but couldn’t.

“Go home, forget everything that happened tonight.”

Her eyes lost focus with the force of my hypnosis. It worked perfectly, she started walking away stumbling slightly, but disappearing from my sight.

“Argh,” growled the bastard struggling to stand up. I waited for him to face me.

He looked at me, his brow furrowing with confusion. Unaware that it was me the one who’d hit him. His brown eyes wandered my frame; from my long brown hair, through my blouse and pants, and finally to my leather boots. A mix of lust and confusion filled his expression, slowly — so he could now see me— , I hit him, open hand on his chest. He flew several feet away from me landing on his ass; seething with anger, he fought to stand up again, I waited.

I wanted him to fight and see how useless it was. I wanted his fear when he realized his life was over.

“You bitch!” He shouted throwing his fist at my face. 
I grabbed his hand too fast for him to see and shattered his bones, he howled in pain. His white skin turned pale, the stinking sweat made his hair stick to his forehead.

He threw another punch with the good hand, I dodged him and kicked him away sending him to the end of the alley. His scent was a mix of cheap liquor, silk, sweat, and lavender; a wealthy man that enjoyed hurting defenseless women, one of my favorite preys. 
My fangs descended at once; it was slightly painful, but I barely felt it thanks to the hunger, and burning rage. My empty stomach clenched, a shiver of anticipation running down my spine. One week was quite a stretch for my feeble self-control.

“Get up,” I growled getting close to him. My voice sounded completely inhuman, similar to a feline roar. 

“You don’t like fair fights, do you?”

Actually, it wasn’t fair at all. I was at least a dozen times stronger than him, could be much more if the hunger hadn’t weakened me already. He was barely able to stand up, gasping for air and crawling like the insect he was. Finally, he lifted his eyes and saw me, we were near a streetlight so he could see my cat-like silver eyes, and long fangs. I smiled wickedly at the pure horror on his face, the scent of his fear tainted the air with a repulsive scent.

“You are a monster,” he murmured.

“Funny, that was my line,” I replied.

He tried to run, in the blink of an eye, I stood in front of him. I pushed him to the furthest wall back on the alley drawing us away from the possibility of being seen, then lifted him with one hand to face me. He was a couple inches lower than me, I was tall for a female. His heart raced under my touch as cold as night. 

“Please,” he begged, “God!”

I laughed while I got closer to his neck, my mouth watered with the scent of his blood.

“I think he listened to the girl’s prayer tonight,” I murmured in his ear.

I bit his neck cutting through the damp skin like a knife on butter. The warm, bittersweet blood flooded my mouth, I could taste the alcohol and evil in it. He fought uselessly under my hands, hitting me with all the strength he could muster, but I barely even felt it. I was covering his mouth with one hand to silence his choked screams.

His heart lost the battle to my unleashed hunger that knew no bounds that night. His death came faster than I wanted, I tossed his dry and useless body to the ground, and cleaned the corners of my mouth with a handkerchief, disgusted. Not even the slightest trace of regret clouded my mind. Yes, I was a murderer, but I only took the lives of the vile, of creatures far worse than me.

I  took out the bottle of bourbon of my coat and drank a bit to cleanse the taste of his corrupted blood. Then, covered the body with the rest of the liquor, and took a few steps back before tossing a lighter. The flames would cover the traces of what I had done in a short time, cleaning after myself was something I would always do.

I walked away slowly from the scene of fire and death I had created. One more dead pervert and an eternity to take down as many of them as I could.