The following contains mature content to include explicit language, and graphic violence and sex. Those that are easily offended should not proceed.
Copyright © 2012 by Leigh Fischer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher.
Edition: October 2012
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Megan asks from across the room.
“I’m that transparent, aye?” I reply, avoiding my roommate’s question.
Megan sits next to me on the couch. “Yea, it is. You look like your dog died.”
“We don’t have a dog.”
“I didn’t get the job,” I say, on the verge of tears, “and you know the worst part? He gave it to an outsider.”
Megan silently wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tight. In her embrace, I let the tears flow.
After my sobs begin to slow, Megan pushes away from me. She grabs my chin gently but firmly with her thumb and index fingers and forces me to look at her. “I love you Taylor. You are my best friend and I couldn’t ask for a better roommate, but you are too delicate. That job is yours. No one has worked harder for it. Fuck, you have practically been doing the damn job-”
“Megs, there’s no reason to swear,” I say.
“Yes there is! There is every reason to swear. You should be screaming at the top of your lungs. You should be up in that fuck-stick’s office; demanding that he give you what is rightfully yours. Instead you’re sitting here wallowing in self-pity,” she says.
I manage a shrug. I wish I had her confidence; her passion for life; her dedication. Life scares me. I manage through, but just barely. I avoid all confrontation. I just plug along, doing my thing. That’s probably why I didn’t get the promotion, well that and the fact that I refused to sleep with him. But Megan doesn’t need to know that.
“I could kill him, if you wanted me to. Or we could cut off his balls and make him eat them. Or we could-”
“That’s enough, Megan.”
“Can we at least go out and get right fucked up?”
“You’re god damned right! Maybe we should go cut that mother fucker’s balls off. I have been working my ass off for the last five years for that asshole. And what does he do? He tells me to fuck off and goes and gives it to the first wench that will suck his cock!” My head is foggy. I feel like I am watching myself say these things. My words are slurred. I am drunk.
“Damn straight! Order me another. I have to pee,” Megan says as she pushes back from the bar and staggers toward the bathroom.
We are at our usual haunt, The Trap. It is a dank basement with low ceilings and dim lighting. Its walls are bare except for the few obligatory signs provided by beer and liquor vendors. The mismatched furniture and grubby floor disappear appreciatively into the gloom. It is not the kind of place you would expect to see two women in their late twenties venturing into, much less calling home. The usual clientele is the type who knows no “drinking hour.” They are hard core with gaunt faces and dilated pupils from spending hours in the dark, staring into their broken dreams. But we like it. Megan likes to bait the old men who gaze longingly at her perky breasts and skin tight jeans. I like to fade into the darkness and disappear.
Tonight, I am not disappearing. Tonight, I am drunk, pissed off, and raising a ruckus. Tonight, I have caught the eye of a man sitting alone in a booth on the opposite wall. He waves to the bar tender and another Captain and coke appears before me. I lift my glass towards him and smile.
“What’s that all about? Where’s mine?” Megan has returned from the bathroom.
I shrug. “He bought me a drink.”
“Nice.” She squints at him in the dark. “He looks kinda’ cute. You should go talk to him.”
“Bullshit. You can’t tell from here. It’s too dark,” I say. As I turn away from the stranger, back towards the bar, I freeze. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimmer of something I haven’t seen since I was a child.
“Mrs. Mason, Taylor-”
“Mizzz Mason,” my mother corrects.
“Ms. Mason, I apologize. As I was saying, Taylor is a very bright girl. Her grades are excellent and she is such a fast learner. In fact, I’m considering recommending that she skip the second grade next year,” Mrs. Jones says.
We are sitting in my first grade classroom. It has ceilings that reach to the sky, with giant windows that make it bright and sunny. It is filled with round tables and chairs that fit me perfectly. Mrs. Jones and my mother look silly; oversized adults in a child’s world. There are brightly colored bookshelves filled with books. I have read most of them. The walls are covered in the brightly colored drawings of my classmates. None of my drawings are on the wall.
“That’s my girl,” my mother beams as she pats me on the head.
