4 comments/ 28754 views/ 5 favorites Hunted By: jennygrrl We walked through the woods surrounded by the smell of earth and pine, the sky filtering through the trees echoing those last stray touches of daylight in purples, pinks, and darker gold. His hand found mine and I knew he had fed; his fingers warm as they slid between my own. He smiled as if to say, "Not too much further, baby," and the comfort of being home slowly rolled over me. The cabin came into view, a hundred feet ahead of us and we walked weaving between the oak and birch as the last rays of the sunlight settled upon the horizon. He opened the door and I pushed past him quietly into the darkened room. The place rang with silence, disturbed only by the creaking of the floorboards underfoot and I moved to find a light. His hands found my waist and slipped down around me, pushing along my hips and over the small of my stomach. "No," he whispered in one warm breath against my ear and my heart leapt as I struggled to breathe. He moved against me from behind to a music that only he heard, pressing my body tight to his swaying hips. The warmth of his embrace so utterly overwhelmed me that I hadn't noticed he'd stopped moving when he kissed me. The first wet press of his lips to my neck sent a shudder through me that drew me back into myself, calling me from my midnight fantasies. He pushed me forward, moving me through the dark between furniture and things I couldn’t see, before finally pressing me into the leather sofa. His hips ground against me, his teeth at my neck, and I whimpered as he growled. His passion flared and I was drowning in him, fast, complete, forcing against his chest with my hands, but he pushed them away easily, sliding them above my head, holding them with one of his own. He moved hungry kisses down my chin, over my neck, stopping to feel the throbbing pulse between his lips. “You want this, don’t you my girl,” he hissed, not waiting for an answer as he continued to push down my body. He licked at my nipples through the silk shirt, my satin camisole, but my body obeyed stiffening quickly. We both filled the blackened room with the sound of our panting, his fingers deftly unbuttoning my jeans before slipping under my shirt to stroke sharp nails over my abdomen. I cried with fear, with pain as he slit a slow spiral just at the surface, the lines rapidly welling with heated crimson which he proceeded to lick away. He circled his tongue over the twisting pattern, teasing my skin mercilessly. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, praying the sting would dissipate, but it continued as he kissed the pooled blood from my skin, finally quieting me by healing the wound. “Shh, it’s okay baby...” he said softly and pulled up quickly, forcing me to grab his wrist. “Don’t go,” I insisted, not wanting him to leave me. He hushed me once more, promising to return quickly and left me alone in the dark in the center of the lodge. I shut my eyes thinking about the night before when we had been together. We made slow ardent love, both of us exhausted, but never too tired for one another. He lay behind me, positioning me forward before he slid home into the warmth that waited for him like no other. He pulled me close as he drove himself in deeply, but drew from me with deliberateness. He begged me to take it from him, his release, while his fingers slid over the part of me that needed his touch. In moments we came together, the sounds of our lovemaking pushing each other over the edge until we lay there still joined, wrapped in the calm of one another’s embrace. I hadn’t heard him behind me, but the feeling of his finger trailing down my cheek made me jump, dragging me from my reverie. “What were you just thinking about,” he asked with as smile; you could hear it in his voice. “You were thinking about last night, weren’t you? Mmm, I love falling asleep inside of you.” I shifted against the sofa feeling the flush creep into my cheeks. I had woken to him still buried inside of me, straining my hips slightly against his length, against that part of him that never seemed to get enough. He pretended to sleep until neither of us could endure it any longer and bracing himself against my hips he thrust against me until we were both fully sated. “Tonight, my darling,” he spoke breaking the silence, “I want to do something different.” His hands touched mine and he grabbed me from the sofa into his arms, carrying me up the unlit stairway towards one of the bedrooms. He stepped us across the threshold, then slid me down the length of his body. I pressed my hand over his heart and felt it beating wildly which quickened my own once again. He moved us further into the center of the room and then left my side for mere moments. Once he returned he spoke again trailing the softest piece of velvet across my cheek. “Tonight, baby girl, I want to spoil your senses,” he whispered moving the velvet down my throat, over my breasts, and sidling it around my waist pulling me into him fiercely. I cried as he kissed me hard enough to bruise, forcing my mouth open with his tongue, drawing blood once more with those razor sharp teeth. I tasted the familiar copper flavor while our tongues met, swirling that essence between them. He drew from my mouth like a man starving, before releasing me gently. I gasped as he moved the velvet back to my face and then tied it securely over my eyes. The thick material fell over my ears as well, suddenly making me feel tiny and helpless against him. His low baritone chuckle sounded distant, even though he was there alongside me. I shivered with anticipation; and then he was gone. I stood alone in the quiet of the room, blind and somewhat unable to hear, the sound of my beating heart accompanying the darkness. I shivered as sharp nails drew down the length of my arm, but when I reached out he was not there. I felt as if he were close, my named whispered somewhere inside my head, but when I sought to press back against him I was by myself. He whispered again, this time his breath brushing my hair, my name a request upon his lips. I moved forward, my arms stretched out before me, searching for him like a child playing games ... hide and go seek, Marco Polo. My hand brushed down the side of his shirt but before I could grab him fully he had vanished. “Stand still,” I whispered trying to hear for the thick covering. “No,” he chuckled softly and brushed by me once more. “Come... find me.” I progressed slowly, incapacitated by my mortal senses and finally reached up and undid my mask. “No fair cheating,” he cried, still hidden by the shadows and the darkness of the room. “Fair!” I exclaimed. “You have no room to complain about fairness my love.” “So what, you want me to find you?” His voice lowered and his words were dripping with something akin to passion. “Should I reach out right now and touch you?” I stood still waiting, his hand running down the length of my back before he reached around to hold me tight to his chest. “There you are, my girl. You have what you wanted then.” He held me firmly to him, his body a solid structure behind me, cradling me against him. His hands traveled to mine, lightly tugging at the velvet tie. His strong fingers wrapped around my wrists, pulling them behind me and as if he knew the protest would come he hushed me gently. “Shh,” he whispered so close to my skin, the feeling of his breath touching me just before his kiss. His fingers twisted and bound my hands tightly behind me and without any other words he tugged the harness, dragging me towards a room at the back of the cottage. The entire place was black as tar, my night vision adjusting but never very adept. He had planned this, knowing full well the ways in which he wished to use the items he brought, knowing which rooms he wished to acclimate me to without sight, sound, and now ... touch. I shivered while he trailed delicate fingertips up my abdomen over my clothing; his breath falling evenly upon my shoulder, his kisses hot and demanding, his fingernails raking at my stomach under the shirt as he brought me to the point of being completely helpless. He took the tie in hand once more, undoing it and readjusting it so my arms were stretched out over my head against a metal frame. The frame felt solid, longer posts that were a part of one structure – a bed frame. He stood behind me dragging his nails once more from both sides around my waist. The sensation was exquisite and made me draw in a breath. He fell to his knees and starting at the small of my back, pulling the jeans down far enough to expose my skin. He caressed me with his tongue, kissing slowly, following the waistline of the material. His fingers wrapped around the front, pushing the already undone material down my legs, hands following fabric along my inner thighs. His cool even skin made me weak, touching mine so softly, urging my legs further apart. Every reaction that met with his approval drew a subtle murmur of praise from his lips. He stroked my exposed thighs with his hands then touched his lips to the inside forcing me to quiver against the frame. My knees felt weak but still I held my ground, refusing to give in to the temptation. He laughed, a soft husky sound, before he bit into my flesh. He failed to break the skin but my gasp resounded throughout the room. “Did that hurt?” he asked almost cruelly and I could feel the smile on his lips. “You like a little pain, don’t you my girl?” I couldn’t help but shake my head. I was frightened by his idea of pain, not that he would hurt me much, but that the surprise of it, not being able to control it would be completely beyond my grasp. “Don’t lie to me,” he said gently, licking the silken panties between my thighs. I wanted to cry, to moan, but I bit my lower lip instead stifling all sound. He repeated the action not satisfied with my quiet and continued to press against the material until it was sopping wet. Finally I struggled to catch my breath, begging him in soft whispers to stop. He did, working the cloth down around my calves, before pulling it from me. “You are absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered. His hand traveled the small flat of my stomach, back down along my ribs, the carved shape of my thighs, the softness of my buttocks. He parted my thighs before his thumb slipped between my legs and slowly worked against the part of me that was most begging for his attention. “Stop, please,” I begging quietly, whimpering a far different plea. “I love it when you beg,” he smiled, pressing up a little harder, circling with greater intent. The fire built so strong and so long that I thrashed around against the restraints, bruising my wrists, crying to be free. “Fight for it,” he panted up to me. “Struggle, make yourself cum,” he commanded but every touch was only more flame. “Kiss me,” I sobbed beyond my control and he did, leaning forward with the swirl of his thumb and the flick of his tongue he kissed me, fast and deep. Everything fell still inside my head with the rush of pleasure that came. He drank it all, his tongue sliding through it, so slick and wet. It had been too much, too fast, too hard and I continued to cum until finally he pulled away panting. “My God, my girl, mmm, my God; good to the very last drop.” He licked his fingers before sliding them inside of me and I nearly fainted. He grabbed me tight by my waist and reached up to undo my arms above me. The silk tie slipped off my bruised wrists and he kissed each one with a soft pout. “I’m sorry for these,” he said looking truly sorry and equally as wicked. “Sure, sure,” I panted, his fingers still inside of me. He held me on his lap with one hand, stroking the velvet across my back while he teased inside of me, rebuilding the heat. Finally he spoke again. “Ready for more?” He didn’t give me time to answer but removed his fingers, licking them one at a time and covering my eyes. He turned to lay me on the bed and then moved away for mere moments. Finally he came back and the silken softness of his skin was my reward. Every inch of him slid across me slowly, seducing me with his movements. His kisses were perfection, art he had crafted for years. He started slowly, barely touching, hovering, lingering, soft breath exchanged for meager whispers. Then he’d make contact, gliding so smooth, so fluid, his tongue dancing along mine before teasing and coaxing and then fucking in every way I wished to be owned. Finally when we broke I choked, “I’m ready.” He chuckled against my ear. “I bet you are,” he whispered. “I bet you are.” He hovered over me though I could not see him. I had seen him before and in my imagination I saw his face. He wasn’t just handsome or gorgeous. He was complete precision, an exactness that can only be made once in this world. I always told him I thought God must have wept on the day he created him. I had never been lying. His eyes were mesmerizing; a steely gray, a summer blue, or a sultry violet. His cheekbones were prominent, his jawbones sleek, his nose to the perfect point. The way his hair fell, the way it touched me when he hovered, my body shuddered simply from the thought. Still he waited. Perhaps he knew I was envisioning him. The way his muscles worked beneath his skin at his shoulder while he remained above me, the sharp definition of his clavicle, and the pale hollow of his throat. I saw it all in my minds-eye waiting for him to penetrate me. Slowly I felt him ease down against me, the long hard line of his body pressing demandingly to mine. My thighs parted and wrapped around him, ankles crossed above his hips. He dipped his head to trail his hair against my cheek, his lips to the pulse at my neck as his cock eased gently inside. The slickness made it simple and we both gasped with the action. In smooth fluid strokes he pushed in, and in languid passionate caresses he pulled out. I could have died by the sense alone, every thrust my muscles tightening around him, wanting him to burn for me as I had him. “Oh, I love you,” he murmured from above. “I love you and I love what you do to me. You’re so tight baby girl, you’re milking the cum from within me.” I shuddered before restricting my muscles even more, tightening against him to make my body into a vice. It was impossible not to cum over and over, writhing beneath him, calling his name. I told him I loved him, I said I’d give him anything, and at the time I would have traded my soul just to have him inside me, as one. I could feel him losing control as he pounded me into the mattress, striving for the release he so desperately needed. He yanked on the velvet once more as he groaned, “I want to see you, I want to see your eyes.” I looked up at him lovingly, my green eyes sparkling to him with unshed tears, too much emotion to look away. One soft smile from my lips and the look in my eyes pushed him over. He fell forward, his hips working on their own and he panted indelibly the words against my ear. “Never... want... to .... stop. Need ... you... forever.” Then he was still. We lay quiet for several minutes, my sweat and his blood sweat mingling together. He looked up finally and smiled softly, brushing my hair from my face. “I should reclaim what I’ve given you,” he said with a wicked smile. I rolled my eyes and slapped him. “You’ve had enough,” I teased. He smirked as he grabbed me, holding me from behind. “Yes, indeed I have, although, I’m not quite sure I can ever have enough with you.” I smiled contentedly, having been hunted, bruised, and perfectly fucked. I sighed happily and fell asleep. Hunted *Disclaimer - Please do not skip this!* This story includes scenes of graphic non-consensual sex that some readers may find offensive. They are of a stronger nature than many within this category. You have been warned ;-) I have submitted an edited version of Hunted following some changes I made to (hopefully) flesh out Suzanne's character. I'll admit, I had far more fun writing Sasha and poor Suzanne ended up a little forgotten. I hope you enjoy the changes, and feel free to let me know what you think via the comments/feedback. * Suzanne was running for her life through muddy fields and dense forest, attempting to evade the sniper who was on her tail. She'd been grounded by one of their anti aircraft missiles, and her parachute was kind enough to tangle itself into a chestnut tree, of all things. The spiky shells of the nuts had pierced the fabric of the chute and stuck as if they were deliberately trying to hinder her escape, and so she had to hurry to cut herself down. From her vantage point in the tree she couldn't miss the convoy of vehicles that was attempting to negotiate the rough terrain to intercept her. As she made her way through the trees the convoy had been her most pressing concern, right up until the point that Suzanne felt herself being pelted with the bark of another chestnut tree. The bullet had lodged itself into the unfortunate tree at about the height of her knee, and had missed hitting her by only a few centimetres. From the direction that the tree had been hit, Suzanne realised that it could not have been a member of the convoy who had fired upon her. She was being flanked by a sniper. He was fast, and he was a good shot. From the shot that had come near to her, it looked as if he was aiming to wound her rather than kill. Some consolation at least, although she certainly didn't want to find out what he would do to her if he caught her. She rounded a corner to find a thicker patch of trees in the distance that would provide better cover, if she could get to them. She ran for it, using the small rocks for cover as best as she could. She reached the trees safely and continued running for several minutes before sinking to her knees to rest. After catching her breath, Suzanne thought it best to move on. She quietly got to her feet, scanning the trees ahead for the best route out of the forest. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes met those of her pursuer; he was crouched in the trees no more than twenty feet away from her. She panicked and ran, attempting to get a head start before he could get up. Too slow, too slow, too slow! her brain chanted as she stumbled on the uneven ground. Her sniper, used to this land, had no such trouble. He seemed to have decided that he was too close to use his gun in such dense forest. Or he was just enjoying the chase. Either way, at least she wasn't getting shot at. Suzanne didn't spare a moment to look back, but she knew he was close; she could hear his breathing as he ran along behind her. He laughed as he saw her stumble, but he didn't catch her. He was playing with her, enjoying the chase. Bastard. He said something to her as he matched her pace. Her Serbian wasn't too good, but she was pretty sure that what she heard went against the Geneva Convention. Her face burned in rage as she heard him mention something about enjoying the view and almost not wanting to catch her. She reached the top of a small hill within the woods and cried out in shock as she realised that the ground dropped out from under her feet for several metres, and she didn't have any hope of stopping in time. She fell through the air and landed back on the forest floor with a thud. Winded, she tried to roll over and get back to her feet, but she was dragged backwards and flipped onto her back again. Caught. Shit. Sasha was glowing with the thrill of the chase, but he kept his expression brutal. The woman was still trying to get away, and aimed a kick at his shin while attempting to punch him in the face. She was impressive; she connected both of her strikes before he was able to evade. Not a problem; she was fast but she couldn't hit as hard as his bones were used to. He grabbed her wrists and held her still, growled in her ear for her to lie still. She either didn't understand him or she was ignoring him. It didn't matter either way, he still needed her to stop. He slapped her hard, and then backhanded her as well, but she only redoubled her efforts to escape. She was screaming what he could only assume were insults as she continued to kick. "Get off me you murdering bastard!" the woman screamed as she tried to free herself from his grip. Her face had turned an angry red from the force of the blow that he had inflicted on her, but she seemed determined not to let him see that he had hurt her. Angered by her refusal to cooperate, Sasha screamed "Shut up!" at her in Serbian. She stopped screaming, but wrestled her arms free and rolled on top of him so that she could put her weight behind her fist as she smacked it into his jaw. Sasha had had enough by now. He could have shot the woman easily, but his commanding officer wanted her for questioning. He'd been given specific instructions to deliver her alive and as unharmed as possible. He dragged himself back on top of her, and decided to threaten her in a different way. He yanked her legs apart, and moved on top of her so that his groin was digging into hers, then dragged her hands above her head and held her down. She groaned as he held her face level with his, and shouted at her to shut up again. She obeyed. Suzanne was stuck. The threat was unmistakable, regardless of which language they were speaking. She could lie still, or he would play dirty. He was slowly grinding his hips into hers and she groaned in disgust as she felt a treacherous heat start to build inside her body. She writhed against him, trying to break free of his hold before her body betrayed her any further. It didn't work. He let go of her face and slid his palm over her breasts and squeezed until she screamed in anger. They carried on struggling, until eventually Sasha had the woman lying still on the ground. She was brave, but she did not want to be raped. He knew that she understood at least some of his language, so he decided to talk dirty to her until he got a reaction. Suzanne groaned softly as the sniper continued his assault on her, grinding into her while holding her down and whispering into her ear. He was saying that he was going to fuck her and that he was looking forward to hearing her scream as he came inside her. He hissed that she was going to blow him until he collapsed and that she would be begging him for more by the end of the day. She tried to hold back a moan of fear as Sasha slid his hand back up to hold her head still, and then bent down and kissed her. She felt her body go rigid against him as he continued his assault on her mouth. His warm lips felt scorching against her freezing skin, causing a bolt of electricity to burst through her veins. As he hunted for a way inside her mouth, Suzanne struggled to drag air into her protesting lungs and she suddenly found herself swathed in his scent. The analytical part of her brain noticed faint traces of soap, gun oil and sweat before she felt him begin to nibble. His tongue bathed her chapped lips in yet more heat as they danced across the trail left by his teeth. The heat of his mouth was trickling into her own body, and Suzanne shuddered as he leaned into her, deepening the kiss. Bleep. The man finally came up for air and seemed to curse to himself as he grabbed his radio and silenced the sound before talking into it too rapidly for her to try to comprehend. Following this, he was up and dragging her to her feet in a matter of moments. Suzanne felt dazed, and fairly disgusted with herself for showing a reaction to her attacker. She scowled at him as he looked down at her. He had tied her wrists together behind her back and was about to lead her off to god knows where. He noticed the scowl and grabbed her by the chin. The sniper held Suzanne's eyes level with his as he pulled her against him. With her arms behind her back she had no way of holding herself away from him. As her body slid against his again a confusing wave of primitive emotion rushed through her; fear and anger and a small amount of arousal that scared her more than any threat of physical pain. He started to talk and the wave of emotion became a storm, threatening to overwhelm her. "You're very lucky that my commanding officer wants to speak with you," he growled softly. "Otherwise I would have had so much fun with you, little girl." Suzanne didn't understand everything he was saying, but she definitely got the gist. "For your own sake," he went on," I hope you can tell him what he wants to know. Otherwise, you're going to suffer. He has people who are trained to cause pain without damaging your body, so that they can make you scream for days. They'll hit you and fuck you until you can't move anymore, until you stop screaming and you wish they would kill you. And if you still won't tell him what he wants to know, he'll throw you to the grunts and let them fuck you until you do." This was not Suzanne's first field mission, and her training had taught her better than to show fear in a situation like this. So when the sniper's words dragged a whimper out of her chilled and tired body, she told herself she had done so on purpose so that he might underestimate her in the future. But she wasn't entirely sure that this was true, and that uncertainty shocked her back to her senses. It wasn't so much his words that scared her, but the burning arousal that was apparent in his eyes, his voice and his body. He wanted to hurt her, he wanted to hear her scream for him. Her eyes hardened in defiance; they could do whatever they wanted to her, she wasn't going to beg. He smiled down at her nastily; as if he knew exactly how to wipe that look off her face. He inched his face downwards, allowing his mouth to caress hers once again. Electricity and warmth started to flow through her again, and she tried to twist her face away but his grip was like iron. He deepened the kiss and continued his torture until Suzanne couldn't hold back a tiny moan of arousal. With the look of defiance erased from Suzanne's face, the sniper released her from his grip and then grabbed her by the arm, shoving her ahead of him. He had his pistol in his hand, a gentle reminder that trying to run away would be a bad idea. It took only a few minutes to reach their base camp, and then he was disappointed to be parted from his prize. Suzanne was relieved to find that she was being taken away from the sniper and would be brought for an audience with the man in charge, who thankfully spoke English. Her mission so far had not gone to plan, and she needed to find a way back on target as quickly as possible. She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to manage that, until she was dragged in front of an older man who took far more care over his uniform than the rest of his soldiers. A Serbian officer whose face she recognised in a heartbeat. "Why were you flying over this area?" the man asked. Careful to try to mask the fact that she recognised the man, Suzanne feigned stupidity, and replied that she was sightseeing. The man snorted, then warned her that she would suffer greatly if she didn't cooperate. To that, Suzanne smiled sweetly and replied that she looked forward to it. He also smiled at that, then motioned for the guards who had marched her in to pick her up. She was placed at the front of a small platform and tied to a beam in the ceiling so that her arms were above her head, and her toes only just touched the floor. "I will ask you one more time," the man in charge said. "What were you doing in my country?" Suzanne remained silent. He snorted again, then motioned to someone standing in the shadows to one side. Suzanne heard someone walk towards her. "I believe you have already met Sasha?" he asked, and the man came in to view. The man from the woods. She didn't recognise the name for a moment; it had not been in the mission files. But as Suzanne's brain sifted through the hours of intel that her handler had provider to her, it suddenly made a connection. Sasha was a pet name, short for Aleksandar. And that name she definitely did recognise. As her brain helpfully recalled the gory details of this man's past deeds, Suzanne had to suppress a tremble of fear that was trying to flee down her spine. She had originally worried that she was being taken away from her mission when Sasha had caught her, but nothing could be further from the truth. The man in charge motioned to Sasha, and Sasha stopped in front of Suzanne, a rather mean-looking knife in hand. He was tall, she realised as his eyes met hers. The platform that she'd been standing on had raised her at least eight inches, but she was still no higher than him. He stared into her eyes, smiling cruelly. He let the knife play across her cheek as he gauged her reactions. "Sasha is very talented in the ways of causing physical pain," the man in charge continued, and Suzanne wished that she could have suspected him of bluffing. "I strongly suggest that you cooperate with me, so that you can leave here with your body intact." Sasha turned to the other man and spoke softly in a dialect that she couldn't understand. The other man laughed and turned back towards Suzanne. "He wants me to stop asking you to cooperate," he said. "He will be very disappointed to not have the opportunity to hear you scream for him." "Well I would hate to disappoint him," Suzanne replied, intending it to sound sarcastic. To her own disgust, her voice was shaking. Her retort came out as more of a plea than an insult and Sasha smiled at that, stroking his free hand into the hair at the nape of Suzanne's neck so that he could hold her still. He slid his mouth to her ear and licked over her earlobe, then gently started to suck until Suzanne gasped in response and had to bite her lip to stop a moan from escaping her mouth. Oh god! Suzanne thought. How does he manage to make me respond so easily? She tried to turn her head away, but his hand in her hair kept her still. He came up for air and took a small step backwards, looking her over slowly. He was dirty, but then so was she. They had gotten spattered in mud during their fight earlier, and his short brown hair was still crusted and matted down against his head. His dark brown eyes glinted with a sadistic gleam as he seemed to consider his next course of action, and Suzanne resigned herself to the fact that this was going to be a very long night. If she was going to stand any chance of getting out of this and completing her objective, she was going to have to let them think that they had the upper hand. She knew that the normal reaction in these circumstances would be fear, and she was definitely afraid. But there was something about this man that her body was reacting to, and she was more afraid of that than of the pain she was going to receive. He stepped back towards her and slid his mouth against her ear again. "Are you getting wet for me?" he whispered, his voice going gravelly. It took Suzanne a couple of moments to decipher the meaning of the rather unfamiliar language. She blushed as she realised what he was saying and tried to turn her head away, but Sasha had slid his knife up to rest against her cheek. He pressed very gently until she moved her head back against his. He repeated his question; he wanted an answer. "Ne!" Suzanne replied, hoping she wasn't going to have to try to speak too much Serbian. Her comprehension of the language wasn't very good, but her pronunciation was even worse. "No?" Sasha repeated. He didn't seem convinced. He slid his hand from the small of her back, over the curve of her arse and between her legs. Suzanne yelped and tried to pull herself away from his probing hand, but only managed to thrust herself against his body. He laughed at that, held her against him. She whimpered in despair as he continued to probe between her legs for a couple of moments, then decided that he couldn't feel enough to decide if she was wet or not. Suzanne struggled pointlessly against her bonds as he stripped off her clothes until she was entirely naked, using his knife to cut through her shirt and bra. Staring straight ahead, she tried to block out the shame of being naked in front of these people. Sasha put his knife away and looked her over. Her breasts were full, slightly large for her frame, and had delicate pink nipples that were rapidly hardening under his stare. Her legs and stomach were taut and toned, but she still managed to have full hips and a round arse. He moved behind her, sliding his left arm around her waist and his right hand to the front of her thigh. "Are you sure you aren't wet?" he asked softly, stroking his hand from the front to the inside of her thigh. He smiled as he saw Suzanne's face darken with anger at his touch, and she wriggled against him in an attempt to get him off her. "Mmm? Do you want me to touch you?" Suzanne repeated her answer from earlier, but it sounded a lot more desperate than it had before. He laughed softly, stroked a little higher, his fingers rubbing the line where her thighs met her nether regions, then higher... He slid one finger inside her very gently, eliciting a humiliated cry from the girl. There was no way that she could deny the fact that she was utterly wet and ready for him. He moaned softly and growled something that she couldn't quite understand, something guttural and raw. Her body reacted regardless of the fact that she didn't understand; he sounded powerful and masculine and entirely erotic. She felt her muscles tighten around his finger as she moaned wantonly and wanted to die right there; he was supposed to be raping her and it seemed like her body wanted him inside her more than it wanted air in her lungs. "Shhh," he whispered softly, sliding his finger out of her, his actions still gentle. He moved so that he was facing her again, and held her jaw still. "I'll be inside you soon, and I'll fuck you as hard as you need." He slid his finger—glistening with moisture--to rest on her lower lip. Suzanne did as he wanted, sucking his finger clean. He growled, dragged her against him and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth to taste the juices that she had licked from his fingers. Suzanne was whimpering as Sasha kissed her. She was trying to control herself, but it just wasn't working. She moaned in pleasure as he slid his mouth to her throat and started to nuzzle. "Oh god," she whispered as he continued to torment her. "You're so sexy." She froze in shock as the words tumbled out of her mouth, but then relaxed a little. He didn't speak English and the other guy was too far away to hear what she had said... She froze again as Sasha replied, in English: "Thank you. So are you." "You speak English?!" she snapped, trying to hide her embarrassment with anger. He smiled back at her. "Never said I didn't," he replied. Suzanne's eyes were blazing. "You bastard!" she whispered. "Let me down so I can kill you!" "No," he replied simply. He slid his right hand onto her left breast and stroked over her nipple. She was not amused. She kicked out at him, and hit him square in the balls, hard. She expected him to go down, or double over at least. He grunted and took a step back, that was all. These people were tough. His eyes turned black with anger and he grabbed her by the throat. "Okay baby," he growled, switching back to his own language. "No more fucking foreplay." He balled his right hand into a fist and punched her in the left cheek, and he didn't pull his punches. Suzanne's head lurched to the side and she stayed there for several moments, stunned. She slowly came back to her senses and realised that blood was flowing from her nose and her mouth. As she raised her head she saw him prepare to hit her again, but she wasn't going to be able to stop him in time. The second blow was harder, and she cried out in agony as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back up to face him. Hunted Sasha stopped, his hand raised to hit her again, when his boss growled "Sasha! If you go on like that, she'll be dead in twenty minutes." "More like ten," Sasha replied. His breathing was heavy, but from anger rather than exertion. Suzanne was well aware that he could keep up this treatment for hours; would be happy to beat her as long as she stayed conscious. He changed his aim, ready to hit her other cheek this time and even out the bruises. "Stop it Sasha," the boss growled. "There are better ways to hurt a woman." Sasha smiled nastily at that and Suzanne shivered. Her body had finally cooled off, but at what cost? Her face was aching and she knew that whatever he had in store for her next couldn't possibly be good. He slid his hand up one of her arms, searching for a moment. He found what he was looking for and pressed gently, then harder. Suzanne shrieked in pain as he dug his fingers into a pressure point on her arm. This was even worse than the pain in her cheek. Sasha maintained the pressure on the girl's arm, enjoying watching her squirm and hearing her scream. Tears were running down her cheeks and mixing with the blood that was drying on her face. He wasn't going to stop until she begged him to. He didn't have to wait long. "Stop it Sasha!" she whimpered softly. "Please!" He let go, then rubbed the bruised skin tenderly for a moment. "Do you have any idea how many different points there are like that on your body?" Sasha asked. Suzanne did; she had been taught to use them and knew exactly how painful this was going to be. "I can keep you screaming for days and all you'll end up with is bruises. And then I can do it all again. And again. Do you want that?" It wasn't the worst experience Suzanne had ever had, but she didn't need to let him know that. She shuddered before replying "no." "Do you want to tell him what he wants to know?" Sasha asked, sliding his hand to the same point on Suzanne's other arm. He pressed very gently, and Suzanne started to feel ill. "No," she replied, bracing herself for the nauseating pain again. She wasn't sure how much time passed before he stopped again, but she was covered in bruises and her throat was raw from screaming. Sasha moved toward her again and slid his mouth back to her ear. "Ready to talk yet, baby?" he breathed, and Suzanne laughed, scorn showing clearly through the pain in her face. "Is that the best you've got, big guy?" she spat. "I've had better beatings from my grandmother, and she only had one arm!" Sasha grinned for a moment; he seemed to appreciate her stubbornness. "Okay," he growled. "Let's do something a little different." He slid his jacket off his shoulders, revealing another, cleaner one underneath, which he also took off. What remained was a black t-shirt that left little to the imagination, but this time Suzanne was unmoved. He slid his hand to her jaw and lifted her face to kiss her. Suzanne jerked her head away from him, trying to concentrate on simply breathing in and out. He smiled. "You want to fight me this time?" he asked, and Suzanne scowled at him. "Do you want more pain? I wonder how long you'll last." He tangled his hand into her hair and pulled her head back viciously, exposing her throat. He licked over her neck and shoulder, then started to bite and suck, his other hand travelling to one of her breasts and squeezing hard. Suzanne moaned, this time in pain. She was almost relieved that her body wasn't betraying her, until she felt his hand travel down towards her vagina. The first time that Sasha did this, he had been incredibly gentle. He made up for it this time. He pushed two fingers inside her hard, kept up the pressure until they were fully inside her. Suzanne wasn't sure what hurt the most, him pushing into her or pulling out. She closed her eyes tightly and whimpered, the whimper turning into a scream as he pushed two, then three fingers into her roughly. "You're so beautiful when you scream," Sasha whispered into Suzanne's hair. He started circling his fingers inside her slowly, going as deep as he could. "Scream for me, baby." She moaned softly, writhing against him in an attempt to reduce the pressure he was using, but it didn't work. Sasha was burning with desire while he watched the girl whimper and moan for him. He increased the pressure that he was using on her, and was rewarded with a scream of agony that made his dick throb. He leaned down and caught a nipple in his teeth, increased the pressure still further until she was hysterical, then let go. Tears were streaming down her face and he licked them off hungrily. He needed to be inside her before her body started to lubricate itself in self defence. Suzanne whimpered in relief as Sasha pulled his fingers out of her and left her alone for a moment. Her head lolled back and she closed her eyes, trying to rest for a minute. She tried to tell herself that the metallic sound she just heard was not him unzipping his pants and coming back towards her... He slid his cheek against hers and murmured the words "Ja cu te da jebem" into her ear, but it took her a few moments to be able to understand what he had said. I am going to fuck you. As her overloaded brain finally deciphered his words, she felt her gut spasm in horror. "Look at me," Sasha growled, his hand going back to her hair and dragging her head upright. Suzanne did as she was told. He lifted her up slightly as he positioned himself at her opening, then slowly pushed into her, his eyes burning into hers. She had promised herself that he wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing her scream, but the pain in her body combined with the indignity of the situation proved to be just too much. As he moved inside her, he growled something that she couldn't understand, but she didn't care. Right now, the only thing that she could focus on was the pain in her body. Hearing the girl cry as he moved inside her, Sasha shuddered in satisfaction. She was incredibly tight, and he had to slow down his movements until they were measured and deliberate to stop himself from coming too soon. She moaned softly in gratitude and he smiled, slid his fingers to her bitten nipple and squeezed. He didn't want her thinking he was going soft on her. He couldn't delay things any further, he was going to come soon. He slid his mouth to the girl's ear and started to talk, in English to make sure that she understood. "I'm going to come baby," he growled. His accent was strong and masculine, and made her almost shudder with desire regardless of the pain in her body. "I'm going to leave everything I've got buried as deep inside you as I can go, and you're going to scream for me, baby." Suzanne scowled at Sasha, every feature on her face expressing loathing and hatred. No. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her scream yet again. She gritted her teeth against the pain that she knew was coming as he increased the speed of his movement inside her. Sasha could feel the girl tensing against him and knew that she was going to do everything in her power to stop herself from screaming. He could easily hit another pressure point and get her to scream that way, but he didn't want to. He wanted a heartfelt scream of pain and despair and he was going to get it. "Get used to this, baby," he whispered. "It's the only thing you're going to have from now on. You're never going to see your family again. You're mine and I'm going to fuck you until you pass out every day for the rest of your life, until you're raw and bleeding and you can't even beg anymore." His words hit home. Suzanne moaned wretchedly and struggled against her tormentor in one last futile act of defiance that caused her aching arms to burn with pain. Sasha grabbed her arse and growled, the sight of her writhing finally sending him over the edge into orgasm. He buried himself deep inside the girl as he felt his semen spurt inside her, and she gave him the scream that he wanted, then collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest. Her vagina was raw and bleeding, and the hot, salty wetness of Sasha's sperm flooding her was like acid burning her insides. It took Sasha several moments to recover before he trusted his legs to keep him upright. He pulled out of the girl slowly and sorted out his clothes. She was hanging limp from her bindings, not even bothering to hold herself up on her toes anymore. Her head had flopped forwards but what he could see of her face was caked in blood and salt from her tears. Her body was almost entirely covered in bruises and her left nipple had darkened with blood where he had bitten it. She had scratches and nail marks where he had held on to her hips and her arse, and his semen was slowly oozing down her leg, tinged pink from blood where he had fucked her raw. She was beautiful. He looked to his superior officer for his approval. The older man smiled nastily, he was impressed. He got up and left the room, leaving the torture of the girl in Sasha's capable hands. Sasha reached up and unhooked the girl from the ceiling, then dumped her on the floor. She didn't even moan as she hit the floor, and stayed where he had dropped her. Satisfied that she didn't have the energy or the will to fight him, he untied her wrists. They were raw and bleeding from the rough rope that had been used to tie her. Suzanne was immensely grateful to have her weight taken off her aching arms, and she made the most of it by lying still and appreciating simply being left alone. She finally moaned in dissent as she felt strong hands on her body again, lifting her. Sasha. She wasn't sure if she had passed out after he finished with her, but it seemed like an age since he had been inside her. Not that the ache in her body had subsided any. He carried her out of the room, but she didn't have the energy to look where they were going. She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes, falling unconscious for a few precious moments until he dumped her on the floor again. Sasha dragged the girl to her feet, holding her against the wall until she got the idea and tried to support her own weight. She was shaking but she managed to stand upright. He pushed her towards a doorway, and growled "take a shower". In a daze, she wandered through the doorway and turned on the shower. She got under the water and closed her eyes, stood there for several minutes, the warm water soothing her bruised skin. She must have taken too long, for when she opened her eyes again, Sasha was standing by the shower and staring at her angrily. She gasped and backed away as he got into the shower with her. He pinned her against the wall, hot and wet and oh god, already hard again. His mouth descended onto hers and she swooned, had to hold on to his shoulders to keep herself upright. She submitted to him, baring her neck for him again. This time he didn't bite quite so hard. Sasha slid his hand down to the triangle of fur at the top of the girl's legs, and tangled his fingers in it, sliding onto her clitoris and stroking for a moment. She whimpered softly as she opened her legs for him, the whimper becoming an agonised whine as he slid a finger inside her. The pain overwhelmed her fear of retribution, and she slid her hand to his wrist and held his hand still. "Please Sasha," she whispered softly. "It hurts so much. Can we do something else, just for now? Please?" She was shaking, expecting a blow to the head or worse. He considered fucking her in the arse just to punish her for trying to tell him what to do, but he wanted to save that for a special occasion. He gasped as he felt her hand slide along his abdomen and rub just alongside his penis. "Is there nothing else you'd like me to do?" she whispered, staring up into his eyes like a porn star parody of an innocent schoolgirl. She completed the look by licking her tongue across her lips suggestively, showing off her tongue piercing. He was lost. Without any prompting, the girl sank to her knees at his feet and stroked her palms over his thighs before moving her left hand and gently grasped him, stroking up and down. She used her other hand to stroke over the head, flicking his frenulum gently. He moaned in appreciation, whispered that phrase that made him sound so sexy and Suzanne shivered. After a few moments, she slid her mouth down over the head of his penis and sucked on his glans before sliding more of him down her throat. Sasha had completely lost all ability to think. He slid his hands into the girl's hair and stroked in encouragement. He had been looking forward to forcing her to give him a blow job, but this was so much better. She wanted him to leave her throbbing vagina alone so badly that she was doing everything she could to make him come. She was talented as hell with her mouth and the tongue piercing was driving him crazy. He groaned in contentment as she increased her speed, allowing him to thrust against her at the pace that he wanted. He was getting dangerously close to coming already, so she slowed down to let his arousal subside for the moment. Suzanne's original intention had been to distract Sasha so that she could attempt an escape. But even the relatively small movements that were currently required of her body made her muscles scream with pain, and her limbs felt twice their normal weight. There was no way that she would be able to outrun him, distracted or not. So, unless she wanted him to realise her plan, she was going to have to actually finish this job. Sasha had to lean against the wall of the shower enclosure to stop himself from collapsing as Suzanne brought him close to orgasm again. This time she didn't slow down, and was rewarded with his salty semen flooding her mouth and dribbling down her chin. She struggled to her feet, still stroking his twitching penis gently as her eyes met his. She opened her mouth so that he could see his white fluid still within it, then swallowed slowly, licked her lips to make sure she hadn't missed any. Sasha couldn't breathe. The girl's performance had been amazing and the encore was enough to make him almost ready to fuck her again straight away. He pulled her to her feet and leaned down to slide a nipple into his mouth, stroking the other one gently. She moaned; he was incredible with his hands when he wanted to be. And his mouth... She wasn't sure if it was the blow job that had done it, but she was suddenly aching with need regardless of the terrible pain in her body. Suzanne could feel an orgasm building, but she knew she was going to need something more to send her over the edge. She whimpered as Sasha slid his hand down and over her clitoris. She badly needed something inside her but she knew that the pain would be overwhelming. He shushed her gently. "I'm not going to go inside you," he whispered. "Just relax." She did as he asked and cried out as the pleasure started to build within her still further. After just moments, she was whining in desperation. Sasha smiled, slid to his knees and nudged her legs apart. He slid his tongue onto her clitoris, taking it into his mouth and biting its base gently as he sucked on the end. It took five seconds of this treatment to send Suzanne over the edge. She keened as her muscles started to contract, and she fell to the floor with a thump as her legs gave way completely. Sasha gathered her up and lifted her out of the shower, drying her with a towel so rough she was sure it was really shark skin in disguise. He led her into a dingy room that consisted of a bed, a chair and a very small window that was too high to see out of. He pushed her onto the bed and she laid down gratefully, curling into a ball. He left, closing the door behind him quietly. Suzanne suddenly felt cold as she heard the turning of a key; he had locked her in alone, and with no idea if and when he would come back. *** Suzanne slept fitfully, too tired to keep her eyes open but too afraid to sleep properly. She had no idea how much time passed before she heard the key turning in the lock of her prison again, but she was hungry and thirsty and the ache in her body had dulled slightly, so it must have been a while. She wanted to stay in her foetal position on the bed, but figured it probably wasn't the best of ideas. She had expected Sasha, and she was wrong. A guard that she hadn't seen before motioned her to follow him out of the room. He marched her, still naked, down a long corridor that was as dingy as her cell, and into a familiar room. The man in charge was there, but there was still no sign of Sasha. "I trust you slept well?" he asked, grinning sadistically at the state of her appearance. Suzanne was clean, but her bruises had darkened and her mouth felt swollen from where Sasha had hit her. She sneered at him in an attempt to look as though she wasn't ashamed and embarrassed at her nakedness. "I don't think I would make reservations at this hotel again," she replied. "I had asked for a sea view, you know." He was not impressed. He stood up and leaned over his desk at her. "I had thought you might be a little more cooperative after you had a few hours to think things over. Perhaps you don't understand the gravity of your situation? Was Sasha not clear enough in explaining things to you? Perhaps we should ask him for another demonstration of his abilities?" Suzanne started to tremble at the thought of her tormentor touching her again, but she wasn't going to cave in and simply give them what they wanted. Not when she still had a chance of completing her objective. "Do you actually expect me to tell you something useful?" she asked, and he raised one eyebrow in disbelief. "Oh yes you will. We can always use more conventional styles of coercion," he growled. "If you won't cooperate with us being civil." "Civil?" Suzanne repeated, a look of disgust on her face. "Look at me!" "Nothing that won't heal in a matter of days," he replied. "We can easily change that; start slicing you open and leaving scars. Removing parts that you would miss... Sasha would be disappointed with such a messy method, but I'm sure he can be convinced. If need be." Suzanne doubted that Sasha would be disappointed at all, unless the messy method was going to kill her. If that happened, he would be without a plaything to torture. She allowed her body to start shaking visibly, hoping the officer would notice and believe her to be close to giving in. The pain that she had already suffered had been excruciating, but she had known that they could do a lot worse. It seemed as if they felt it was only going to be a matter of time before they found some terrible punishment that she just couldn't handle and she cracked. No harm in letting them continue to think that way. She was letting them think that they were winning, and at first it was almost entirely a pretence. But Suzanne was tiring, and she knew it. Nobody could withstand torture indefinitely. She had to find a way out of this situation as quickly as possible, before she really did give in. The only problem was, she was either tied up or locked up for almost 100% of the time. That, and her body was slowly losing the ability to perform even the most basic actions as her muscles ached more and more. She couldn't give up. She knew damned well that once she told them what they wanted to know she would be useless to them. Unless of course she wanted to stay on as Sasha's plaything; he had said that she belonged to him now. He'd said a lot of things that had terrified her at the time, but her panicked brain was now clutching to them as proof that perhaps he wouldn't kill her as soon as they had the information that they wanted. His plaything. But if she was a mess, would he even want her for that? The futility of Suzanne's predicament was beginning to sink in. She didn't want to give up the information that they wanted, but she didn't want to die. And even if she did give them what she wanted, she was either going to die or become a slave to the whims of her captors until they were bored with her. Hunted Stop that! She chided herself for her own stupidity. It didn't matter what they would do to her, because she would not be giving them any real intel, period. And she did not need this man -- this sick and evilly twisted man, at that -- to rescue her. What she did need was time. Time to get herself into a position so that she could do what she came here for, and -- hopefully -- time enough to get back out again. She squared her jaw in defiance, and looked at the man sitting smugly in front of her. "We all have to do what we feel we must," she said, and he nodded. He motioned to the guards who tied her dangling from the ceiling again. The ropes cut into her already-raw skin, but she didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her wince. She had to do what she had to do. Sasha arrived, walked up to her and took her jaw in his hand. He was much cleaner than she remembered, and had also made the effort to change into a clean set of clothes. The effort hadn't gone as far as shaving, however, so he maintained his rather brutal look. "Am I going to have to break you?" he said softly, stroking her cheek gently. He didn't look like he was looking forward to the idea. He slid his mouth to her throat and nuzzled, and Suzanne's breathing became erratic. "Give him what he wants, and I can protect you," he whispered into her ear. "Not good enough," Suzanne replied. "I want to go home." Sasha's eyes darkened in anger. His grip on her jaw became cruel. "It's the best you're going to get!" he growled. "You're in no position to make demands. Maybe you don't quite understand? You are mine. Once he's done with you, it's me who decides what happens to you. Now you can either do as I say, or you can spend the rest of your life being raped by the 200 hungry Serbian soldiers outside. And I'll warn you, they won't care how much they hurt you as long as your body is still warm. It's up to you." Suzanne glared at her captor defiantly. "I hope you rot in hell you evil son of a bitch!" she growled, and spat at him for good measure. Sasha released his grip on Suzanne's jaw, throwing her head to the side in disgust. When she looked back at him, she got a glimpse of something moving towards her face at high speed, and then there was the familiar sickening *crack* of a fist connecting with her face. This time, Sasha's boss did not stop him, and the beating continued for an eternity. When it became apparent that Suzanne was about to pass out, he stopped. Not out of kindness; he just didn't want her to miss any of her punishment. She was weak from hunger and dehydration, and she hoped that he would let her sleep for a while, but he had other plans. He slapped her until she focused her eyes on him groggily, made sure that she was awake again, and then the beating continued. Suzanne didn't think that she could possibly have any tears left, but Sasha managed to make her cry again. And whimper, and scream. After a particularly long bout of punishment, Sasha paused as he thought that Suzanne was about to pass out again. However, she surprised them both by dry heaving violently; her body had nothing to throw up but it made her suffer shuddering pains nonetheless. He hit her another couple of times, but she was fading in and out of consciousness every few seconds. It was time to stop. Sasha joined his superior officer and left Suzanne hanging alone while he went for some food and a drink. It occurred to him that the woman had not eaten or drank anything in over 24 hours at least, which was probably a good reason for her fainting constantly. He returned to find her still out cold. He allowed his fingers to wander over her body, enjoying the feel of her cool, soft skin. He was amazed at the delicate texture which was a stark contrast to the hard calluses on his hands. The smaller bruises on her body were being disguised by the larger ones caused by the latest beating that she had endured, and she still looked beautiful. Suzanne woke slowly to find rough fingertips stroking over her skin. She tried to pretend that she was still asleep, but her pretence was spoiled when the fingers traced over her nipples and she moaned as the callused skin aggravated her bruises. Her assailant slid his palms fully against her breasts and squeezed, and Suzanne instantly recognised the hands as Sasha's. She leaned her head back and relaxed into him, trying to avoid provoking his aggression. Sasha slid one hand up into the girl's hair and pulled her head upright, then leaned in and kissed her. She moaned again, arched against him until he slid both hands to her arse and held her against him. He started to grind against her slowly; he was aching to be inside her straight away, but he wanted her to beg this time. She broke the kiss and whimpered "Oh god, Sasha!" into his ear, her breathing ragged. He smiled smugly, slid his middle finger into her mouth and let her suck for a moment until it was slick with her saliva. He slid it over her clitoris for a couple of seconds, then pressed gently. Suzanne yelped as Sasha stroked, easing his wet finger inside her. The pain inside her had lessened considerably since she woke up and his movements inside her were beginning to feel good. She knew that she shouldn't let him do this, that she should fight or scream or do anything but cooperate, but when he touched her like this it took away the pain from the rest of her body. And that was worth an awful lot right now. He continued to stroke until she was squirming, dangerously close to orgasm. And then he stopped. "Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear hoarsely. Suzanne whined, a pained look on her face, but he wouldn't touch her. "Please let me come," she whispered softly. She was shocked at hearing the words come out of her own mouth, but the temptation to avoid pain for a few moments was overwhelming. Sasha stroked his finger over her clitoris again slowly, but only once. "Is that all you want?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Then tell me. What do you want, baby?" Suzanne closed her eyes, her cheeks burning in shame. "I need you inside me," she whispered, and he stroked her again in encouragement. She moaned in pleasure. "You can do better than that," he whispered, and she sighed shakily. She knew what he wanted her to say. "Please fuck me, Sasha," she whispered. After another moment, she added: "hard." He growled softly at that, slid his tongue back into her mouth and kissed her, his mouth bruising hers brutally. She arched against him again and opened her mouth as she kissed back. Sasha reached up and released her wrists from the rope again, then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He didn't speak as he carried her back to the room and locked the door behind them. He set her back down on her feet and threw her against the wall, pinning her with the weight of his body. He slid his hand into her hair, holding her so that she had to look him in the eye. "Tell me again," he growled, his eyes burning into hers. Suzanne felt a wave of heated shameful pleasure ripple through her body at the thought of having to repeat herself while looking into his eyes. She remained silent for several moments, too embarrassed to say what he wanted to hear. "Fuck me," she eventually whispered, almost too quiet for him to hear. Then louder: "Fuck me hard." Sasha shuddered in response and pressed his mouth against Suzanne's ear, giving her some much needed privacy without compromising the intimacy of their embrace. "Tell me what you want," he growled again. "Do you want to be on top?" "No," she replied, and Sasha smiled against her ear. "You want me on top of you?" he asked softly, and Suzanne had to slide her hands to his shoulders and cling on to stop herself from feeling faint. "Do you want my weight on top of you, holding you down? Do you want to feel dominated, baby?" "Oh god," Suzanne whimpered as Sasha whispered into her ear. "Oh please!" Sasha leaned back and looked into the girl's eyes again, let her see the look of barely-contained desire and just-controlled violence on his face. She moaned in shock, her eyes darkening in pleasure at her ability to drive him so totally wild. He grasped her chin viciously as he wiped all traces of desire from his face and replaced it with the cold brutality that had made her so wet when he first touched her. She gasped, half in fear, and half in anticipation. Sasha pulled the girl away from the wall and threw her onto the bed, turned away from her as he kicked off his boots. He turned back towards her as he dropped his knife, his gun and its holster to the floor. Suzanne was sitting up in the middle of the bed, her hands braced against the mattress, and her legs slightly apart and shaking violently. She skittered as far away as possible, pressing her knees together hard as Sasha unzipped his pants and stalked towards her, utterly predatory. He grabbed her as he got onto the bed, dragged her by the legs until she was back in the middle, then forced her thighs apart. He wedged himself between her legs, tugged his underwear out of the way and pressed himself against her opening, pinning her wrists above her head. She cried out in pain as he thrust into her hard and settled his weight on top of her. Her heart was beating crazily with fear, but her body betrayed her as within what seemed like only moments, her muscles clenched around him and her back arched in orgasm. Sasha groaned in pleasure as he felt the girl's vaginal muscles contracting around his penis erratically. He continued to thrust hard inside her, waiting until she had recovered from her orgasm. When her eyes started to focus on him again, he leaned down and slid his mouth against her ear. "Did you like that, little girl?" he growled, his voice guttural again in arousal. For the moment he had lost the ability to think in English, and had switched back to his own language. Suzanne had quickly learned to expand her vocabulary of Serbian smut over the past several hours, and she was able to understand exactly what he was saying as he went on. "Do you like being held down and fucked by a killer?" The girl whined in response, arched against him as she whispered "oh yes," into his ear. "You moan like a whore," he whispered in English, sliding his hand to her arse so that he could pull her against him even harder. "You're a beautiful, dirty little slut. Aren't you?" He switched back to Serbian for a moment as he growled "moja mala kurva" into her ear. Little Slut. Nobody had ever spoken to Suzanne like this before, and her face was burning in shame. But her body was burning twice as much as he called her a slut and a whore, and she liked it. She had never felt so desired in all her life. "Yes," she whispered in reply, and he shuddered. "Say it," he growled, releasing his grip on her arse so that he could force her to look at him. "Tell me what a slut you are." Suzanne didn't have a clue how to go about saying this in his language, so she had to resort to English. "I'm a slut and a whore, and I need you so much! Oh god Sasha, please don't stop!" "Do you want to feel me come inside you?" he asked, his voice hoarse and his head spinning. His eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure at the thought of the girl calling herself a whore for him. "Oh god yes!" she groaned. "But please not yet!" He smiled intensely. "You want more?" he growled, sinking his teeth into her throat. She cried out in pain, the sound turning into a desperate cry: "Yes!" "You still need more, little slut?" he asked. "What does that make you?" "I'm a total whore for you, Sasha," she whispered. "Oh god, please let me come!" Sasha slid his hand between their bodies and rested just to the side of Suzanne's clitoris. She whined in need and he smiled, a sadistic glint in his eye. "You're mine," he growled. "Say it." She did as he asked. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream for me like this every night. Do you understand?" She did. "And nobody else is ever going to touch you, do you understand that?" Suzanne whispered another yes to Sasha's final question. She would have said yes to anything. He slid his thumb on to her clitoris and stroked gently, then harder. Suzanne went rigid and screamed as she finally exploded into orgasm again. The contractions were even harder this time and they pushed Sasha over the edge into his own sexual bliss. He groaned "Oh, fuck!" as he thrust into the girl one final time, shuddering as his orgasm took control of him completely and he collapsed on top of his exhausted, beautiful little captive. Sasha left Suzanne alone in the dingy room once again. She drew herself into a ball and shivered in the darkness. Her head was a lot clearer with him gone, and she growled angrily as shame-filled tears started to fall down her face. She was going to have an awful lot of trouble ever looking him in the eye again. Did he really think of her as a slut and a whore, or had he only said it to get a reaction? Even though she'd had little choice but to let him screw her if she wanted to survive, she couldn't help but feel used. His opinion of her mattered to Suzanne, she realised suddenly. And so it should. He had said he was the one who would decide what to do with her once his boss was done. Her tears intensified as a cold feeling of dread fell over her. He was rapidly becoming her only possible escape route. What if he lost interest? She sobbed in confusion. She had no way of knowing what he wanted or what he was thinking, so there was little point in dwelling on it. She was thirsty and aching and oh, so hungry... On closer inspection of the room Suzanne noticed that Sasha had left a glass of water on the floor for her, and she reached out an aching arm until she managed to lift it towards herself. She wondered for a moment whether the water would be drugged or poisoned, but she dismissed the idea. Sasha enjoyed inflicting pain far too much to cheat himself out of his grand finale. Trying not to gulp, she finished the rest of the water and laid back down on the bed of her prison. Curling into a ball, she shivered against the cold until sleep claimed her once again. *** He'd said he could protect her. The thought tumbled round and round in Suzanne's head as she dangled from the ceiling of that damned room yet again. She repeated this to herself like a mantra as Sasha stood in front of her, that familiar brutal expression on his face. And a knife in his hand. She still hadn't managed to acquire any clothes, so the knife couldn't be intended for use as an aid to undressing this time. She'd already received her customary beating for the day and she felt like she was going to faint; were they going to make her suffer even more? Oh god. She was going to have to think of a way to make them believe that she had given them what they wanted. Preferably before they killed her. Sasha was playing with fire, and he knew it. He had never before met a woman who was as stubborn as this girl. She had more training and was a lot tougher than he had originally suspected, and he was glad of it. He respected her tenacity, regardless of the fact that she was making his life rather difficult. Plus, she was so beautiful -- bruised and bleeding and most of the time scared out of her mind. He'd beaten her, raped her and humiliated her, and for some reason, she still wanted him. His commanding officer had warned him that if he wasn't successful in getting the girl to talk today, he was going to throw her to the grunts. Sasha wasn't prepared to let that happen; he wanted her for himself no matter what the cost. He admired her courage, but in the end it would come to nothing, and they both knew it. She'd give them what they wanted, it was just a matter of time. His knife, usually a favourite instrument of torture, felt cold and alien in his hand. He didn't want to do this. He had no problem with hurting her -- he'd already made her scream until she was coughing up blood -- but that had been with his own hands. It was intimate and personal and he'd never done any permanent damage. This was going to be a different thing entirely. And she would never be the same afterwards. It wasn't right. He was the one who carried the scars. Suzanne had fallen into a faint, but the sharp pain of a knife pressing into her throat woke her with a start. She flinched back from the pain to find Sasha standing in front of her again, the knife still in his hand. "Am I going to have to make you bleed, or can we stop now?" he asked softly. Suzanne moaned softly in fear, but she said nothing. He sighed, and moved closer so that the girl was leaning on him, her head on his shoulder. He rested the point of the knife on the back of her thigh and paused for a moment. "Tell me to stop," Sasha whispered gently, but she didn't reply. With his face out of sight of both the girl and his commanding officer, he closed his eyes and frowned in apprehension. Her teeth bit down on his shoulder as he increased the pressure on the knife until he broke the skin, and he slid his free hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and stroked gently. She released her bite in order to moan softly in pain, the moan quickly rising into a scream as the blade cut deeper. Sasha grimaced as he noticed the blood running down the girl's thigh to drip off her foot and collect into a red puddle on the floor. He slid his mouth to her ear, whispering so that only the girl could hear. "Let me end this. Please." Suzanne gasped at the emotion in Sasha's voice. He didn't want to do this. There were some lines that he still didn't want to cross. Maybe, she dared to allow herself to think. Maybe he does still want me? If that was the case, perhaps she would still have a chance of escape if she gave them the information they wanted. The sharp pain of the knife helped to focus Suzanne's thoughts temporarily, and she was able to decide on the details of the information that she would give to Sasha's superior. However, she had to make it look convincing, and Suzanne would never accept being made to look cowardly. So she gritted her teeth and remained stubborn for as long as she could possibly stand. She wasn't sure how long she managed to hold out, but it didn't matter. In the end, she told them when they wanted to know. She was going to have a scar, but at least the searing pain had stopped. Sasha turned to his superior officer to find him standing up to leave, and giving him a nod of satisfaction. "We're done with this one," he said to the sniper, and then walked towards them. "Get rid of her," he said, as if he were talking about yesterday's old news paper. "And go home, get some rest." He patted Sasha on the shoulder like an old friend as he said "you've earned it." She'd passed out again, Sasha realised as he turned back towards the girl, reaching up to unhook her from the ceiling. He didn't bother to wake her as he untied her wrists and carried her off in search of some clothes. Ten minutes later, he had her dressed (after a fashion) in a spare soldier's uniform, and was carrying her out to one of the waiting vehicles, his rifle slung on his back. He received some quizzical looks, but nobody dared to challenge him until he put the girl into the truck. One of the Commander's lapdogs -- Sasha thought his name was Boskovic -- put his hand out to stop Sasha from opening the driver-side door and getting in. "Cavoski hasn't told me of you needing a vehicle today," he said, trying to look important while tapping a pencil on his clipboard. He was a weedy little scumbag of a man with an irritating nasal voice. Sasha resisted the urge to sneer, and instead fixed the smaller man with a look of stony intimidation. "I also need some fucking indigestion tablets," Sasha spat back. "Do you need to know that too?" Boskovic lifted his jaw in an attempt to look intimidating, and this time Sasha couldn't resist the sneer. He grabbed his rifle and liberated it from its harness, holding it in front of himself in a not altogether unthreatening manner. The intruder took several steps back in fear, and mumbled some sort of apology before suddenly finding great interest in a pile of sandbags several metres away. Hunted Sasha climbed into the truck and carefully placed his beloved rifle beside him out of the girl's reach, just in case. He had a reputation even among the rest of the soldiers as being particularly ruthless and talented in killing people, and so nobody else challenged him as he left the camp, with his unconscious, bruised and battered prisoner beside him. *** Suzanne woke up to find herself lying naked in an strange bed in an unfamiliar room. The bed was warm and cosy and complete with blankets, but her stomach was growling and she was in desperate need to pee, regardless of the fact that she couldn't possibly have a spare drop of water in her body. She sat up and slid her feet to the floor, and experimented in standing up slowly. Her bones ached and her thigh felt like it was burning, but she was damned if she was going to let herself fall over. She was still alive, and that was worth more than a sore leg. She hobbled to the door and was amazed to find it unlocked. She stuck her head out of the door slowly, suspicious of suddenly being allowed some degree of freedom to roam in her surroundings. When no danger was immediately apparent, she crept out of the room in search of a bathroom. Once that bodily function was satisfied, she crept down the stairs to find out if anyone else was home. Sasha was sitting at the kitchen table, efficiently dismantling and cleaning his rifle and his handgun. Suzanne stood shaking in the doorway, unsure if she was going to anger him by having left the bedroom. Although it seemed as if she was no longer under immediate threat of death, she knew that she had only bought herself a limited amount of time. And even that was dependant on keeping this clearly unstable man happy. She smelled the familiar scent of gun oil and was suddenly reminded of the first time that Sasha had kissed her. Her cheeks were already flushed red as he glanced over at her, his eyes lingering for a moment on her still-naked body, and then motioned for her to come closer. She sat down in the chair opposite him and watched him work, not daring to speak. They weren't at the army camp any more, that much was obvious. And although he wasn't talking to her, Sasha didn't seem angry with her at all. She'd given them what they wanted, and so the pressure was now off of him. She wondered what that would mean for their twisted little relationship. Perhaps some day he would trust her enough to let her wear clothes again, she thought to herself, her face twisting in an ironic grimace. "What is it?" Sasha asked softly as he noticed the expression on Suzanne's face. She blushed even more deeply, looked down at the table in front of her. "Nothing," she whispered, her voice shaking a little in fear. She was disgusted but not surprised to realise that the fear was real. "I... just thought it would be nice to have some clothes. This isn't the warmest of countries in the world." Finishing with his prized possessions, Sasha stood up, his face stern. The girl gulped in fear and he had to turn around so that she wouldn't see him smile. He washed his hands in the old kitchen sink and turned back towards her. She stood up as he stalked closer, backing away in fright. He grabbed her by the throat and pinned her against the wall. "Making demands already?" he asked, and she shook her head quickly. "No!" she whispered, a desperate edge to her voice. "Of course not. I'm sorry. I'm just so cold, and—" He kissed her, sliding one hand into her hair and the other to her breasts. She moaned, reaching up to cling to his shoulders and revelling in her ability to touch him for once. She slid one hand into his hair and he groaned in contentment at her gentle stroking fingers. Her other hand slid down and settled on his chest, feeling muscle that was well defined even through his clothes. She gasped as he picked her up and carried her back upstairs, lying her down on the bed and kicking off his boots before settling himself on top of her, one leg between her thighs. Oh god, she could get used to this. Suzanne sighed as Sasha slid his tongue over her belly, and onto her inner thighs. She parted her legs in anticipation, desperately trying to resist the urge to grab him by the hair and pull him against her. He kept moving closer and closer until she could feel his breath exactly where she needed him most, and then he would move back to her other leg. She was keening in frustration and eventually lost control of her arms. She slid her fingers into his hair and then froze, terrified of what he would do. He looked up at her and grinned wickedly, slid the tip of his tongue to the bottom of her opening and licked all the way to the top, very lightly and very, very slowly. Suzanne's hands flew back to the bed and she gripped the sheets painfully, a low moan escaping her body as she instinctively arched her hips into Sasha's tongue. He lifted her legs, slowly parting them wide as he settled into a more comfortable position, and started to suck. When he slid two fingers inside her and his other hand glided up to squeeze a nipple sharply, Suzanne was lost. Sasha let the girl calm down for a couple of moments, slid his mouth against her and touched her warm, wet tongue with his. She kissed back, tentative at first, her hands shyly moving over his clothes, waiting for him to tell her if she could remove them. "Sasha," she whispered softly, tugging on his shirt. "Please..." He'd avoided taking his clothes off in front of her in the past, except in the shower where it had been unavoidable. He had scars and markings that he didn't particularly like looking at himself, never mind showing them off to her. But if he was going to keep her around, he supposed she would have to see at some point. He pulled his shirt off over his head with a grimace, then got up to slide his pants off his legs. Suzanne shivered as Sasha settled his body back over hers, the feel of his skin against hers making her moan in anticipation. She slid her fingers over the muscles in his arms, slowly at first until he groaned with satisfaction. She traced around a scar on his left arm, stroking near the wounded flesh gently and looking at him for consent. "Bullet," he said softly, nodding to say that it was okay for her to touch it. "Handgun. Nine millimetre." Suzanne stroked over the marred skin for a moment before moving on to another. She spent several minutes exploring all of his injured skin, until he pushed her back down onto the bed and pressed against her. "What do you want?" he whispered softly, his voice rapidly descending into desire-laden hoarseness. "This?" he asked, pushing so that the head of his penis threatened to enter her. She moaned in response, tried to lift her hips to meet his thrust, but he pushed her back down. "No," he growled as he held her against the bed. "You don't move. I'm in charge. That's what you need, isn't it? That's what you want." He lifted her face level with his so that he could gauge her reaction to his next sentence. "To be controlled and dominated? And held down and fucked? Answer me." She wanted to tell herself that she said it to make him happy, but ultimately it wasn't true. She agreed with everything he said, and she meant it. She enjoyed the feel of him on top of her, holding her down and pushing inside her until she cried out in pain. Hell, she had even enjoyed him calling her a whore. Sasha pushed deep inside the girl with a single, punishing thrust, and shuddered in satisfaction as she whimpered in pain. He pulled out of her a little and started moving in slow, steady circles and she arched against him, reaching out her hands to pull him against her. He grabbed her wrists and held them down above her head. "I said no," he growled, and Suzanne whined in frustration. He carried on with his slow, steady rhythm and she laid as still as she could, moaning softly in pleasure. "Good girl," he whispered against her ear. "Lie there and take it, there's a good girl." Suzanne whined into Sasha's neck, desperately wanting to pull him deeper inside her but knowing that he would not approve. "Oh please, Sasha!" she whimpered. "Please, oh god, I need you..." "What do you need?" he whispered. "Deeper," Suzanne replied, her eyes rolling back in her head at the thought. "And harder. And faster. Oh please!" Sasha stopped his circling movements and leaned into the girl so that he could push inside her hard and as deep as she could take. She cried out sharply in pain, but he didn't stop. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asked. "Do you want me to fuck you until it hurts?" "Oh yes!" she moaned, and he growled in response. She screamed as he came inside her, the pain mixing with incredible pleasure as she came for the second time, and gratefully allowed him to rest on top of her. *** Two days later, Sasha found a shirt, pants and a pair of boots that were only a few sizes too big for her, and Suzanne dragged them over her still aching body, grateful to finally have some dignity once again. She had contemplated attempting to escape, but up until now Sasha had not allowed her to be out of his sight for a single waking moment. She waited as patiently as she could, assuming that he would slip up eventually. He did. He had been outside unloading some supplies from the truck, and he entered the kitchen carrying a very large and cumbersome-looking sack. He glanced to the side while he was carrying the item, and saw that Suzanne was in the kitchen with him. Within an instant, they both realised who was closest to the open door. She ran. Without a second's hesitation, she bolted for the door and was out of the house before Sasha had time to lower the heavy sack to the floor. But he was fast, she knew that from past experience, and so she didn't have the time or the energy to think about what she was doing as she headed for the trees surrounding the building. He was shouting at her to stop, which occurred to her as strange. Why would he possibly think she would listen when she had a chance at escape? Focusing only on the speed of her stride, she failed to notice the note of anxiety in Sasha's voice as he called to her to stop. It wasn't until she finally noticed the warning marks on the trees that she stopped running, and stood absolutely still, scanning the forest floor in panic. And there they were. No more than a foot away from where she stood, a piece of metal shone dully through the undergrowth, and Suzanne finally recognised it as an anti-personnel landmine. She glanced around and counted at least two others within touching distance of her current position. She had missed them on her way in by pure dumb luck, but the chances of her missing them again on the way out seemed slim. If she put enough weight on one of them to activate the mine, it would jump several feet in the air and explode, showering fragments of metal across the ground as well as her own internal organs. She heard Sasha come to an abrupt standstill several feet behind her. On the edge of the minefield no doubt. But if he came any closer, he could set off one of the mines and kill them both. "Don't move!" Suzanne whispered, as if she was scared that the mines would hear her, and set themselves off. She shuffled on the spot so that she was facing Sasha's direction to ensure that he was not moving. Sasha scowled. "I told you to stop running. As if I don't know where my own fucking landmines are. Now don't move!" He slowly picked his way between the mines, edging his way towards her at the speed of a tortoise. But at least he didn't manage to blow them both to pieces. When he finally reached Suzanne, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the house, picking up the pace once they were clear of the danger again. Suzanne sank into a chair at the kitchen table as Sasha went back to the truck and finished unloading the supplies. She was too shaken to run for it again. As he finished putting some canned food into a store cupboard, Suzanne whispered in a puzzled voice: "You could have been killed, Sasha. Why did you come after me?" Sasha looked at her, an unfamiliar expression on his face. He seemed to be troubled. "If I hadn't, you would be dead," he replied. This was probably true, but it did nothing to explain his actions. Nothing believable, anyway. Up until now, Suzanne had been sure that Sasha existed solely to enjoy causing other people pain. There was no way that he seemed capable of any depth of feeling. So why did it seem as if he was upset at the thought of her dying? Suzanne dragged her shaking body to her feet and stumbled towards Sasha. She flung her arms around him and hugged for dear life. "Thank you," she whispered, the words muffled since her mouth was pressed into Sasha's neck. He slid his arms around her in response, and rested his cheek on the top of her head, holding her until her shaking subsided once more. *** Several days passed; Suzanne wasn't sure exactly how many. They settled into a semblance of a routine, twisted as it was. Sasha was generally out during the day, after having determined that the landmine infested woods were impassable and it was an un-walkable distance to civilization along the road. So, escape looking ever more unlikely, Suzanne busied herself with sleeping, and attempting to keep herself as fit as possible without the use of any equipment to help her. And waiting for Sasha to come home. She was becoming attached to him, and that was a problem. He made her feel alive; like the time that she had first flown solo or rode a bike by herself, even. He was rough and he was brutal but he was beautiful and passionate and intense and she lo -- *No. Stop right there.* It was definitely a problem. Suzanne had a job to do -- to finish, and people were relying on her. She needed to get to a phone. Sasha had a mobile but he'd never left it where she could get at it without him knowing. She was going to have to think of something, she was running out of time. If she wasn't careful, she was going to be late, in more ways than one. The opportunity presented itself in the end. They were making dinner, and Sasha left Suzanne in charge of stirring the food while he went upstairs to take a shower. She turned away from the cooker to find that he'd left his mobile on the kitchen table. Strange. She waited for several moments, and then heard Sasha enter the bathroom and turn on the shower. It was perfect. She grabbed the phone and dialled the number for her contact, quickly stirring their dinner while making sure that she was in sight of the stairs. She'd see his shadow approach in time to put the phone back so that he was none the wiser. It seemed to ring forever, and Suzanne bit her lip in trepidation. Was she too late? A strange mixture of emotion washed over her at that thought. Something else not to think about. The call connected just in time to spare her having to identify her emotions. Silence. She spoke quietly, identifying herself with her call sign and password only. The person on the other end of the line was satisfied, and confirmed their identity to her. "Report?" Suzanne asked softly. "Intelligence confirms they are acting on your information and moving into position," the voice replied. "We will be ready to meet them. Everything is going as planned." "When?" "Approximately seven hours. A team will be ready for extraction. Location?" "Can you trace the position of this call?" "Of course." "Then it will be from here." "Agreed. We will extract you as soon as the operation begins." Suzanne's breath caught in her throat and she didn't respond for a moment. She had no idea that things were going to happen so soon. "Ma'am?" the voice on the other end of the line enquired. "Yes," she replied, trying to mentally shake herself. "I'll be ready." "I'm glad to hear your voice again, ma'am. See you back at Operations." "Thank you," Suzanne replied, and ended the call. A moment later, the shower turned off. She searched through the unfamiliar language of the menus of the phone, trying to find the call logs. She found the entry for the call that she had just made and deleted that single entry, thankful that the mobile phone was a Nokia and she was familiar enough with it to do this even if she wasn't sure of all of the language. She placed the phone back on the table exactly as if it hadn't been disturbed, and returned to stirring their dinner. Sasha returned to the kitchen feeling slightly uneasy but not sure why. He spotted the phone on the table and instantly recognised his potentially massive mistake. It didn't look as if it had been moved, but he couldn't be sure. "Dinner's ready," Suzanne said over her shoulder absently. When he didn't reply, she turned to look at him, a puzzled look on her face. He still didn't say anything. Suzanne followed his gaze to rest on the mobile, then looked back up at him, a look of slight disappointment and embarrassment on her face. She looked away again, then turned back to the cooker and busied herself with stirring. The intention was to make him realise that she hadn't touched the phone. Of course she hadn't, and how could he think such a thing of her? He still wasn't moving, so she sniffed a couple of times softly, willing tears to come to her eyes. Sasha trusted Suzanne not to try to hurt him, and she hadn't tried to leave when he'd left her in the house on her own. But to leave his phone where she could get to it? He wasn't so sure that she wouldn't have tried to contact someone. Not until he heard her sniffling, at least. He swore under his breath softly, walked up towards her and slipped his phone into his pocket on the way. He slid his arms around her from behind and slid his mouth to her neck, nuzzled gently. Suzanne wiped the tears from her face angrily and redoubled her efforts in stirring, attempting to ignore Sasha in his quest for the extra sensitive area below her ear. "Come here," he whispered, turning her around in his arms. "No," she replied sulkily, trying to stop him from turning her to face him, but she wasn't trying too hard. He pulled her away from the cooker and leaned her against the table. "Dinner's going to burn," she warned, and he shrugged, sliding his hand along the back of her thigh and up to her arse, sliding the oversized shirt she was wearing out of the way as he went. He slid his other hand to her cheek and pulled her towards him, trying to placate her with a kiss that was far more tender than he usually offered. She pulled away from him, still putting up a façade of protest in order to save face. He pulled her back and kissed harder. Needing to draw his attention away from his phone, Suzanne didn't protest any further as Sasha lifted her onto the table and laid her back, then unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it out of the way. He slid his palms from the bottom of her breast down to her hips, laid a gentle kiss just above her pubic hair. She gasped as her body jerked sharply. She was burning immediately, her legs parting automatically and without her consent. He slid her towards the edge of the table, leaned over her to look directly in her eyes and slid one finger into her mouth. She licked for a moment, then sucked gently until he withdrew it again. He slid the wet finger over one of her nipples in a slow spiralling pattern, and she moaned in frustration. Sasha repeated his actions, sliding his wet finger over Suzanne's other breast. She arched against him, murmured in Serbian the equivalent of "Oh please just fuck me Sasha!" He slid his finger to her mouth and shushed her, slid his mouth against her ear again. "Don't talk," he whispered softly. "Just relax." He slid his finger into her mouth again, then slid the torturing wet digit down into her pubic hair and onto her clitoris. He stroked just long enough to tease, leaned over and slid a nipple into his mouth and sucked for a moment. Suzanne writhed, and then Sasha bit into her nipple. A low moan escaped her and she shuddered as her body surged into orgasm. Sasha smiled, slid back up to kiss her as her body relaxed again. Hunted "I have to go out tomorrow," Sasha whispered. "Early. I should be back by midday." He was already sliding back down, parting her legs again and she felt his breath on her thighs. Oh god. Thinking was becoming difficult. If he was going out in the morning, it meant that he was going to do a job. And the only job it could possibly be was the one she had given them information on. If he went there, he would die. And she couldn't warn him without telling him why. Oh god. She'd have to stop him. She was glad she had one more trick up her sleeve that would allow her to do that. He was by no means a good or decent man, but she wasn't going to kill him. And she wasn't going to ask herself why, either. Sasha slid one finger inside her and his tongue onto her clitoris and Suzanne lost her train of thought completely. She slid her hands into his hair and ran her nails over his scalp, pulling him closer. He groaned in contentment and the vibrations from his voice caused Suzanne to come again. "Please Sasha," she whispered, and he rose to his feet. He unbuttoned his pants and leaned over her, and Suzanne raised her legs and locked them around his back. The head of his penis nudged against her opening, and Suzanne whined in anticipation. Sasha braced his forearms on the table on either side of Suzanne's head, and slid up and down for a moment, feeling a warm, inviting wetness drawing him towards her. She slid her arms along his sides until she reached his arse, and pulled a little. He bumped against her harder, stretched her opening slightly until she moaned in eagerness, then pulled back out to rest against her. She looked up at him, saw the look in his eyes and knew exactly what he wanted. "Sasha..." she whispered softly, sliding her hand back across his hips and brushing her fingers across the length of his penis and down to her clitoris. She stroked for a moment, let her head fall backwards as she moaned in pleasure and he groaned in response. She looked back into his eyes as she whispered "I'm hot and I'm wet." She slid a finger inside herself and then pulled it back out to stroke along his penis again. "See? Don't you want to feel that?" His mock resistance never did last long. Sasha cured the ache inside Suzanne with one forceful thrust which caused her to whine in pain-laced pleasure as he settled inside her. She slid her hands back to his arse and pulled, wanting him to move even harder. Every thrust was causing her to cry out in pain as he bumped her cervix, and she scratched her nails along his back until he had to hold her arms down. She came again, and her lust for pain lessened as her body calmed down again. Sasha slowed his movement inside her and she moaned in appreciation. He let her arms go and she slid them around him, one sliding into his hair and stroking through it. "Aleksandar," she whispered, using his full Christian name for the first time. "I..." She stopped herself from saying something very stupid. "You're so beautiful." He looked at her for a moment, wondered what she had meant to say, but she wouldn't look at him and so he couldn't tell. She slid her hand between his legs and squeezed his balls gently and he forgot all about what she had started to say. The dinner was burned, but they ate it anyway. Suzanne was quiet during the meal, worrying about the night ahead. Sasha didn't notice; he was relaxed and he had a full belly and he was never much of a talker, anyway. Suzanne sneaked to the bathroom while they were cleaning the dishes, a sharp knife concealed in her shirt sleeve. She sat on the toilet with her left foot dangling over the bath, and felt along the arch of her foot for two small bumps. Grimacing, she slid the knife into the skin to the side of the left bump, and a small capsule plopped out of the wound, along with a ridiculous amount of blood. She ran her foot under the cold water and pressed tissue paper to the cut until the bleeding stopped, washing the capsule in the water as well. She hid the knife in the cistern of the toilet before padding down the stairs again. Suzanne busied herself preparing a hot drink for both of them, breaking open the capsule and dumping the contents into Sasha's cup while his back was turned. They drank their tea and then plodded upstairs to bed, Suzanne's stomach in knots at the thought of what was about to happen. Sasha sank onto the bed, the sedative already taking its toll on him. He frowned; he knew that something was wrong but he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. Suzanne lifted his face towards her and stroked his cheek gently. "I'm sorry Sasha," she whispered softly. "Please believe that I'm doing this to try to help you. I can't let them kill you." She wasn't sure if he could hear her, but she had to say something. She knew that he would be mad as hell when he woke up in the morning. Suzanne didn't sleep. She sat up and watched Sasha sleep as she waited for her extraction team to arrive. The sound of an approaching engine signalled that she had to leave. She had slid on a pair of his pants as well as the shirt, but his boots were ridiculously large and so she had to go barefoot. She checked that Sasha was still sleeping soundly, then kissed him gently before creeping downstairs. She had to wipe tears from her eyes before she opened the door and met the familiar face of her handler waiting to meet her. *** Sasha knew that something was wrong as soon as he woke up. His body was heavy and his head was groggy. He usually woke up instantly; a necessity in his line of work. And the other side of the bed was empty. And cold. And it was light. Shit! He laid back in the bed, trying to clear the fog in his head. She's gone. What could have gone wrong? He never overslept, and he never woke up feeling like this. The dinner had been burned, yes, but it wasn't poisonous. She's gone. He leaned his head over the edge of the bed and threw up, his body expelling the majority of last night's meal, and whatever was causing him to feel like this. She's gone. Sasha grabbed his rifle and his handgun and ran downstairs, checking to make sure that yes, she really was gone. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to calm himself so that he could think. His first priority was to get to his earlier destination, and find out what had happened. Then he could worry about finding the girl. He jumped into his truck and sped off, anger burning through the throbbing in his head. He almost couldn't believe what he found. Bodies. He'd expected bodies, but not the ones that lay on the ground in front of him. Someone had ambushed the Serb soldiers, and they lay dead in the mud, weapons strewn where they had dropped them. He spotted Boskovic and his commanding officer, and several others whose names eluded him, but they had all been stationed at the base from which he removed Suzanne. He left, not wanting to be a target for any snipers that might have been left behind, just in case. The anger overtook his calm now as a hundred thoughts ran through Sasha's head at once. She'd lied to him. She'd told them what they wanted to hear and they had believed her, biding her time until she could escape. She'd kept him happy with sex and lured the soldiers into a trap that was meant for him, as well. A wave of emotion washed over him that felt dangerously close to pain and he viciously kicked the side of the truck in frustration. He was meant to be dead here, too! But she'd drugged him. Stopped him from leaving the house on time. Why? What could she have possibly gained by him not turning up to do his job as he'd been ordered? He growled furiously as he realised that this now looked as if he'd been the one who'd set them up. The chances of him getting out of this alive were slim indeed. It was past midday. If she'd left after he'd fallen asleep, she would have had hours to get away now. He'd never find her today. Deciding that his best chance for survival was to get away from the scene as quickly as possible, he got back into the truck and headed east as fast as the shitheap could manage. He ground his teeth in frustration as he tried to work out a plan of action. He wasn't going to stop until he found her, and he didn't care where he had to go to do it. And when he did, she was going to regret it. *** Suzanne had to endure a physical and psych evaluation on her return to Operations, and had been recommended four months of leave to aid in her recovery. On closer inspection of the available information, Intelligence had discovered that Aleksandar Jovanovic had not been among those killed during the fire-fight. Still, they'd managed to take out the leader and a great number of the soldiers, and so the mission was classed as a partial success. She wasn't sure how four months of sitting around and doing nothing was going to help her feel better, but she wasn't going to complain. She was just glad that they hadn't started questioning her about why Sasha hadn't been where he was supposed to be that morning. She had fallen into a carefully constructed routine designed with the intent to numb her brain, and she was walking around in a daze for the most part. It had been ten weeks, but Sasha was still preying on Suzanne's mind. She was sure he was going to come after her, and a part of her was dreading that and what he would do. However, another small part of her ached at the thought that maybe he wouldn't bother coming to find her. She felt utterly confused whenever she thought about him; it made her flinch at the memory of her bruises but she also felt a twinge of longing. She dreamt about him while she slept and spent her days trying to push him out of her mind, with little success. She often found herself daydreaming, her body burning at the memory of his hands and mouth moving over her skin. The torture didn't last much longer. Suzanne returned home tired after a day spent aimlessly wandering through the local shopping centre. She dropped her bags in the hallway and traipsed up the stairs and into her bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. She pulled her hair out of its pony tail and began unbuttoning her shirt, then froze as she heard the bedroom door close behind her. Sasha stood leaning against the bedroom door, his arms casually folded and that characteristic look of brutal determination on his face. He looked a little tidier than usual, although he still wasn't clean shaven. The look in his eyes was difficult to fathom completely, but Suzanne didn't miss the smouldering anger within them. She felt her nether regions stir treacherously at the sight of him and took an involuntary step backwards, eyes darting about in search of any available weapons but finding nothing. "Hello Sasha," she whispered softly, standing awkwardly still as she tried to figure out what he was going to do. He didn't reply. "What do you want?" she asked, suddenly conscious of the fact that her breasts were poking out of her half unbuttoned shirt. Sasha snorted derisively as he pushed himself away from the door and stalked towards Suzanne. She raised her chin in defiance and refused to back away. He stopped in front of her, so close that his chest almost brushed against her breasts. "You know why I'm here, my little slut," he growled softly in Serbian. He slid his hand to her cheek and gripped painfully. "You lied to me, and you set me up. And you're going to die." Suzanne slapped his hand away from her cheek, then landed another blow to his left eye. He caught her wrist before she could hit the other side of his face and bent it behind her back painfully. She whimpered, then kneed Sasha in the balls in an attempt to escape. He grunted, his grip relaxing on her arm as he bent over in pain. "Let's get a couple of things straight Sasha," Suzanne said, kicking him again as it looked as if he might straighten up. "Yes, I lied to you. It was my job. As for setting you up? I did that too. But if I hadn't done things the way that I did, you would be dead right now, and you know it." Sasha straightened slowly, then shoved Suzanne against the wall, pinning her down. "Am I supposed to be grateful?" he growled, his hand holding her jaw still. "That I risked my own life to save yours?" Suzanne replied. Sasha raised an eyebrow at that, unimpressed. "Yes, you should be. You were supposed to turn up to do your job and get slaughtered with the rest of them, but I stopped you from going. My employers are not exactly forgiving, Sasha. If they find out what I did, they'll kill me." Sasha was silent for a moment. He hadn't dared let himself think that perhaps Suzanne hadn't wanted him to get hurt. The thought niggled at him, but he pushed it aside coldly. "Don't worry," he replied, sliding his hand to her throat and starting to squeeze. "I'll save them the trouble." "I understand that you're angry Sasha," Suzanne said. "That you feel as if I used you. But we didn't exactly have a traditional honest and loving relationship going on. I still didn't want them to hurt you, though. I need you to understand that I did what I did because it was the only way I could stop them from killing you. And that was all that was important to me." He didn't believe her, he couldn't. He'd spent too long being as angry as hell over her making a fool of him, and he wasn't about to let her do it again. So he ignored the look of pain on her face and chose to think only about the fact that everything else she'd ever said to him had been a lie. He gradually tightened his grip on her neck until she started to squirm desperately. Suzanne wasn't going to accept Sasha's punishment without a fight. She punched him in the stomach and he grunted in pain, his grip loosening on her throat enough so that she could push him away from her. She hit him again in the jaw, but he grabbed her arm and held her still, a backhander to her cheek causing her to stagger in pain. Sasha was slightly surprised by Suzanne's return to her original more aggressive self. He wondered how much of her submissive behaviour had been an act to make him feel secure enough to trust her. It had certainly worked. He pulled her against him and slid his mouth to her ear. "All that time you spent screaming for me," he whispered. "All the times you writhed around underneath me and moaned my name. Was doing your job really worth being a whore for me?" Suzanne frowned at Sasha's hard description of past events. "That wasn't a part of my job," she whispered, and Sasha sneered. He didn't believe her. He wouldn't. "Was doing your job really worth leaving?" he growled. Suzanne's breath caught in her throat. How was she supposed to answer that? "I..." she started, taking a shaky breath. "I didn't want to leave like that. But I couldn't have stayed, Sasha. I mean, you couldn't have expected me to be happy sitting naked in a house all day just waiting for you to come home so that you could screw me?" Sasha growled again in disgust, shoved Suzanne away from him and turned away. She staggered for a moment, but regained her balance without falling over. He still looked angry, but now there was something else there as well. He brought his hand up and rubbed his face, then raked it through his hair angrily before turning to face her again. "I should have killed you when Cavoski told me to," he said quietly, his right hand sliding to his back. He produced his handgun, switched off the safety and held it pointed at the floor beside him. "You don't mean that," Suzanne replied, her voice even. "And you know it." He was not going to kill her. Sasha snorted, walked towards her slowly. "You think so?" he asked, raising the gun to her eye level. "Do you really think I'm not going to kill you, baby?" Suzanne hoped not, but she wasn't prepared to take any chances. She grabbed his wrist with one hand and slammed her elbow down onto his forearm. He growled in pain, and she swung her elbow back up and slammed it into the side of his face. He dropped the gun, but it wasn't going to be enough for her to escape. He was still as tough as nails and he recovered in a split second. The girl used the second that Sasha was recovering to make a run for the door. She managed to claw it open before he grabbed her by her shirt collar and shoved her forwards, slamming the door shut and her chest straight into it. He yanked her around to face him and slid his hand into her hair, pulling viciously. "You're not getting away from me ever again," he growled, slapping her in the face as she continued to struggle. "I told you that you were mine, and I meant it!" Suzanne refused to stay still, kicking, hitting and scratching with every last remaining ounce of strength in her limbs. "I do not belong to you!" she screamed. "You don't own me, Sasha! And you can't just make me do what you want!" Sasha smiled nastily, slid his free hand to Suzanne's chin and held her eyes level with his. "Who are you trying to convince?" he asked softly, which renewed Suzanne's anger. She lashed out at him again, and they fought for several minutes. Sasha eventually slammed Suzanne back against the wall, his hips grinding into hers. He held her head tightly in his hands and kept her still as he kissed her, hard. There was absolutely nothing gentle in his actions; he was vicious and brutal, and Suzanne repaid him in kind. She continued to hit and scratch at him, and bit his lower lip until she tasted his blood filling her mouth. He grunted in pain, lifted his head away from her and punched her in the left eye, hard. Suzanne was stunned for a moment from the force of Sasha's blow to her face, and she couldn't stop him as he pulled her away from the wall and threw her on to her bed. He followed immediately, straddling her legs and holding her arms above her head. He ripped open her shirt the rest of the way and yanked her bra aside, grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed harshly. Suzanne hissed in pain and started to struggle, but he had his weight on top of her and she couldn't get any leverage. Sasha was not impressed by her continued struggling, and bent down to catch her other nipple in his teeth. She groaned, arched against him as her body tried to decide whether it wanted him dead, or inside her. He leaned to the side for a moment so that he could unzip Suzanne's trousers and drag them off her legs, but she was having none of it. She kicked at him, then wriggled away as best she could. She got one arm free and hit him in the face, then shoved at his chest, trying to get him off her completely. No chance. She was strong, but he was heavier. And he was far more used to this sort of thing than she was. Suzanne was panicking. If she let him touch her she would melt, and she knew it. But she couldn't get him off her, no matter how much she hurt him. He was determined to do what he wanted to do, regardless of her opinion of the situation. He succeeded in getting rid of her trousers -- and her underwear -- and slid back on top of her, forcing his legs between hers. They continued their fight, Sasha alternating randomly between stroking her and hitting, kissing and biting. Suzanne fought him tooth and nail for as long as she could, but eventually found herself kissing him back, no less brutally than him. She groaned in anger as she felt his hand slide over her stomach and down into her pubic hair. He slid his fingers inside her, and found her wet. "You see?" he growled, bringing his hand up to Suzanne's face and wiping the moisture onto her mouth. "You always did enjoy me being in charge. What's the point of being alone with no one around to fuck you until you scream? You'll always be my little whore. Won't you?" Suzanne closed her eyes, angry hot tears falling down her cheeks. She relaxed her body for a moment, trying to regain some of her strength. If he wanted an answer then it would be a long time coming. Hunted Sasha didn't care. He took advantage of Suzanne's stillness and settled his body over hers, pushed inside her slowly. Suzanne arched against him, hissing in response but not knowing if it was pleasure or pain. He let go of her arms, and she slid them around his back, scratching with enough pressure to draw blood even through his clothes. Her treacherous body reacted instantly to the familiar feeling of him being inside her, and her legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her. Sasha moaned in response, gentled his movements inside her until Suzanne whined in pleasure. Sasha slid onto his back beside Suzanne after they had finished, and she didn't miss the careful way in which he moved, settling himself with a wince. Dried blood was caked onto his lip and his nose from where she'd hit and bitten him. She felt similarly battered. "This is ridiculous," Suzanne said softly, looking over at Sasha. "Mmm," he agreed, wincing again as he looked towards her. Her face had fared little better than his own; he leaned over and stroked some hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry Sasha," Suzanne whispered. "For leaving. I really am." He sighed. Closed his eyes and leaned back again. "I'm sorry I was going to kill you." "You weren't going to though," she replied. "Were you?" Sasha looked back towards Suzanne, a look of seriousness on his face that told her that yes, he had intended to kill her. She bit her lip and looked away. "So what do we do now?" she asked. "Stay with me," he said quietly, and Suzanne's heart leapt into her throat. "Where?" she asked, her mind suddenly racing with the thought that Sasha wanted her with him again. "I don't care," he replied, sliding his palm over her breasts. Suzanne moaned in response, her back arching automatically until she noticed the pain that the move caused. He groaned in pain as he dragged himself upwards so that he could slide a nipple into his mouth and suck gently. Suzanne slid her hands to his shoulders and proceeded to remove Sasha's clothes as quickly as their aching muscles would allow. He turned around and parted Suzanne's thighs gently, slid his tongue down onto her clitoris and started to suck. Suzanne nudged Sasha until he straddled her head and she could return the favour. He moaned softly as he felt her mouth envelope him, warm and wet and incredible. He slid two fingers inside her as he sucked, stroked them in circles inside her until she whined in pleasure, the vibrations in her mouth causing him to shudder in response. Shaking, he turned around again, slid her legs against her chest and pushed against her opening gently. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice hoarse from arousal, the way that made her shudder in pleasure. Suzanne wanted answers for herself first. "Do you love me, Sasha?" she asked, her hands stroking his hair gently. He frowned, and Suzanne didn't think he would answer. "You wouldn't still be alive if I didn't," he replied. Suzanne sighed in relief, but she wanted to hear him say it for himself. "Then tell me," she whispered, holding his eyes level with hers. An eternity passed by. They stared at each other for several moments, then Sasha nodded slowly. "I love you," he murmured, and Suzanne smiled in relief. "Now tell me to fuck you!" he growled, and she did, with pleasure. Sasha slid inside her, hard, causing her to gasp in pain-laced satisfaction. "Don't stop," Suzanne whispered softly against Sasha's ear. "Don't ever stop." Sasha moaned softly, slid his mouth down to cover one of her breasts again and sucked hungrily until Suzanne came, her body jerking against him erratically. He followed shortly afterwards, collapsing on top of her as his worn out body refused to hold itself up any longer. They slept, Sasha still inside Suzanne and his weight half crushing her, but she didn't care. They could decide what the hell they were going to do later. Hunted Coal blue eyes look out into the dreary night from the grated entrance. Small soot stained hands grip the grate waiting for the right moment. The blue eyes close for a long second, the grate is old the metal dark with stains of refuse. This night steam rises from within slipping up into the early cool night air. Those blue eyes return to look out the grate now, the way clear. The eyes seem to fade back into the darkness of the drain as the grate scrapes from the wall with a metallic shriek. A well dressed woman steps from the sewer entrance. Almost as if the dead were rising from the graves. If any night were one for the dead tonight would suit them well. A deep fog is forming swirling with the misty steam rising from the warm sewers. A half moon can be seen in-between the veil of fog. The light filtering down gives everything a surreal look to it. The woman inhales deeply smiling she stretches her form letting her clothing hug it even better. Her older style blue hip hugging skirt molds to her form well as if begging someone to stroke over her. A tight gray sweater hugs the swell of her ample breasts lifting them even higher then normal so that the nipples look directly at you when she moves. Her blonde hair hangs loose streaming down her shoulders. Her bangs hang down partly blocking the view of the coal blue eyes as if only to tease you with them. A breeze kicks up causing her blonde locks to blow free playfully about her fair skin. The swirling haze works in her favor as she walks onto a main alleyway. She walks slowly looking hard at buildings as if lost. In reality if this was anyone but her they would be lost in these conditions. This side of town is the lower end many slum lords live out their lives here selling buildings, renting hovels, and extorting their renters. The red brick facades hide the pain and suffering to most in the daylight. Dimly lit windows look like small eyes staring balefully down on her. This is not a place for a sexy lady to be out wandering in the dark. As she turns the corner onto a smaller alley a large rugged black man slips from a shadowed doorway. She walks slower now as if frightened by where she is still lost in thought. The man is dressed like a thug as he follows her slowly. Baggy khakis and a white tee shirt covered with khakis button up which hangs open. He walks with an air of comfort down here in the alleys. Most likely having well earned the reputation he has. A large knife hangs in it's sheathe off his belt. He calls out to her now seeing her slow her pace "Hey sugar," his deep voice booming from behind her. She hears him not answering having looked over her shoulder. Seeing him there she once more set off her pace swifter now. She sees an opening to the left thinking to duck into the shadows there she moves. She is to slow he sees her move into the alleys dead ends shadows. With a deep booming laugh he follows her into the alley. When she sees it is a dead end she turns thinking to get back into the main alley. Only it is to late he stands in the alley before her "Hello sugar," he says with a grin on his face. His eyes look her over with an obvious hunger in them. She begins to back from him her eyes darting looking for an escape. Sadly even the alley was against her as she backed from him her foot stepped into a small puddle of greasy water. Her pump slipped in it down she went her ass smacking into the concrete causing her to cry out. "Don't worry sugar I will take care of you." His tone shows he means to go through with what's on his mind. He laughs once more deeply seeing her there already on her ass. Stalking her now he moves slowly watching her. She can see the empty sheathe on his hip is empty her eyes look over his hands swiftly. Finding the knife in his hand now he threatens her with it. The knife is long, thin, and black the blade on both sides is sharp. He shakes his head then he is on her before she can scamper back to her feet. She feels the cold blade touching her tender skin on her neck making her cry out softly. "No no no please....!" She stampered out once more with a plaintive whimper. She feels his lips touch her ear. "Sugar your gonna give me so much lovin tonight. I will make you my whore." His words dirty to her making it obvious what he wants. A strong hand catches her neck holding her still. Just then she feels the blade move down her body finding the edge of her sweater. The blade cuts through the woven sweater like a hot blade through butter opening her to his eyes. Her pale cream colored breasts spill out from under the destroyed sweater. Her breasts flush crimson as she struggles a moment to try to hide them from his eyes. The moonlight made this moment so surreal for them both almost like a dream. The cool air kissing her breasts suddenly causes the dark pink nipples to harden. Her nipples formed into solid points of flesh before him as she struggles to get free. He growls seeing the beauty below him having slipped to straddle her so she could not fight free. Leaning he presses his larger body over her smaller frame. Catching the nipple in his mouth he bites down on it brutally before licking it then sucking on it. As he bit her she struggled all the more trying to dislodge his mouth. Her reward for shaking his lips loose was a stinging slap across her face. "Stop it bitch!" The knife hovers closer his voice husky now in a passion filled trance. This always happens to him right before a rape all he can see is her beauty not the suffering he inflicts. The slap to her face took some of the fight from her. Her body goes still as she whimpers in fear. She can feel a thick hard shaft through his pants pressed into her stomach. His shaft rubs over her hip swollen now ready for some of her. His callous hands heft her breasts moving over her they tug then pinch the nipples. Repeatedly his hands assault her as she lays there now passive. "Good bitch now I can reward you!" His mind is lost in passion filled delusions now feeling her passiveness. He reached down his hands push her tight skirt up forcing it over her hips to bunch there. His actions exposed her body to the cool air once more. She whimpers crying now the moon causing her tears to shimmer in the mist filled night. His hand leaves her skirt with a single savage tug her panties are no more. His strong hand ripped them loose from her tender flesh. Red stripes mark her skin where the panties caused friction. He tosses her panties into the garbage pile near them never thinking of them again. He can smell her now this driving him insane. His lips once more bite a nipple causing her to jump the knife stays near her throat now as if daring her to struggle. With his free hand he unhooks his belt then he unbuttoned his pants pulling down the zipper on them. His mouth never slows in his work on her nipple. She hears his actions this causing her to whimper again. All the time wanting so badly to wake up, this must be a dream she keeps thinking. Moving his body he shifts so now he crouches between her thighs. Pushing on his pants he drops them to his knees loosing his pent up cock. He bites her nipple again having switched nipples to torture the other one now. She feels his cock trying to angle her hips so he can't penetrate her with it. He lifts some pressing his cock head to her cunts lips. "Ahhh you gonna like this you whore!" His words are hot now with need to rape. He feels her wetness looking up he sees her face blush in shame. Shifting one more time as he bites her nipple he slams cock home. Before she can move he is in her soft folds to the hilt. He pounds into her now she can feel him hitting her cervix. He does not slow or care his rape complete in its intent now. She whimpers but can not fight the cool knife holding her well. He bucks into her over and over brutally raping her folds. He felt her folds reacting to his abuse almost as if welcoming him within her body. Her reaction makes him all the more excited. She lays under him stunned now powerless as he takes her breasts once more licking, sucking, and biting with abandon. Her folds are hot, tight, well lubed for him making his rape all the more pleasurable. With each stroke into her hot folds his balls smack into her ass. His treatment of her seems to punish and humiliate her even more. After several minutes of this brutal rape his cock begins to swell in her heated folds. The thought of this mans cum in her core sets her off somehow exciting her. A moan from her drags him from her nipples. She begins to buck her hips into his on her own. Licking her lips as he looks down on her she speaks softly "Come on you stud!" Her tone now is hot in need panting to him as she rides his cock. Words she never would think to say come from her lips. "Fill me with your rapist cum!" Her legs go about his hips wrapping him within their warm silken embrace. As he bucks into her groaning his cock shooting his load deep into her. He pulls his lips from her nipple to gloat down on the little slut. She is different now slowly he sees the change in her face. Even as her core cools she milks him dry. Her core is no longer hot feeling more like a cold tight rubber hose around his cock. The tissue sucks up his cum making her core dry now. She painfully fucks his cock with her tightness. He sees her now as she really is her hair stringy and thin. The face of this sexy creature is now wart covered. She has a lack luster color to her almost gray like a corpse. Her coal blue eyes stay the same color. Where there was life in them now they are cold and cruel. The life that was in his eyes drained away in mere moments. Her words are still soft but the voice is coarse almost broken now. "Was I good bastard?" She cocks her head looking up at him. In shock he goes still in her core the tightness is the only thing keeping him hard. Her hand shoots down with speed he could only blink at. Grabbing the knife blade with a soft grunt then a loud click... bing, as the blade breaks. She drops it under her body leaving him with a useless hilt. She uses her hand to catch him behind the neck. She pulled his shocked face to her breast which is no longer beautiful. Her breast is now rotting and sagging with age and use. "Thank you for my meal," she whispers to him as she begins to rape his struggling form. He tries to fight it but she is to strong. Dropping the hilt of the knife he tries to push away from her. He sees he would have better luck pushing against a stone wall. When her rotting nipple finds his lips he bites hard trying to hurt her any way he can. She sighs as he bites cuddling him all the closer. Her core no longer hot or smooth just cold and dry she uses it to rape his cock. He feels her beginning to shudder as she laughs. She continues this shuddering till he realizes she is faking it all along. Her lips trace over his ear along his neck he can't move for she holds him in a strong grip. He feels something sharp there thinking it is his knife he struggles. There is not one but two sharp feelings now. He shudders his body is hers now as he is lost to fright. Without warning she slams her fangs deep into his neck. He can feel his blood moving swiftly to her lips as she works his neck. Murmuring a soft, "Yes!" as if cooing to him she drinks. The pleasure he feels is more intense then a thousand rapes. Soon he is griping her as if she were his long lost lover. Shuddering on her he cries out softly as the pleasure courses through him till he feels himself fading. All is growing dark in his eyes from lack of life giving blood. His blood starved heart is spasming in his chest as she licks her lips then his neck. He hears her last words as the world dims. Thinking he is dieing he cares little for them. "You're mine now..... oh so pretty." Her voice so full of happiness as she releases his still form from her grip. Reaching down by her neck she finds the disguarded blade. She reaches up flicking it across her nipple. Watching a moment as the dark ichor flows from it. In his dim vision he sees this thru the shadows of dieing. Feeling her hand once more prod him over that seeping wound his lips touch the ichor. He whimpers as the ichor burns his lips. As she coos sweet nothings to him he feels his mouth fill with her blood. "Drink my son!" She commands as she rubs over his throat causing him to gag. His gagging causes him to swallow the first bit. He whimpers once more then begins to suck with abandon. The bitter sweet blood flooding into his mouth as it brings life back to him in a form. He feels her fucking him once more as if it were something he would need his cock dead as he is now. He growls darkly drinking all the more till it is too much for him to take. He spits her nipple from his lips panting. The thought of what he did sickens him unable to believe he has drunk this creature's blood. His cock is still hard though it feels different in her core as she fucks him. She rapes him as he did her earlier. He is too weak to stop her anyway. His cock was no longer able to provide sperm for her meals. He turns his head away from her hoping to find solace in the mists. This only allows him to find his reflection in a wet puddle. With a scream of shock he looks on his new form. His once clean rugged good looking face is no more. In its place is a sore covered face with a lesion next to his nose. His words come out almost like hers but more grating. "What did you do to me?" He reaches out for her in anger. This time he flies loose from her with a single shove. His cock came loose with a lewd popping sound from her body. She rises to her feet smoothing out her skirt and looking over her sweater. Seeing the damage done to it she shrugged it off letting it drop there looking at him. "You owe me a sweater child." She turns heading toward the alley wall. As he rises he looks to her in anger. "Bitch!" There is much venom in that word. Turning she looks to him smiling a sluttish smile. "Come here!" When he does not come to her side she laughs. Smiling she uses a slutty tone now with him. There is something magical to her words commanding his body. "Come over here sexy." He shakes his head no then is surprised as he finds his feet moving him to her side. She catches his jaw squeezing it painfully. "Rule number one stud I own you!" She releases him only to slam a fist into his stomach. The blow should only have made him laugh instead it doubled him over. Catching him she slings him easily over her shoulder rubbing his ass as she holds him naked from the waist down. She leaves his clothing in the alley for others to wonder. Walking to a steaming grate she pushes down on it with her foot. The grate used often by her opens smoothly as she smiles. "Welcome home lover." She steps through carrying his weak form from the misty light of the night. The grate after a moment seals itself. She laughs as she hefts him feeling his flaccid cock on her shoulder she leans to it. Slowly she sucked his head into her mouth playful now. Walking down the sewers tunnel she grows tired of the hard head in her mouth. She bites into it hard not using her fangs this time. He had enjoyed the attention till the end when she bit. Knowing she did not remove his cock he cries out in pain. She rubs his ass once more taking him to her home. His was just another scream in the dark down side of the city. The sound causes barely a head to turn in the mists as another is taken. The End * Feel free to send any feedback to the address in my profile. Hunted The man smiled alluringly, his pale green-grey eyes glittering. I felt something stir deep within me -- too low for butterflies -- and I closed my eyes briefly, my heart pounding, opening them again to see that he hadn't moved. "Georgina," he said simply and his rich, seductive voice sent shudders through my body. "Who...?" I managed to whisper; it was almost a squeak. He cocked his dark head on one side, the smile curving higher as he answered without even letting me finish my sentence -- not that I could've anyway... "William." "William...?" It was all I could say in return. I had no power to do anything -- nor did I want power to do anything. His hair was short and tousled, suiting his long, heart-shaped face and narrow pale eyes. His skin was like ivory -- not even a spot of colour on his lips -- and with his ebony hair, he looked like he had stepped out of a black and white Victorian photograph. One blink and he was suddenly only a few inches away from me. His right hand rose and caressed my cheek; I leant into it with my eyes closed, pleasant shivers racing down my spine as his left hand trailed up my thigh, coming to rest on my hip, his cool fingers just sliding into the top of my jeans. "Georgina..." I trembled with pleasure, his warm breath tickling my ear as his lips brushed the soft part of my neck, tracing my jaw-line and then pressing gently against the corner of my mouth, the tip of his tongue just briefly touching my bottom lip. The hand slid further down: his fingertips were now brushing my knickers -- black as I always wore. 'Wear sexy knickers and you'll feel sexy' my friend once told me. I felt more than sexy now. The hand went further, fingers sliding around my buttock -- stroking, teasing, and purposely avoiding the more sensitive parts. I felt myself becoming wet and gasped, opening my eyes to meet his gaze: lids lowered, the slight smile playing on his lips...I wanted him. Left-hand occupied, his right hand slid down from my face: neck...shoulder...breast... stomach...before -- with a quick flick -- he was touching bare skin again, his hand between my shirt and the hollow of my waist. Jesus, why didn't I take a bra with me into the bathroom!? I replied to the thought almost immediately: because somehow I knew he was there... Slowly his hand moved back up, his fingers sweeping around the edge of my breast, following the curve until he inevitably reached my nipple. "Oh God..." I gasped, anticipating his next move. Taking it between his forefinger and thumb, he squeezed my nipple gently and when I gasped again, he squeezed harder. Almost involuntarily, my hand shot up to clutch at his hair and I pressed my lips against his, kissing him hungrily, my other hand sliding down the back of his trousers. Immediately both his hands shifted, sliding around to my stomach, tracing the line where the edge of my hip-set jeans touched the skin just above my pubic hair, and undoing the single button with ease -- one hand opening the zip and pushing my jeans to the floor, the other slipping behind my knickers, fingers roughly brushing my clitoris as they passed, aiming for the place they could please me most. I shuddered deeply with desire, his fingers finding their way further inside me as I writhed against him in agonizing pleasure, my body pushing itself against his impulsively as I attempted to undo the buttons of his shirt -- only just seeming to succeed. Before I knew it, my trembling fingers had undone the clasp on his trousers as well, and finding his hot, erect cock in my hands, I wrapped my long fingers around it, teasing, caressing...I heard then his first hint of longing -- a tiny gap, barely audible -- and looked up to find his eyes closed softly. The hand he had on my buttocks clenched once and then his fingers thrust deep into me -- making me cry out blissfully -- withdrawing almost immediately and leaving me quivering in the aftermath. "Oh God, William," I panted, clutching at him, watching his eyes open, slowly, seductively, his own breath coming out quick and short. Again, I anticipated correctly. We stumbled backwards, William pushing me gently but firmly until I bent backwards over the small hallway table, his cock standing free and unrestrained from his trousers. Tearing off my shirt, his lips pressed against my breasts, teeth softly biting my nipples, until slowly -- excruciatingly slowly -- his caresses traveled further and further down my body, his tongue eventually parting my nether lips and finding my clitoris: a true lover's kiss. Carefully teasing, it was only when I began to cry out for the second time that he stood swiftly and entered me, both of us coming to climax at the same blissful instant: his head thrown back and my nails leaving their red marks on his stomach as we closed our eyes, shuddering together -- no rhythm, just chaos. We lay there for I don't know how long, my whole body throbbing and my sight blurred as his head rested against my chest, our breathing ragged. Eventually, he rose and as effortless as lifting a feather, swept me up into his warm embrace, carrying me back to my room. He placed me gently on the bed, the sheets cool and smooth against my back, and lay next to me. As he stroked my hair, fingers trailing down my neck, I suddenly felt -- for no reason -- that something was wrong. Turning, I looked into his eyes -- his gorgeous green eyes -- and was sure, again, that there was something I wasn't seeing. And then I noticed. Though the room was very dark (if he stood a metre away I'd only be able to see his outline) his pupils were tiny. They hadn't grown at all in between the bright lamps of the corridor and the dimness of the bedroom. He smiled at me, a quizzical frown creasing his brow, and the spookiness was gone. He was just a guy after all. Maybe his eyes just didn't react as quickly as normally. Sure enough, as I smiled back I noticed that his pupils were now slightly bigger and I relaxed, leaning in to kiss him. I'd only just met him and yet somehow it felt as if I'd met him before. He kissed me in return, trailing his kisses down my cheek and onto my neck. I grinned and closed my eyes, goose-bumps rising on my arms with the sensation of his lips. He sucked gently, making me giggle, and then drew my skin gently between his teeth, letting it go again immediately afterwards. It was an unusual but nice feeling, and yet I felt something else that I couldn't quite recognize -- I had the idea that his kissing was distracting me. Opening my eyes, I looked about the room to see if anything was different. My blood ran cold. Stood in the corner of the room was the reason for the odd sensation. I saw my own frightened eyes stare back at me out of tousled locks, lips slightly parted in surprise, and naked body gleaming in the pale moonlight from behind the curtains. Where was William? Because he certainly wasn't in the fucking mirror. I tried to steady my breathing but Bear's words kept going through my head: there are many stories surrounding that place -- and not all nice ones too. I wondered how to get out of the situation and decided that 'any way I could' was probably the best answer. "William, I need to go to the bathroom," I murmured as demurely as I could, pulling away from his embrace so I could see his face. You're not going anywhere. I stifled a squeak and felt my body tense up to the point where I was nearly trembling. He had said it without moving his lips; a sly, seductive grin played upon them and I noticed his eyes were completely black now. Terrified, I tried to pull away again but his grip was like iron. "Georgina," he whispered and even in the state I was, I nearly fell under his spell again, "Georgina, you're coming with me." I shook my head, tears of fear forming in my eyes. "What are you going to do to me?" He smiled wider, an almost sweet smile this time, and if I hadn't have been so afraid I think I would've fallen in love with him then and there. "I'm taking you home." I bolted. Throwing myself off the bed, I landed with a heavy thud onto the floor causing pain to flare up in my outstretched wrist as I stopped myself with it. I heard an irritated hiss as I scrambled along the floor to the door and suddenly, he was there in front of me -- no running, no jumping...he was just there. Grabbing me by the hair, he yanked me upright and I whimpered in fear and pain, my hands grasping at his hand, trying to make him let go. He threw me and I hit the wall, knocking the jewelry box on the dresser onto the floor and setting off the haunted, tinkling music as the lid popped open next to me. Again, he was in front of me in an instant and had me pinned; my right arm was stuck awkwardly between my back and the wall and so by pressing his body against mine and holding my left wrist, he had me so that I couldn't move. I shuddered in terror, wheezing and light-headed, as his right hand stroked the left side of my face and he smiled, leaning in and pressing his lips against mine as I struggled to free myself. It was like wrestling against an iron statue. When he grabbed my hair once more and wrenched my head to one side, I knew exactly what he was going to do and yet, I still couldn't prepare myself for the terrible feeling that came. As he bit into the delicate skin of my neck, a tingling sensation filled my chest which increased to a burning pain as his teeth pierced my vein. Immediately, I felt the fight or flight scenario take hold -- and as I couldn't run, I fought. The harder I struggled, the harder the vampire bit down until it was so deep I thought he'd bite straight through my windpipe. I tried to push him away, my legs kicking uselessly as he hoisted me up into the air with one arm around my waist so that my toes were a few inches off the floor. Though the movement freed my hands, nothing I did seemed to stop him. I felt him begin to suck and immediately dizziness washed over me. I fought harder, fists beating at anything I could reach, until he cast me back onto the bed, holding me down once again. Weakness overwhelmed me and my vision became blurred as his weight pressed down and he drank my life-force, so much so that I hardly noticed when the pressure lessened and he let go, his mouth still wrapped tightly around my vein. Eventually, as my vision became shot with flecks of colour, he pulled away completely, staring at me with wide eyes and licking his red stained lips. I saw his little sharp teeth for the first time then but unfortunately, they were the least of my concerns. As his cock rose steadily, I knew what he was going to do to me next and had no will left to stop it. He wasted no time, straddling me and driving himself roughly inside me with a grunt. I realized then that he must have only just killed before our first time and wondered briefly who it was, before he started thrusting with such force that I cried out. And then something strange happened. I could feel my body start to respond. He smiled as he saw the change, placing one hand on my breast as my nipples hardened, and leaning forward to whisper in my ear. "I told you that you were coming with me," he breathed as I panted, trying to stop the orgasm that I knew was going to come, "I've been hunting you for hundreds of years -- waiting until I knew for certain it was you I was looking for. A half-breed like me: half-human, half-vampire. We are the only ones who can feel desire in this way." "No," I whispered with a shudder that was nothing to do with fear, as he kept plunging himself inside of me, "I'm nothing like you..." "Have you ever looked in the mirror in the midst of passion?" was his return and as he climaxed, trusting as deep as he possibly could, my own climax smothering me in it's embrace, he shifted slightly and behind him I saw the silver pane of glass, empty but for a crumpled bed. Hunted She strolls along the dimly lit city streets. I watch her from the shadows as she checks behind herself, obviously wary from the distressing atmosphere. She approaches a dark alleyway and pauses; She isn't thinking of cutting through it is she? The fog is thick tonight, the air heavy, and I can feel it: Something unnatural lurks in the shadows this evening. After a moment of deep, troubled, thought, she darts into the alleyway taking long, quick, strides. I suppose she is eager to clear the ominous confines of the enclosed space. She spots the streetlights at the end of the tunnel of shade, and I can hear her sigh in relief as she draws near it. But she, and I as well, are not alone. A silhouette steps in front of her, and blocks her path. She stops with a such a start that she just barely manages to stifle a yelp. Trembling, she turns to come back the way she came. But she finds two more figures block that path as well. She cries out a soft whimper as the shadows advance on her. Their whispers of cold laughter escape their grinning fangs. These are no ordinary men that have stalked their quarry into this lonesome alleyway, but creatures of the night: They are vampires. Lustful for blood, and god knows what else, they prey on this poor young woman. Perhaps she should not have tried to cut through the alley on this dark night. For the sake of a couple of minutes she may have lost her life. "Hello there babydoll," they taunt and tease her as they jest. They show their fangs as clearly as their lethal intent. But, lucky for her, the vampires are not the only creatures stalking the night. I drop myself from my vantage point, upon the roof, and land softly in the alley below. I barely make so much as a sound, but vampires have supernatural hearing. They instantly turn to me upon my intrusion. I draw my blade, and the sound of the metal sliding out of its scabbard echoes against the sudden and deafening silence. My intent is every bit as lethal as theirs, but they laugh at me nonetheless; to them, I am but a small girl with an outdated weapon, and they are vampires! They are immortals: Fast, strong, and invincible. "So you wanna fight little girl?" they belittle me as though I am child; I