“Yes . . . but -”
“But what?” my mother asks.
“She is very smart, but she also has a very active imagination.”
“There is nothing wrong with an active imagination.”
“Of course not, Ms. Mason, but her stories . . . and her pictures . . . they are scaring the other kids.”
“She’s six, how scary can they possibly be?”
“Taylor, tell your mommy the story you told Chris this morning,” Mrs. Jones directs me.
“It’s not much of a story. I was just telling him about breakfast. Mr. Mike made me pancakes. They were yummy.”
“No, tell your mommy about Mr. Mike. What he looks like?”she coaxes.
“Ohhhh,” I say with understanding. “Well, most of the time, Mr. Mike looks normal. But sometimes he changes and I can see him for real. He has big sharp, pointy teeth and mean eyes. Like a shark. And horns. Like a bull. Here see, this is Mr. Mike,” I say handing them the drawing on which I had been working.
My mother’s pride has ebbed and she looks nauseous as she stares at my drawing and rolls my words over in her head. “Mike is my boyfriend. She must be taking it harder than I thought,” she says through gritted teeth.
Mrs. Jones nods knowingly. “That would explain it. And what about the others? Are they friends or family?”
“Others?” my mother asks, her face growing paler.
“Yes. She has a whole cast. Tommy . . . Ms. Kerri . . .”
“Jimmy and Joe, they’re twins!” I blurt out.
“Yep, friends and family. That’s all.” My mother is nervous.
“Look, Ms. Mason, if there is something-”
“Mrs. Jones, thank you for your concern. Things are fine at home. We just need to cut back on . . . you won’t have to worry about her telling any more tales,” my mother says as she jumps to her feet.
“Come on princess, get your coat. We are going home now.”
I run and grab my coat and backpack while Mrs. Jones sputters a good bye, caught off guard by the abrupt change in my mother’s demeanor.
Back at home my mother sits down with me at the kitchen table.
“Mummy, did I do something wrong?” I ask. My mother has worn a deep knitted scowl ever since we left my school.
“No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. But . . . people just don’t always understand. You can’t talk about any of Mummy’s friends anymore.”
“Not even Mr. Mike?” I ask. I look over her shoulder to the tall man standing in the corner. He is lean and angular, with pale skin and sharp features. His eyes are a beautiful green that makes me want to stare into them all day.
She glances back at him with uncertainty. He nods without speaking.
“Not, even Mr. Mike,” she says, looking back at me. “You don’t want Mummy to get in trouble do?”
I shake my head vehemently.
“Then you have to promise never to talk about what you see.”
“I promise.” As I the words leave my mouth, Mr. Mike’s tight lipped grimace spreads into a grotesque grin that reveals rows and rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth. His face stretches and reforms, becoming even more angular. His nose flattens and becomes nothing more than two slits. His pupils dilate and blot out his beautiful green irises. Massive horns writhe like snakes as they grow and twist out of the side of his head.
I look away, trying to hold my tears at bay. I will never again talk about the demons that haunt me.
I did keep my promise to my mother. I never spoke of her friends to anyone again. Eventually, I stopped seeing the monsters. I only saw the people. As I grew older I wrote it off as the insanity of a young child with an overactive imagination. The fear never fully left me, but at least I was no longer tormented. That is, until tonight.
“Taylor! Are you all right?” Megan asks as she shakes me gently.
“What?” I ask.
“You were gone there for a minute. Looked like you had seen a ghost.”
“Ugh . . . yea. Well, he looks familiar; like I knew him a long time ago.”
“Oh yeah?” her face brightens. “Go talk to him. That is a great line.”
“Maybe I will.” I down my drink and drop the glass on the bar. The warm burning in my stomach pushes me across the room, where I slide into the booth, across the table from the stranger.
Megan was not wrong about him being cute. I look him up and down and place him in his early thirties. A square jaw and thick neck and shoulders give him the appearance of power and strength. He is clean shaven and wears his black hair in short, uniform spikes. His smile glints in the dim light. But it’s his eyes. I am mesmerized. They are a pale blue with such depth that I feel like I am looking into two diamonds with infinite facets that twist and warp the light into perfection. They remind me of . . .
“Ethan,” he says, jolting me from my trance. “I see you liked your drink. Can I get you another?”His voice is playful and melodic.
“Uh, no thanks. I think I have had enough,” I say. The haze in my head makes it difficult to think. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. What am I doing here? This is not me. I don’t just sit down with strangers. “Do we know each other?”
He shakes his head and smiles. “I don’t think so. But we sure could fix that.”
“How about my mother? Vicki Mason?” I ask.
Confusion crosses his face. “No . . . should I?”
“No, you just really look familiar.”
“No, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have come over here. This isn’t my kind of thing.”
“Well what is your kind of thing? I’d be more than happy to oblige,” he says, his voice dripping with insinuation.
Something inside of me is drawn to him, but I fight against it. Looking over at Megan I see her flirting with the bar tender. “I really should go, before my roommate gets herself into trouble,” I say. As I begin to get up, out of the corner of my eye, Ethan’s features morph and flex. I snap back and look at him head on. “There! What was that? You’re one of them.”
He grins. No horns. No fangs. He looks the same as he did a moment before. “I’m just trying to keep you interested.”
I lean in and study him carefully. “So you do know my mother?”
“Looks like you’re interested.”
I force myself to nod. I am terrified. I have spent my entire life trying to un-see the monsters of my childhood, and now here I am face to face with one. “I thought I was insane.”
“Beautiful, we are all a little insane.” His eyes dance over me hungrily. “Fuckin’ a, they weren’t lyin’ when they said you were beautiful.”
Was it my imagination or did he just growl? “What are you? Why are you here?”
“They told me you were ready. I wanted to see for myself.”
“Ready for what? Who told you?” I demand.
“We should go someplace more private . . . to talk.” His voice has deepened and taken on a raspy quality. His eyes are bright and quick.
My pulse is racing. He has trapped me with his eyes again. Intoxicated by more than just the alcohol, I want to learn more. My eyes dart back to Megan; she is still flirting. “Ok, but show me first. Show me your true-self.”
He sits back, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re not ready. Not yet.”
“But you just said I was.”
“No. I said I was told you were ready. I never specified for what.”
“You’re fucking with my head,” I hiss. The tone of my own voice shocks me.
“That’s the spirit,” he says and leans back in. “That’s all life is, one big head fuck.”
“Maybe if you’re a good girl.”
“Don’t fucking mock me.” My voice is guttural. Again, my own intensity shocks me.
He laughs. “Maybe a little peek will be ok.” As he smiles, his jaw broadens and juts into a severe underbite. His lower canines lengthen to more than two inches. His eyes glow more vibrant and alluring in the poor lighting.
I look around to see if anyone else has witnessed this transformation. No one is watching. My insanity is mine alone. When I look back at him his features have returned to normal. “You’ll show me more?” I ask like a puppy begging for scraps.
“I will show you everything, in time.”
“Ok. Get me a shot of whiskey. Settle-up my tab and Megan’s. I’ll get her put in a cab and then I will go wherever you want.”
“To talk,” he says with a wink.
“You’re not going to eat me or anything are you?”
He just laughs. I flick off the ringing alarm bells in my head and go retrieve my friend.
My head has cleared. The alcohol is still present, but I have sobered considerably. I had taken my shot of liquid courage and bundled Megan into a cab set for home. She had given me a fist bump and a few drunken words of encouragement, ecstatic that I was hooking up. Now, I am standing in a grand loft at the top the world, overlooking the city. The floors are a rich, ancient looking dark wood. The windows are floor to ceiling, looking into the twinkling glow of the night. The walls are white, decorated with abstractions that evoke violence and terror. Buttery dark leather furniture is scattered throughout the room. In one corner is a modern kitchen with stainless and mahogany. In the opposite corner next to the windows and balcony is a conspicuous king sized bed.
I whistle. “This is quite a place you have here.” You must me the prince of darkness or something, I add to myself.
Ethan snickers and hands me a glass of whiskey. “Yea, it’s alright.”
Here in the brighter light, brightness being relative to The Trap, I can see him more clearly. He is shorter than I imagined, maybe five-seven; only an inch or so taller than I. But he is just as rugged and muscular as I has suspected. I was mistaken when I noted that he was clean shaven, for he wears a thin chinstrap that accentuates his strong jaw line.
“Come sit with me on the couch,” he says, placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me across the room. We sit close facing each other; he smells of a strong sweet musk that draws me closer.
I have betrayed myself. This is not me. I do not go to the homes of strange men. It takes great perseverance to focus on why I am here. Why am I here? With this powerful stranger who has captivated me. He smells so good, I could just . . . FOCUS! “You know my mother?”
“I know of her,” he says setting his drink on the coffee table and then placing his hand on my thigh.
At his touch, my mind begins to wonder again. “How?” I ask, trying to shake off the growing desire emanating from where his hand massages my leg.
“She is known in some circles for her more illicit affairs.”
“You can say it. She is a power hungry whore, who would fuck anything for influence; no matter the consequence,” I growl. For the third time tonight I am surprised by my own words and tone.
Ethan laughs. “So eloquent when speaking of your mother.”
“It’s true,” I say as I think of the endless parade of men and women that flowed through our house over the years. Mr. Mike was a constant, but there were others.
“So I hear. They tell me she had the ability to sense our power and sought us out.”
“Like I can sense you?” I ask.
Ethan slides his hand higher up my thigh, trailing his thumb along the inner seem of my pants. “No, she couldn’t see our ‘true-selves’ as you call it. She knew we were powerful, but couldn’t see what also makes us dangerous.”
My breath hitches at his words and his touch; his fingers crawl ever higher, where I am becoming slick with anticipation. I know he is dangerous. I knew it from the first moment I caught a glimpse of him, but I can’t stop myself. My brain is telling me ‘NO! RUN! GET OUT!’ but my body aches with desire and welcomes his advancements.
He leans in close and kisses the side of my neck. He sucks gently; sucking out all of my inhibitions. The ‘rational me’ makes one more attempt at escape. “I can see you for what you are. I can see the danger, but it has done me no good.”
“Because you know that I am not a danger to you,” he answers calmly and nibbles at my ear.
“Why is that?” I ask the question, but I feel the answer deep inside; in the throbbing lust that is taking control.
“Because, you are one of us.”
Ethan lays me on the bed and strips me of my jeans and panties. In a rush to quench the yearning, I inelegantly pull off my shirt and bra. He stands over the bed staring down at me, his eyes dancing over my naked body. The expectation is maddening. I can’t stop myself from reaching to my shaved pussy and sliding in a finger to see if I am as aroused as I feel. My body’s response is clear: I have never wanted something so much in my life.
Ethan groans as my finger comes away glistening. He climbs on top of me and snatches up my hand; placing my finger in his mouth he tastes me. He pulls my finger out slowly and then delicately traces his tongue along the length of my arm, up my neck and along my jaw. He traces my lips, as though he wants to taste all of me. Then he plunges it between my lips and forcefully into my mouth. Never before have I been kissed so passionately. He breaks the kiss and moves to my collarbone, I moan in protest but he ignores me. His lips move from my collarbone, down to my chest. They nip briefly at my hard, stimulated nipples. I arch my back, but again, Ethan ignores my directions. He licks the underside of my breasts and then trails his tongue down to my navel and then ever lower.
My legs splay wide and my hips involuntarily thrust in recognition. Ethan looks up at me with his beautiful blue diamonds and pauses. Out of sheer frustration, I let out a guttural sound, unlike anything before that has ever escaped my lips. He grins mischievously and lowers he head and slides his tongue along my slit, barely penetrating my lips. Each lick is successively deeper and deeper. His tongue dances in and out of my pussy and flicks at my clit. My eyes roll back in my head, my back arches, my hips thrust. I run my fingers through his hair and provide a constant pressure to remind him not to stop. With my free hand I caress and pinch my nipples. The noises I emit are rough and animalistic.
Without warning he plunges two fingers deep inside of me. With intense attention from his tongue and the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers, I am quick to cum. I scream out in a pleasure previously foreign to me as all of my muscles contract and release.
I push back to catch my breath, but I am not sated. As if sensing that my yearning has not yet languished, Ethan pulls off his shirt. Every bit as chiseled as I expected, he is lean and muscled. There is a prehistoric looking mastiff tattooed on his chest; I deem it fitting as I recall his square jutting jaw and oversized canines. He tugs at his pants and they drop to the floor, leaving him naked and gently stroking his firm cock.
Climbing back onto the bed, Ethan places himself between my legs and slowly enters me with exacting precision. The intensity is excruciating. I have already cum; my clit is over-sensitized and every thrust of his cock sends me somewhere between Heaven and Hell, pleasure and pain. I am trapped in purgatory. I put my hand on Ethan’s hairless chest and I stop his thrusting.
He looks at me, distressed by my intervention.
“Show me,” I whisper.
With a flicker of recognition his aguish turns to delight. He relaxes ever so slightly and, as before, his muscles begin to twist and shift as they realign into their natural shape. It may be my imagination, but even his girth within me seems shift and expand. I tense as I find myself only inches from his violent fangs and vaguely canine face.
His eyes, more reflective than ever, show doubt.
I squelch it. “Ethan, fuck me,” I demand.
Without a second thought, he begins to thrust; more forceful than before. I feel the full length of his shaft sliding in and out of me. I can feel and hear the slapping of his balls on my ass. I shift my gaze back and forth between his cock ramming into me and the ferociousness of his face. I quiver and shake as the intensity moves me further and further from purgatory. I cry out as I cum for a second time. Endorphins flood my brain and I sink into the bed. Ethan continues to pump as my vaginal walls twitch and contract. He lets out a deep mournful howl as he releases his load and slows his thrusting. He pulls out and collapses beside me.
“Are we demons?” I ask, sitting naked at Ethan’s breakfast bar.
Ethan shrugs as he hunts in the refrigerator. “If you are asking whether we are one of God’s creations or the Devil’s, I can’t answer you.”
“Are there many of us?”
He nods. “We have been behind every great power throughout history. Sometimes we are the face; but more often than not, we are the puppet master.”
I nod thoughtfully, thinking of Mr. Mike who pulled my mother’s strings from the corner. “What about me? Why are you so interested in me?”
“Ahhh, again with the difficult questions?”
“You’ve known the truth for less than a day and you are already asking the great philosophical questions posed by our kind.”
At his dismissal, I feel an alien rage building. “Do not treat me like a child! This knowledge has tormented and tortured me my entire life. I knew deep down that I wasn’t mad.” The outburst comes out in a threatening hiss of words.
Ethan smiles and laughs. “The tormented and tortured always lead more interesting lives.”
I jump from my stool and saunter around the breakfast bar and shove Ethan up against the refrigerator. I press my naked body against his and kiss him hard. His hands drop to my hips and wrap around my ass. Through his boxers, I feel him grow hard against my pelvis.
Never before have I used my sexuality for personal gain. In fact, I’ve never used it much for much of anything. Sex has mostly been a solo affair. On occasion, I have been talked into going home with a male friend, but I have never been the seductress.
“It was foretold that I would be the lover, protector, and servant of a great leader. Against this, I rebelled. Why couldn’t I be the great leader? Why did I have to play the hapless minion to some whore?”
“You don’t seem like a minion to me,” I say as I nip at his nipple with my teeth. “You’re distracted, please continue.”
“I went to the bar last night to assassinate you; to prove the prophecy wrong.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t. As soon as I saw you, I knew the elders were right. You are my destiny. I can taste it in you. Your power is palpable.”
His sweet musk seeps into the air. I moan as I become wet with lust. Ethan lets out a whimper as I break from his embrace and walk across the room. I strut to the dining table and place my palms flat on the smooth, cool wood; spread my legs and offer myself to him. I watch over my shoulder as he drops his boxers to the floor and his fangs begin to grow. He enters me from behind and thrusts rhythmically until I cum, screaming his name and a string of profanity I didn’t know existed within me. He speeds his pace and quickly finishes with a groan, leaving me panting and aching, bent over the table.
“That good?” he asks.
“What?” I wheeze as I push myself up.
He points to the table where deep claw gouges have appeared in the hardwood. “Looks like your true-self is ready to come out and play.”
I stare down at my short nails. I know that they couldn’t possibly have been capable of the destruction, but the dark splinters driven into the quicks are undeniable. “I’m so sorry . . .”
Ethan laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It gives it character.”
Suddenly enveloped in darkness, I am only vaguely aware as I hit the floor.
I awake on the couch, wearing what I presume are Ethan’s sweats. I push myself up and my head spins. Ethan appears at my side and helps provide stability.
“Here drink this. It will help.” He hands me a glass full of greenish brown sludge.
“What is it?” I wrinkle up my nose.
“Just drink it.”
I take a gulp. It is surprisingly good and I begin to feel better almost immediately.
Ethan watches on, wide eyed, as I down the viscous liquid in a few big gulps.
“That’s some shake. I feel so much better already,” I say. “What the fuck happened? Did I pass out?”
He nods. “Wild ride, huh? You’re doing great! I slept for a week when my true-self first began to emerge.”
“Which was when, exactly?” I pry.
“About fifteen years ago. Most change as teenagers. But for some, it takes longer to find themselves.”
“Christ, I hated being a teenager. I don’t want to do it again,” I say with a sinking feeling as I envision myself a gawky creature with ridiculous hormones and acne.
“Don’t worry, Taylor. That won’t be a problem. You are way beyond that.” He kisses me lightly on the lips, reigniting my passion.
He groans, fighting me off. “As much as I want to just fuck like rabbits all day, we can’t. You need some rest and we both need to get something solid into us.”
“Your cock is plenty solid for me.”
“Nope. Not now. There will be plenty of time for that later. I’m going to take you home where you can get some rest without distraction and then I will pick you up for dinner. Wear something nice.”
“Taylor! You’re alive! I was so worried. I was fuckin’ hammered last night. Right sideways. I don’t even remember how I got home. And then I woke up this morning and you weren’t here,” Megan shrieks and attacks me with a bear hug.
“Yea you were pretty far gone. You were hitting on Keith.”
I try to extract myself from her grip and disappear before she can ask too many questions.
She squeezes tighter. “But where were you? Fuck, you smell like booze, sex and . . . chocolate? Did Willy Wonka open a strip club and not tell me?”
Chocolate? I guess I can see how Ethan’s sweet smell is reminiscent of chocolate. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac, after all.
“His name is Ethan. You were right. He’s cute.”
She releases me and her jaw drops. “You’ve been out all night with him?” she looks at her watch, “It’s almost two o’clock.”
I grin devilishly, but say nothing.
“So you do smell like booze, sex, and chocolate. There’s gotta be a story behind the chocolate. Dish. Now.”
“Sorry, not now. I have to shower and get some sleep. He’s picking me up at seven.”
“Sleep? At two o’clock in the afternoon? My little Taylor is growing up,” Megan sobs as I leave the room.
“Oh and I’m borrowing your black dress.”
“That’s the one.”
“Good for you, sister.”
“Ok Taylor, I have two words of warning for you. One, I greatly doubt tonight will be like any other night of your life,” Ethan says as we approach a sparkling hotel entrance with valets and bellboys standing around in colorful and formal uniforms.
I nod, unsurprised. I have the feeling I’m going be having a lot of firsts.
“Two, you are my destiny. I will give my life to protect you. I love you. Don’t ever forget it, no matter what you see or hear.”
“You . . . you . . .”
“I can feel it. I can smell it. I taste it. I know you can too. But don’t worry; you don’t have to admit it now. There is far too much for you learn before you have to think about a mangy mutt following you around, lapping at your heels.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses my lips gently. “There is no one more beautiful than you. Don’t forget.”
Ethan guides me through the lobby and into the cocktail lounge where we take a seat at the bar. It is a grade or two above The Trap. The glasses are crystal, the booths are leather, the men wear silky suits, and the women wear shimmering dresses.
“Are you ready to see how women are supposed to respond to me?”
“What’s that supposed . . .” I trail off as he jumps off his stool and walks to the other end of the bar and begins talking to an attractive blonde. No not talking. Flirting. My face flushes and my stomach churns as I feel the jealousy building. Why is he doing this to me? He gets me all dressed up and whispers sweet nothings in my ear, all to make me watch him pick up some cunt in a low cut dress?
I don’t have to watch this. I am better than this, than to be led around by some freak I barely know. As I stand to leave, Ethan moves in my direction with the bitch on his arm. He laughs charismatically when she whispers something in his ear.
“Cristina, I would like to introduce you to someone very special to me. This is my lover, Taylor,” Ethan says to the blonde as he winks at me.
What the hell is he doing?
“Lovely to meet you, just lovely,” the woman says without taking her eyes off Ethan.
“Ethan, should I rip out her throat or yours?” I growl, so low only he can hear.
“Jealous, my Queen? Have you already forgotten both of my warnings?”
I blink, realizing I had completely forgotten them. As my rage ebbs, it is quickly replaced with intrigue.
Without releasing his prize, Ethan takes my face with his free hand and kisses me. “Woo, I think it’s time to be going. Cristina is getting a little frisky.”
I look down and see that the woman has grabbed his crotch. Before I can respond, Ethan nods to the bartender who simply replies “Yes Mr. Wolf. Have lovely evening,” and whisks both of us out the door.
In a dimly lit alley behind the hotel, Ethan sits me at a candlelit table with a crimson tablecloth. The blonde has lost her shoes and rubs herself, like a cat in heat, against him. Though he keeps batting her hand away from his crotch, his bulging erection is obvious. Nor can the sweet chocolaty smell of his arousal be ignored. Sheer curiosity is all that keeps me from walking away and hailing a cab.
Ethan turns away from me and turns his full attention to the woman. He grabs her roughly by her breast with one hand and covers her mouth with the other. He drives her back violently against the wall of the neighboring building. Her skull emits a revolting splat as it hits the brick. Her eyes are wide with terror as she tries to scream, finally realizing the danger that was masked by Ethan’s chemicals and charm.
In an instant he transforms; more now than before. His shoulders bulge and rip his suit jacket apart at the seams. A dozen, six-inch spines burst through his jacket along his vertebrate. He howls long and low and then snaps his powerful jaws through her neck, ending her life instantly in a gush of blood and gore.
Ethan drops the wench to the ground and turns back to face me. He has reverted, only his lower fangs remain. His jacket is shredded and soaked in blood. As he pants, his eyes gleam and beckon me. My stomach churns, but I quickly realize it is not because of the violent scene, but because he had been the one to do it. I should have been the one to do the deed. The thought of her filthy cunting hands on my Ethan, makes my blood boil. I will show her who rules in this house.
I run at Ethan. He knows me and has unzipped his pants and pulled out his rigid cock by the time I reach him. He hikes up my dress, thrilled to find me panty-less, and slides into me. He fucks me against the wall splattered with the whore’s brains, and with her corpse at our feet.
“You were incredible,” Ethan gushes as he places me back at our little table. “That was fucking amazing, but I didn’t bring you out here to screw you in a back alleyway.”
“Added bonus?” I ask.
“Bonus and then some. But this is why we are here,” he says, standing over the corpse. “We almost waited too long.” He leans over and thrusts his hand into her chest. There is a shattering crack as the sternum and ribs give way. With one smooth jerk of a well practiced master, the heart is produced.
“For you, my Queen, the most prized organ is best served fresh, when it is still full of blood and life.” Ethan places the dripping organ into my hand. It is lighter than I expected.
I stare at it. My brain tells me I should vomit, or runaway, or have some normal response to holding a fresh heart.
“Give in to the madness. Forget everything that you think you know. You are already sitting at a candlelit table in an alleyway after an appetizer of murder and sex. Just give in,” he growls low and seductively.
He’s right. I have already come this far to madness. I might as well finish the trip. I take a bite and become instantly serene. It is unlike anything before. It is rich and sweet and so tender, I can feel that my teeth have transformed and slice through the tough muscle with ease. I take another bite and another.
Ethan grins as he watches me devour his gift. He disappears and returns with the liver.
“You still haven’t shown me your true-self. You have shown me more. But when will you show me everything?” I ask.
“Soon, my love. Very soon. But you can’t know me without first knowing yourself.”
“Taylor, what are you doing here? Didn’t you call in sick today?” Roger asks looking up from his desk in surprise.
“I thought I might catch you here, at this late hour,” I say, ignoring his second question.
“Um yes. I have a lot of work . . . I’m planning to take some vacation time soon.”
“I’m sure,” I say, “Looking for someone, Roger?”
“I . . . Emily was going to give me a hand.”
“The new hire. Yes, I ran into her on my way up. I told her I would be glad to help you, I told her to go home and enjoy her evening.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” he says. Confusion crosses his face and is quickly replaced by relief and a hint of understanding. “You don’t look sick, in fact, you look stunning.” He looks me up and down like a piece of meat; starting at my black stilettos he traces his gaze up my bare legs to the black skirt that leaves little to the imagination. I don’t think his eyes ever make it above my breasts, barely covered by my loose red silk blouse.
“No, I feel fantastic. It was more of a mental health day, you know?”
He nods, but the pounding in his chest that I can hear from across the room tells me he is not paying attention to the details. He moves around to the front of his desk and leans against it with his arms crossed as he continues to drink me up. “Taylor, I must say, you look different. You seem different.”
“Roger, you have no idea.” I cross the distance between us and stop just inches from him. “I think you made a terrible mistake, not giving me the job.”
“Emily is . . . very qualified.”
“I am very qualified,” I assert, placing my hand on his thigh and leaning into him.
“Yes. Yes you are.” He uncrosses his arms and places his hands on my hips. “It is a shame you were overlooked. Perhaps we can do something about that.”
I resist the urge to vomit as he pulls me closer and I feel his erection on my leg. A low rumble emanates from the shadows that have enveloped the room.
“What was that?” Roger asks.
I ignore his question and kiss him, driving my tongue forcefully into his mouth. I unzip his pants; he moans as I massage his cock and stroke his ego.
“Easy, baby, with the boys,” he cautions.
I squeeze his balls harder.
“That’s too much.”
I grin at him; his eyes bulge wide with fear and he becomes flaccid. I flex my palm and he begins to scream like a dying rabbit. I pull a clawed, reptilian hand holding a bloody bag of flesh and organs from his pants.
His hands drop to his crotch, as if he could stop the bleeding.
“Stop screaming, you fucking twat,” I order.
Whether because he has gone into shock or he retains hope for mercy, he goes silent.
I remove the little orbs from the package of skin. “Open your mouth.”
Roger clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head like a child refusing lima beans. I grab him by the throat and lift him from his feet. He is soon gasping for air and his mouth is gaped wide as a dying fish.
I drop his testicles in his mouth and hold it shut until he swallows.
I release him into a heap on the floor, sobbing and bleeding out.
“Nicely done, my Queen,” Ethan says as he steps from the shadows.
I gasp at the sight of him. He has fully transformed. He has grown to nearly seven feet; his dorsal spines have doubled in length; his jaw juts and reveals prehistoric fangs; and his skin has sloughed off, leaving behind greasy looking muscle, bone and sinew. Before me stands a massive canine demon that oozes power.
“You’re incredible,” I whisper, “but, I thought you weren’t going to show me until I had seen myself?”
He closes the door of the office and points to the full length mirror.
I look into the mirror and see myself looking back. It is a new image, but it is what I have always known deep down.
“It is you, my Queen, who is incredible.”
Ethan takes me in his arms and we make love for the first time as equals, as our true-selves, to the shrieks and cries of a dying beast.
The vivacious eater,
born of the insatiable lover
and guided by the faithful hell-hound,
will lead us into a new era.