only grin. Another sniffs at me and laughs, "mmm she smells really delicious." I say nothing in return; I respond only with my blade. I have the element of surprise; I have the superior speed. Time slows to a near halt as I leap forward and run my blade through the first vampire. He does not even have the the time to flinch before he explodes into dust. They realize, quickly, that they shouldn't be taking me too lightly afterall. They bare their fangs, hiss at me wildly, and crouch into a feral fighting stance. So they choose to fight me? Foolish: They are far too used to being the hunters, and do not know how to act when the table is turned. The poor, certainly traumatized, girl takes this opportunity to flee, and I smile to myself. I would regret it if she were caught in the crossfire. The first of my attackers comes at me from behind; He hopes to catch me off guard. But, almost as though I have eyes in the back of my head, I can sense his assault. I turn about, gracefully, and run my sword through him. Two more move at me instantly, relentlessly. But I am too fast for even two of them: Cut, cut. They are reduced to ash. No more attack: Finally understanding their predicament, They look at each other; fear etched deeply in their eyes. They feel a fear I am sure they have not felt since their death. They do no hesitate: They turn and they run. But I am not going to let them go that easily! I am a hunter, and they are my prey. I chase them down, one by one, and finish them off quickly. Their inhuman screams of agony and their pleading for their non-lives are lost on me: They are monsters! Would they have shown that girl any mercy? I try to count back in my mind: Did I get them all? I didn't count them! Oh no! I didn't let any of them get away did I? They must not know that there is something out there that hunts them. As, I am sure, they do not wish humans know they are hunted. Let's see: I got about half a dozen. That must have been all of them. Oh, how I hate it when they run! I am re-affirmed, now, in my confidence that my work is done, but I chastise myself for my carelessness. It is time to move on. I have a small camp outside the city limits; It is next to a small lake where I built myself a fire pit for later and rolled out a sleeping bag. I stretch my worked muscles as I reminisce on that lake. When I was there today it was so calm, serene, the sun beat down on it gently, and the birds sang beautifully. I cannot wait to return there and take the swim I missed out on earlier. I leap into a headlong sprint for my hide-away, which is at least a few kilometres away. I know what your thinking: Why run that far? Don't I have some kind of transportation? But I can tell you, I don't need anything so mundane: I can run much faster than any human can, and even faster than any vampire! Time seems to slow as I move, my surroundings blur past me, and in mere minutes I am able to cover a couple dozen kilometres. I know, it's not natural: The way I defeated those vampires, and the way I can run like this. What am I? Well the truth is, even I don't know... I grew up an orphan on the streets. I stole to survive because I could easily outmanoeuvre those who try and stop me. I lived like this for so long, until one day the Father found me. He took me into the church, and cared for me as if I were his own. I know what you're thinking: A church? How boring! But this is no ordinary church: It is a church of those who fight the unnatural. Each member of the church was trained to fight creatures of the night: Vampires, werewolves, demons... But I'm different. The members of the church are humans, relying on their wits to survive. But I am something else: Human in every way, except much more powerful. Nevertheless, my name is Samantha, and I am a hunter. When I finally reach my campsite I set to making a fire. I don't have the night-vision of a vampire, so the fire provides much needed light and comfort to my makeshift home. Still, I am eager for that swim, and so I begin to strip off my clothes. I rest my sword near the fire, and slide out of my top. Then I unhook my sport's bra, pull down my pants, and wriggle out of my panties. With each article of clothing I shed I toss it into a crumpled pile in the grass. I dip my foot into the water to test it: It is mildly chilly, but it looks so tempting, so clear, so placid, and reflects the moonlight brilliantly. The forest around me is alive with the peaceful sounds of crickets, hooting owls, and other wildlife. Its the perfect environment of serenity. I gaze into the water at my reflection, and the woman I have become stares back at me. I have blue eyes and shoulder-length, wavy, black hair, but it is matted from the battle. My feminine muscles accent my gentle curves seductively, and my B-cup breasts are firm with youth. I am not sure how old I am, but I'm at least in my early twenties. I dive headlong into the water, and when I emerge I pull my hair back behind my head. The water feels so nice against my bare skin: So cool, so refreshing. I kick slowly, but swiftly, to keep myself afloat as I clean myself thoroughly with the cool spring water. When I finally feel clean I lean back in the water and spread my arms and legs to keep afloat; I feel so at ease, so calm, everything is so quiet... Maybe a little too quiet... What happened to the sounds of the crickets? The owls? Something is wrong... I can feel a presence; its as though I am being watched. Yes, there is definitely- And suddenly I am under the water. Something has grabbed my ankle and pulled me under with such a force I did not even get a breath of air in my lungs. It has me completely flatfooted and whatever it is wraps around me so quickly I have no time to break free. I struggle against my captor, but whatever it is is too strong! I can barely move with its strong arms around my arms and torso, and it's legs locked in twine with mine. Before I even have time to consider how things could possibly get worse I feel it sink its fangs into my neck... Oh god! It's a vampire! And for the first time: I am having my blood sucked from my veins. I am overwhelmed by panic and begin struggling futilely against my assailant, but he is much too strong for me. Yes, it is definitely a he: I can feel his cock, hard and erect, pushing up against the small of my back. Oh god! Sucking my blood seems to have gotten him... well... excited... I wonder if that's a typical reaction? And he's naked!? My lungs begin to burn: Unlike the vampire I require air, because whatever I am, I am alive, and much closer to a human than they are. My body is desperately trying to tell me that I need air to retain my living condition. My eyes, wide with horror, are locked upwards; I can see the hazy light of the moon above me slowly fade to black as the lack of oxygen in my blood begins to draw me into unconsciousness. Whatever fight I had in me, useless struggling albeit, drains out of me as I go limp in his arms. With each weakening beat of my heart I can feel my blood gush from my tender neck into his hungry throat. I'm going to die like this, aren't I? I can't believe how it is going to end: Years of hunting vampires, of making them my helpless prey, protecting people, I grew too confident, too cocky... I let my guard down, and one of the vampires from the fight got away. He must have followed me here. All those years of being the hunter, and now I am the prey. No: None of the vampires from the fight were this strong; none of them could overpower me like this, even if they did catch me off-guard. One of them got away all right, but they lead this one right to me. I am certain of it. The father had warned me that there were a few very old, and very powerful, vampires out there, who could best even me. Surely, this was one of those vampires. The moonlight fades completely, and weakly I bid the cruel world one last farewell. I hope the father's teaching are right, and that there is another life awaiting me. Farewell... But then, a miracle: The vampire releases me, and as quickly as he appears, he is gone. With the very last bit of strength in me, renewed hope pushing me on, I struggle to the surface, and meekly kick my way back to shore. I pull myself up onto land, and, with great pain, cough the water from my lungs. I grasp my neck in one hand and cringe in agony. I am sure the vampire is still here, and he is simply waiting for me to recover before renewing his assault. But I cannot work up the strength to resist him. I try to move my legs but they lie limply in the water; I try to pull myself up but my arms simply do not have the strength to overcome the weight of my body. My hope drains again. I'm helpless: He can do whatever he wants to me and I just can't fight back! I see his shadow looming over me now, and the panic wells up in me once again. I try to squirm away but only manage to snake myself about a foot or two away before he descends on me. He grabs my arms and sinks his fangs into my neck once again. A stifled cry escapes my lips; I do not even the strength to scream. My entire body goes limp and I suddenly realize how dreadfully cold I feel, like the fingers of death clawing on my skin. Confident that my arms do not have the strength to resist him anymore, he releases them and moves one arm around to the small of my back, and the other down to my inner thigh. He begins to rub me there softly, and yet another meek cry escapes my lips. Is it not enough that he drains me of my blood, but must he touch me so inappropriately as well? His fingers move swiftly to my nether-lips, and begin to caress them gently. A sudden involuntary wave of pleasure irradiates through my body. The pleasure hits not just from my pussy, but from my neck as well. Suddenly every drop of blood leaving my veins feels significant; the pounding of my heart quickens as if it wishes to feed him more expediently, and a wonderful warmth spreads through every fiber in my body. A vampire is drinking my blood... and it feels soooo good! I know I should feel only shame for letting this happen to myself in the first place, and even more for suddenly enjoying it. But what can I say? It just feels too wonderful for me to feel anything other than joy. As a slow, quiet moan escapes my throat, he begins to rub me faster. My breathing quickens, and I am suddenly granted the strength to move my arms from the last hormone I expected to help me now pumping into my blood. But instead of using them to fight as I should, I begin to caress the burly chest of my assailant. His skin feels so smooth, so cold, so hard... At last he withdraws from my neck, and moves to look me deep into the eyes. In the dim moonlight I get the first real look at my attacker. He has short white hair, a bit of sexy black stubble, but the thing that really makes my heart skip a beat is his eyes: They glow an intense blue, staring at me intently with their own light that defies that of the moon, and they glare at me hungrily. His lips lock mine and against the quiet cries in the back of my head we kiss passionately. I can taste nothing but my own blood in my mouth, but it tastes so good: Sweet, like honey... Why does it taste so good? He sticks his fingers gently inside me and begins to stroke me deeply. I gasp against his lips assaulting mine and he draws back, "Never have I tasted blood so sweet. Like a fine wine, you, my child, are to be savoured." His voice is so deep, so musical, and so, so relaxing. His mouth moves down to my breast, and he gently begins to suckle my nipple. He licks and bites it softly. Pleasure, and a tinge of pain, irradiate from the point of contact and I arch my back as my breathing accelerates. He spreads my labia with his skilled fingers allowing him to penetrate me deeper, and I twitch with pain as he presses against my hymen. He chuckles, "I had not expected one so strong and beautiful to still be a virgin." He grins and I can see the moonlight reflect off his white fangs. I bite down on a nail as I await his next move: A nervous habit I had not realized I had. He kisses my breast, and moves his skilled lips down my stomach slowly, savouring every moment, every taste. I can sense what's coming, but he moves so slowly it feels like an eternity of impatient waiting. He moves his mouth to my netherlips, with his fingers parts me again, and shoves his tongue inside me. I can feel how wet I have become (and I don't mean the water) as he laps at my vagina gently. The stimulation feels too good and I can feel my cheeks flush with warmth. I groan softly and let my head fall back and my eyes close, loving every moment of it. He flicks his tongue over my clitoris and a loud slow moan escapes my lips. He withdraws to look me deeply in my eyes again, "How you seem to be enjoying this hunter, should you not be penetrating my heart with your blade instead?" He glances over to my sword, lying in it's scabbard by the fire. I look with him, then back. He stares at me, seeming to expect an answer, but I cannot offer one. My head is swimming in the pleasures he has inflicted upon me and I simply cannot think at all. Instead I lie upon my back, with my legs spread, breathing rapidly like an animal in heat. What has become of me? He is right, of course. He is a monster, I should be fighting him with every last iota of my strength. Instead I'm spread for him and nearly begging for him to fuck me. He chuckles again, and his laugh is so superior. Damn him! "I think you have been waiting for this for a long time: To be defeated by a vampire, to become the prey of those you hunt." At last I manage to speak against him, "No, you're wrong". "Am I?" he taunts, "then do you not want my cock to penetrate you? I can leave you be now, and you will never have to see me again." I know that this is the better offer for me, but it fills me with a strange kind of fear. A longing: "Please... No!" He grins his fangs at me once again, "then admit it: You want this! You have always wanted this!" I see his member dangling in front of me, and I eye it hungrily. I want it, I want him to stick it deep inside of me... "Yes! Please, you're right, I'm so baaaad, I want this, oh god" I admit hastily, and for a moment I feel as though I lifted out of my body and look down upon it with shame. What have I become? He chuckles again, enjoying his victory over me and slowly he positions himself to me, as though he were a key and I the lock. I bite my lip with anticipation as he moves his swollen member towards my drenched nether-lips. Then he penetrates me, slowly, inch by inch. As he moves into me I gasp in both pleasure. Then in pain as he pushes against my hymen. With one last push, it tears, and I cry out loud. Then quickly he begins to pound me, moving in and out, and the pain turns into pure pleasure. I move my hand up to cover my mouth as the moans escaping me get louder and louder: I'm so ashamed of them. His pumping grows suddenly more rapid, and with his hands he pushes my thighs out more, spreading me wider, and penetrating me deeper. I bite down on my hand in a futile effort to silence my cries of passion. He grabs my hand away and locks his lips with my own, my cries escape now into him as his tongue shoves its way forcefully into my eager mouth. I lick at his tongue hungrily as he continues to pound me. My lungs again beg for air, much more quickly this time as my breathing has become very rapid in pace. He releases my lips and sinks his fangs into my neck one last time. An incredible wave of pleasure rolls through me body instantly, arching my back as it moves down my spine, and when it hits my privates, I explode into a mind-numbing orgasm. He continues to pump into me as my body shakes and fights involuntarily against his strong hold on me, and when at last the pleasure passes I collapse back onto the ground limply. I cannot seem to catch my breath as he pulls both his fangs and his swollen cock out of me. He grabs the back of my head gently and pulls me to him. I rest in his arms, wholly satisfied, breathing in and out rapidly, trying to relax myself. He grabs a knife and hands it to me. I take it, shocked, as the tiny voice in the back of my mind urges me to plunge it into his heart. With his finger he draws a symbol in the dirt, it looks akin to a pentagram, but not quite, something obviously ancient, and probably dangerous. "Carve this into the back of your hand," he commands of me. I shove the dagger back at him, "No! Are you crazy!?" He lets out a long breath, a tone of frustration etched deeply within it. Then he grabs my chin roughly with crude force. He wrenches my face so that my eyes look deeply into his own, and before I realize what he is doing it is already too late. His glowing blue eyes stare deeply into my soul, and everything else becomes blurry. The fog that has been on my mind since he assaulted me on the beach weighs down much more heavily and I feel myself surrender everything to him. I know he has hypnotized me. Without any further resistance, I take the dagger and carve the rune into the back of my hand. He does not make me do it quickly, and every cut is agony. When I am done, he runs his tongue slowly over the wound, and I can feel my skin singe, and smell burning flesh. Somehow, his saliva has sealed the wound. I gaze at the back of my hand and the rune is scarred permanently there for the world to see. "This marks you as mine, now and forever," his voice seems distant past the fog in my mind, "no vampire, upon seeing it, will dare touch you." Hunted Gently, once again, he grabs the hair at the back of my head, and moves me towards his swollen cock. "Now suckle my nectar," he commands. Without hesitation I gently take his penis in my hands and slowly lick the tip. I have never done this before, but it seems he's hypnotized me to be a master at it: I work my tongue along his long shaft and then take it in my mouth, sucking on it gently and moving it in and out of my mouth. He grabs the back of my head forcefully and begins to fuck my face. I stop only for the occasional breath, some part of me cannot believe how hungry I have become for his cock, and how much I want to please him. "When I cum, you will swallow all of my seed," he commands, and I only nod up to him. He face fucks me once again, and when he is ready he pushes me to him, shoving his long swollen member down into my throat. I choke and gasp for air, and with a great groan of pleasure he ejects his sperm into me. I moan as I feel his hot cum hit the back of my throat, and when he leaves me I struggle against gasps for air and my chocking throat to swallow his load. I manage to swallow it all, despite the taste: its salty and disgusting. Gasping for air I collapse on his chest, and he lies back cradling me gently. The fog on my mind deepens even further, and it isn't long before I fall asleep. His skin is icy cold, but the fire is warm. The crickets are chirping once again, and I cannot believe how content I am in the arms of this monster. When I wake up the next morning to the sounds of chirping birds and the hot sun beating against my naked skin, my undead lover is gone. Happy and satisfied I try to nestle myself back to sleep, but I can't stop the realization from hitting me: Oh my god! What have I done? I shoot straight up into a sitting position, and my head spins: I am still weak from the blood loss. I gave myself to a vampire... To a vampire! This is unforgivable! The church will never let me come back. There were already many hunters who were suspicious of me due to my unique abilities, but now this rune on my hand is proof of my sins. They will kill me, they will rope me up by the neck, or tie me to a post and let me burn! My own friends... And then I realize: I can still feel him! But its different: His presence is definitely there, but he is far, very far away. I turn to look in his direction, but of course see nothing, I know that he is many, many miles away. I can't tell how far, but I know he is far enough away that he is no threat to me now. But still... I can feel his presence, and I'm sure that if I started in that direction I could find him. I could find him anywhere in the world! I look to the rune carved in the back of my hand, and I know it is responsible. Why would he want me to find him? Does he not know that I will seek revenge? This time I can catch him by surprise. I can wait until my strength returns, I can prepare, and I can fight. He will not beat me next time... Hunted The thing wrapped around his ankle. Every foot kick was slowed down. With mild panic, he yanked his foot until it slipped off and disappeared into the vastness of the water around him. All he could see from the netherworld beneath his neck was a blue-green surface. Tiles of blue-green were separated by white lines of foam, some simply ripples running through the water, some crests whipped by the ocean breeze. Another slumbering giant of a wave came in. The massive body of the wave rolled on slowly, almost obscuring that it was another six foot surge that lifted him high. The wave let him down slowly, while it raced onward to the beach. The sandbank pushed the wave high. The tip sharpened to a menacing threat. Two seconds later, the tip slammed down into the surface. The entire beach vibrated from the megatons of water pounding down. The skirmish of white foam raced to the beach. Anton was still treading water beyond the break, where the water was jolly and safe like in a pool. He smelled the mix of rotting Kelp and thick sea salt in the air. The winter water temperature were around 50 degrees. The blood was rushing to heat his body giving him alertness. And his butt cheeks felt so free with the water slushing around them and through the butt crack. His board shorts had been carried sideways and wherever by the current underwater. There was no more turning back. He was butt naked with no clothing or towel in reach. A beach full of evening visitors was ahead of him. There was a thin line of visitors that had come clothes to the water and were fighting their way through the wet sand. Beyond a long expanse of loose sand was the boardwalk. The boardwalk was primed with a busy crowd of groups meandering, people on beach cruisers, rollerbladers zipping in between, and gaggles of people around the public restrooms and fast food stations. Beyond that lay the bustling beach city. 14 blocks in was his house, the safe spot. His heart skipped a beat. There was the big emptiness of a lack of heart beat followed by the heavy thumping of a single huge beat that made him weak in the knees. His lips were shivering. The winter ocean was draining his body of warmth. The timer was running down on how much longer he could stay out here in the safety of being naked in public without anybody knowing. The waves were flat all the way out to the beach. They were in between sets. He looked out to the ocean. Weak waves were running in. He kept swirling his limps to stay afloat. There was the mixture of adrenaline making him feel sick to the stomach and excited about life. There was the mild hypothermia that hurt and made his mind dull, the beauty of calming a busy mind. He slowly paddled into position for the next set coming in. The sea was dragging out with the lack of waves pushing in. The water was swirling hard around his body, when he crawled hard. And then the first small wave came in. The next was a monster. The looming and dooming face of it grew as it neared him. The menace crested dangerously. He pushed with all his vigor. The wave grabbed him with forceful forklift arms, ripped him six feet into the air. The wave crashed the next moment. The wave tossed him back down into its belly. Tons of water piled on top of him. A civil war broke out among the water with its warriors pushing and running into every which way. Helplessly, he was torn around. His limps were pushed around like a ragdoll. Even his mouth was helplessly ripped open with salt water freely gushing through his mouth and nose. His lungs were shut, clinging onto the air they had left. Two seconds later, he stabilized his body into a long plank position with the left arm raised overhead to mimic a long board. He was shooting through the water like a torpedo. The roiling white water ripping on his skin, face, hair, cheeks. Two seconds, five seconds, seven second, nine seconds, he had to squeeze his throat tight against the urge to breathe. He was still deeply under water. And with painful quickness, the sand rubbed against his underside like sandpaper. He pushed his limps against the solid land to get out of the grip of the wave to escape the searing pain of the skin being filed off. There he was naked on his knees in the sand. His butt was bared. He had a scrawny butt. He was 6' 3" and 175 lbs. He was athletic, yet the scrawny type that didn't have an ounce of extra fat. His chest had ripples from his ribs poking through. His arms were covered with tattoo sleeves. There was the Russian mermaid riding a submarine. She hugged the submarine. The submarine was shooting torpedoes. There was the line drawing of his first girlfriend reclining seductively in tattoo studio in Arkhangelsk, a freezing cold city at the White Sea, where he had been stationed as a young nineteen year old. He was acutely aware of his groomed penis hanging between his legs. The area was shaved smooth. The cold water had made his penis shrivel. A couple was walking nearby with their arms around each other. They had a little dog walking with them, which was illegal at the beach. She was chubby and wore old leggings, like one of those inland people. Wet sand was over half of his body. The water was running out to the ocean past his hands. The water was taking sand with it. His open palm was sinking into the sand. He pushed himself standing, like a sprinter, his body stood diagonally in the air, while he launched forward into a sprint. The woman jumped and screamed in surprise. "Pinche cabron!" When being in front of people, there is that nervousness that propels us. His feet sunk deeply into the sand as he was running up the sand embankment to the high water line. He had long limbs. He had dark hair and blue eyes. He reached the top. The blue lifeguard house had the windows closed with wood boards. Winter didn't bring swimmers to warrant having lifeguards around. Five hundred feet of empty, loose sand was ahead of him, eager to wear him down and exhaust him as every foot step would slip back. It was empty here. People would only see him from the distance, a last respite of being quasi alone. Ahead was the busy ocean boardwalk. He felt the auto-erotic feeling of doing something forbidden and being exposed. His penis was swaying hard left and right with every stride. He was well hung. So, there was a lot to fly around. The burning set into his lungs the moment that he made plans to cut through the foot traffic of beach goers. A girl was sitting on the concrete barrier with a guitar and a sign for donations. She had folksy socks with rings going up her calves and a yellow flower in her hair. A group of four thuggish, black young males with their pants beneath their butts was strolling around, holding their pants from sagging even farther. Two forty year old women with big fannies, tight and bright workout clothing were power walking with their hands high and the sun visors way low. A college student was pushing the pedals of a beach cruiser in a skirt. Her kid-party-colorful dotted panties flashed with every stroke. He strode ahead. Suddenly, the boardwalk crowd engulfed him with all their multi-colored clothing. A family father was dragging a blue body board over the ground. Anton jumped over it. The bizarreness of modern polite society is that nobody stared. He looked at the college girl on her bike and her multi-colored panties flashing him. She looked ahead as if he didn't existed. He had to pause to let a black guy with a seventies haircut and a boom box playing seventies music path. Antsy, he was jogging in place for three treads. "Put some clothes on," the angry sound of a male arouse from somewhere in the crowd. It was always the guys that got offended. Women rarely complained. He almost crashed a speed biker in slipstream smooth biking clothes. There he was past the crowd. A group of three changed out of wetsuits at the back of a VW bus. Surfboards were leaning against the bus. A yellow-red towel was wrapped around someone's waist turning the neoprene sleeves inside out. Ahead of him was a long spring across the parking lot with garbage on the ground, oil spots, and dirty sand. His heels, uncushioned by a sneaker, pounded the pavement hard. His legs were getting weak like soggy bread. He had to push on. Beyond the parking lot and beyond the stairs leading up to the city were hiding spots. Out here, he was in the open, exposed and vulnerable. The palm trees and blue sky of the Southern California winter were indifferent to his rushed escapade. A sense of unreal sunk into him. He was naked. There was no trouble. Pushing up the stairs with the arteries at his neck pounding, he sunk deeply into his head. Was it all imagined in his head? Was he at the quiet before the storm of getting into real trouble? An old woman sat on a bench at the top of the staircase. She held a walking cane with both hands in front of her. Her lips were slowly chewing in the air. When she saw the naked Anton, her eyes widened. She poked her husband next to her with a long pokey finger. "There is a naked Russian," she said matter of fact. The husband looked up, "Oh, you're right." Anton had already moved on to the street crossing. He dashed across it. The first row of houses were posh beach residences. A restored El Camino with flames painted on was parked off the street on a resident parking spot. Anton ran behind it and squatted down. His bare feet were on the dirty ground. His butt was hovering right next to his Achilles tendon above the ground. His butt was barely padded, yet the muscles were tough. He hugged his arms around his shins with his head high ever cautious and scanning. His lungs were panting hard. His whole body was shivering from the exertion and the copious lactic acid that had built up. The nubs of his spine poked out of his curved back. Pearls of seat water ran out of his hair and down his back until it dropped off his butt cheeks to the ground, leaving dark, round marks. The crescendo of cars and city sounds was around him. Anyone could have seen him run behind the El Camino. However behind here, he was shielded pretty well. He thought about how hard he would pound his dick at home at the memories of his exposed naked run. He was looking forward to it. The formerly cold shrunk penis was relaxing to the normal, flaccid size. He could hear a woman walking by talking on her cell phone, "Et puis nous allons à la plage." Her flip flops had that smacking sexy sound of naked female feet. A small, untrained dog was barking at something. His eyes glanced at his arms. Part of the tattoo sleeve were druid power symbols, circles and lines laid out in ancient order. They belonged to Androgur, a river spirit who had the powers of subversion. Androgur controlled the people of the nearby village of Kalisbur to worship him. Androgur would insinuate thoughts in the citizens minds that slow grow until they were urged to act out on them. It is said that the wearer of those symbols will slow align his environment to serve him, like an enchanting song that sets ideas into the people's mind to serve and please him. All obstacles become simple, pure, and obedient. His breath had slowed down enough. He had to keep moving. There were another fourteen blocks to cover to his idyllic beach city home with the yucca tree and desert plants in front of it. He inched to the front of the El Camino peaking over the hood, the sidewalk was clear. He started with a hurried jog. Car were waiting at a red light. There were plenty of people in those cars that had nothing better to do then watch him. The first honk sounded. He felt the shivers and titillation caressing his butt. He assumed that's where people were staring. The sound of his bare feet hitting the concrete flat pounded in his head. The second honk sounded from five cars away. By now everyone must have been staring at him from the safety of tinted car windows. People in cars feel immune to being caught staring. He kept running on. He ran across the street right in front of a dozen waiting cars on each side. A girl with a nose ring and tattoo on her throat, yelled a happy "Party on! Show me that ass!" That's what he liked the most, the unabashed sexual celebration by bold and confident women. An angry drawn out honk by a mad, ugly, fat guy killed the joy quickly with dark clouds of anger. He was across the street. "Photo!, Yeah, photo!" yelled a woman with big black glasses, super high white heels on platform and tiny white hot pants with white leather strings. Her accent was thickly Italian. He paused. She quickly put her hands on his shoulder. She had a quarter size bubble gum pink stone on a ring. Another ring had a three finger wide golden circle. She was wearing a white furry handbag. She raised one of her heels into the air for flair. Her friend waved them to get even closer with the phone camera in hand. The Italian girl fake pretended to bite his nipples. Right after the photo, she hobbled as fast as she could on her high heels to her friend to see the photo. Anton realized that lull and that he needed to keep moving. His heart had the fuzzies from the flirtatious air of sexy women. He past the beach businesses, the open air cafes, beach apparel stores, and frat house bars. The next streets were quiet and residential. There were plenty of quirky beach touches, like nice gardens, a little art here or there, and benches to watch the pedestrian parade strut by. Then he spotted the first police car coming out of and disappearing into a side street. Anton jumped over a low fence onto the soft, lush lawn. The grass felt good under his feet. Yet, the utter panic had drowned all joy out of his run. He felt barren, primitive panic. The police car had a slowness about it like as if it was looking for something or someone. Chances were that a guy had called the cops on him. There would probably be a crisscrossing grid search by police cars. The well-healed beach community had plenty of bored cops. He looked behind him just at the right time. A police cruiser was making a right turn into his street, he dodged behind a green garbage dumpster. He pressed his bare unprotected back against the filth to have as low of a profile as possible to be spotted from the sides. The police cruiser with the authoritative black and big bulky car body drove at 10 mph carefully searching. Once it past, Anton followed it slowly in a crouch behind the row of parked cars. He had to keep moving. He was the hunted now. The dragnet of police cars would only get tighter as more of them would arrive. He had to keep moving out of the center spot. The next intersection was tough. He could be seen from four street directions. It was clear. He rushed across the street. He felt like an animal, primitive, without defense, and mercilessly hunted for sport. He heard the roar of a Dodge Charger. Immediately, he lay flat in the gutter between the sidewalk and a Ford SUV. The grime of the street and the sharp pebbles of the street were pressed against his soft flesh. The police Dodge Charger sharply accelerated through the street and paused at the next intersection, as the cops were looking around. They were hunting him, trying to cover as much ground as possible to hunt down the naked man. By day or shall we say night, Anton worked in a basement bar. Quite a few cops frequented the establishment. They were all docile to him, because he controlled the alcohol. Out here, he was at their mercy just a bare skin. Anton was lying in the gutter. He could smell the heat from the Ford parked next to him. He could smell the oil on the ground. He saw the underside of the Ford SUV, because it was raised high. Anton had three rules. #1 Never cover your groin. Strut with your chest high and shoulders back. #2 Never stay in one spot too long. That's being a chicken. Enjoy the rush of the hunt. #3 Don't get stupid and willfully caught. The romance of getting caught and police brutality are incompatible. So, he got up, rubbing his hands against each other to clean them. His back was strong from the time in the Russian navy and the near daily workouts in the gym. The bulges were beautiful. The individual muscles were clearly defined. Tenth Street was past him. The neighborhood was so quiet here that any car engine sounded from three blocks away. He meandered casually. There'd be plenty of advance notice to find cover. He sunk into his thoughts. Why was he doing this? His therapist had asked him the same thing. There was definitely a sexual component to it, the friskiness of being naked. The bigger part was the catharsis. His whole life, he had the feeling of being discarded, of being without value, and of being without grace. The Russian Navy pushed him around, humiliated him, ripped him away from his girlfriend, made him eat dog food, so that the captain could vacation at the Black Sea. The American immigration system had no care for him. When he joined the Russian mob, they took away his free will. All the while, people told him how lucky he was to be at the Navy and in America. They looked up to him for the status with the Russian mob. When he was hunted down naked and defenseless, he could really feel how he felt. His therapist had kicked her leg nervously, "How could such a strong, tall man like you feel like a thrown away animal in a cage? You were a leather jacket. You have tattoos all over your arms. I felt a little scared of you the first few sessions." "You don't realize how many overlords I have and how desperately I have to please them" was his response. He rubbed the five-pointed star on his shoulder. That was his first rank in the Russian mob. It was the pledge that opened middle class life in America to him, freedom from the poverty and intellectual oppression in Russia. Yet, it had put him into an entirely different prison. Idyllic family houses lined the street past him. There was a swing set on a tree that spoke a dream about joyful childhood laughter and innocence, a thing that he didn't have growing up in a world, where religion is for the weak of mind that can't handle the intensity of daily danger. He had grown up, when Russian tanks were shelling houses. Every day, there was a lottery game for dinner or no dinner, when he rushed through the rubble of a destroyed city playing desperate adventure games to bring food home to his parents. Birds were singing in the big oak tree. A squirrel was twitching its tale while calculating the next sequence of jumps through the leaves. The leaves made a ruffling sound with the evening breeze coming in. The moon was already a pasty sight low on the sky. A green garden hose was discarded on a lawn. "Don't you wanna run? Give us a little chase at least," the taunting female voice was right behind Anton, so close that it sent chills down his body. He stumbled on his toes. He swirled around. He looked into the taunting brown eyes of a young female cop. She was confidently leaning back in the police cruiser passenger seat. Her long curly hair was tied together in a ponytail. She already had blue latex gloves on to tackle crazy street people. Her lip stick was thick red. She had a giggle on her like a fresh academy graduate. Two short whoops from the siren signaled Anton to run. He cautiously started running, a little confused. Once he was moving, they turned on the siren full blast. That scared him into a full out spring. "Shake that ass for me," cheered the young female cop callously. He ran as fast as he could. The police cruiser stayed behind him. The engine purred like a sleepy cat, while his heart was doing mad jumping jacks. "Get me closer," called the female cop behind him. He heard a heavy bounce so close to his heels that he had to look. The driver had driven the two tires on the right onto the sidewalk. Anton feared that the bumper would hit him in the knees anytime. His brain painted painful imminent images of hard steel crushing his tender, biological body. Hunted "Closer," cooed the female officer. Anton looked back. The female officer's torso was leaning out the passenger window. Her arm was reaching far out. The blue gloved open hand was searching the air. The car inched closer to Anton. The tires bumped up and down as they crossed driveways. The blue gloved hand reached back and slapped Anton on the back. A loud thud and the flesh sounded followed by girly giggles of the female cop. "Light post," screamed the driver. The police cruiser swerved sharply into the middle of the road. The female cop almost fell out of the window. Her tight, dark-blue pant butt was right on the crest of the windshield opening. The cruiser sped up a bit, drove back on the sidewalk. The cop opened the door wide to block the sidewalk. Anton stopped exhausted, a thick film of sweat all over his body. Sweat drops were running down his spine. He doubled forward, holding his knees. The female cop got out. She grabbed him by the shoulder, threw him hard on the ground. Then, she stepped with her urban assault boots on the middle of his back. The driver got around and drove a knee hard into the back of his thighs. They hand cuffed him and left at least five black boot prints on his back. "Did you call it in?" asked the female cop. "Nope," said the female driver. "Then let's have some fun," said the female cop. "My name is Veronica. And your my newest toy," taunted the female cop with a giggle. She pushed her boot toes under his shoulder and rolled him over. "Fuck, that's Anton. He's the barkeeper at the bar." "What the fuck is he doing naked in the street?" The sound of another police cruiser neared. Veronica screamed in panic, "throw him in the back of the car." The driver swiftly opened the back door. Anton was lifted by the handcuffs behind his back. They threw him lengthwise across the backseat. Because he was so long, his legs stuck out. They kicked his legs with high kicks until they got the whole body stuffed into the cruiser. The door hit slam with a loud metallic click. The other police car slowed. An older police officer with gold rimmed black sunglasses hung his arm out of the open window: "Did you girls see anything?" "No, commander. We've been doing house to house searches to look in dead spots. There is not a sign." "Okay, don't hang around too long. There are plenty of crazy beach people. We don't have to catch every nut in a birthday suit." The police car accelerated without ever having fully stopped. Anton was growing a boner. He felt the leather against his naked skin. The women in uniform and their manhandling was sexy. And he also felt that there was a dirty conspiracy. They had covered up for him. The thought of a boner in front of the clothed officers without being able to cover it with his handcuffed hands felt so denigrating. That turned him on even more. Then inches were going up 8, 9, 10, 11 inches, and thick, white ones, too. He had to lift his hips to let the hard stick flop into a more comfortable position. The cops got back into the car. "Darling, let's take this somewhere more private," said Veronica with a purposefully raunchy voice. The police car was shifting with every bump because of its soft suspensions. The bump entering the alley was the loudest. Everything grew a little darker as the narrow alley was depraved of sunlight by the three story houses on both sides. The car stopped. The doors swung open wide. Anton raised his head. There was carport parking around him. There were black Range Rovers and Mercedes. The beach enclave was definitely prosperous. The back door swung open. He felt the clam grip of latex around his ankle. The next moment, he felt a force on his whole body exerted from his ankle. Veronica dragged him out in the alley. There was a harsh fall onto his butt from the black leather cushioned backseat to the ground. "Haha, he has a boner. It's huge!" Veronica poked his penis with her nightstick. She was completely unafraid of his sexuality. She was boisterous. "Listen, we are going to let you go. But we want some photos. So be real nice," said Veronica with a gruff voice. She grabbed him by the armpit. The latex pulled on his skin painfully. She propped him against the back. Then she bent forward to point her fingers like pistols to mimic the infamous private Lynndie England. A flash snapped him. He didn't even know what had happened. Veronica put her hand behind his back. In one flash motion, she threw him forward on to the ground. "Ass up," she commanded. He lifted his ass high with his chest pressed against the ground. She put her urban assault boot on his ass cheek, as if he were a buck she had caught and was taking trophy photos with. He heard the click of his hand cuffs behind his back. He felt the release of the painful ring around his wrists. A rough blanket was tossed on his back. "Free drinks from now on. You hear me? We've got photo evidence." The doors closed shut with heavy umph. The heavy police cruiser engine roared and took off. Two nights later, Anton was working his shift again at the Basement Tavern. It was in a basement. Everything was dark, except for the bar. The bottles glowed red, green, and blue in bright, alluring lights. There were a few cops blowing off steam after work. There were mob heavies in black leather jackets with spikey metal studs. There were a few hipsters in skinny body suits, who enjoyed the rough atmosphere for the bar. There were a few neighborhood locals, who were alcoholic enough to not mind the rough atmosphere. The dark corners of the bar allowed for plenty of dirty deals between the cops and the Russian mafia mob. Skin heads loved the free zone to come with their shaved heads. The occasional heroine consumer was lying passed out against the wall. A heavy sound of Russian techno music set a raw edge to the place. Anton was slamming three heavy bottomed glasses on the bar to pour vodka shots with cat blood (grenadine). Veronica pushed her way through the crowd. Thick leather jackets with decals were pushing in her face. The wearers barely noticed her, because the metal bar banging bass of the techno music and booze had numbed them. A young police cadet in the middle of the crowd was banging his head with the music. A woman in a skinny white dress revealing no bra underneath was leaning her head back in big laughter. Veronica pointed straight at Anton's face: "Free drinks!" She hollered exuberantly. Her curly hair was tied back tightly into a pony tail. She was wearing a black tight top and tight jeans. Without a pause, Anton put his right hand around the base of her skull. He pushed just enough to make her body taut and pull back. He locked eyes directly into hers. The exuberant, bossy, happiness in Veronica shrunk as with time lapse. The two seconds of soul gazing felt to her like an hour. Her mind re-thought the power structure and realized that it was a happy, white, fluffy bunny in a cage. The words "BIG FUCKING MISTAKE" painted in front of her eyes. The Russian navy trained sergeant, pulled her head forwards. Her torso was flat on the bar counter. She could look down into the bottle openings of the bottles in the speed rack. Anton's left hand landed on the middle of her tight jeans ass. He grabbed the fabric. The jeans crotch grabbed tight around her pussy. Her ass was lifted high. She did a reverse, involuntary summersault over the bar counter. Her mustache bearded cop colleague pushed his way to the bar in between two leather clad heavy weights. The eyes behind his glasses showed concern. The second bar tender grabbed a short barrel shot gun under the counter and pointed it point blank at the mustache cop. "Russian business. Fuck off!" The mustache cop waved his arms in submission high in the air and disappeared back into the crowd. Veronica was recovering her breath from her lung insides touching each other, when she hit the rubber mat behind the bar. Anton was already riffling through her jeans pockets. She was a girl. The pockets were small and close to her groin. Reeling from the fall, she let it happen. He got her phone. He put her gun into the back of his pants. He snapped her own handcuffs around her wrists. "You are in my house now." Hunted AU: Strip Search Sasha stood off to the side of the soldiers, silently scanning the groups of people around him. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular, but his eyes settled on a lone figure and suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. On the surface, the woman was unremarkable and the soldiers certainly hadn't taken any notice of her; however Sasha had little regard for their abilities anyway. From a distance it appeared that she was dressed plainly, with no visible jewellery or other valuables. She was wearing a flowing red-brown skirt and a sturdy looking pair of boots, and a long, dark grey coat in an attempt to keep warm in the snow. Her hair was loose, almost as if she were trying to hide her face beneath the chocolate brown strands, but she was still shivering in the cold. She was definitely not a native, the shivering was a clue to that. It was rather a mild day by their normal standards and the sun was shining weakly through the clouds. Sasha moved a little closer to get a better look at the girl, but not so close as to alert her of his attention. On closer inspection her coat seemed like it was designed for form rather than function, as were the boots. Definitely an expensive Western designer of some sort. What was she doing here? Suzanne was shivering, partly due to the ridiculous cold (even with her warmest coat on), and partly due to fear. She couldn't believe her bad luck that a hoard of soldiers would turn up and start searching people just when she had been about to leave. She was pretty sure she didn't have anything to hide that they could find, but it didn't matter; she'd heard stories. Thankfully, though, it seemed like the soldiers hadn't noticed her and she was going to be able to slip away unnoticed. Or maybe not. She gasped in fright as she noticed one of the men walking straight towards her. He wasn't in uniform but he had arrived with the soldiers, and something about the expression on his face told her that it wasn't a good thing that he seemed to be taking an interest in her. Perhaps it was the rifle strapped to his back that worried her, or the nasty looking handgun that he was carrying pointed at the ground. Oh, god. Suzanne tried not to look terrified as the man stalked towards her, but it wasn't so easy. He certainly didn't look very friendly. The words "hard as nails" and "evil incarnate" quickly sprang to mind, although he wasn't unattractive like most of the men around her. He slowed to a halt about 10 feet in front of her, motioned to her with his gun for her to come to him. She didn't move. He started speaking to her in his language, and her heart started pounding wildly. She was pretty sure he wanted her to go over to him, but she couldn't get her legs to work. He looked unamused. He continued his advancement on her, growled angrily as she started backing away, eyes darting about for any hope of a means of escape. No chance. Suzanne yelped as he reached out and grabbed her by the hair, his gun coming to rest at the bottom of her jaw, none too gently. She froze, her hands instinctively coming up to try to push him away but not daring to touch him. The man didn't say anything for a while as he stood holding his fistful of poker straight hair. He seemed to be studying her face, enjoying her look of panic as he pressed the muzzle of his gun into her throat. He was tall, a part of her brain noticed as he used the gun to tilt her head back so that she had to look up into his eyes, and she didn't dare break his stare. His eyes were dark brown, and he had a scar over the left eye that left an almost fetching gap through his eyebrow. "You're not from this country," he said softly, letting the gun trail down to her collarbone. "What are you doing here?" Suzanne had trouble understanding what he meant; a few short lessons and a quick glance through a "Teach Yourself" book could only go so far, after all. Thankfully, she did remember how to say "I don't understand." She'd used it a lot. She sounded like she'd learned what little of the language she had from a Russian. Suspicions confirmed, Sasha tightened his grip in the girl's hair and pulled her closer, let his thigh touch one of hers. "American?" he said in English, then shook his head at her silence. "Not American, you don't talk enough. English?" She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Why are you here?" he asked, watching her reaction to his leg touching hers. She flinched, tried to pull away, but she was trapped between his gun and the hand in her hair. His accent was pretty strong, but his English was a lot better than her attempts at speaking a foreign language. Suzanne could understand him fine, but she didn't think it best to tell him why she was here. He was holding her close on purpose, the intention was to be threatening and he was certainly succeeding in that. She gasped softly as he let the gun play against the neckline of her coat, its barrel rubbing the top of one of her breasts for a moment. He smiled nastily, enjoying her fear. The girl was terrified, that much was obvious. Tough. He wanted answers from her regardless. She whimpered in fear as he leaned down and slid his mouth against her ear, the gun sliding down to rest against her thigh. "One of two things can happen from here," he growled into her ear. "You answer my questions, or we play rough. I'm happy either way, but you won't be." He turned so that his unshaven face rubbed against her smooth cheek slowly, let himself smell her hair. She smelled clean and feminine and utterly unaccustomed to their rather harsh reality. He smiled as she shuddered against him in response to his touch. The man repeated his earlier question, and Suzanne figured she had to say something in response. "I'm on holiday," she said, which wasn't entirely untrue. She just wasn't supposed to be on holiday in a war-torn wasteland. He snorted at that. "Of course you are," he replied sarcastically. "Why would anyone not want to come and visit hell on earth?" He leaned back a little and stared down at the shivering girl coldly. "What is your name?" Suzanne didn't answer. She knew that it probably wasn't the best of ideas, but she was terrified that giving this man any information would endanger the person that she had come to try and find. He sighed in annoyance at her refusal to answer his questions, then slid his gun away, concealed somewhere behind his back. "Do you have a passport?" he asked, sliding his free hand over her hips in search of pockets. Shit! He didn't find anything, so he searched higher, grinning at her moan of despair as his hand brushed the underside of her breasts. He felt the outline of something concealed in an inner pocket and slid his hands to the buttons of the coat, unfastening them roughly. "Please don't!" she whispered as his hand slid inside, but he moved straight for the item within her coat pocket. He smiled triumphantly as he revealed her passport, and flicked through it slowly. "You came from Italy?" he said, his eyebrow raising in interest. "If I were you, I would have stayed there." He flicked to the back page where her personal information was held, checked that the photograph matched. The name read 'Suzanne Kate McCullough.' The cold was seeping in through her open coat, and her shivering increased in intensity. She gasped in horror as he pocketed her passport, then started shoving her towards a small building, away from the rest of the crowds. He backed her against the wall, didn't stop until he was pressing into her from chest to thigh. Suzanne moaned softly in fear as the man pushed himself against her and pinned her to the wall. She could feel solid muscle against her chest and was mortified to feel her cold-hardened nipples jutting into him through her clothes. He was at least shielding her from the cold, but she would have gladly stood there shivering her arse off rather than be at the mercy of this man. "Last chance," he growled, his hand sliding under her coat and resting on her ribs. "Tell me why you're here, or we start getting very friendly." To make certain that she understood the threat, he slid his palm against one of her breasts and stroked for a moment. The fabric of the fingerless gloves he was wearing created a strange sensation, but his fingertips felt warm against her freezing skin. Suzanne's breath caught in her throat as the man used his palm to cup her breast and slid his thumb over her nipple. She shuddered in fear at the sensation and then whined in pain as he squeezed her nipple so hard that it would have drawn blood had he used his teeth. He eventually relented and stroked over her throbbing nipple again gently, his eyes burning with clear enjoyment at making her cry out in pain. Suzanne felt a confusing rush of sensation through her body at the look in her tormentor's eyes and the pain that he was causing, and her body squirmed against his against her will. Sasha smiled cruelly as the girl whimpered beneath him while he stroked over her breast. "Why do you care?" she asked, wanting to know what had made her stand out for him against the rest of the crowd. "Because," he growled softly, his hand sliding back down to rest on her hip. "Big bad soldier is standing here threatening to rape pretty little English girl, and she still doesn't want to say why she's here. Must be important, don't you think?" Suzanne squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stem the flow of tears that were threatening to fall. "Either that," he went on, his voice low and gravelly. "Or she wants to be fucked. Is that it, baby?" He slid his hand to her arse and pulled her against him firmly. "Do you want to know what it feels like having a Serbian dick inside you? Being held down and fucked by a murderer?" Suzanne felt that same rush of sensation through her body as the man pulled her even closer so that he was pressing his dick into her lower belly. She certainly couldn't miss the fact that he was enjoying tormenting her. "Please no!" she whispered, one of the tears escaping and making a run for it down her cheek. "Why me?" Sasha paused for a moment. Why her? "Because you look so... innocent," he whispered, stroking the wet line on her face where the tear had fallen. *Innocent?* Suzanne thought to herself, her eyebrows raising in confusion. *But I'm twenty three years old!* "Are you going to ruin that?" she asked, her lip trembling. He laughed softly. "Oh yes," he confirmed, stroking his palm over her cheek, and she closed her eyes in fear. "Completely. All you have to do is tell me why you're here. Or we can fuck; it's up to you." "But you can't!" Suzanne replied, here eyes wide in shock. "All these people – " "Won't see a thing," he interrupted. "War does that to people." "But..." Suzanne whispered, struggling against her captor. She brought her hands up to his chest and shoved as hard as she could, groaned "Let me go!" He laughed softly at her attempts to get him off her, enjoying the feel of her hands sliding over his chest. "Please don't do this!" Big brown eyes stared up at him imploringly, wide with fear, and Sasha smiled, a sadistic glint in his eye. Now that he could see the girl close up, he noticed the fine texture of her skin and her youthful appearance. Her face was fine-boned and she had a small, straight nose that balanced perfectly with her beautiful doe-eyes. He slid his mouth to her ear again, whispered "Talk to me, baby," then slid his mouth downwards and started to nuzzle and suck her throat gently. He felt his dick start to throb as the girl moaned softly in response and she allowed her head to fall back in submission. Her hands stilled on his chest and her fingers curled slightly, her nails digging into his clothing. Suzanne lost awareness of her surroundings for a moment as Sasha slid his mouth down over her throat. Regardless of her fear, her body was reacting to him and causing her skin to flush while a wave of warmth was spreading from her neck down to her inner thighs. She moaned softly as Sasha slid a palm to her back inside her coat, moving down to grip one of her arse cheeks firmly, and she came back to her senses with a jolt. The girl started to struggle again, and so Sasha held still against her, enjoying the feel of her wriggling beneath him. He slid his mouth back to her ear and whispered "I am going to bury my dick inside you and watch you squirm for me, little girl. And you're going to scream for hours." She whimpered in despair, turned a shade of red even darker than when he'd been kissing her. Sasha pulled her away from the wall and shoved her towards the door of the building, propelling her inside roughly. The building consisted of one large room and only one door. A couple of tables were located haphazardly around the room, and Sasha shoved his little captive towards the one furthest from the door. He had been right earlier; he could have happily screwed her against the wall outside and none of the civilians would have seen a thing. The other soldiers however would have wanted their turn, and Sasha wasn't one for sharing. Not until he was done with her, at least. Suzanne wasn't sure if she should be happy for the privacy or scared shitless of what Sasha was going to do. She watched him close the door behind them and then lower his rifle and his handgun to one of the tables, removing the ammunition and placing them down with a surprising amount of care and attention. Probably a lot more than she was going to receive. He took off his gloves and left them with the guns, sliding his jacket off his shoulders at the same time to reveal a black t-shirt that seemed suddenly very good at demonstrating his more than adequately muscled arms and chest. He walked towards her slowly, the brutal expression on his face causing Suzanne's legs to tremble. She backed away as he advanced on her until her shoulders hit the wall, and she was trapped. Sasha grabbed the girl by the coat, let her twist free so that the garment fell away in his hand. She made a run for it but she had no chance of escaping him. He caught her by the hair and threw her back against the wall. Tears of shock spilled over her cheeks at the sudden sharp pain in her scalp, and Suzanne whimpered softly. He tightened his grip in her hair and lifted her onto her toes with one hand, forcing her to look at him. "You want to play games?" he growled, shoving her back against the wall. "We can do that. But I'm warning you, baby. I play rough." "Let me go, you bastard!" Suzanne screamed, bringing her knee upwards in an attempt to hit him in the balls. She almost succeeded, but he twisted out of the way and she ended up hitting his leg instead. She brought up her hands and punched him in the face as hard as she could. He didn't even flinch. "My turn," he whispered softly, flexing the muscles in his shoulders for a moment to make sure that she knew what was coming. He looked her over quickly, taking in the small size of her build for her height, and then punched her in the left cheek, making sure that he controlled the blow so that he didn't break any bones. The girl yelped in pain; the blow had been bad enough, but it also turned her head to the side and put pressure on the hair that Sasha was still holding on to. "Had enough?" he asked softly, and Suzanne glowered at him in between sobs. He was impressed that she didn't give up straight away. He hit her again, harder, and she screamed this time. A drop of blood began to trickle from her nose. Sasha lowered the girl to her feet again and released her hair, slid his hand to her chin instead. "We can stop any time you're ready," he whispered softly, but the look in his eyes said very clearly that he didn't want to stop. He continued hitting her, until she had difficulty in standing up and she eventually begged him to stop. "Want to tell me why you're here yet baby?" Sasha asked, and Suzanne looked away, silent. "Then I can carry on hitting you or I can fuck you. Make up your mind." She still said nothing, and so he hit her again. "Please stop!" Suzanne whispered softly, her head lolling forwards from the impact of his fist to her cheek. Sasha pulled the girl's head level with his so that she looked him in the eye again. "Had enough?" he said again, and she nodded miserably. "Then tell me why you're here, or ask me to fuck you." Suzanne's eyes widened. No. There was no way that she was going to accept either option. She hesitated too long and was rewarded with another crack to her jaw. She couldn't take any more, she was about to faint. "You know what you need to say, baby," Sasha murmured, and stroked a few strands of hair off her face. "Please..." Suzanne whispered, her face a vision of pain. "Please fuck me." Those three words sent shivers down Sasha's spine, but he still wanted more. He pulled her eyes in line with his again, took in her bruised and bleeding face and her dark tear-filled eyes that displayed her fear so beautifully. He held her gaze as he whispered "say it again." Suzanne whined in humiliation, her eyes pleading, but Sasha would not relent. She took a shaky breath and whispered the phrase again, felt her body burn with shame as his eyes started to blaze with desire. He pulled her away from the wall, turned her around and shoved her against the edge of the table, so suddenly that she lost her balance and fell onto it, prone. Sasha leaned over the girl and slid his hand over her cheek, held her eyes level with his again. Their faces were so close that their noses rubbed together gently and she flinched uncomfortably. "I don't think you meant that, baby," he whispered softly, smiling cruelly as her eyes widened in fear. "Maybe we should just go back to what we were doing before?" he asked, raising his arm and curling his fingers into a fist. "No!" Suzanne whimpered softly, bringing her hands up in front of her face. "Please no! I said what you wanted, please-" "But you didn't mean it," he asked softly. "Did you?" He flexed his shoulder and pulled his fist back, ready to hit her again. "I did!" Suzanne whispered, reaching out and grabbing Sasha's hand in an attempt to bring it back down. He was amused by her efforts, but kept his expression brutal as usual. "Please don't. Please!" Sasha twisted his hand free from the girl's considerably weaker grip and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. She arched her back instinctively and writhed against him, until he used his free hand to grab her throat and pin her down. "Do you think you're in charge here, little bitch?" he growled harshly, squeezing her throat sharply to warn her against trying to move again. "Do you think you can tell me what to do?" Tears filled the girl's eyes and spilled out onto her face and Sasha felt his dick throb with desire at her obvious terror. "No!" she whimpered, her voice hoarse until he loosened his grip on her throat a little. "I just didn't want you to... to hit me again. I-I... I'll do what... I'll do whatever you want, just please, please don't hit me again." The girl was hysterical, and Sasha was loving it. He could think of almost nothing he would rather do than bask in this girl's abject terror of him. Almost. He was definitely looking forward to hearing her scream as he sank his dick all the way inside her. "Anything, baby?" he repeated, taking his hand off her throat so that he could stroke her face. She nodded immediately. "So you do want me to fuck you?" There was a split second pause, and then she replied. "Yes." "Say it," he growled, grabbing her chin so that her eyes were held level with his. "Please fuck me," Suzanne whispered softly, her voice wavering. Sasha sneered. "Don't believe you baby," he whispered, letting go of her wrists so that he could sink his fist into her hair, ready to pull. "Please fuck me!" Suzanne repeated, trying to sound as persuasive as possible. "Please, please fuck me." Hunted AU: Strip Search "You want me inside you, baby?" he asked, and Suzanne nodded immediately. "Then tell me what you want me to do to you," he growled. She whimpered softly, closed her eyes as a wave of heated humiliation came over her. Sasha yanked on her hair until she met his gaze again. Suzanne was almost hyperventilating with terror. She knew that she had to do what he wanted – say what he wanted – but she just couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes and beg him to rape her. His eyes darkened, she wasn't sure if it was in anger or anticipation, but she felt his grip tighten in her hair and his muscles tense. No. She couldn't take him hitting her again. Surely even the humiliation of begging him would be better than that? Because if she didn't do what he wanted – now – he was going to kill her, and she knew it. "Oh, god," Suzanne whispered softly as she squeezed her eyes shut for a split second, gathering all the strength that she had left. She opened them again and stared straight into the beautifully hard eyes of her fiercely violent attacker. "I want to know how your hands feel on my skin," she whispered softly. She noticed his eyes started to burn, but she didn't dare stop. "I want to feel your mouth on me... your tongue stroking and your teeth raking. I want to feel your hands spreading me open and your fingers pushing inside, feeling hot and wet and tight for you. I want to feel you pushing my legs over my head and spreading me open again for you. I want to feel your weight on me as you hold me down and slide so deep inside me that I can't breathe, and you screw me until you collapse on top of me." Sasha wasn't sure where the girl managed to get the courage to say her little speech, but he was impressed. He slid his hand over the girl's mouth for a second, then slid her face to the side so that he could talk directly into her ear. His breathing was heavy with arousal and he let her hear it for a moment. She was also breathing quickly, her skin flushed with embarrassment at what she had just said and the effect it had apparently had on her attacker. "Mmm baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with arousal. "Who'd have thought you could talk dirty? Now I really need to fuck you." Suddenly Suzanne felt her skin flush even redder, the heat spreading all the way through her body and causing her to begin to ache. His voice was suddenly so sexy; the brutal sound of his accent only helping him to appear even more masculine and dominating. He settled his weight onto her gently, allowing her to feel the hardness of his erection press directly onto her clitoris, and she whimpered softly, writhing against him. "Do you want me to bite you, baby?" he whispered. "You want to know how I make you feel when I'm holding you down and sliding my dick all the way inside you? Do you want me to fuck you hard, baby?" He was grinding against her very gently, and Suzanne moaned softly as he spoke, finally replied with an "oh yes!" "You're going to scream for me, baby," he whispered softly, then stood up again. Suzanne suddenly shivered as the warmth of his body heat left her and the coldness of the room advanced into her bones once again. The cold was like a slap to the face, and the strength that she had relied upon to get her through the last few minutes deserted her completely. Her earlier fear crept back into her and she started to shake once again. Sasha slid the girl's skirt up her legs until it bunched at her hips, and slid her pretty little white pants to the floor. He slid his palms against her inner thighs, parted her legs so that he could look at her more closely. Her legs were creamy-white and beautifully smooth all the way from her ankles to her hips, and she whimpered softy as his callused fingers slid over them slowly. A girl who has enough time and not enough demons to worry about keeping her legs shaved smooth, he thought to himself with a smirk. He crouched down between her legs so that he was at eye level with her quivering pretty pink flesh, stroked his fingers through the short brown fur at the top. She jumped in fright, tried to close her legs but he still had one palm against her right thigh. Suzanne keened softly as Sasha slid his other hand back to her thigh and parted her legs again, then leaned forward so that he could kiss the top of her inner thigh gently. He smiled and stood up again, slid his hands to her sweater and untied the knot that held the wrap-over closed. He slid it out of the way and freed her breasts from her bra, the delicate pink nipples already hard under his gaze. The girl was staring at his chest as Sasha went about baring her body for him. She had a nipped-in trim waist, but her breasts and hips were rounded and full. Her beautifully expressive eyes were filled with panic at the thought of him touching her. Her earlier bravado had left her, as he knew that it would. She was shaking, and not just from the cold. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts, feeling its weight as he bent down and caught a delicate pink nipple in his mouth, sucked gently. Suzanne shivered as she laid spread on the table in front of her would be rapist, moaned softly in humiliation as he sucked on her breast. Her hands slid to his hair with the intention of pushing him away, but lay still instead, cradling him against her. He lifted his head for a moment and locked eyes with her, smiled cruelly as he saw the look of humiliation on her face. She snatched back her hands and dropped them to her sides in disgust. He continued to suck and slid one hand to her other breast, kneading and stroking until he heard her moan once more. Sasha stood up again, leaned over the girl until his face was only inches from hers. "Do you like that, baby?" he asked softly, and Suzanne sobbed softly in shame. "Do you still want to feel me inside you? Are you getting wet, baby?" "Please don't do this," Suzanne whispered, tears dripping down her face and onto the table beside her. His eyes burned into hers, beautiful in their brutality. "You asked me to do this, baby," he reminded, and Suzanne closed her eyes in disgust. "Look at me," he growled, slapped her lightly until she obeyed. "Are you getting wet?" he whispered again. "No!" Suzanne replied, hoping to all hell that it was true. She was confused by the conflicting emotions that she was experiencing, had no idea why she had been turned on by his voice and why she was reacting to his touch when only minutes ago he had been beating the living shit out of her. Her skin was incredibly sensitive from the pain earlier, and his suddenly gentle touch was having a definite effect. "No?" Sasha repeated, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. He slid his palms down from her armpits to her waist, across her flared hips and onto her thighs. She squirmed slightly as he touched her, the friction causing her breath to catch in her throat. He slid his left hand back into her hair to hold her head steady as he slid his right hand back in to the brown fur at the top of her legs. "Oh no!" Suzanne moaned as she felt Sasha's fingers slide against the outer lips of her vagina gently. She tried to close her legs, but Sasha nudged them apart again with his knee. He stared into her eyes as he stroked gently, letting his middle finger dip inside her slightly to find her rapidly becoming wet. He slid his wet finger over to the girl's clitoris gently, stroked the moisture over it slowly. "Oh yes," Sasha replied, moving his thumb to her clitoris so that he could dip his finger inside her again. "Hot and wet and tight," he said, echoing her words from earlier and causing her to shudder in response. He circled her opening slowly as his thumb rocked over her clit, and Suzanne arched against him, a moan of agonised pleasure escaping her. He dipped his finger in and out of her again, continuing his circling movement as he leaned over and kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth and exploring quickly. The part of Suzanne's brain that was still able to think was shrinking rapidly. Her body was switching between cold fear and aching heat relentlessly and without warning, and she was totally unable to control it. She groaned against Sasha's mouth and felt her body arching against him of its own accord and she was unable to stop either action. He slid two fingers back insider her and pressed against her vagina in a hard circle until he found the bundle of nerves inside her that made her whine with pleasure, and then stayed there. Sasha came back up for air, his finger and thumb continuing to stroke the girl. She was dripping wet now, and whining incoherently. He grinning with satisfaction as he slid his tongue back to her breasts and sucked gently, then raked his teeth over them slowly. He continued downwards until his torturing tongue found the girl's clitoris, and started to lick gently. Suzanne felt a confusing mixture of shame and fear come over her, but she didn't have time to register these feelings properly before her body tensed and arched against Sasha in orgasm. She continued to writhe against him as he moved back up to lean over her and slide his tongue against the sensitive skin on her throat. His talented tongue clouded her senses again before she was able to notice the fear creeping back into her body. "You're so fucking sexy, little girl," Sasha growled into Suzanne's ear, and she whimpered in response. He slid his hand to her arse and pulled her against him firmly, let her feel how hard he was for her. "I'm going to fuck you now, baby, and if you let me come inside you, I'm not going to let you go." Suzanne didn't understand a word of what he was saying. All she knew was that her body was burning again and she needed him to make it stop. He slid her legs up over her head, hooked his left arm under her knee and grabbed her wrists and held them above her head, stretching her open for him. She moaned in anticipation as he paused to move his pants out of the way, then slid the head of his penis against her gently. "Look at me," he whispered softly, sliding his other hand to her face and raising her eyes to his. She held his gaze and he slid his hand down between them, slid his thumb over her clitoris and stroked gently. "Oh please!" Suzanne whispered desperately, her body trying to writhe against him despite the fact that Sasha had most of his weight against her. He smiled, leaned into her and whispered "tell me what you want," into her ear. "Please fuck me," Suzanne whined, repeating her words from before. Her eyes begged and her body was still writhing; she was desperate. Sasha growled in arousal and his body reacted instinctively; he pushed inside the girl hard and fast, until he was buried balls-deep inside his little captive. She screamed for him; a mixture of pleasure and pain that sent his senses reeling in satisfaction. He settled his weight over her and pulled her wrists until she was stretched taut and totally at his mercy, and started to move inside her hard. "Is this what you wanted, little girl?" Sasha growled into the girl's ear. "Did you want to know how it feels to be held down and fucked by the big bad soldier? Did you want to be fucked hard, baby?" Suzanne was barely able to comprehend what Sasha was saying, but she understood the tone of his voice. "Oh yes," she whispered softly, her eyes rolling back in her head from the constant onslaught of sensation that he was inflicting on her. The way that he was holding her, his weight against her and the feeling of him moving inside her so forcefully was causing her to feel completely and utterly dominated. And the most terrifying thing was how good it felt. Sasha continued to whisper into the girl's ear as he moved inside her, until she was whimpering so desperately that he couldn't hold on any longer. He slid his thumb back to her clit and stroked firmly, let her come one more time just before his own orgasm took over his body and he collapsed on top of her, growling in pleasure. Hunted Blood Michael Stone watched from the rafters of the old warehouse. He had worked his way up into the dank and dusty old beams carefully and quietly. It had taken precious time. Time that he knew he might not have had. There was just enough light filtering in through the clouded window panes of the warehouse's old roll-up door for him to see. The scene below him was eerie enough without the criss-cross pattern of shadows on the floor. Stone slowed his breathing even further than he already had. He slowed his heartbeat down to what should have been dangerous. He relaxed, centering himself, and he waited. Below him, sprawled onto the damp and dusty floor, was a young woman. She was about 18, Michael figured. She was pretty, but not beautiful. Plain was the descriptive word, with her brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She was dressed in a short vinyl skirt and a one-strapped tank top. Stone noticed that the half-shirt had been pulled low, revealing a bare left breast. The skin there was smooth and creamy, her areola darker, almost brown. The nipple was erect from the slightly cool, damp atmosphere inside the warehouse. Standing over the girl was Michael's target. It looked like a man, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a brown sweater. The hair was dark and long. But, Michael knew that this was no man. Perhaps it once had been. Now, it was a vampire. The vampire kneeled down and reached for the woman's head. As the creature cradled her head in his hands, Stone eased the katana sword from its carry position across his back. He clutched it tightly in his left hand, holding the sheath near its top. His highly trained senses strained outward, feeling the vampire's mind with his own. The vampire smiled down at the sleeping girl. He tilted her head, exposing her neck. He watched the visible, smooth line of her jugular vein. As he did, the two extra canine teeth slid from their openings in his upper gum. He opened his mouth wide, and began to lower his head. A rat scurried across the floor somewhere behind him. Michael Stone, vampire hunter, dropped silently from the rafters. When he landed lightly on the concrete floor, his cloak swished softly. The vampire stopped the movement of his head. The creature turned. He did not understand why the human was there. He was in a state of utter disbelief. No human could sneak up on a vampire. He should have smelled him. He should have felt him. It only took another instant for the vampire to realize exactly what the man was. The black cloak, hanging loosely at his sides, the body armor reinforced suit, the gunmetal colored chain mail armor at his neck all told the vampire that this man was a hunter. Stone smiled slightly, then ever so slightly shifted the grip on the sword in his left hand. The vampire stood. With an inhuman yell, the creature charged Michael. Stone shifted to the left, unfurling the side of his cloak, the movement distracting the attacking fiend. With a swift, fluid movement, Michael unsheathed the katana and moved its blade in a slicing arc. The vampire's body continued to run forward as its head was severed instantaneously. Then the headless body stopped and slumped to the ground. Stone did not take time to admire his handiwork. He wiped the blood from his sword on the vampire's sweater. He then checked the girl. She was beginning to awake now, free from the vampirical mind control. Stone decided that it was better if she was still asleep. He struck her in the juncture of her neck and shoulder with a stiffened finger. She went instantly unconscious. He would take her to an all-night diner nearby and call her a taxi. Before he left, though, he placed the head and body of the vampire together amongst some old crates in a corner of the warehouse. He doused them with gasoline and set them afire. He checked on the still sleeping girl, and they were gone from the area within a few minutes. Lena watched them leave. She turned to her mistress, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Anita nodded her head at the unspoken question from the blonde haired vampire. Anita's green eyes sparkled in the streetlights, and her raven black hair was damp from the mist. She ran a fingertip across the pale skin of her cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. "He has killed another one," Anita said, her voice heavy with a Latin accent. Lena moved closer to Anita, embracing her mistress, lightly caressing her body through the thin material of her shirt. She kissed the exposed top of Anita's breasts, and nuzzled her face in the ample cleavage. "That was a revenant, a diseased creature that wantonly kills for pleasure," she told the other woman, stroking her hair to calm her. "Will he kill us, too?" Lena asked, her voice muffled by Anita's swelling breasts. "I do not know, young one," Anita replied, moving Lena's face to look into her eyes. Anita lowered her lips to Lena's, kissing her softly. "We must be ready if he comes." To be continued... Hunted Blood Ch. 2 Stone sat quietly in his rented house. He was seated in the floor in his bedroom. He sat in the fudoza, the "immovable seat" posture, with his legs folded underneath him. He had long since delved within himself, acutely unaware of anything, his spirit, mind, and body centralized. In this state, the mushi-no-in, the "mind of no mind", he was aware of everything, and he was aware of nothing. His report had been formatted and uploaded the secure server several hours ago. From there, his superiors would read it and then file it among the thousands of others. Stone belonged to a special organization. Composed of members of several world governments, the organization oversaw operatives whose main purpose was the destruction of vampires. This super-secret organization had no name. It was simply referred to as "the organization". The operatives of the organization were highly trained in the martial arts, and in techniques of espionage, computer sciences, biology, and history. There were very few of these operatives, and they almost always worked alone. A sound outside the house brought Michael from his meditation. He focused his hearing on it, straining to hear beyond the walls. When he heard nothing, he channeled his ki outward. He felt the presence of one of them. A vampire. Here. He was standing inside the den in an instant, the sheathed katana sword clutched in his left hand. He was staring out the glass sliding door, looking beyond the patio to the pool. A soft mist hung low over the heated water. It swirled and ebbed, like the tide of the sea. He saw her, appearing almost magically before his eyes. His rational brain noted that she had simply moved with supernatural speed from where ever she had hid. Stone was not afraid. She was young. Blonde hair. Gray blue eyes. She was beautiful. She stared at him, through the glass, unmoving. Her crimson red lips opened slightly, and stone saw the glimmer of her fangs. Had she tracked him? Did she know his identity, and perhaps the identity of other hunters as well? Stone questioned the safety of his next move even as he made it. He opened the sliding door, moving silently onto the patio. He was clad only in a pair of cotton shorts. A thin sheen of perspiration enhanced his well-muscled frame as he came to a stop within ten feet of her. He black leather jacket was open partially at the top. Stone figured she had on nothing underneath. Her jeans fit her tightly, and Stone could make out the swell of her pubic mound beneath them. He knew that the vampire exuded eroticism. It was one of their methods of catching prey. His conditioning would not allow him to be taken in by that. It did, however, cause him to take notice. Lena saw that he was looking at her. She liked it. She loved the power that she had over human men. But, she remembered her promise to her mistress. Humans were only a source of needed blood. She had promised to never kill one unless there was no other choice. Michael Stone waited for her to attack. When she spoke, instead, it startled him. "She said you were handsome," Lena said, her voice soft and seductive. "She was right." Stone gripped the sheath of the sword near the top. His thumb rested against the tsuba, ready to push the katana into action in an instant. Lena saw the slight movement of his hand. She raised her hand slowly. "I come in peace," she said, "and with an invitation." Stone did not relax. But curiosity did peek through his iron set face. "What kind of invitation?" "My mistress wishes to meet with you," Lena said, as if it should have been obvious. "She wants to speak with you about those you have killed." Could it be? Stone wondered. He knew of the stories of vampires who aspired to co-exist with humans. He had heard tales of them as being revolted by the utter disregard that some of their kind had for life, human or otherwise. In the hundreds that he had killed, he had never met one. Stone decided that it may be worth the while to accept the offered invitation. If it turned out to be a trap, then he would kill them all. It was that simple. "Tell your mistress that I accept," Stone said without emotion. He saw Lena smile. In an instant, she was gone, then she was standing in front of him. His heightened reflexes had unsheathed the katana, and the blade was resting against her throat. "Forgive me," she said. "I may not get a chance alone with you again." She looked at him with fear in her eyes. Stone detected something else. A need. A wanting. It was not the blood lust that he had seen so many times before. Lena stepped towards him. The blade of the katana moved with her, Stone keeping it against her throat yet allowing her to approach him. She put her hands flat against his chest, and looking into his eyes, stepped to her tip-toes and kissed him. Stone felt her lips press against his, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure. He felt her lips open. His lips opened as well, automatically allowing her tongue inside his mouth. Her tongue caressed his, and his caressed hers. The sheath slid from his left hand, and although he relaxed a little, the blade still pressed lightly against her throat. Lena broke the kiss. She glanced quickly into his eyes, and seeing what she needed to know, slowly knelt in front of him. Stone's right hand moved down with her, the blade now resting against the side of her neck. Lena's hands were trembling as she reached to the waistband of Michael's shorts. She pulled them down, sliding them around his knees. She gazed for a long second at Stone's partially erect penis. She then reached up, looking again into Michael's passive stare, and grasped it. She could feel its heat, its length, and its girth. She leaned forward, touching her tongue against it, licking the head lightly. She licked down his shaft to his balls, laving her tongue around them. Then Lena licked upwards again, finally coming to the head, where she opened her mouth and began to take him inside. Lena felt an increase in the pressure of the blade against her neck. She looked up into Stone's eyes. They communicated without words. Stone's stare told her all she needed to know. Lena was aware that if he felt anything other than her tongue or lips, he would move the katana's blade through her neck. Lena slid his penis into her mouth, taking it in until the head touched the back of her throat. Michael was fully hard now, and Lena could feel the blood pulsing through his shaft. She began to suck and move him in and out of her warm, wet mouth with a slow pace. She fought back the urge to bite him, to feel the life-giving blood flow into her mouth. Stone said nothing. His thoughts were jumbled. He decided to try and not analyze what was happening. He simply accepted it. He noticed that his hips had begun to move with her. He was slowly fucking her mouth. It felt so good. Lena could not take anymore. She had to stop or she knew she would bite him. It wasn't the blood that she truly wanted, though. She had fed already, earlier tonight. What she really wanted to taste was Michael's sperm filling her mouth. But she knew that she could not last that long. She took him out of her mouth. She stood and took a step back. She quickly took off her jacket. Michael was right. She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts were small and firm. Her pink nipples were hard with her excitement. Lena next peeled off her jeans. She wore nothing underneath them, either. Michael could see her puffy lips through the light covering of blonde hair. They had already started to glisten with her moisture. Lena turned around. She then knelt on the cement patio and put her hands out in front of her. She raised her beautiful, round ass high. She looked over her shoulder, up at Michael. "Please," was all she said. Stone slid his shorts to his feet and kicked them off. He knelt behind her. He placed the sword behind him, the hilt resting against his foot. It only took a second to guide his cock into her puffy, open pussy. He thrust hard into her. Lena moaned, and thrust her ass back into him. Michael grabbed her hips, holding her steady. He began to pound her, thrusting into her hard. Lena gritted her teeth. Her pussy was small, and Stone was big, and it hurt and felt good at the same time. As he plunged into her, he suddenly snapped to reality. The realization that they were both nude on his back patio startled him. He slowed his strokes, then stopped. Before she could speak, Stone picked her up by the waist and put her across he shoulders. He took her into the house, stopping only briefly to slide the door closed. Once inside, Stone sat her down roughly on the sofa. He knelt in front of her, gripping her thighs and pulling her legs open. He eased up to her, placing her legs over his shoulders. He looked into her face for a second. Her eyes were aflame with desire. He entered her again. He pushed in as far as he could and withdrew. Lena's eyes closed and a loud moan escaped her mouth. Stone grimaced at her tightness. He thrust again. Lena strained her leg and back muscles, calling on her reserves of vampire strength to hold her hips off the sofa so that she could meet each thrust. Michael began to fuck her again. He slammed into her over and over. Lena began fucking him back, arching her back and raising pelvis and desperately awaiting each time she felt his heavy balls smack against her ass. The pressure on her clit was intensifying. She could feel the top of Michael's cock scrape her hyper-sensitive button each time he move within her. Stone noticed her approaching orgasm. His would arrive soon. He watched Lena's face as she began to thrash her head from side to side, her fangs gleaming in the table side lamp light. Stone grabbed her hair, holding her head to the sofa. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her hands grasping and pulling at his ass as he fucked her and filled her completely. Michael felt the sudden tightening of her pussy. He almost cried out in pain. Lena's back arched almost impossibly. She tore aware from his grasp, pieces of her blonde hair in his fingers. She let out a deafening yell, her head thrown back, her long, pointed canines showing prominently as she came. Her pussy was contracting on his cock. It was almost impossible to move within her. But, he could not stop. He was too close. He forced his way in again, and again, and one final time until he exploded inside her. Lena felt his cock jerk inside her. Then she felt the hotness of his sperm as it jetted against her womb. She put her hands on the sides of his face and stared intently into his eyes as she came again as well. When it was over, Michael slowly withdrew from the incredibly tight sheath. Lena smiled at him and winked. She stood up and kissed him quickly before he could react. Stone stood quietly and watched her walk to the glass sliding door. "Thank you," she said. "It was my pleasure," Michael said, smiling. And he meant it. "Remember," she told him, "tomorrow at eleven o'clock. At the WaterWorks." Michael nodded his head. He would definitely see them there. ...to be continued... Hunted Blood Ch. 3 Stone showered. He suddenly felt very dirty. He could smell the scent of Lena's sex on him. Although it was the sweet and musky scent of an aroused woman, the logical part of him knew it was really that of a vampire. Stone had to shake his head, smiling slightly. It was some good pussy, no matter what she was. He lay down in his bed and began to count backwards from one hundred. He was asleep before he reached ninety. Anita watched the petite figure of Lena walk slowly up the old cobblestone drive. The old window panes distorted the view slightly, and it appeared that, for an instant, Lena's hair was flailing behind her. Lena entered the old house. She walked through the foyer, then into the parlor, taking the stairs up to the second floor. Anita was waiting for her in the master suite. "Well?" Anita asked, one of her dark eyebrows raised in question. "He will meet us," Lena smiled. "I think he liked the idea." Anita nodded her head approvingly. Then a scent caught her vampire nose. Her eyes narrowed when she looked at Lena again. "You were with him," Anita said. It was not a question. Anita had smelled the unmistakable scent of sex. She knew Lena's smell quite personally. Lena nodded her head, her eyes on the hardwood floor. "Yes," was all she said. Anita sat up from her reclined position on the king size bed. "You were told only to ask him to come. I expressly forbade you not to seduce him!" Lena began to slowly walk to her mistress. She was starting to cry now, gentle sobs and small tears. "I am sorry, my mistress," Lena said. "I could not help myself," she pleaded. Anita grasped Lena by the chin and pulled her head up so her eyes met her intense stare. "Is he bitten?" Anita asked, eyes ablaze. "No," Lena said, "I didn't." Anita leaned forward and kissed Lena softly. She couldn't be mad at the young vampire. As much as she wanted to be, she could not. Lena had been faithful and loyal to her since she had been turned some hundred years ago. "What is he like?" Anita asked. Lena made a small smile. "Heaven," she replied. "Let me taste," Anita said. Lena stood and took off her leather jacket and jeans. When she stood again before her mistress, she raised one leg and placed her foot on the bed. She then reached down with both hands and spread her sex open. The scent hit Anita's hyper-sensitive nose like an electric charge. The musky scent of Lena's wet pussy combined with the pungent odor of Stone's sperm was like a drug. Anita felt her nipples immediately harden. She felt her loins swell and her interior begin to ooze wetness. Anita did not waste time as she locked her mouth on Lena's open vagina and began to suck. She felt her fangs descend with her arousal, and she was careful to not prick Lena's sensitive skin. Anita forced her tongue into Lena's opening, scooping out the remnants of Stone's orgasm. "Mmmmmm," she moaned with her lips locked against Lena's puffy labia, "it is sooooo good!" "I never tasted him," Lena said as she rocked her pelvis against Anita's probing tongue. Anita took the hint. She scooped as much of it onto her tongue as she could. She withdrew from Lena's blonde covered pussy. She took Lena's hand and pulled her onto the bed. She forced her mouth to hers. Lena took the offered tongue into her mouth and sucked it clean, moaning contentedly as she did. Anita felt Lena nip at her tongue, accidentally she knew. Just the same though, Anita gave Lena a harsh slap on her ass. "No biting," she said. "Sorry, Mistress," Lena replied with a little pouty expression. Anita pushed her away long enough to peel off her clingy gown. She lay back on the bed with her legs spread. Lena loved the way her mistress looked. Her jet black hair was matched by jet black pubic hair. Her legs were long and muscular. Her breasts were very full, and capped by dark nipples. Lena wasted no time in scooting between Anita's splayed legs. She wrapped her arms around Anita's legs and began to feast. Anita felt her tongue moving lightly over the short, trimmed hair of her outer labia. Anita moved her hips, trying to force her groin into Lena's mouth. Lena continued to lick along her lips, then she began a long, slow lick that started at Anita's puckered anus and ended at the top of her pubic mound. Anita had raised her ass off the bed for that one. Finally, unable to restrain herself, Anita took Lena's blonde head in her hands and maneuvered it so that she felt the girl's lips against her clit. Lena took the hint and began to flick her tongue over the blood engorged nubbin. "Mmmmm, that's it baby," Anita said. She bucked her hips in time with Lena's licks. Lena then took Anita's clitoris into her mouth, sucking on it, pulling on it. Anita moaned again, arching her back, pushing her pussy into Lena's mouth. Lena held her lips tightly around Anita's clit, and she began to flick her tongue over it increasingly faster. Lena felt Anita's grip on her hair tighten. She felt her raise higher off the bed, grinding her pussy against her mouth. Anita began to moan louder, pulling Lena's hair, forcing her mouth tighter against her pussy. Anita's pussy was freely oozing lubrication now. The stuff leaked out of her vaginal opening to coat Lena's chin. Lena knew that it wouldn't be long now. Anita felt it boiling inside her. She felt as if her blood was on fire. Then it peaked, the wave crashing, her heartbeat in her ears as she screamed. She jerked three times against Lena's tongue, her back arched high. Then she collapsed. Lena wiped her chin. She looked up at her mistress. Anita lay quiet, her breasts rising and falling with her breaths. She crawled up to her and cuddled against her. "Pull the blinds, child," Anita said. "It will be daylight soon. We must be well rested for tonight." ....to be continued.... Hunted Blood Ch. 4 It was night. Night was his element. But, it was also theirs. Michael Stone felt absolutely comfortable in the dark. He knew his way around in it. He could see through it, hear around it, and feel beyond it. And, because the vampire hunted at night, Stone hunted as well. Michael pulled the rental car into a parking lot a few blocks from the WaterWorks. He approached the dance club on foot. As he neared, he could feel the bass reverberating through the building. He paid the $8.50 cover fee and went inside. The WaterWorks was like most disco techs he had ever been in. It was too loud and too dark, with the occasional flash of garish disco lights and laser beams. On one side of the interior of the large building were a giant water slide and several small pools. Young men and women scantily clad in bathing suits dove and frolicked in the water. Some sat quietly in the whirlpools sipping drinks. The other side of the building contained the dance floor. Stone made his way toward it. A few ladies caught his eye with seductive smiles as he made his way through the crowd. Stone was dressed in a black Armani, with a blue silk shirt underneath. Just because he was a hunter did not mean he had no style. Concealed within his sock was a tanto knife with a seven inch blade. There was another surprise, too. A compact and slim-line Glock 36 with a full six round magazine of .45 ACP ammo was tucked into a leather inside-the-waistband holster. The ammunition rounds were special. The bullets were based on the famous Ballistic Tip by Nosler, but these were formed from a special alloy. Once the Teflon cone was compacted into the core, the bullet virtually exploded into hundreds of fragments. It was an effective vampire stopper, provided one remembered to aim for the head. Michael neared the dance floor. He stretched out his ki through the smoke and darkness. Something told him that he would find her there. He scanned the writhing bodies that danced across the tiled floor. They moved and swayed to "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. His eyes came to rest on two women, one a blonde, the other with hair as dark as obsidian. The blonde he recognized immediately. He had met her intimately last night. He still remembered what it felt like inside of her. The two danced with each other, grinding their pelvises together in a rhythmic joust. The dark haired once was taller. Her full breasts were pressing into the blonde's neck as they moved. She turned her head, and Stone saw her green eyes from across the room. Her full, crimson lips, and her pale skin seemed to call out to him. She was the most beautiful creature Michael had ever seen. He immediately knew that she was a vampire. Stone stood quietly at the edge of the dance floor. The dark haired one withdrew herself from the blonde. She took the blonde's hand and pulled her toward Stone. As the pair neared him, the blonde smiled knowingly at him. They walked past him, the raven-haired vampire giving a small smile and a "follow us" motion with her head. Michael turned and followed. They had walked outside. Michael took a breath of fresh air, trying to force the smoke from his lungs. The pair of female vampires walked away, down the sidewalk. The blonde, who was in the rear, turned her head to make sure Michael was coming. Stone followed them away from the building. When they were well away from the noise of the club, they slowed and allowed Michael to catch up with them. Stone was now walking on the dark haired one's right. He noticed that the blonde was on her left and their hands still clasped. "Good evening," the tall one said, "I am Anita." She smiled at him. "I believe you have already met Lena." Lena smiled and gave a little wave. Stone thought he heard a quiet giggle. "Michael Stone," he said, nodding. They continued their walk, coming to the same parking lot where he had earlier parked his car. "Michael," Anita said, "like the Archangel." Stone nodded. They had stopped at a sleek, black Porsche 911. "Would you care to accompany us home?" Stone looked at her for a second. She well knew the implications of what she asked. If there were any hint of betrayal, he would kill them without a second thought. He did not need to voice this. "Lead the way," he said. He watched them get into their car. He entered his own and pulled onto the street behind them. It was a long ride to the country. He finally pulled the car from the road onto the driveway of the old country estate. He followed the Porsche up the winding path. The black car parked in front of the house. Stone parked behind it and got out. Lena held the door open for him. He stepped inside, allowing her to move ahead as he closed it. Anita was waiting for them in the parlor when they entered. "Drink?" Anita asked him. "No," he said. Anita sat down on the old sofa. Lena sat in a straight-backed chair to his left. Stone remained standing. "Please sit," Anita said to him. "No," Stone replied. "Tell me what you want," he ordered. Anita raised her eyebrows at him. "You are direct, aren't you Senor Stone?" She shifted her legs, and as she did, the slit in her black skirt opened to reveal white skin over taught muscles. "I am Anita Consuela Sanchez Ramirez. I was born in Spain over four hundred years ago. I am a vampire." No shit, Stone thought. "There are some of my kind that commit unspeakable acts of violence on humans. I wish you to know that we are not part of that." "If I thought that you were," Stone informed her, "then you would be dead already." Anita nodded. "I know that you are a powerful man, Michael Stone. I know that your group of hunters are powerful as well, as are those they hunt. We must co-exist, Michael, or we will destroy each other." Michael nodded his head. "You are in no danger," he said. "Those of you who do not kill never even get notice from The Organization." "But," Anita warned, "we are noticed by our own." "That is your problem, not mine." "Do you not understand," she pleaded, "that a war between our people would destroy the world? We do not wish to fight. We only want to be left alone." Stone watched her intently. She continued to speak with her seductive voice. Stone knew she was trying to press inward on his mind. He had already set up mental blocks to keep her out. When Anita had tried to probe into his thoughts, it was like she had struck a brick wall. It had a visible effect on her. She stopped speaking for an instant, looked at him with widened eyes, then continued again. "I have a proposition for you, if you will listen." Stone sighed slowly. He was listening. It wasn't as if he really had anywhere else to be. "Go on," he said. "We will provide your organization with names and locations of those known to us who are killers. In return, you kill them, and leave us alone." Stone thought about this for a moment. He had been told by some of his teachers that there were some in the past that had made such deals. The information provided was usually very good. Stone felt like he could trust her. He didn't understand that feeling at all. To trust a vampire? "Okay," he said. "It's a deal." Anita smiled. "I am glad to hear," she replied. "Now that business is out of the way, please have a drink." "I don't drink," Stone told her. Stone stood there like a statue. Anita watched him carefully, intently. He was so powerful. But his eyes held a tenderness behind that stoic gaze. It was the little bit of emotion that she had gotten before he slammed the wall into her telepathic probe. She looked at his short brown hair, the well defined shoulders. His mouth. Yes, his mouth. How she wanted to kiss him. Then she remembered his taste and his smell. She remembered how she had licked his sperm from the insides of Lena's beautiful vagina. She felt herself growing wet between her legs. "That won't work," Stone said, indicating her sudden empathetic expulsion of sexuality. "I am immune." With a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile, Anita turned her head to look at Lena. "Oh?" she said. Stone took a breath. Well, she had him there. Stone watched her as she stood up. Anita shrugged out of her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. Her brown nipples were crinkled, hard, and erect. She smoothed her hands over them, pinching them lightly. She moved her palms over her flat stomach to the zipper on the side of her skirt. She manipulated the zipper, and the skirt joined the blouse on the floor. Stone watched her as she moved both hands over the trimmed, black pubic mound. She reached between her legs, giving a little sigh, and withdrew her hands. They came away slick with her wetness. Stone watched the gentle sway of her ass as she climbed the stairs. Lena got up then and took Michael by the hand. She pulled him up the stairs behind Anita. He offered no resistance. Anita had stopped just before the bed. She turned around and was watching them as they came through the bedroom door behind her. She watched intently as Lena began to disrobe Michael. Her eyes filled with lust as Stone's well-defined chest and arms were revealed. Michael gripped Lena's hand in a vise-like embrace when he felt her undo his belt. She stepped away from him as he reached behind his back and untucked the Glock from his waistband. He sat it on the chair where she had draped his coat. He nodded, and Lena continued. His cock was half-hard when she took down his pants and briefs. He had kicked off his shoes, and she slid the pants and underwear off his feet. She unrolled his socks, removing the tanto blade by herself, with Michael's eyes on her intently. She shifted her weight onto her right knee and placed the blade next to his gun on the chair. She then shifted back, and in one quick movement, had his cock buried in her throat. "No," Anita snapped. Lena pulled her mouth off him with a pout. She stood, smiled warmly at Michael, then sauntered out of the room. Michael approached Anita. He could see the lust in her eyes. She was breathing heavy. He traced the line of her jaw with his finger, moving down across her neck, lightly touching the swell of her left breast. He moved his finger across her nipple, feeling it's crinkled stiffness. He then proceeded down across her tummy, slowly maneuvering his fingertip through the black hair that covered her mound. When his fingertip creased the top of her slit, he felt her heat. It almost burned him. Anita sighed. She put her arms around him and pulled him to her. His cock was wedged between them, pressing against her stomach. Her mouth found his, her tongue entering, searching, finding. Michael could feel the tips of her fangs as his tongue slid around her mouth. She seemed intent on keeping his tongue away from them, as she pushed it back with her own. Stone could stand it no longer. He lifted her up, falling back onto the bed with her. He grabbed her right leg, pulling it away from her body so that he fell between her thighs. Anita gasped and grabbed his ass, pulling him into her. In one quick movement, he was buried in her pussy. He started to pull out to thrust again, but stopped. They looked into each other's eyes. Michael kissed her. He then began kissing her across the cheek, down her neck. Slowly, ever so slowly, and with such incredible tenderness he kissed her breasts, lightly moving his tongue over her nipples. He sucked each one gently, only a light pull with his lips. Michael continued the slow kisses across her stomach until he reached her mound. Very gently he kissed her labia, one at the time. Anita spread her legs wider for him. She caressed the back of his head and neck. Michael extended his tongue and licked slowly from the bottom to the top of her slit. Anita moved her hips, pressing against his mouth. He spread her open with the tip of his tongue. Then he found her clit, taking it between his lips, he began to suck softly. He soon joined the sucking with a slow flicking of his tongue over the sensitive button. Anita moved her pelvis slowly. Her hips undulated gently. Her fingers played in his hair, pulling slightly every now and then. "Oh, Michael," she said. She kept repeating the words over and over. Her breathing became heavier and heavier. She felt herself rising to some distant cloud. It was almost as if she was seeing the sunrise for the first time in four hundred years. Michael's sucking of her beautiful pussy never became hard. He accelerated the flicking of his tongue only slightly. It was then that he felt her reach the plateau. Anita suddenly grasped his hair in her hand, pulling his head away from her climaxing loins. She bucked her hips gently, a loud moan loosed from her thrown-back head. Michael looked at her and smiled softly. He gave her a second to recover, then braced himself on his hands over her. With a slow, yet deliberate movement, he was once again firmly embedded inside of her. Their eyes locked. Michael moved slowly. Anita matched his rhythm perfectly, her hips swaying softly from side to side while he moved within her. She felt him touch that spot, that special spot deep inside of her, and she involuntarily pulled her legs back, causing her pelvis to turn up. Michael recognized what had happened, and he slid a little farther above her, so that his cock rubbed against her clit every time he moved. Anita's legs wrapped around Michael's back. "You make love like an angel," she told him between panting breaths. "I make love to an angel," he answered her. She smiled at him. Their eyes had never left each others. The pace quickened now, as both of them were rapidly approaching the end. The only time their eyes had closed was when they kissed sweetly. Anita began to whisper soft moans. Stone's breathing intensified. The walls of her vagina were beginning to squeeze him. She held him tighter and tighter against her. She could feel the intense wetness between her legs. Each time he pushed into her, the feeling inside her clit multiplied. She panted, pulling him against her with each breath. Michael was moving rapidly now, pressing himself against her as he pushed inside the delicious tightness of her. She was so hot inside! It felt as though she was on fire. He felt his balls tighten, and then the quiet tingle of the orgasm that was about to come. Anita sensed it, and it brought her over the edge. Her mind seemed to scream "now!", as her pussy clamped around him. She sat up halfway, holding his neck tightly, burying her face against his chest as she screamed. Michael released his come inside of her. He held himself still, every muscle in his body tensed and bulging. His penis jerked as his sperm filled her. As the storm passed, he looked once again into her green eyes. She was smiling at him, somewhat lucidly, as her eyelids closed and she lay back against the bed. Michael moved to her side, wrapping his arms around her, spooning her into him. They both went to sleep. Hunted Blood Ch. 5 Anita awakened to find Lena between her legs. She was scooping Michael's sperm from the dark-haired vampire's pussy with her tongue. Anita raised up on her elbow and watched the blonde take long licks, pushing her long tongue inside to get as much of it as she could. Michael was awakened by Anita's moans. He looked down to see Lena licking Anita's pussy, a smattering of come and her juice on the blonde's face. He became instantly aroused. Lena spied Michael out of the corner of her eye. She pulled her mouth away from Anita's pussy and looked up at him. "You taste soooo good," she told him, then gave Anita a few more licks. She then wormed her way over Anita's taut and creamy legs to intertwine herself around Michael's muscled thighs. She slid her mouth smoothly over his hard penis. Anita knew that watching Lena eat her had gotten him highly excited. She placed her hand gently on Lena's shoulder. "Don't make him come," she told the younger vampire. Lena nodded her head with Michael's cock still in her mouth. Anita got off the bed, and she repositioned herself so that she was lying against the back of Lena's legs. She spread the cheeks of Lena's ass wide, and drove her tongue into the space. She licked around Lena's ass, then down, across the pounting lips of her dripping pussy. Finally, she settled on Lena's clit. Oh, God, Michael thought. He couldn't take this. He began to fuck Lena's mouth. He pushed hard into her throat. Lena removed her mouth, and used the tip of her index finger and her thumb against the base of Michael's prick. He grunted in agony as his cock jerked dryly. Lena smiled and winked at him, then gripped his thighs tightly as Anita's tongue brought her to orgasm. After resting a few minutes, Lena got up, kissed them both and said goodbye. "Where is she going?" Michael asked. "To feed," Anita told him, grasping his still hard cock in her hand. "She is young. She still needs to feed every other night." Michael nodded, watching Anita's hand slide up and down on his cock. "I loved that way you made love to me, Michael. But," she said, looking into his eyes, "will you fuck me now?" Michael gave a wicked smile. He removed her hand from his cock and rolled her onto her stomach. He placed a hand under her tummy and lifted her up, guiding her hips so that she came to rest on her knees. He maneuvered her ass so that she was right where he wanted her. He then rammed his dick into her to the balls. Anita screamed. Michael began to slam it into her. "Like this?" he said. "You want me to fuck you like this?" "Oh yes, Michael!" she screamed. "Fuck me like that!" Stone was pulling her ass into him each time he slammed into her pussy. Her face was contorted, somewhere in between pleasure and pain. Michael had begun to perspire, the sweat pouring off him. Stone flipped her over. He wrapped her legs around his thick arms and re-entered her tightness. "Oh, God, yes, Michael! Fuck my pussy!" she yelled. Stone stopped. "Who's pussy?" he asked. Anita smiled while she tried to push herself against his cock. "Your pussy, Michael!" she told him. Michael slammed into her again. "Oh yes! Yes! Your pussy needs you to fuck it! It needs to be filled up with your come!" That was it. Stone slammed into her again, his cock throbbing, the sperm spilling into her womb. His orgasm triggered hers, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulders until she drew blood. The metallic iron scent of the blood hit her as she continued to come, and her fangs distended from her lip. Michael realized that she had drawn blood. He knew her reaction to it. He didn't care. Anita's orgasm subsided, the gentle ebb of the tide taking her back to rational thought. She sat up on her elbows and gently began to lick the small scratches in Michael's shoulders. He watched her, ever conscious that her fangs were inches from his jugular vein. When she had cleaned all the blood from him, she lay back down and looked up at him. "Is there any part of you that does not taste good?" Michael gave a little laugh. He kissed her gently. Marcus watched Lena from a rooftop. There were four other vampires with him. Marcus was the leader, the master vampire. He had survived for at least six hundred years. The others were just his lackeys. They had been watching Anita and Lena for a very long time. Marcus had taken great care to shield their presence from the two women. His followers had taken their time learning all they could about them. The news that they gave Marcus tonight, however, enraged him. "So," he said, smoothing his dark hair back against his head, "the bitch has allied herself with a human." Marcus's dark eyes gazed down upon Lena as she walked with a young man out of the nightclub. "Kill that one," he said to the others. "Make an example of her." Anita jerked free of Michael's embrace. She sat upright in bed. She was shaking. "What is it?" Michael asked, alarmed. "It is Lena," Anita said, tears welling in her eyes. "She is dead." They found her lying face-down in an alley. Michael approached her first, slowly turning her over. He gasped at what he saw. Her throat had been torn completely out. All over her neck, extending down onto her breasts, were many fang marks. Her sweater had been torn open at the neck, and blood soaked her body. Anita cried softly. Michael held her close. She looked up at him, tears staining her beautiful white cheeks. "Now you see," she said. Michael nodded. "Yes," he said. "Who?" he asked, "and why?" Anita shook her head. "It will be daylight soon," she said, noticing the pinkness of the sky towards the East. "But I will find out soon enough." Michael looked into her eyes. "We will find out together." They had gone back to the old house, where Anita went inside to sleep for the day. Michael drove his car home. Once there, he logged onto the secure server and began to sort through the database. After three hours of pouring over the names and known locations of vampires, Michael fell asleep, exhausted. It was night when he awoke. He felt chilly. He slid out of bed and rushed into the shower. The hot water felt good on his skin, but as soon as he was out, he felt cold again. He concentrated, centering himself. When he had cleared his mind, he heard her voice. It was Anita. It was as if she was calling to him from the end of a long and dark tunnel. She was hurt. She was in danger. An image flashed in his mind. Rail cars. An old rail yard. He knew the place. He dressed quickly. The armored body suit went on first, then the chain mail around his neck. The chain mail gauntlets followed. He retrieved a large framed H&K Mark 23 .45 auto from his briefcase, fitting the drop holster to his right thigh. Extra magazines went into pouches on his left leg. He took the katana from its stand in the bedroom, bowed to it quickly, and slung it on his back. The tanto knife went into a sheath across his chest. The black cloak was the final touch. He looked like Death. It was about twenty minutes to the old rail yard. Michael spent the time going over scenarios, possible outcomes. He did not know what he was getting into. The images from Anita, the voice that cried 'help', were still in his mind. He stepped out of the car. The old rail cars sat like giant metal ghosts, rusting silently on their tracks. There was a building ahead, a warehouse or engine shop, he guessed. The moon shone brightly, its light reflected here and there off the metal rails of the abandoned tracks. Stone made his way into the building. There were candles burning at one end, their light showing the shadows of people. Of vampires. He approached without fear, yet he was slow and cautious. There were boxes and crates stacked around him, and machinery that had long since been used. Before him, on a metal table, was Anita. She was nude. Her skin was ashen, graying. Stone could see the two tiny puncture wounds in her neck. They had bled her almost dry. She barely breathed at all. One of the shadows moved. Stone turned to see Marcus. He was as tall as Stone was, although much thinner. The vampire smiled wickedly when he spoke. "Michael Stone, I presume," the fiend said. Stone detected an accent, though he was not sure from where. "And you are?" Stone asked. "You may call me Marcus," it replied to him. "Your bitch is almost dead, now, Stone. I wanted you to see her before you died." Marcus stepped around the table, gesturing to Anita's still form as if she was a trophy on display. "You see, we cannot allow you to kill our kind. And, we cannot allow our kind to befriend you." Stone was aware of the others. He felt four more of them. Two off to his right, one behind him, and one moving in front of him. "I will leave you to your death, Michael Stone," Marcus said, walking behind the table and sitting in an old metal chair. And with that, they attacked. Stone, his ki stretched beyond him, felt the one behind him close in. Within an instant, his katana was unsheathed, the deadly blade arcing as he turned. Stone's cloak furled about him as he cut. The vampire's head fell to the ground with a sickening 'plop'. "You fool," the one in front of him said, "don't you understand anything. You humans are like sheep to us. You are our food!" Stone held the katana in his left hand. With his right, he unsnapped the retention strap of the thigh holster. There was a flurry of movement as the cloak was thrown aside. The big .45 was in his right hand, and before the male vampire to his right could react, it bucked twice, then a third time. The vampire's head disintegrated into a pulpy mass of flesh. "Baaa," Michael said dryly. He then launched a side-kick to the one in front of him, sending the sheep lover sprawling on the floor. The female vampire to his right was coming towards him now. The H&K thumped again, the bullet catching her in the chest. She reeled backwards from the hit, recovered, and began to come again. Michael fired two more shots, watching out of the corner of his eye as her head came apart. The one he had kicked was on him now. The fiend had grabbed Michael's sword by the hilt. He was pulling against Michael, trying to force the blade from Stone's grasp. Michael jammed his sidearm into the creature's side and fired twice. The vampire spun away from him, becoming airborne before he collapsed onto the concrete floor. Stone stepped up to him, and with a quick downward cut, severed its head. Stone turned towards Marcus. "You are indeed strong, hunter, but you will not destroy me!" Marcus launched himself at Stone. Michael turned, slicing with his blade. But, he only cut air. Marcus was standing a few feet away from him. Stone fired the last four rounds from the .45. Marcus fell back with the impacts. He then stood up. His vampiric powers had healed him that quickly. The vampire moved with supernatural speed. Stone anticipated the movement, but it was too late. Marcus hit stone in the chest, sending him onto his back and sliding across the floor. When Stone stopped, he looked up to see the vampire suspended over him. He realized that Marcus was coming down on top of him. He rolled and heard Marcus's feet slap against the floor. Even with the wind knocked out of him, Stone managed to get to his feet. He moved with speed, slicing against the vampire's chest. Marcus stepped to dodge, but Stone cut him, slicing open the monster's brachial artery in his upper arm. Blood spewed forth, but then slowed to an ebb, then stopped. Stone did not stop, however. He attacked again, the katana arcing low, cutting Marcus across the groin. The vampire yelled as he felt his femoral artery open, his blood jetting onto the dirty floor. Michael had stepped back into the willow stance, his blade concealed along his right leg. Marcus looked at him with rage in his eyes. Stone only smiled. Although the wounds Stone had inflicted had healed, Marcus had still lost a good quantity of precious blood. That made him weaker. Marcus stepped towards Stone, and stone swung the katana around. The vampire ducked the blade, coming underneath and striking Stone with both hands in the stomach. Stone doubled over, and Marcus knocked the katana from his hands. Stone looked up to see the vampire standing over him with his fangs shining brightly in the moonlight. Stone sucked in his breath, pushing his ki to his center. When the ghoul reached for him, Stone stepped to the side, grabbing the monster's outstretched hand and pulling him into a throw. Stone let go of him and watched Marcus slam into a large milling machine. Michael somersaulted, touching the floor long enough to pick up the katana. Marcus stood. He absently brushed some metal shavings off his shoulder. His vampire eyes searched the darkness for Stone. He did not see him. He stretched out with his vampire senses. He could not feel him. He could not smell him. Had the great hunter become a coward? His answer came in a great pain to his left leg. Michael had kicked him. The tibia bone broke into. Marcus went down on his knees. "Impossible!" the vampire hissed. "Its not impossible," Michael said quietly. "Its what I do." The katana's razor blade flashed in the moonlight. Marcus's head fell onto the floor. Stone looked at it for an instant, then kicked it like an NFL All Star across the building. He heard it hit the other wall with a thud. Putting the katana back into its sheath, he walked over to where Anita lay. He knew that she was dangerously close to death. He decided in an instant. He removed his cloak. Then he removed the chain mail that guarded his neck against the vampire's bite. He took the tanto knife from its sheath, and made a small scrape over his jugular. He felt the blood well up into the cut. Stone leaned down over Anita. He cradled her still head in his arms and brought her close to him. He pressed her lips against the cut on his neck. The minutes passed. Then he felt her tongue lick him, lightly at first, then more severely. Suddenly, he felt her fangs plunge into him. He winced in pain as she bit into him. Stone could feel his blood being sucked into her eager mouth. Anita drank heavily. She soon became coherent, and she suddenly recognized the taste of the blood filling her mouth. Her eyes opened. She saw Stone's unmistakable strong jawline. Stone was getting dizzy. He tried to pull Anita away, but she was stronger now, attached to his neck like some kind of leech. He managed to speak, "Anita," he rasped. She snapped from his neck. She covered the wound with her hand, willing the flow to subside. Soon, the bleeding had stopped. She wiped the blood from her mouth and looked at him. "You gave me life," she said. He nodded weakly. "Now I must return the blessing to you." She reached for his tanto. Taking the knife in her hand, she placed the blade against her wrist. "No," Michael said. "I can't." He stood. Anita nodded her head. "I understand," she said. She stood before him. "I would want us to be together forever." Michael touched her face. He smiled. "I would want that, too," he told her. "But it can never be." Stone reached under the neck of his armored suit with both hands and pulled out a small, gold chain. There was a pendant on the chain. It was a crucifix. Stone took the chain off and placed it into Anita's palm. She smiled down at it. Both knew that only a person of good heart and true faith could hold it, vampire or not. Stone took the .45 out of his holster. He ejected the spent magazine and replaced it with a fresh one. He smiled at Anita as he replaced it. He gathered his chain mail collar, the tanto, and his cloak. He then stepped to her and took her in his arms. He kissed her deeply. Letting go of her, Stone turned to walk away. She stopped him with her voice. "Michael," she said. "I love you." Stone half turned. "I love you, too," he said. And then he disappeared into the shadows. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 1 Sheriff Barker peered over the edge of the twelve-foot boat. He held his aluminum Maglite in his hand as he looked into the black water of the swamp. One of his deputies was beside him, holding a large rechargeable spotlight. He shined it ahead of them, as another deputy maneuvered through the cypress knees using the trolling motor. "Whoa," Barker said. He thought he saw something. "Come right again." The deputy turned the boat sideways, the small motor churning the black water quickly. "Right there," Sheriff said. "Hold it right there." The boat coasted over the exact spot the sheriff had wanted. "Dammit, son," he swore, "when I say stop I mean stop." "Sorry, Sheriff," the driving deputy said. "You don't exactly stop this thing on a dime." Sheriff Barker rolled his eyes. Then he felt a 'thump' under his feet. He looked at the other deputy beside him. "Probably just a root," the deputy said. "Ain't real deep here." Barker nodded. Then he heard something scraping on the bottom of the boat. As the aluminum boat moved slowly forward, it tipped slightly, not quite enough to throw anyone off-balance. The boat settled again, then stopped moving entirely. Barker took a deep breath. "Back us up real slow," he told the motor operator. The deputy reversed the electric motor and the boat began to move to the rear. Barker and the other deputy trained their lights forward on the water. As soon as the boat had moved three or four feet, they saw it. It was there, floating just underneath the coffee colored water. It was a body. The body of a young girl. They worked quickly, donning rubber gloves to pick the lifeless corpse out of the water. The body had already started decomposing, an attribute of the enzymes and animals that lived within the dark water of the swamp. They grimaced as they stuffed the lifeless husk into a plastic body bag. When they had finished, Barker ordered them back to the landing. They pulled the boat along the shore. There was a place that had been cleared of the weeds and grass that grew along the swamp's edge. Here, local fisherman had made a boat landing. Once they had come to a stop, Barker got out. He walked up to Red Stewart. He looked Red in the eye. He just shook his head. Red started for the boat. Barker stopped him. "You don't want to, Red," Barker said with his hand on the old man's shoulder. "Its bad." "I gotta look," Red said. He went to the boat, where a deputy, on Barker's nod, unzipped the body bag. Red looked for an instant, seeing the body of his daughter, then turned his head away and began to sob. The man wearing the black raincoat saw it too. His trained eyes looked past the recent decomposition. He saw the holes in the young girl's neck. They were puncture wounds, precisely over her jugular vein. The distance between the two marks was equal. The man had no doubt as to what had made them. Seeing all that he needed, the man turned to leave. "Hey," Sheriff Barker called. "Hold on just a damn minute!" Barker almost ran to catch up with the stranger. The sheriff recognized him. His county had had two prior deaths of young women in the past week. He had seen this strange, tall man at all of the crime scenes. He now noticed that the man had not stopped. "Hey, goddammit, I said stop!" The man in the black suit and long coat stopped. He turned around. Sheriff Barker approached him. The man looked at the sheriff with cold eyes. "Just what in the hell are you doing here? You got some kinda weird fetish for death?" Barker wanted some answers. He doubted this was the murderer, as they usually didn't show up at crime scenes. That was arsonists. Still, stranger things have happened. "I'm doing the same as you, Sheriff," the man said evenly. "Collecting evidence." Barker looked at the man as if he was crazy. "Do what?" The man nodded. "You've got a problem, Sheriff. I am here to solve it." "What the hell are you, a fed or something? You got some ID?" The man shook his head. "No, not really," he answered. "But I may be able to answer some questions for you about who did this." Barker looked sideways at the man in black. "Really?" he said dubiously. "Ok, who did it?" "A vampire," the man replied casually. Barker tried not to laugh. "Alrighty then," he said. "I aint got time for all of this bullshit. You show me some ID or you're going to jail." The man looked Barker in the eyes. "I'm serious," he said. "How else are you going to explain the marks on the two, now three, dead bodies? Did your crime lab tell you that there was saliva in the wounds? Did they tell you that the saliva contained DNA that had never before been encountered?" Barker looked carefully at the man. He had read the crime lab reports. He had not shared that information with anyone else. People in this small, back-swamp county were superstitious enough. "How the hell do you know about that?" Barker asked. "I know all sorts of things, Sheriff," the man replied. "You want to hear what else I know?" The man half-turned to walk away. Sheriff Barker shrugged and began to walk with him towards a gray Ford Taurus. "You got a name, Mister?" the Sheriff asked. "Michael Stone," the man said, extending his hand. -- "So," Sheriff Barker asked as they drove down the old dirt road in Stone's rented car, "are you some kinda X Files agent or somethin'?" Stone cracked a smile. "Actually," he replied, thinking about it, "I am kind of something like that. I work for an organization that is composed of members of many different world governments. I get paid to track down vampires." Barker shook his head. All of this was really too much to believe. After talking with Stone a few minutes at the crime scene, though, Barker was ready to listen to the man. Any lead was better than no lead. Stone had asked some fairly specific questions, and Barker had given him exact answers. They were driving to an old house on the outskirts of the swamp roads now. The old house had been built by one of the first settlers to this area. The farmers here had raised sugar cane. The house stood in the middle of an old cane field that was now mostly weeds. There were no lights on inside the house. The white paint was peeling, and the old picket fence that stood around the yard was falling down. Stone stopped the Taurus and got out. He paid no attention as to whether Barker had stepped out or not. Barker did get out, and he hurried to catch up with Michael. They both stepped onto the old porch, whose boards creaked under the combined weight. Barker winced as the boards strained. Stone, however, walked calmly to the front door and placed his hand on the knob. "Hey," Barker said, "you ain't got no search warrant." Stone looked at the Sheriff out of the corner of his eye. "Didn't you tell me that this house was abandoned?" Barker nodded. Stone tried the knob. It didn't turn. He took a step back from the door, then plunged a side-thrust kick into it. The door flew into the interior of the house, knocked completely off its hinges. Stone walked inside. The old house smelled of mildew and rat shit. Stone surveyed the main room. It was pitch dark inside the house. Barker illuminated the room with light from his Maglite. "Switch that off," Stone told him. "Why? Are you crazy?" Stone took the light from Barker's hand. "Because I can't see," Michael told him. Stone had trained his eyes to see in the dark. To do this required a conditioning of the eye to take in all available dim light. The small amount of outside starlight was all Stone needed to visualize the room. The sudden intrusion of Barker's flashlight had blinded him. Stone walked ahead. Barker heard what sounded like more boards creaking. He then realized that Stone was heading up the stairs. This was creepy. Fuck that. Stone could go by himself. Michael went up the stairs and searched through two rooms before he found what he was looking for. He knew the vampires would not be here. This town was too small for them to go unnoticed for long. However, he had hoped that he would at least find some evidence of their having been. It was in the third room that Stone found it. Michael held a small penlight between his teeth. The light shined a faint red beam. He then held up a small piece of paper in front of the light. The paper was scrawled with a glyph. No, it wasn't a glyph, Stone knew as he recognized it. It was a Japanese character. It was the symbol for akuma. Devil. "They are gone," Stone told Barker as he came back onto the porch. The early morning fog was forming. Stone could just see the path that led to the old house. "You sure?" "Yeah," Stone answered. "You won't have any more killings like this, Sheriff." Stone walked towards the car. Barker stood there for a moment, bewildered, then followed the man in black. -- She lay on the bed nude. She was young and beautiful, just the way he liked them. Definitely not Japanese, though. But that was okay, too. Her eyes were closed. He looked at the swell of her small breasts, and how the cool room air caused her nipples to harden. Her aureola's were pink and pretty. Her pussy, lewdly displayed for him, was swollen and glistening. There was a light covering of fine red hairs on it. The pubic hair matched the hair on her head. He climbed onto the bed, scooting himself between her legs. He adjusted her legs so he parted them with his own. He kissed her softly, running the tip of his tongue along her pink mouth. She moaned softly, darting her tongue out to caress his. He reached between their bodies and positioned his cock at her entrance. Her eyes snapped open when she felt him push it in. She pushed back against him, feeling him slide his length all the way inside her. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as he buried himself in the warm, wet confines of her sex. He began to move slowly at first. In and out, gripping her hair loosely in his hands as he fucked her softly. She moved her hips with his, grinding slowly against him. He looked at her, saw that her eyes were slits, her mouth forming a little 'O'. He tucked his hand under the small of her back, pressing her body close to him, allowing her pubic mound to contact his. He could feel her fucking him, her movements causing him to increase his pace. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. He fucked her harder now, her moans changing into grunts as he thrust hard into her. He licked across her throat, down the exposed side of her neck, sucking forcefully on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her fingers were digging into his ass as she pulled him into her. He felt her pussy begin to contract on him. It started at the tip of his penis and worked its way down until his entire cock was clenched tightly. He felt her cunt spasm in orgasm. He no longer needed to hold her head back, as it was thrown back in a silent scream of pleasure. That was when he bit her. His fangs sank into her jugular vein. The warm, salty, metallic taste of her blood filled his mouth. He sucked hungrily, greedily. She screamed in pain, in terror, in fear as she felt her life drain away. He drank until there was no more. And finally, her heart stopped beating. He withdrew from her. Wiping his mouth, he dressed in a robe, and opened the bedroom door. "Bring another," he said into the hallway. -- "Looks like I am headed to Japan," Stone said into his cell phone. The voice on the other end replied in a thick German accent. "Shall I contact a friend?" Michael considered it for a moment. "Yes, it may help." "It will be done. Good faith to you." And the call was ended. To be continued... Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 2 Japan was much the way Michael Stone remembered it. He had spent a great part of his youth here. He looked at the buildings as the taxi he was in drove through the streets of Tokyo. Not much had changed. The neon signs still glared above, while the streets and sidewalks were covered in people of all races. That would make hunting here harder, he knew. The taxi wound its way up the roads from the city. It drove into the mountains near the city. It followed a road until it entered a small village. The village had changed little since Stone had been there. He thought back. He was twelve years old when he came here for the first time. The small taxi car stopped in front of a well-landscaped lawn that sat beside the narrow street. Harper got out, paid the driver, and retrieved his luggage from the car's roof. He then walked up the stone steps to the doors of a large building. He sat his luggage down, and pressed the buzzer on the wall beside the double doors. He was twelve years old when he first came here. A man, his class teacher, dropped him off here. He told Michael that he would return every other day to conduct his schooling. He had told Michael that he would learn his biology, science, history, and math here at this new school. He had turned around and left the boy standing before the doors, holding a suitcase, not unlike the way Stone stood now. A man dressed in the black hakama pleated pants-skirt of the samurai warriors had opened the double doors for the boy. He had bade Michael entrance. The boy had went inside, and for the next eight years, he had never left. This night, however, no one opened the door for him. It was unlike Osato-sensei to not answer the door. Stone placed a cautious hand upon the door and pushed. It was unlocked, and it opened under his palm. Stone stepped inside. The entrance foyer contained a small fountain, its water cascading noisily over three tiers. There were bonzai trees spaced about the small room, as well as arrangements of ikebana flowers. Stone removed his leather shoes and set them on the rack against one wall. He noticed no others there. Stone moved quietly through an archway into the main room, the dojo. There were lighted candles along the walls that cast shadows upon the large, canvas tatami mat in the center of the room. Stone saw one of the shadows at the far end of the mat move. The shadow, which Stone now saw was a person, somersaulted in the air and began to cartwheel towards him. When the shadow neared, it leaped into a sidekick aimed at his head. Stone crouched and spun as the shadow flew above him. The shadow landed with a soft step on its feet near the edge of the tatami. Stone looked at the figure clothed in a black, wrapped hood, a black gi, its arms and legs tied at the ends. A ninja. The ninja unsheathed a short sword from it's belt. A wakizashi, Stone noticed, the short sword carried by the samurai. The ninja attacked with a sweeping cut aimed for Michael's head. Stone dropped again, catching himself on his right hand and kicking out with his left leg. He felt his foot push against the attacker's chest. The ninja stumbled backwards, then dropped under the force of the kick. The black-garbed attacker then rolled backwards to its feet. Stone stood relaxed in an aiki-jujutsu receiving posture. He had no idea who this ninja was. Or, why the warrior would attack him. It didn't matter, though. If the ninja was fighting with mushi-no-in, the mind of no mind, then he was prepared to die. And that was fine by Michael Stone. The ninja attacked again, a cut that came from overhead. Stone sidestepped the strike, and moved into a shaolin snake posture. He struck at the ninja's head with the back of his hand in a kokku strike. The ninja fell backwards, stumbled, then regained his balance. The attacker swung with the sword again, an arcing cut that should have cut Stone into. Michael stepped into the cut, taking the attacker's wrists into his hands. He turned his body with the cut, rolling the ninja's hands in his own. The shadow warrior was thrown to the mat. The sword came away into Michael's hands. Stone prepared a cut to the ninja's head. Then, the overhead lights in the dojo came on. Michael stopped the razor sharp blade just inches before the downed ninja's neck. Michael turned to see Osato-sensei standing at the end of the rectangular room. "Please don't, Michael-san," Osato said to him. "It would be a great waste of resources." The old man was smiling. Stone removed the sword from where he had stopped the cut. He stepped back a few paces, then faced his master, and bowed. Osato returned the bow. Toshiro Osato was almost eighty now. His white hair, sparse and thin, was no longer held in a topknot. He gestured to the black-clad figure on the floor. "To your feet, Mariko-san," he said. Stone watched as the ninja stood. The black head wrap came off, and a beautiful young Japanese woman shook her long, shiny black hair free from it. She looked at Stone, although she never met his eyes with hers. She bowed reverently. "Stone-sensei," she said. "It is an honor. I am Mariko Norimura." "Kunoichi," Stone said, using the Japanese word for a female ninja, "you could have been killed." "It was my idea," the master said, clasping Stone's shoulder. "It was a test," he explained. "One that she failed. Miserably." "To kill me, Sensei?" Stone asked. "No. To simply touch you, with or without a weapon." Stone nodded his head. He took on a sincere air of humility. "Perhaps, Sensei, you would consider a more accessible target for her next time?" The old man smiled. He knew that after Stone had left him, the American boy had gone to China. There he had studied under the ancient shaolin masters. The old samurai knew that Stone had combined his knowledge of Japanese and Chinese martial arts. He was aware that Stone was perhaps the finest hand-to-hand combatant he had ever seen. And the deadliest. The trio left the dojo, retreating to the master's study. Mariko left them alone for a few moments. When she returned, she was dressed in a red silk kimono. Her hair was damp. Stone looked at her. Her skin was golden and her brown eyes sparkled. She was beautiful. Mariko poured tea for them. Once she was seated, the master nodded his head, and Stone began. "I was investigating murders in a small town in Southern Georgia. The vampire, or vampires, that did the killing had left. I knew that I was only a few days behind them." Stone took a sip of tea. "I found their lair. And there, I found this," he finished as he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Osato. The old man looked at it. His dark eyes went wide. "It has been my belief that Akuma was here in Japan for quite a while," he said. "However, there have been no tell-tale signs of a vampire infestation." Stone knew of what the master spoke. Whenever there were vampires in a city, people died. It usually started as one or two a week, then gradually became more as the vampire increased its hunger for blood. "Sensei," Stone asked, "could Akuma be recruiting?" "Hai," the old man answered. "It is possible. And, if so, most dangerous." "What do we know of Akuma?" Mariko spoke. They both looked at her. Ordinarily, a woman never spoke when men were speaking. Stone looked at his teacher. The master nodded. "Not much, I'm afraid," Stone told her. "He is a very old vampire, and very powerful. It is believed that he was the leader of a large group of vampires in the 17th Century. This group attempted to destroy many people, but was put down by hunters from The Organization. He has been quiet ever since." Stone looked back at his master. "If he is here, in Japan, and he is gathering a coven, then there will be signs." Osato nodded. "Yes," he stated. "Perhaps you will look for him in the city?" "Yes, Sensei," Stone answered. "I will." "Mariko will accompany you." Stone raised an eyebrow and started to speak. The old man waved his hand. "She is a hunter. She is ready. Her training is complete. She has only recently returned from Europe. She will be an asset to you." Stone nodded his head. She had most probably been to Europe to train with French, British, or German special operations groups. Stone himself had went through U.S. Army Ranger school, as well as training with the U.S. Navy SEALs, the British SAS, and the German GSG-9. These groups taught the military aspects of close-quarters battle, or CQB. Combat weapons training, clandestine assault techniques, survival, and discipline were all necessary requirements for a hunter of vampires. Stone looked at his watch. "We leave at midnight," he told her. -- Sex came easily for him. It only took his telepathic suggestion to any of the young women that he kept in his harem. All he had to do was think it, and they disrobed before him, obediently lying upon whatever furnishings were there, or even the floor. They would reverently spread their legs, showing him the glistening petals of their sex, rubbing themselves for him, placing their hands and fingers wherever he wished. But they were more than just facilities of pleasure to him. They were also food. The one that now bobbed her head up and down on his penis was nothing more than food. He watched her with disinterest. Her eyes were locked onto his, a dazed expression in them, as if they had no life of their own. She sucked him hungrily, rubbing her tongue on the underside of his cock as her cheeks hollowed. And when he pumped his sterile semen into her mouth, she swallowed simply, as if it were no matter at all. She moved to get up, and he grabbed her by her neck with one hand, forcing her closer to him behind the large oak desk. He pulled her down, then in one movement, sank his fangs into her jugular vein. As her blood flowed into his mouth, so did her life. When he had finished, he tossed her gray and cold body onto the floor. Someone immediately moved to pick it up and carry it away. He turned his cold eyes to the one that sat before him. He stood, his mouth still stained with blood, and leaned across the desk. "Your group left a trail in America," he said. "It was dangerous for you to come here so soon." The younger blonde haired vampire shrugged. "Hell, man, you said come at once, so we did." He smoothed his black ponytail across his shoulders, then slapped the impudent one sharply across the face. His nails gashed the boy's face, and blood welled into the cuts. He sat back down again as he watched the young one regain his composure. He folded his arms across his chest, pulling his crimson colored robe tighter about him. "You know my rules, boy. No traces. It will be some time before our group is of sufficient strength to prepare an attack. However, if you can not obey me, then you will be replaced. Do you understand?" "Yes, my lord," the vampire spoke. So, he did understand his place. Good. "See to the club," he said. "And only turn those who are strong." The younger one bowed his head and stood. He left the room. The one known as Akuma watched him go. He had his doubts about this one, for he was so young. But, everything was going according to plan. Soon, he would unleash his wrath. And the world would know a new terror. And they would all bow under his reign. --to be continued... Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 3 Waiting longer than he had wanted, Stone and Mariko left the dojo. He had made her change clothes before they left. Mariko had came out dressed in her kevlar reinforced bodysuit. Stone had shook his head. This was a recon mission, he told her. She had left, and she returned dressed in a blue evening dress. It was somewhat sheer, with a slit up the side that showed her shapely, tanned legs. Michael was dressed in one of his best Armani silks. He looked every bit the part of a wealthy American businessman. Mariko looked as much like an expensive Japanese prostitute. Their facade was a shroud for two deadly hunters of vampires. Stone drove Mariko's four-door Toyota down the winding mountain road. It was night, and it was cold. The car's heater had not yet warmed the interior of the car. Stone could still see his breath. A glance at Mariko's chest showed the outline of prominent and hardened nipples atop the swell of her breasts. Outside, a brilliant moon shined upon the landscape. The lights of Tokyo skylined before them. "You seem impatient, Stone-sensei," Mariko noticed. Michael glanced quickly at her. "You need to get used to calling me only 'Michael'", he told her. He received a polite nod. "And, I may seem that way, but I am not. However," he added, "I am ready to see this particular mission end. I had plans for a vacation." "A vacation?" Mariko smiled. "To what part of the world are you off to?" Stone smiled slightly. She probably thought that he would go to Paris, Rome, or maybe the Austrian Alps. To him, however, a vacation meant a trip home. "To see my father," he answered. Mariko's eyes widened in astonishment. She had assumed that Stone was like most other hunters in The Organization. An orphan. She was, and she had no idea who her parents were. Stone nodded. "He has a farm in Indiana," he began. He then told her the story. Stone's father, John, had been a hunter as well. John Stone was one of the few in The Organization's long history to become a Director. John was not appointed by a government. He had been selected by The Organization's Council of Directors based on 'job performance'. It wasn't long after that John Stone's wife, Jeanine, became pregnant. She died shortly after Michael was born. She was killed by a vampire. Michael's father had designed much of the parameters within which the present-day hunters operated. He had retired ten years ago. Michael maneuvered the car through the crowded streets. The neons glared upon the black paint, shining their hideous light without mercy. Stone parked the car in a partially sheltered area that belonged to a photographic equipment company. They were within a block of the target area. An area that Osato-sensei had remarked as being possible hunting ground. It was area filled with nightclubs. Nightclubs that particularly catered to the appetites of businessmen, both American and Japanese alike. It was the third one that they entered that made Michael's blood chill. Inside, with the garish neon lights bathing them in an eerie glow, were vampires. Stone slowed his breathing, centering himself, assuming the posture of the wind. He glanced, and to his relief, saw that Mariko had done the same. They took a table, where a waiter took their orders for drinks. Stone then took Mariko by the hand, pulling her to her feet. They headed to the dance floor, where speakers blared out a hip-hop song in Japanese. Stone held Mariko close as they began to gyrate their hips to the music of the bump-and-grind beat. He spoke into her ear. "They are all around us," he said to her. "Male and female. I have never seen such a concentration of them in one place." Mariko felt his breath as it tickled her ear. She reached up and smoothed her shiny, black hair away from her face. She pressed her ear closer to him, feeling the light brush of his lips against it. A shudder ran through her. Her arms went around his neck, pressing her pelvis against his leg, riding his strong thigh. "What do we do?" she asked, looking up at him. "We wait," he told her. "This is a recon mission. Stay centered and focused. We will return in daylight." She started to speak again, but Stone silenced her with a slight smile. He then pushed her away from him, and took her hand. He pulled her from the dance floor and headed towards the exit. Outside, Stone glanced up. The building was as he thought. It was tall, at least four stories. There were no windows at all above the first floor. A likely nest for the creatures, he knew. Michael and Mariko disappeared onto the crowded sidewalks. They had walked for half a block when Mariko suddenly looked up at him. "The car is back that way," she said. Michael nodded his head. "I know," he said. "Keep walking." "What is wrong?" "They knew we were human sooner than I knew they were vampires," he told her. "There is one following us now." Mariko knew better than to turn around. But, she did not know what to do. Stone understood this without her having to say it. "Taking her out is our only option," he said. "Her?" Michael nodded. "She was standing near the door when we entered the club. Japanese. Short hair. Wearing a black leather skirt." Mariko nodded again. "I remember her," she said. "How did you know?" She had been trained in their recognition, but she saw no tell-tale movements, or the extreme blank stares from this one. "It comes after many years of experience," Stone answered. "You learn to pick up on the vibe that they give off after a while. The only way you can do this," he explained, "is when you shut off all your mental emissions, and exist only in mushi-no-in." Michael looked at her intently as they turned the street corner. "The reason we left so quickly is because I knew that you had slipped your concentration. They felt you. Instantly they knew that you were afraid. So did I." "How?" "I could sense it," he said. "And you are afraid now." Mariko looked down at the sidewalk. Stone pulled her close, then quickly turned into an alleyway that ran behind several shops. They walked a few paces into the alley, to the point where the lights from the street only cast shadows. Michael pushed her up against the cold wall. He put his strong hands on her thighs, prodding gently for her to open her legs. Mariko complied, moving the slit of her dress high, opening her strong, tanned legs. Michael slipped in between them. He looked into her eyes. "She will be here any second now. Be ready." Mariko nodded, then looked down, between them. Stone was quietly fitting a small sound suppressor onto the muzzle of his Glock 36. Mariko noticed that Stone's lips were only a fraction of an inch from hers as he spoke. "You will have to tell me when," he said. Mariko watched out of her left eye. She saw the opening of the alley. There were a few people passing by, some thirty yards or so across the street. Then she saw the vampire. The female turned quietly off the street. It seemed to see the two figures against the wall. Either they were about to do it, or they had just finished. Mariko saw the vampire smile. She came down the alley at a slow pace. Smiling. A brilliant smile. And then Mariko saw the fangs. "Now," she breathed. Stone turned, in one fluid motion, and extended his right arm. The muzzle of the silencer-fitted pistol came to rest only seven feet from the female vampire's head. Stone pressed the trigger to the rear. A soft thud, hardly louder than a cough, came from the pistol. It coughed twice more. Mariko cringed at the sight of the blood that spattered across the wall behind the vampire. The three rounds from the .45 had turned the thing's head into a pulpy mass. Stone looked only for a brief second. Just to make sure it was dead. -- They now had the task of removing the body from the alley. Mariko wondered why there wasn't a team that went around and did this. She did not like it at all. "I guess you think we should be able to speak into a radio and say 'Clean up on Aisle Ten'?" Stone asked her. Mariko laughed. "It would be much better than this," she said. "This sucks." Michael agreed with her. He had picked the remains of the vampire up, and had carried it onto the roof of one of the shops. It was hidden behind several exhaust vents. But, Stone knew, the morning sun's rays would strike it upon sunrise. And it would burn. No one really knew why they burned. Vampires had an intense sensitivity to direct sunlight. It caused their blood to boil and their bodies to combust. It was known, however, that no particular part of the sunlight was responsible. Experiments had been conducted with UV, IR, and visible spectrum rays to find the source. It had been surmised that it was the combination of all of them, in the complete spectrum of natural sunlight that was responsible. -- They made their way back to the parked car unhindered. Stone drove in silence back to the dojo. "Why so quiet?" Mariko asked. "I'm thinking, Mariko-san," he told her. "About our return to the club. I don't think that you should go." Mariko stared at him for a cold second. "But," she started. "I am not sure that you are ready." "There is no way in hell that you can take them all on by yourself. I am kunoichi," she almost yelled. "I am trained to kill them, just as you. You must take me." Michael said nothing as he parked the car. They both got out, and as Michael was opening the door, Mariko grabbed him by the arm. "I am going with you," she stated flatly. Stone said nothing. He took her hand off his strong bicep and entered the dojo. He left her behind as he walked to his room in the anterior part of the large facility. He undressed. Michael changed into a kimono, grabbed a towel, and headed out the door. Stone arrived at the large wood-sided tub. He touched the water and found it to be pleasantly hot. He shed his kimono and entered. The water came up to his chest as he sat down. He closed his eyes and drifted away. Michael was startled from his meditation by the sound of soft footsteps on the wood floor. He looked up to see Mariko approaching. She was dressed in a black kimono like the one he had worn. She stepped up to the tub, her eyes never leaving his. She untied the belt, and let the kimono slide from her shoulders. Stone heard the soft rustle of the silk as the garment piled upon the floor. She was indeed beautiful. Her long, black hair reached well past her shoulders. Her skin was dark and tanned. Her breasts were small, but very firm and capped by dark, crinkly nipples. Her smooth skin almost glowed, he thought, tracing her curves with his eyes, across her stomach to the vee between her legs. Stone saw that Mariko shaved. Her vulva was clearly visible in the dim light of the room. Her pussy looked swollen, the two lips puffy between her legs. Mariko stepped into the tub. She said nothing, sitting down into the water opposite him. Stone looked into her eyes. She had not apologized for disturbing his meditation. She had not said anything, as a matter of fact. His gaze went lower, to her hardened nipples. And then he saw her mouth. The tiny, pouting lips, opening slightly. He could see the tip of her tongue. He felt his semi-erect cock grow to full size. He could not restrain himself. No master of the arts could have kept himself away from the ripeness of the woman in that tub. Stone moved quickly. The water sloshed as he went to his knees in front of her. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him close. Michael reached under her, gripping her ass, and picking her up. He lifted her until he felt her thighs close around his hips. And then, in one movement, he was inside her. All the way inside her. He pressed his mouth against hers to muffle her cry of pleasure. He pushed up and into her several times before she broke from his kiss. Her arms went tighter around him, her face burying into his neck. Her teeth were clinched, her lips pulled back as he shoved his cock into her over and over again. Suddenly, he picked her up again. He sat her on the small edge of the tub, balancing her on her ass. Her arms were around him as he continued to unrelentingly fuck her. Her legs locked themselves around his waist. He could feel the heels of her tiny feet digging into the small of his back. He supported her with one hand, while the other cupped her breasts. He squeezed them, pinching her nipples. Mariko bit her own hand to keep from screaming as she came. The position, with her supported on the edge of the tub, had been perfect. Each thrust of Michael's cock raked against her hardened clit, causing the orgasm to build. The pinching of her sensitive nipples had sent her over the edge. Michael stopped as Mariko's pussy contracted around him. He could feel the undulations of her vaginal walls as she came. He waited quietly and patiently as she gasped for breath. When her breathing had slowed, she looked at him and smiled. Michael said nothing. Instead, he buried his cock in her as far as he could. He grabbed her hair, balling it into his fist as he fucked her deeply. He was close. So close. Mariko knew nothing except that Stone-sensei had filled her slippery pussy up once again. Her last orgasm had just ended, and a new one begun as his cock pressed against her clit with each thrust. She felt him get faster and deeper with every stroke. She looked at his haze filled eyes and saw his face was tight with the impending orgasm. She felt his hardened body tightening. "Inside me," she whispered. The dam broke. Michael shuddered as he emptied his come into her. Mariko pulled him tightly against her as another orgasm swept her body. They stayed embraced for a moment. Then, the sudden fatigue stuck him, and Stone slipped back into the water. Mariko did the same. They said nothing to each other. They simply sat still for a moment, their breathing returning to normal. Stone watched the flush fade from Mariko's cheeks. She just gazed into his eyes. Then she saw that familiar look return. He was no longer her lover. He was once again Michael Stone, hunter of vampires. He stood and stepped out of the tub. He grabbed his towel and dried off. He put his kimono back on and turned to leave. Stone stopped, and looked over his shoulder. "Get some rest," he said. "We leave in six hours." Mariko smiled as she watched him walk away. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 4 Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch 4 There was another sharp flash of pain. Stone tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy and seemed to be stuck together. His head spun, even though he was fairly certain that he was sitting still. Something pulled at his right shoulder, extending down the brachial nerve into his upper arm. There was a dull, aching pain in the left side of his neck. His mouth hurt, jaws aching. He remembered. He and Mariko had entered the top floor of the club. They had searched through the floors, in descending order, until they reached the bottom. Then all hell broke loose. Vampires poured from the sub-floor. The two hunters were attacked from all directions. Stone was sure that they had killed several. He was not so sure that several hadn't killed them. If he could only open his eyes, he would know for sure. A snapping sound brought him back to The Now. He concentrated as best as he could. Stone opened his eyes, realizing that his left eyelid tore apart from what could only have been dried and crusted blood. He waited a few seconds for his vision to focus. He realized that he was weak, and his head was pounding. The room he was in was dimly lit. There was a shape on the floor in front of him. It appeared to be a body. A form was really all he could see. The floor was bare tile, the walls gray and non-descript. A single light bulb hung from a fixture in the ceiling. The place smelled. It stank of blood. His blood, he realized. Michael discovered that he was sitting in a straight backed, wooden chair. His arms were bound to the chair arms by thick, plastic "zip" ties. He attempted to move his feet, then found that they too were bound to the legs of the chair in the same fashion. He gazed down and realized that his kevlar/spandex bodysuit had been removed. He was clad simply in a loose-fitting pair of pajama pants. He saw that his thigh pack, the holster and the H&K had all been removed. He could only wonder where his sword could be. He grimaced, letting the realization sink in that he had been captured. The snapping sound came again. Stone wearily looked up to where the figure lay in front of him. He now saw that there were two shapes. His vision sharpened, and the realization of what lay before him hit him. Stone felt the bile rising in his stomach at the same time as a cold chill ran down his spine. The figure lying on the floor was Mariko. Stone could see her black hair, tousled and wet with blood. Her once beautiful mouth was now slack with the grimace of death. The other, Michael saw, was a male vampire fastened securely to Mariko's neck. It sucked greedily, drawing the very last drops of blood from her body. Stone saw Mariko's head hanging limply as the creature cradled her shoulders unceremoniously, pulling her limp form to it as it fed. Michael realized that the snapping sound he heard was Mariko's neck breaking as the unholy animal pulled her head farther back to expose more of her throat. Michael tried to move. He was too weak. In his mind, he saw himself leaping upon the vampire, gouging out its eyes with his fingers, tearing its evil fangs from its mouth with his own hands. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, and he only managed to hiss. The fiend didn't even look up from its feeding. Another sound assaulted his ears. The sound of the room's only door lock being thrown back from outside even managed to get the attention of the feeding vampire. Stone saw it look up as the door opened. A female vampire, a pretty Japanese, entered the room, followed by a fair-haired male. They, in turn, were followed by a tall male with chiseled, European features, and jet-black hair that was held in a tail down his back. The tall one spoke first. "That should be all," he said to the feeding vampire. The small Japanese gave one last look at Mariko's corpse and dropped it to the floor. Stone felt his jaw muscles clinch, a movement which brought a tinge of pain. "And now," the tall one said, "for you, Mr. Michael Stone, Hunter of Vampires. How shall you die?" Stone said nothing. He only stared impassively at them. The tall one stepped closer. "Yes," he said, "I know who you are. I know many, many things about you". The tall one leaned down, inches from Stone's face. "You may call me Akuma," he stated. Stone only looked at him, regarding the vampire Akuma as nothing more than a piece of dogshit. If he was anything more, then the vampire would untie him, and face him. Why was he tied, Michael asked himself. He was secured because Akuma feared him. And well he should. "I would like to know more about The Organization," Akuma stated. Stone stared at him, an expression of total blankness on his face. Michael was conditioned. His mind was hardened. He would tell Akuma nothing of the secret society of vampire hunters. Stone would die first. "I thought as much," Akuma said. "I knew that one such as you would not willingly divulge any information about your secret organization. That is why I have this," Akuma told him, holding out his hand. The female vampire laid a hypodermic syringe in Akuma's palm. Stone said nothing. He knew what was coming. They planned to torture him, with the use of truth-extracting drugs to force him to talk. Stone knew that he must prepare himself. He immediately sent his mind deep within himself, and began reciting poems, literature, dissertations, anything that would serve as mental armor. He began to let these seep into his subconcious. Although he was awake, he didn't even notice when Akuma plunged the hypodermic needle into his right arm. The drug entered his bloodstream. Stone was aware of a burning at the injection site, and then the warm feeling that began to course through his body. His concious mind became cloudy, fuzzy, hard to focus. Soon, he was passing into sleep. -- Anita woke with a start. She looked around her bed chambers, secure in a manor nestled in the Spanish city of Segovia. The heavy drapes were drawn, and the shades were down, for it was daytime, and no light should enter the room. She rubbed her eyes, wondering what had awakened her. Then she felt pain. It was detached and quiet, yet it was pain. She found her fingers caressing the small crucifix that she wore around her neck, a gift from her beloved. The touch brought feelings to her, like tiny electric sparks. Then her body was suddenly alive with the pain, and it filled her with dread. Michael Stone was hurting. He was in agony, fleshful agony. And he was becoming worse. Within an instant she was dressed and dailing on the bedroom phone. Quickly she descended into the underground parking garage, where a human "friend" drove her blackened-window car toward an airport. At the airport, a plane awaited. It was a plane that her and others like her used for transport around the world. She only hoped it would fly fast enough. It was only a few minutes after her careful, cloaked boarding that the Gulfstream IV taxied into position for take off. It was not long after that the aircraft was climbing to cruising altitude, heading East. -- Stone woke. He felt as though someone was inside his head with a bundle of C4, randomly setting off the charges. And it was hard for him to concentrate, to think. All he could remember were some random thoughts about Samuel Coleridge, Kipling, Edgar Allen Poe, and Shakespeare. Why the hell was he thinking about that? Oh yeah, he was thirsty, too. His mouth had a funny, metallic taste in it, and it felt like it was filled with cotton. There was a face in front of his. Stone looked at it with half-lidded eyes. It was a strong looking face. Black hair, kind of long. Somewhat out of style, Stone figured. Stone seemed to recall the face. Oh yes, he remembered. It was the Devil. The Devil spoke to him, "Talk to me, Michael. Tell me what I want to know." Stone tried to speak, but he couldn't. His mouth was too dry. Not that he could tell the Devil what he wanted to know, anyway. Michael had no fucking clue what the Devil wanted to know. Akuma saw Stone's predicament, and placed the rim of a glass of water to Stone's lips. Michael opened and drank a few swallows. "Does the water help?" the devil inquired. Water? Ah, yes, Stone thought. Water. "Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink," Stone stated in monotone. The fair-haired vampire laughed. "What the hell did he say?" "Its a poem, you ignorant fool," Akuma answered. He then turned back to Stone. "Mr. Stone, do not toy with me, for I shall surely become your albatross." "One by one by the star-dogged moon, too quick for groan or sigh," Stone recited, "each turned his face with a ghastly pang and cursed me with his eye." Michael congratulated himself quietly for being able to recall the passage from The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. "Impressive," Akuma said, applauding silently. He then slapped Stone sharply across the face. Michael's head rocked with the blow, then returned to stare passively at the devil. "I do not have time to play!" Akuma shouted. "The play is the thing," Stone said, smiling, "where I will catch the conscience of the king." Shakespeare was always a favorite too. Akuma raised his hand to slap Stone again, then reconsidered. He stood, straightened his pony tail, and looked to the female. "This is pointless," he stated. "Stone will not tell us anything. His mind is too strong, too well conditioned." Akuma looked at Stone again. "I must say, I am impressed. He is indeed a warrior." Akuma picked Stone's chin up, looking into his glassy, bloodshot eyes. "A pity," the vampire leader remarked. "He would have made a great ally." Akuma turned back to the female. "But, he is to die. Drain him," Akuma said, seeing her almost leap upon Stone. "Slowly," he told her, catching her by her arm. "Let him die slowly. We have almost a full day's cycle before we depart." The female nodded, a wicked smile forming on her lips, the tips of her fangs protruding over her bottom lip only slightly. She turned to leave with the rest. She would return later, after the injected truth drug had been filtered from Stone's bloodstream. She didn't like the way it made the blood taste. -- Michael did not know how much time had passed. He did not know whether it was night or day. All he did know, at this moment, was that he was hurting. His entire body ached, not to mention his right shoulder. He tensed the muscle there, feeling a sharp, lashing pain spread into his back and arm. It was dislocated for certain. His jaw hurt as well. Obviously he had been struck repeatedly in the area. But what really bothered him was his neck. He could only assume that he had been bitten. Which would account for the weakness he felt. The headache, lightheadedness, and nausea were the obviously signals of the blood loss. Then, too, he remembered, they had injected him with something. Whatever it was only magnified the effects of the blood loss. Stone weakly looked down, and saw where he had vomited bile on his lap. The door opened, and a female vampire walked in. Stone recognized her. She was pretty. He had seen her before, as she had came in with the one called Akuma. She approached him, smiling. Stone saw the gleam of her fangs. She said nothing. She simply grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head to one side. She then bit him on the neck. Stone could not fight her as he felt her teeth sink into his skin over the same location that was already throbbing with pain. She straddled his lap, caring nothing for the stain of sickness on his lap. She began to make muffled cooing noises as she drank. Stone could feel her rocking her hips, grinding her pubic mound against his. Michael could not move. He had no way to fight. And, he was too weak to fight her even if he could. As he felt her sucking mouth drawing out his precious blood, Michael resigned himself to fate. If this was the end, then so be it. He was a warrior, and he would embrace his death as a warrior should. Stone forced himself into the mushi-no-in, the mind of no mind. He locked himself into a world of emptiness. His last, memorable thought was of Anita, the vampire who loved him. He would miss her. Then Stone became no longer conciously aware of the vampire bitch that was humping his groin as she drank his blood. Yuki orgasmed quickly. She removed her mouth from Stone's neck, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She stood, watching the blood trickle down his neck and onto his chest, where it mixed with the dried stains of earlier. The flow stopped. She saw Stone's face was slack, his breathing shallow. One more feeding like this, she knew, and he would be no more. -- "No!" Anita shouted, alone in the darkened passenger cabin of the plane. The images were coming to her now, as they neared. She saw Michael bleeding. She felt him. She knew that he was close to death. She willed the aircraft to hurry, willing it to fly faster. She must get to him. She must save him. Oh God, she silently pleaded, please don't take him from me. -- "Is everything is place?" Akuma asked the blonde-haired American vampire. "Yes, sir," came the reply. The younger vampire handed his master a cd-rom. "All of our European contacts have been alerted. They will be waiting for you." "Good," Akuma replied, steepling his fingers and sitting back in his leather chair. "I almost hate to leave this place. The people here are so accomodating," he smiled, looking at the still, pale form of a naked Japanese girl. She had been a whore, picked personally by him from an expensive hotel bar. He remembered how her blood tasted as he sucked it from her neck while he fucked her. Akuma stood. "Get my people ready to move," he ordered. "We leave in twelve hours. Oh, and make sure Yuki knows that you and she are personally responsible for our interests here. This place is useful. Tell her I expect her to have everything ready when I return." "As you wish," the boy said, turning to leave. Yuki would be downstairs, attending to the death of the hunter they had captured. Greg was really glad he got to stay with her. Not only was she a good vampire, she had some of the best pussy he had ever had. Not that he had gotten much in his life. -- Anita had waited impatiently inside the aircraft as a human friend, a travelling companion, had taken care of renting a car for her. Now she sat staring, unblinking, as she drove the rented BMW through the darkening streets. She was relying totally on feeling now, letting her mind guide her through the city to Michael. She could feel him. So close to death, she knew. But she was close to him. It was not far at all, now. She could feel his presence getting stronger. As the sun completed it's setting, Anita turned onto a mountain road, heading towards the hills. She had suppressed herself, blocking her presence that would be felt in the minds of other vampires. She existed only as a black spot on a darkened sky. However, she felt everything. Her hypersenses were assaulted by the emanations of others of her kind. No, they were not her kind. Not at all. An old, familiar presence beckoned its way into her mind. She blocked it before her concious mind drifted into its familiarities. She concentrated only on Stone. The other presence was receding, anyway. She could feel it getting weaker. She could almost hear Michael's beating heart now. His presence, although strong with emotion now, was dwindling. Anita knew that the tall pagota at the top of the road was where he waited for her, dying. -- "It is indeed a shame," Yuki said to Stone. His head hung limply, nodding with his chin touching his chest. Her vampire ears picked up the sound of his breathing. It was shallow and weak. His heart still pumped blood through his veins. Blood that would soon be hers. She felt her fangs extend at the thought of it. Her pulse quickened in anticipation of the bite that would bring the rush of metallic-tasting sweetness into her mouth. She approached him. Yuki lifted his chin and stared into cold, clouded eyes. Then she bit him. The blood began to trickle, slowly, as she had only punctured his neck with one of her fangs. She wanted to savor this. She sucked slowly, licking the small flow as she undid the fasteners to the front of her blouse. She reached her free hand to her breasts and began to tease her nipples as she drained the blood from Michael Stone's body. -- It had been easy for her, a vampire of great age and power, to leap over the wall that surrounded the multi-storied home. There were other vampires here, on the upper levels of the house, but not that many. Her senses led her into the bottom level, where she walked silently down a dimly lighted hall. A door stood closed at the end of the hall. Anita sensed her beloved beyond the door. She also sensed another vampire. There was a watchdog at the door. A human. He cocked his head to one side as Anita approached him. She smiled at him, the bare light bulbs shining onto her teeth. He did not recognize her, but nodded his head nonetheless. All vampires looked alike after awhile. He really didn't care, because they paid him very well. Like the striking of a snake, Anita reached out and picked the man up with her hands on the side of his face. She made a fast, twisting motion with her arms, and she heard a satisfying snap as the watchdog's neck was broken. She stepped to the door, placed her hand against it, and pushed. It flew from its hinges, landing with a thud on the bare tiled floor inside the room. Anita stepped into the room, and her eyes went wide. She saw Michael. And she saw someone feeding from him. Yuki looked over her shoulder at the sudden crash. She saw the female vampire with the dark hair standing in the doorway. She did not know who the intruder was, but she did know that the beautiful creature standing there was not a friend. With a shriek, Yuki lauched herself at Anita. Anita raised her right hand, her palm facing the Japanese vampire who had just become airborne. Anita focused her will, and Yuki's leap was stopped in mid-air. Anita heard the bitch shriek as she came to rest a good three feet off the floor. Anita then pushed her flattened palm outwards, and Yuki was slammed against the opposite wall. Anita's will held her there, pinned against the wall with unseen force. Yuki was spread-eagled against the cold plaster, unable to move, unable to fight the sheer psychic will of one so strong. Anita narrowed her eyes, her fangs bared. Yuki suddenly arched away from the wall in her middle, and the sounds of bones snapping apart echoed inside the small room. Then, her chest literally peeled open, the skin seperating with the bones underneath in a clean line from her throat to her navel. Her heart, lungs, and entrails spilled onto the floor. Anita released the psychic hold on Yuki's corpse, and it toppled onto the pile of her insides. She was to him within a second. Her vampire strength allowed her to break the plastic tie straps that bound Stone to the chair. She cradled him in her arms. Tears welled into her eyes as she felt his dwindling pulse. "Please," she whispered, "hold on, my love." Her psychic bond with Michael was completed in this instant. Anita felt him inside her mind, and his voice was that of a small child. Yet, there was a certainty to it. He was not afraid. He was only alone. She saw the dojo of Master Osato. She saw images of the old samurai master holding open the door. As she drew these pictures from Stone's mind, Anita picked up Michael's limp form and made her way hastily to her car. She had him now. But, there was an urgency beyond that of before. Without blood, Michael Stone would surely die. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 4 Anita stopped as she neared her car. She looked down at him, nestled securely in her arms. It would be so simple, she thought, so easy to slit a vein in her neck or wrist and let him drink. Her blood would revitalize him, make him reborn. He would live for certain then. Once her blood had entered his body, the vampire DNA would re-write his DNA in favor of a new species. One that would live forever. Anita clenched her jaws in concentration. What a vampire he would make! His strength, his power, and his intellect would all be amplified through supernatural processes. No. She could not. If she turned him, she would surely lose him. Michael Stone would rather die than become a vampire. She knew that. And, if that meant that he died, then it would be so. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she placed him into the passenger side of the car. She had little time to waste. -- Osato opened the door, expecting to see Michael standing before him. Instead, he saw a beautiful vampire with raven black hair and milky skin. There were tear stains on her defined cheeks. And she cradled the limp body of his best pupil in her arms. Toshiro Osato's first reaction was to unsheath the katana from his belt. He slid it partway out of the sheath, the outside lamp reflecting on the blade. The old man regarded the figure before him, then replaced the blade. Surely no vampire would bring Stone here after she had bitten him. Not like this, he knew. He saw the crucifix that she wore around her neck. Osato bowed, and sensing the urgency in Anita's eyes, backed away, allowing her to enter. "This way," he said to her, gesturing toward a descending staircase in the back of the room. She followed him, hugging Michael closely to her breast. They walked down into a hallway, where Osato took her into a room. The room appeared to have been set up for the treatment of injuries, no doubt which would be received during training in the dojo. There was a raised futon there, where Anita placed Michael. Osato stood back and looked at him intently. "How long since he has been bitten?" he asked her. "I do not know," she replied, bringing her fingers to her mouth. Osato saw the tears begin to flow. The old man made a grunting noise, then walked out of the room. He returned with several bags of blood in a bundle in his arms. He placed them onto a table next to the bed, then placed one on an IV stand. Anita watched as he began the infusion into Michael's arm. Once completed, and the blood began to flow, Osato spoke to her. "There is always a supply of a hunter's blood type available at safe houses," he told her. "In case what has happened ever happens." The old man saw a question in her eyes. "Yes," Osato answered, "I believe that he will live. Michael-san is very strong, Vampire. He will survive. If he has not been given blood from your kind." The master looked at Michael's pupils. There were clear, which told him that there was no vampire DNA at work inside his body. Next, the old man left without saying a word. Anita saw him return a few minutes later, with accupuncture needles and mixtures of herbs in wooden bowls. He also brought a kettle of water which he sat on a hot plate in the corner of the room. "You will talk while I work," he told her. Anita understood, and she told him the story of how she had met the vampire hunter Michael Stone. Osato made no remarks as she talked. When she was finished, he looked at her, his wize face showing a look of understanding. "Leave us," Osato said, motioning towards the doorway. "I have much work to do if I am to heal him." Anita nodded, and gazing one last time at Michael's sleeping body, exited the room. Osato watched her go. He then said a few prayers to Shinto gods, and began the task of bringing Michael Stone back from near-death. -- It had been an all-night event. Osato had cleaned Stone up. He had watched carefully as the blood was infused. He had also placed many accupuncture needles in the meridians on Michael's body. Using this ancient technique, the master samurai was able to heal Stone internally, systematically. Morning came, and Osato smiled as he checked Michael's pulse. There was a strong, steady hearbeat now, and the hunter was sleeping soundly. The old man had done well. Michael dreamed. He was a small child. Not entirely defenseless, but yet to discover the warrior within him. He was in his room. A nice, comfortable room with teddy bears and toy cars. He heard screaming. A woman. His mother. The dream moved faster. Images flashed before him. Feelings of fear. Of terror. His bedroom door flew open, and he saw the silhouette of his father standing before him. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the shadow. He saw blood on his father's shirt and a look of pain. His father moved quickly into the room, grabbing Michael by the arm and picking him up. Then they were running. His father carried him from the house into the night. Running. Michael looked back. The house was burning, being consumed from within by a raging fire. Even in the pouring rain, it burned. He clung to his father. Looking up, he saw his father grimacing, holding back a controlled rage. Michael clung to him tighter. Stone woke. He did not open his eyes, yet. He knew the dream well. He had it many, many times. A recalling of the night his mother was murdered by a vampire. The night his father had came into the house and killed the monster as it fed from her. Michael had not forgotten. Stone opened his eyes. The world came into sharp focus. He looked around the room. He saw Anita curled up on a futon near his bed. It must be daytime, he thought. She appeared to be sleeping soundly. Michael realized that he was in the sub-level of the dojo. He could only think that Anita must have brought him here. He noticed the empty vessel of blood hung on a stand beside him. Together, she and Master Osato had saved him. A movement came from Anita. She raised her head and looked dreamily over at him. She smiled, getting up and rushing to his side. "Beloved," she said as she bent to kiss him. She traced her finger along his jawline, smiling at him. "I was worried about you." Stone smiled. He wanted to speak, but found his mouth was dry. Master Osato came into the room then. He looked at his best pupil, nodding his head. He handed Michael a cup of tea. "The gods have smiled on you, Michael-san," Osato told him. "Hai, Sensei," Stone replied after taking a sip of the tea. "This time, at least." Stone sat all the way up in the bed, handing the cup of tea to Anita. Osato placed a firm hand on Michael's chest. "Not yet, young one. You must rebuild your strength slowly. The crane must walk before it can fly." Stone nodded. He knew it would take at least another day before he was fully recovered. He needed to stretch, though, to relieve the stiffness and soreness that had taken over his physique. He knew that he also must prepare himself to go back to his place of captivity. He was already thinking of how he would hand death to the monsters within that awful place. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 5 Greg had no idea. Well, that was not entirely true. It was more like he did not understand. He was certain that whoever had killed Yuki was a vampire. What he did not understand was why. What was even worse, he knew, was that he would have to report it to Akuma soon. It would still be a few days as of yet before Akuma could be contacted by cellular phone. Perhaps, in that time, Greg would have an explanation. Why would a vampire kill another of its kind? he wondered to himself as he stood in the basement. He watched two of his subordinates clean the remains of Yuki's gore from the walls and floor. He could still sense a lingering presence of the vampire. Whoever they were, they were very powerful. Quite probably very old, he figured. Certainly it was no one in his little realm. And, what was even more puzzling, was that whoever killed Yuki had killed the watcher at the door by snapping his neck. That just didn't fit at all. A vampire should have bled the human. A vampire would not have been able to pass up the opportunity to drain the human's blood. And there again, whoever did it took the human Michael Stone. What was he, some kind of damn trophy or something? Greg just did not understand. But if he had only stretched out with his juvenile vampire senses, he would have known. The answer to his questions was less than ten miles away. -- Anita watched him. She saw the way he looked at her. Inwardly, she smiled. She knew it was no trick of her vampiric powers that caused men and women alike to want her. Anita possessed a natural beauty. Her long, raven-black hair flowed gently over her shoulders, laying tantalizingly across the swell of her full breasts. Her milky skin glowed of its own accord, however enhanced by her vampire blood. She was wearing black tonight, a low-cut dress that clung tightly to her until her waist, then hung excitingly over her hips. She gave a little smile. The American business man got up and crossed the floor of the small hotel bar. He sat down beside Anita at the bar. They made small talk for a moment, and as she expected, the man invited her up to his room. He would never know that she had implanted the suggestion into his mind herself. They had scarcely gotten inside the door when Anita felt his hands on her hips. She leaned against him, rolling her head across his chest, turning around slowly, rubbing her hair against him. She nuzzled against him now, sliding her cheek against the fabric of his suit, her hands undoing his tie. And then, her lips were against his neck, her mouth opening, her tongue tracing, as the sharp fangs extended from their places in her upper gum. She laughed at the irony of the situation. The man was nice, and somewhat respectful. And, she had placed all kinds of erotic thoughts into his mind. Hmmf, he thought he was going to get a blowjob. Anita bit him instead. And she drank. When she was finished, she carried him to the bed. She waited with him until his wound had begun to heal. She had not taken much blood. She only drank what she needed. One last probe into his mind, and she impressed upon him a night's drinking. He would remember nothing of her. -- Michael Stone's movements were almost impossible to see. His arms were but a blur, even to Osato's experienced eyes. Stone stepped and kicked, then began to move again, his hands forming the blocking and striking techniques from the animal-based forms of Shaolin kung fu. When he was finished with the set, Michael turned to Osato and bowed. The old samurai master nodded. He approached Stone and withdrew from his obi a long katana, sheathed in a heavy wood scabbard. He handed it to his pupil, bowing his head as he did. Stone smiled. "Arigato, Sensei," he said. Michael looked the sword over in his hands, running his fingers over the braided hilt and the small, ornamental menuki dragons. He touched the tsuba, feeling the small handle of the kozuki dagger hidden within the gaurd. Michael bowed deeply. Master Osato had just given him a dai katana, the longer and heavier battle sword of the samurai. The old man smiled back. "Try to keep this one, son," he admonished. "They are not easy to come by." Stone cast his head down in shame. He had lost the sword that he had carried for many years. It was one of the first that Osato had given him, long ago. Fortunately, his old katana was not a family sword. Stone knew it had been crafted by a Japanese swordsmith in the old way, with the high-carbon steel blade folded many hundreds of times. However, it was without fancy adornments. It was fashioned for killing, like the dai katana that Osato had just given him. If it had been a family sword that had been taken from him, then Stone would have been required by the code of bushido to commit seppuku. "Draw with me," Osato told him. The samurai master began to draw his own katana, and Stone followed suit. They then began a duet of a kata from iaido, the way of the sword. Stone's subconcious mind controlled his movements. He was scarcely aware of his drawing and cutting with the new sword. He hardly sensed the zip of the razor sharp blade as it sliced through the air. His muscles determined the difference in weights of the swords, and he adjusted his arcs and cuts to take advantage of the dai katana's power. His live mind, however, was thinking. Plotting. Examining and rearranging. Even after they had finished the kata, both Osato's and Stone's bodies glistening in the dojo lights, he continued going over the plan in his mind. It would take some skillful infiltration, and perfect timing, but it could work. "Vengeance is a powerful fuel for an all-consuming fire," the samurai master said. The words snapped Stone out of his meditation. They were seated side-by-side on the tatami mat, seated in the seiza meditation posture. Stone turned his head to look at his teacher. "It's necessary, Sensei." Stone's voice was low as he spoke. "These are killers. And they are dangerous. I fear that this is only a cell, one of many branches of whatever kind of organization that Akuma has. It must be taken out." "Hai," Osato said. "I agree, Michael-san." The old man turned to look his student in the eyes. "But, we have already lost one warrior. I do not wish to lose another." Michael could no longer meet his master's gaze. He already held himself personally responsible for Mariko's death. Even though he told himself that there was nothing that could have been done, that she knew what she was doing, and that the factors involved were out of his control, the part that made Michael utterly human carried a pain of guilt for it. Stone bowed to his sensei, then got up and left the dojo. He went to his room and rummaged through a duffel bag until he found his cell phone. He dailed a number from memory. --- Anita entered the dojo just after ten o'clock. She found Osato sitting on the mat, staring blankly at the wall. She moved silently past him, not wishing to disturb his meditation. Osato knew Anita had entered. He knew she was there, in the room, walking back towards the adjoining buildings. Toshiro Osato knew everything that was happening around him. Yet he also knew nothing at all. She found Stone in his room talking on his phone. She entered at the last of his conversation. "It doesn't matter. Get it here as soon as possible. I don't have much time at all," she heard him say. Stone then pressed the END button and placed the phone back in his bag. "A supplier we have here," Stone told her. "He wasn't too happy with my requests." "You are planning to go back to the place where I found you," she stated. Stone nodded. "At sunrise," he told her. Anita looked down at the floor. "I fear for you," she told him. Stone stood and touched her face. "This is what I have to do," he said. "Akuma is not there," she told him. Stone looked at her sideways for a second. Anita continued. "I felt a strong presence receding from the area when I was approaching. Only a powerful vampire could have had such an aura." Stone nodded. "It doesn't matter right now," he reasoned. "I will deal with Akuma soon enough. Right now, I have to destroy what is here." "This hydra has many heads." Stone narrowed his eyes. "Ok, out with it. What exactly do you know about Akuma?" "He is an old, powerful vampire. Like some of them, like Marcus that you killed, he believes in having as many underlings as possible." Stone felt as if he wasn't getting everything from her. However, what she said made sense. It was the same profile that one of the pshrinks at The Organization would have assigned, he figured. Michael turned and began unpacking his other armored bodysuit. "I need, in as much detail as you can remember, the layout of that place," he said. Anita began to tell him what she had seen as he prepared his gear for the morning. He committed it to memory as he worked. Some of it he left out, because it was superfluous. He had forgotten that vampires remembered everything. When he had finished, and Anita had gone silent, he turned to her. She smiled at him, sitting on the edge of the futon, her black hair framing her beautiful face. He sat beside her, stroking her hair, tracing the outline of her face. His fingers strayed across her full lips, and she kissed his fingertips. Michael pulled her face to his, lightly touching his lips against hers. Anita shuddered when his mouth touched hers. She opened her mouth, allowing the soft tip of Michael's tongue to play along her lips. She inhaled sharply each time she felt his tongue dip teasingly inside her mouth, lingering for just a hearbeat to caress her own. She felt him leave her mouth, and he kissed lightly across her cheek, to her ear. There he traced the outline of her ear with his tongue, then kissed across her jaw to her neck. His lips pressed against her neck as he kissed her there, and he pulled her hair onto the top of her head as he lightly licked the back of her neck. Michael was behind her now. He held her hair as he kissed and licked her neck, and his other hand pulled the zipper of her dress down. When her back was exposed, Michael rolled the fabric off her arms, and he began kissing her back. He gave her slow, light licks and nibbles down her spine. Michael enjoyed watching her arch her back as he moved lower. He pulled at the bottom of the zipper, and Anita stood. Stone rolled the dress off the swell of her hips and ass and watched it pile into a satisified heap at her feet. Now Michael was facing the most beautiful rear end he had ever seen. He touched Anita's ass lightly, running his fingertips over the swells of her buttocks as he marveled at her milky-white skin. He heard her breathing change again into long, slow breaths. He kissed her softly at the base of her spine and he felt her buttocks tense under his strong hands. Michael took her by her hips and directed her to lie face-down on the futon. He then pulled her up, so that her back was arched, and her beautiful ass was in the air. She spread her legs automatically for him. That was when his breathing changed. There, lewdly displayed for him, was her sex. The soft curls of black hair could not hide its puffiness. He could see the moisture already forming on the pink petals of her inner lips. The memories of her taste and of being inside her flooded his hormone clouded mind. No, he wouldn't rush this, though. Stone kissed up the back of Anita's left calf, pausing briefly to suck the back of her knee. She moaned for him then as she flexed her legs and pushed her ass back to him. Michael continued his kisses up her thigh and across her ass. He stopped, and lightly spreading her cheeks with his hands, began to run the tip of his tongue lightly down the center. He paused briefly at her anus, where he gave two slow licks. Anita grunted and squirmed, trying to push his tongue into her. Michael moved though, running his tongue directly between the lips of her pussy, all the way, leaning down so that the tip of his tongue raked across her clit. He felt her tense up again, and heard her low moan. He went back to the bottom of her slit, repeating the lick, and again allowing his tongue to flick across her clit. He did this one more time. Anita was pushing her ass against him on the last one, desperately trying to get his tongue inside her. When Michael stopped, and moved slightly away from her, all she could feel was his warm breath on her open and glistening pussy. She was moaning again. A pleading, needing moan. Michael layed down, sliding under her so that her pussy rested on his mouth. He placed a hand on each cheek of her ass, and as he opened his mouth on her pussy, he gripped tightly. Anita knew what was about to happen. She waited. She could feel his hands holding the cheeks of her butt. She could feel his open mouth around the lips of her pussy. She closed her eyes and silently willed him to shove his tongue inside her. Michael almost smiled when he heard her inside his head. And he granted her wish. In one quick movement, he plunged as much of his tongue as he could inside her hot and wet sheath. Anita tightened her pelvic muscles and rocked her hips downward as she felt his tongue enter her. With one hand she reached under her and took his hair, running her fingers through it as he moved his tongue in and out of her. "Oh, yes, Michael, yes. Please. Yes," she said. Stone was flicking his tongue across her clit now, furiously bringing her to the brink of an orgasm. Anita was pushing back against him, her hand holding his head by the hair. She ground her pussy against his face, coating his mouth and chin in her wetness. Her breath was coming in pants now, and she wanted so much to scream. Her orgasm was coming. So close. Michael pulled his tongue back into his mouth and closed his lips tightly. Anita moaned a "no", pulling his hair, urging him to finish. "Please, Michael. Oh God, please," she begged. Stone slid from under her, flipping her uncermoniously to her back as he began to shed his clothes. Anita gazed at him over her shoulder, a look of complete wantoness and lust on her face. Michael saw that her eyes were narrowed to slits. It was the most incredible "fuck me" look he had ever seen. Her beauty, her milky white skin, only added to the raging desire that had consumed him. Licking her sweet pussy had elevated Michael to an incredible degree of pure lust. Now, right here, he thought as he removed his underwear, he was going to fuck her. Stone was inside her within a second, his hard penis pushing into her wetness. Her pussy was so hot inside. It almost seemed as if it was burning him. Michael's analytical mind took note of this. It was in stark contrast to the cool temperature of her skin. A vampire did not regulate its body temperature, but it was not totally cold-blooded either. Vampires tended to be several degrees colder than a human, except for when they fed, and their accelerated metabolism worked to extract the necessary proteins from the diet of blood. Anita's skin always had a pleasant coolness to the touch. But not her pussy. No, Michael thought, her pussy was on fire. He slammed into her, wrapping his hands around her waist at the start of the voluptuous curve of her hips. He held her, pushing into her and pulling almost completely out. He fucked her like this for only a few minutes, Anita biting into the pillow to keep from screaming. Stone took her by the hips and turned her over. Her long legs wrapped sensuously around him as he entered slowly. Michael's eyes were closed as he traced his fingertips over her face, her lips, her eyes, savoring the feeling of her. He ran his fingertips over her nipples, feeling their crinkly hardness as he fucked her gently, sweetly. He opened his eyes to see Anita looking him. He watched her brow furrow and her mouth form a sigh each time he slid all the way in. "I love you, Michael" she said to him as he moved his hips on top of hers. His penis was angled inside her now, the top of it rubbing against her sensitive clit each time he entered. Stone took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, pushing into her, grinding his cock against her pubic mound. It only took a few seconds of this. Anita drew her legs up, locking her strong thighs around Michael. She brought her hand to her mouth, her fingers curled into a fist, into which she bit. Stone saw her jaws clench tight as her fangs descended, and he watched her draw her own blood as she bit into her hand. Anita had no choice. She was to bite something, or she was to scream. Her stomach tightened, and she felt her pussy spasm. She bit herself harder as her orgasm took her. Involuntarily, she lifted her ass from the futon, her mucles taught and rippling as she came. As she began to relax, she felt Michael spasm inside her. She could feel his hot semen flooding from him. She had taken her hand partially away from her mouth, yet now she found herself biting her fist again, as Michael's orgasm triggered another of her own. Michael had buried himself inside her convulsing pussy. He stayed there, his mouth a grimace of fulfillment as he came inside her. His left hand supported his weight, his arm shaking as he came, the muscles taught and firm. He found that he had wrapped his right hand in Anita's beautiful, black hair. This he pulled tightly, causing her to arch her neck even as she bit into her own flesh. Finally, he released her. He lay motionless atop her for a moment, shaking. He unwound his hand from her hair. Anita slowly relaxed, releasing the tension in her legs, and her ass soon made contact with the futon once again. Her mouth formed into a languid smile of content. Michael rolled over with her to his side, where she lay her head on his chest. "I love you, too," he said at last. The silence was unbroken for a while. "I must tell you of Akuma," Anita said at last, her voice a soft whisper against Michael's chest. She raised her head and propped on her hand, her other hand resting lightly on his stomach. In the dark, Michael's eyes watched her intently. "Akuma is not his real name. He was born Antonio Ramundo Castillo de Sanchez. He is from Spain. I knew him when he was human. His father, a noble lord, was killed in battle. This was during a time when wars plagued our country, from foreigners and from within. Antonio, saddened at his father's death, sought to right what he considered wrong. He himself was nearly killed, and when he returned to Spain, he found that his castle and lands had been taken as ransom. Without any money, or power, he was nothing to anyone. "I had just become a vampire. I was learning, exploring my new-found world. Antonio was sad, desperate to revive himself, to free our country. He sought to ride with El Cid, but even he could not afford the money for armor or weapons. He had such dreams, such visions. I thought I was in love with him, and I foolishly gave him the power of a vampire." Anita shook her head ever so softly. "I did not know that, with his new found powers, Antonio would become power hungry. His thirst for power was only matched by his thirst for blood. I had been warned by my master about this kind, a vampire who would only seek to kill, to oppress. Yet I made one." Stone touched Anita's hand, urging her to continue. "It wasn't long after that Antonio left Spain. Our firearms manufacturers in Toledo had contracted to supply the Japanese with muskets. Antonio went there, to Japan, where he wormed his way into their society, and became quite wealthy. It was later, many, many years later, that we learned of this 'Akuma'. We knew it could only be him, Antonio Ramundo Castillo de Sanchez. "When I felt the presence receding from the place where I found you, I knew it was him." "You spoke," Michael said quietly, "of 'we'. Who are you talking about?" Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 5 Anita looked into his eyes. "Remember when I first met you, I offerred you a deal?" Michael nodded. He did remember that Anita had told him that she would provide him and The Organization with names of vampires, in return for a garauntee of safety. "I maintain contact with others like me," she answered him. "Others who are....less passionate about killing humans. Others who wish to co-exist, nothing more." Michael raised an eyebrow. More, like her? "Humans and vampires are symbiotes in the ecology of Earth, Michael. We must have one another to survive. Those like Akuma, who kill for wanton pleasure, are disgusting to us. We can not tolerate their kind." Michael was quiet for some time. He was thinking. If there were others like Anita, were they also willing to help? "Would these other vampires help us?" he asked at last. Anita smiled slightly. "I don't know, my love. I will ask. You see, we are a loose knit, and there is no structure to us. We just help each other out now and then with travelling and such as that. But," she smiled, "I will contact some of my friends and ask them." A knock came at the paper-covered sliding door. Michael could see the faint silhouette of Master Osato outside. "Michael-san," the old man said, still outside the door, "there is a package for you." And then Michael watched as the silhouette melded back into the dim shadows beyond the door. - - - The package contained everything that he had requested. Michael unpacked its contents and set them out on the bed. He layed two very impressive weapons on the futon, both manufactured by Fabrique Nationale in Belgium. The first was the FN P90, a compact, futuristic looking, selective-fire submachine gun that fired the body armor defeating 5.7mm round. He noted that this P90 had been fitted with Gemtech's highly-capable sound suppressor, which had been sealed to the weapon's muzzle with Locktite, so it could handle sustained full-automatic fire. The next was the complement to the P90, FN's Five-Seven pistol. It fired the same powerful round as the sub gun. However, it was not suppressed. Stone layed out three twenty-round magazines for the pistol, and four fifty-round magazines for the P90. He saw that the ammunition was a hollowpoint version of the SB193 sub-sonic round. He had remembered reading the test results on this particular round, and he was well-satisfied that it would do the trick against soft targets, like that of a vampire's head. He then set out four small packages that looked like a dark green plastic pack of cigarettes. These contained a high order detonating plastic explosive. They had a simple slide lock arming switch on one end. The switch primed the blasting cap contained within the explosive compound. Stone would activate them with a push-button remote detonator. Michael changed into the black armored suit. He draped the gunmetal colored chain mail around his neck and wrists. He strapped on a Blackhawk nylon thigh holster to his right leg, into which he fitted the FiveSeven pistol. One magazine had went into the weapon. The others were placed in magazine pouches on the nylon pistol belt. To his other thigh he strapped three longer magazine pouches, into which he placed the spares for the P90. He slung the P90's black nylon sling over his shoulder. The weapon came to rest across his chest. Next he put a long black overcoat. He picked the dai-katana up from it's upright stand. He held it in his right hand, looking at Anita. "How many of them?" he asked. "I felt eight. There could be more," she replied. Stone nodded. "Will you take me back there?" he asked her. Anita nodded her head. She looked at him, her eyes wide with a new fear. He was armed to the teeth and he looked like an angel of death to her. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "Kill them all." --- Stone and Anita passed into the dojo, where Osato waited by the door. Anita bowed to him, and he returned the gesture. She walked out the door. Michael bowed slowly to his master. "Do mo arigato gozai mashita, Sensei," Stone said to him, thanking him for his teachings. Osato bowed again. Michael gave the old man a piece of paper, onto which he had written several Japanese characters. They were a set of instructions. Osato bowed again after he read them. Stone looked at his master for a long second, unspoken thoughts passing between them. Then he turned and walked out the door. --- It was an hour until sunrise. He had to move quickly, as Anita had dropped him off a good ways from the place. Stone maneuvered his way over the uneven ground that surrounded the sparsely populated mountain area. He stopped every few minutes to get his bearings, relying on memorized details that Anita had given him. He had had to partially climb up the side of a mountain slope in order to circumnavigate a high wall that surrounded the place. Soon, he found himself on the perch of a small hillcrest that looked down into the shallow depression where the building stood. It was, for all intents and purposes, a pagota. Seen consistently throughout most of Asia, these buildings were generally built as temples. Stone recognized nothing of the multi-storied structure from his own experience there. It was, though, exactly as Anita had described it. Michael looked to the East and saw that the sky was starting to lighten. He turned back to the building, and removed his overcoat. He rolled it up and stuffed it behind a small rock. He then strapped the dai-katana across his back. Stone would not be able to draw the blade from that position, but he could carry it more easily than inside his belt. Once situated, he began his approach to the nest of the enemy. There was very little vegetation or rock around the pagota. This afforded him no cover. His movements instead were timed with shadow and ground slope, moving slowly and low across the damp grass. The sun was almost peeking over the mountain behind him when he made it to the building. Stone had crouched behind a block wall facing that squared the perimeter of the foundation of the building. There was a railing above him, no doubt a verandah-type porch that extended around the first floor. There were sets of five-step stairs ahead of him, and another that he noted to his rear. He removed one of the explosive packs and taped it to the wall just above the foundation. He slid the arming switch to the "armed" position. Michael was calming himself, centering his being, breathing deeply. He forced more oxygen into his body, as his muscles were starved from the previous low-crawling exertion. He was pushing his mind again into a singular purpose. Movement came suddenly from the stairs ahead of him. A figure descended them, then stopped at the bottom. It propped an arm on one of the rails and lit a cigarette. Stone saw the butt of a shotgun in the man's other hand. Michale knew that this one was human. A watchdog, as the hunters liked to call them. A human paid by vampires to keep a lookout while they slept. Michael had not planned to kill humans this day. However, he knew that the man would not simply let him pass. The watchdog carried the shotgun for a reason. Stone raised the P90, bringing the lighted reticle combat sight to bear on the man's head. With only the tip of his finger, he pressed the weapon's trigger to the rear. He was cautious to only allow the trigger to clear the first "stage" of pull. When set for full auto, the P90's trigger has two "stages". The first stage allows for semi-automatic fire. When the trigger is fully depressed, the weapon fires at it's cyclic rate of 900 rounds per minute. The weapon let out a slight thud, and vibrated in his hands. Through the sight, Michael saw the man collapse to his knees, then fall forward onto the ground. He noticed grimly that the man was missing the top portion of his head. Michael moved quickly, dragging the body around the staircase. He pushed it under the stairs, the panned quickly for others. Seeing none, he ducked around the stairs and stayed close to the wall. He moved in a crouched manner, the P90 shouldered at the ready position. He skirted the perimeter of the building, stopping to place an explosive on the wall opposite the other. This done, he silently moved back to where he had had the encounter with the watchdog, and entered the building. It was the smell that made him remember the place. It assaulted his brain, causing subconscious memories of being carried into this place by non-human hands. Had Stone not been within mushi-no-in, he would have recoiled in utter horror once he saw the clear visions in his head of what had happened to him. He followed the empty hallway silently, creeping along with the P90 held ready, scanning from left to right ahead of him. He turned, then descended a set of steps to a long corridor. The hallway was lit by bare bulbs suspended from the ceiling. Stone saw that the door at the end had been forcibly ripped from it's hinges. He knew that he did not need to look in the room beyond. Retracing his steps, Stone placed an explosive charge at the base of the stairs. He then went again into the hallway at the top of the stairwell, and continued up another short flight of steps. Movement caught his eye ahead of him. He stopped, allowing his eyes to go slightly out of focus. He was now looking ahead of him, but not really looking at anything. The human eye detects movement faster than shape or even color. Sometimes, in dim light, the transference of one's shadow can cause a person to believe they saw something when they actually did not. Stone, however, had been trained to ignore shadow lines by looking directly ahead, always seeing precisely zero degrees of his center. His peripheral vision had caught the movement ahead of him. He knew it was no trick of shadows. Michael's eyes focused on a man-shaped shadow. It moved across the hallway and entered a room. Stone closed the ten yards between himself and the room before the shadowy figure could even close the door. His boots made a little noise as he traversed the hardwood flooring. Stone saw the utter surprise in the male vampire's eyes as he brought the muzzle of the submachine gun to bear on it's head. Michael pressed the trigger. The P90 coughed quietly, and the five point seven millimeter round split the creature's forehead open. Gore splattered the wood door with a sickening splat. Stone turned one hundred eighty degrees. A sound had come from behind him. Stone saw a female this time, coming from a room across the hall. Her shriek was cut off as Michael sent a three-shot burst into her head. He left the pulpy mass of dying flesh in the hallway as he ran quietly deeper into the compound. Those two were finished, he knew. A vampire could not heal such intense, massive trauma to it's body. Normally, he would have cut off their heads, finishing them for sure. The corner of Stone's mouth curled into a sinister smile as he thought how very effective the P90 was. But, the short cry that the female made could have awakened the others. She had appeared nude, and Stone figured that the male had just finished fucking her. At least, he thought as he reached the next floor, they would all probably be in bed. Someone nearly knocked Stone over as he stepped into the next hallway. Michael felt the brush of fabric against him. It was dark, except for small lights recessed into the ceiling. They gave very little illumination, just enough to make out the floor and walls with their doors. Michael flattened himself against the wall, then dropped to a crouch, sliding the dai katana from his back as he did so. He then shifted into a low fighting stance, holding the dai katana at his side, his hand tight around the grip. The vampire stopped before descending the stairs. It had felt Michael, and now it sensed him. It turned and looked down at the hunter. Michael had waited. As he saw the creature turn, he drew the dai katana. The heavy blade arced as Michael lunged upward. The vampire's head fell from it's neck, landing with a thud on the floor. The body toppled backwards, tumbling down the stairs. As Stone replaced the sword in it's sheath, the hallway was suddenly brightly illuminated as overhead flourescent lights came on. The sound of machine gun fire erupted behind him. Michael heard the rounds strike the door just inches from him. Stone spun, bringing the P90 around as he did, depressing the trigger fully. The weapon sprayed a deadly hail of bullets down the hall. Stone fell backwards, rolled, and came to rest on the stairs. He had seen the man with a Colt M4 drop to the floor and roll. Michael popped up quickly from his cover, panned left with the P90, and targeted the human watchdog. A quick burst from the suppressed weapon took out the enemy before he could move to cover. Michael stood and ran towards the body of the human. He stopped and placed his last explosive against the baseboard beside the dead man. As he slid the arming switch to the "armed" position, he sensed movement at the end of the hallway. Several vampires had came down the stairs there, and were rapidly advancing towards him. The Michael had shifted the P90 to his back so that he could get his last charge. He drew the FiveSeven pistol with his right hand. Stone's left hand continued to make sure the explosive charge was tight against the wooden baseboard as his right raised the pistol. He lined up the sights on the lead vampire's head. Stone pressed the trigger. The weapon bucked in his hand. The sound was deafening in the hallway. The vampire dropped as its head split open, spattering the creature behind it with mush. The one behind the now-dead vampire stopped and wiped the blood from its eyes. Michael took a two-handed grip on the FiveSeven and fired three times. Two shots went into the vampire's chest, and the last struck the creature's head. It's body fell atop the first one. There was one more. A blonde haired male that Stone recognized. The memory came to him suddenly. Oh yes, Michael remembered Greg. "You motherfucker!" Greg shouted. "I am so going to enjoy taking you." Michael saw its fangs. Greg started towards him. Michael gave a wink, and then he turned and ran. Stone knew he could not outrun the creature. Even though he had a good head start, he knew that the evil thing could catch him. But, Michael had pretty well figured that he could make it out of the building before it did. He jumped down the stairs and landed in a full run. Greg was behind him, every second coming closer. Stone found himself on the bottom floor, only seconds from the door. He could feel the vampire on his heels, reaching out from him. Michael stopped suddenly, extending his leg in a powerful rear thrust kick. He felt his boot make contact with Greg. He then heard Greg make contact with the floor. Stone bolted out the door. He ran about thirty more yards, looking over his shoulder. He saw Greg emerge from the building, hate and rage in the vampire's eyes. Stone stopped, turned, and faced the vampire. "You're dead, you bastard!" Greg screamed. "I'm gonna rip your fucking heart out and eat it! You hear me! You're fucking dead!" "And you," Michael said, looking up and smiling, "are out of time." Greg looked up and saw the sky. Dawn was upon him. The light of the sun was quickly rising over the mountain. In seconds, the sun's burning rays would turn him into ash. Michael saw utter fear cross the creature's face. Greg turned and ran towards the building. Stone touched the firing button on the remote detonator. Greg had taken about two steps. The charges went off simultaneously. The foundation of the building exploded upwards as the middle levels collapsed inward. Greg stopped and watched in horror as his only shelter from the sun's deadly light went up in a fireball of high order detonation. And then the sun crested the mountain. It's rays struck the vampire. Greg's body began to smolder, and he screamed. Michael watched as the vampire's skin began to redden and blister. The blisters swelled and popped, and Stone grimaced as the creature's boiling blood splattered onto the grass. Greg's body was smoking greatly now, and his clothes began to burn. The vampire screamed the entire time. Stone found he could take no more. With two hands, he swung the mighty dai katana, lopping the vampire's head off, silencing the terrible scream. He watched as the body continued to burn from within. Then he turned and ran towards the mountain, leaving the body to smolder with the ashes of the building. --- Michael trekked across the slope of the mountain, coming to a narrow road. A black Toyota Land Cruiser sat parked near the side of the road, its engine idling. Stone approached the car and got in. Osato looked as the hunter climbed into the passenger seat. He said nothing, his inquisitive look saying all. Stone nodded his head. Osato put the car into gear. "It has been a while since I have driven, Michael-san." "Its like riding a bike, Sensei. You never forget," Stone told him. "I never learned to ride a bike, Michael-san," Osato replied. Michael smiled. "Anita?" he asked. "Hai. She has gone ahead. She will meet you in Rome in five days, as you instructed." Michael nodded. "Do mo arigato, Sensei," he said. Osato bowed as he steered the car over the roadway. "The plane awaits. I would guess that you are ready to leave now?" "Hai, Sensei," Michael answered. "I have much work to do." Osato nodded, turning the car down the curving and winding road. Stone sat in silence. He was thinking again, planning. He would contact The Organization in the air. He knew that his final report on this mission would spark the interest of the council. He hoped the director would listen to his request for a meeting. Akuma was still alive. He knew that The Organization would need Anita's help to take him out. Anita. He really did love her. He knew they could never have a family, yet he wanted to be with her. Family. Yes. John Stone. His father. Michael could maybe spare a day between here and Rome to stop and see him. But there was still so much work to be done. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 6 There was no one to meet him at the airport. Michael had not expected anyone to be there, yet he knew that sometimes The Organization took care of things like that. He almost expected to see a black limo or a car with a driver waiting for him on the tarmac. But, there again, he wasn't surprised to find that there was no one at all. When the Beechcraft King Air 350 powered down its Pratt & Whitney PT6 turboprops, Stone exited, thanking the cabin steward and flight officers for a smooth ride. He walked out onto the asphalt flight line and into the bright Indiana sun. The airport Stone had landed out was non-commercial, and only had two runways and a refueling station. Michael casually noticed the refueling truck approaching the King Air to deliver a load of Jet-A aviation fuel. He made his way across the tarmac to the door of the customer lounge. The air inside was cool. Michael saw one attendant at the service counter, who quickly took his Visa card and set him up with a rental car. Michael watched as the King Air was finished with its refuel. He saw the props begin to turn and heard the whine of the turbines through the glass windows of the lounge. When the King Air had started it's taxi to the runway, Michael left and went to his waiting car. There were important packages aboard the King Air, weapons that he had brought back from Japan with him. He wanted to make sure that the plane was on its way to Italy before he left the airport. Stone drove the rented Camry away from the airport, through town, and headed towards the countryside. It wasn't long before he saw the old mailbox sitting atop a rotting post. The black mailbox had faded white letters that read "Stone". He turned down the dirt road and drove until he came to the house. The two story house was white-washed with wood siding. Michael's father had built it upon the old foundation of the home that had burned so long ago. Michael parked the car behind his dad's 4x4 and walked to the front door. Several knocks and doorbell rings later, Michael realized that his father was not inside. He made his way around the house to the large metal building out back. Michael was almost beside the horse stables when a large, black Labrador walked up to him. It had been a long time since he had seen Joe. The dog now had a touch of white at his muzzle. The old dog wandered up to Stone, his tail wagging. Michael stooped and patted the dog on his head, then scratched behind his ears. "You remember me, boy?" Michael asked. Old Joe continued to wag his tail as he licked Michael's hand. Stone began to walk to the metal building, and Joe took up pace beside him. As Michael neared the structure, he could hear the sound of an old country song playing. It sounded a lot like Merle Haggard's "The Good Times Ain't Over For Good". Stone smiled. It was just like his dad to be listening to that, he thought. Michael stepped in through the open door. The interior of the garage/work shop hadn't changed much. He saw the old Massey-Ferguson tractor was still seeping oil onto the concrete floor. There was a Jeep there, too, a yellow one, it's top off and windshield folded down. That was new. Something else was new as well. Michael looked at the shiny black color of the Plymouth Barracuda. It was lifted into the air about two feet with a floor jack. Stone saw the brown work boots and jean covered legs protruding from under it. "When did you get this?" Michael asked. The legs came out from underneath the car as John Stone slid out on a mechanic's creeper. John stood. He was as tall as Michael, and although a good bit older, he still carried a well-muscled frame. His broad shoulders were clothed in a red and black flannel shirt. His hair was cut short and almost pure white. He had the same eyes as his son. Cold, gray eyes that looked through a person, not at them. John looked at his son for a moment. He wasn't sure Michael was really there. Then he broke into a grin, and in one movement, had his arms around his boy. "Wish you had called," John said in Michael's ear. "I would've had something cooked." "Then it wouldn't have been a surprise," Michael stated. John held him at arm's length for a minute. He looked him over, and satisfied that Michael was really real, let him go. The greetings over, they turned to the shiny black car. "Got it last week. Needs some work. Exhaust system has to be re-done. Other than that," John said, "she's in damn good shape." Michael smiled. He looked past the car, into the far and dimly lighted corner. There was a tan colored car cover there. The shape of a vehicle underneath could just be made out. "Yeah," John said, seeing where his son was looking, "its still here." Michael went over to the covered vehicle. He slowly, almost reverently, began to pull the cover off the front. Lights came on over his head as John flipped the switch for them. The shiny red fiber body came into view. The pop-up headlight covers, then the yellow medallion with the black prancing horse came next. Michael uncovered the rest of the car. Then he stepped back and smiled. The Stone's were well taken care of by The Organization. His father had invested most of his earnings, and chose to live simply. Michael had invested a little, but he had spent quite a bit. The car he now looked at was a bit of that spending. It was, he thought, quite possibly the best $200,000 he had ever spent. Yes, he thought, the Ferrari F355 was definitely worth every penny. "I start it up every so often," John said. "To make sure it still works and all." Michael smiled. "Does it?" "Oh yeah." They made their way into the house, where John got to work in the kitchen. Michael helped set out a few things, but was soon pushed out of the kitchen by his father. While the elder Stone cooked, Michael walked into the study. The walls were covered with pictures, plaques, and display cases. There were photos of John's unit in Vietnam. Michael saw the patches and ribbons in the display cases. One of the cases held the beret flash for the 5th Special Forces group. There was also a patch of the Military Assistance Command/Studies and Observations Group. Another case contained a Silver Star, along with its ribbon. His father had been a Green Beret serving under General Westmoreland during the Vietnam conflict. Michael had been a very small child, but he still remembered his dad coming home on a big airplane. He remembered waiting on the tarmac at Ft. Bragg with his mother. Her picture was on the desk in the corner. She was a beautiful woman, with kind and caring eyes. Stone fought back the tears for a minute. After Vietnam, John Stone was recruited into the CIA. Shortly thereafter, The Organization recruited him further. "You ready to eat?" His father's voice startled Michael from his reflections. He followed John into the kitchen, where they sat at a small table and ate. After dinner, they both went into the den, where John poured them a glass of Glenmorangie. "What's on your mind, son?" John asked. Michael took a sip of the Scotch. He then looked into his father's eyes and told him about Anita and the events that had taken place since he met her. After Michael was finished, John just stared at him for a moment. He shook his head, took a sip of Scotch, and said, "You're in love." Michael nodded, draining his glass. "And it scares you," John added. "Well hell yes it does, Dad. I mean, how the am I supposed to deal with this? She's a vampire." "So?" "Sir?" "So, she's a vampire," John explained. "That does not mean that she is incapable of loving, son. I know what you've been taught. But, experience has taught me that not all of them are evil." "I know," Michael revealed. "She is not evil at all. She is the most caring person I have ever met." His eyes wandered over to a picture of his father and mother's wedding. "Well, maybe not," he continued, "but she's a damn close second." John Stone smiled and nodded his head slowly. "You're worried about The Organization's views on this," he stated. "Not so much this, but on an alliance with them. The truth, I believe, is that if we don't work together, Akuma will eventually bring us all down." John swirled his Scotch around in the glass. "Maybe," he stated. "But The Organization dates back to before the Roman Empire, son. Changing beliefs that are as old as that won't be an easy task." "I know." "So, you're going to the meeting with the director in the next few days, and you're going to walk in there and make him and the Council see your point?" Michael shrugged. "Well, Anita and I together are going to try," he replied. John Stone shook his head. "Does Shultz know?" John was referring to Manfred Shultz, the Director of The Organization. Michael nodded his head. "Yes, sir. Sensei sent the message that we were coming. Anita is bringing some friends. I haven't heard a negative response as of yet." His dad smiled. "And you won't. I imagine that Shultz is pretty damn curious about what is going on. He'll listen to what you have to say. I can't say the same for the rest of them." They continued to talk well into the night, the subjects changing, until they had caught up with each other sufficiently. Michael didn't sleep well that night, though, despite his training. His mind was alive with the events that would take place over the next few days. And then there was Anita. He missed her. He wanted to be with her right now. He wanted to hold her and make love to her. If Michael could have known, if he would have quieted his mind, he would have seen that she missed him, too. -- Akuma had rested well. The trip from Japan to his island fortress was cloaked in invisibility and darkness. The trip was by sea, and was long. He had nearly circum-navigated the globe in his ferry, moving quietly. He and his crew of subordinate vampires had made several stops at many ports, exchanging orders and information with his loyal servants. Now, he waited while he planned. Feasting from the neck of some peasant island girl from the Caribbean, Akuma thought as he drank. Someone powerful had been in Japan. He felt the presence. It was familiar to him, but it did not linger long enough for him to be sure. He had not heard from Greg. It is possible that somehow, the vampire hunter Michael Stone had been avenged. The Organization was powerful and far-reaching. Of this, he was certain. As the girl's body went slack with death, Akuma dropped it to the metal floor. He wiped his mouth with a folded napkin, and gestured to one of the humans to remove the corpse. The humans were loyal to him, but only because he paid them. He knew that deep down, they looked at him with disgust. It didn't matter. Soon, they would all bow their heads to him. Yes, even in the daylight, they would bow their heads at the mention of his name. -- Italy looked no different now than it had a year ago. Stone stepped off the plane in Rome, wondering if it had really been a year since he had been here last. He realized that it had, and wondered why he had waited so long to return. He had a taxi take him to his hotel. It was almost time to eat dinner, and he could feel his stomach rumbling. He never, ever ate the food on the airlines. Something about it, maybe that the French toast really did look like cardboard, just made him queasy. There was a message waiting for him at the hotel's front desk. It was hand written in an elegant, feminine cursive. DINNER 7:30 RM 321 MAJESTO -A Stone smiled as he pocketed the note. On the elevator up to his room, he took the folded paper out and smelled it. Yes, it smelled like Anita. He showered and changed. The navy blue Hugo Boss linen suit looked good, he thought. It was just a bit tight in the shoulders, but the tailor could fix that. It did not show the slight bulk of the Glock 36 that rode high in the Fobus paddle back holster on his right hip. For that, he was grateful. Stone's diplomatic passport had allowed the weapon to pass through customs. He wasn't sure that it would allow it to pass a frisking by a Roman police officer. The Majesto was only a few short blocks from his own hotel. The sky had darkened already, and Rome was alive with nightlife. The streets were busy with people. Perfect hunting grounds for a vampire, he knew. Stone stopped quickly at one of the street vendors, buying a single red rose. He continued through the crowd, entering the Majesto and going up the stairs. He stopped in front of room number 321. The door opened shortly after his knock. And there she was. Beautiful, with her long black hair pulled into a pony tail. She wore a dark green silk blouse that was cut low. Stone could see the tops of her creamy breasts. Her skirt was a deep, dark crimson red. A slit up one side showed the curve of her thigh as she stood with one leg slightly in front of her. Anita smiled, and her eyes lit up. He was in her arms, breathing her scent, his eyes closed. He wanted to tell her so many things, but he didn't know where to begin. He felt her embrace tighten as she sighed a sigh of contentment. He could feel her ample breasts crushing into his chest. He kissed her ear, then her cheek, the lips. "I have missed you, Michael," she whispered. Oh how he had waited to just hear her voice in his ear like that. It had only been three days, yet it seemed like a lifetime had passed since he had seen her last. He pulled back from her and handed her the rose. Anita took the flower and smiled. Stone saw a tear well in her right eye. She blushed pink in her cheeks, an erotic, sensuous blush that only a vampire could perform. "Come inside, I have some friends for you to meet." Michael raised an eyebrow as he followed her into the suite. There were three other vampires there. Michael instantly went on guard. His eyes narrowed. His muscles tensed. There were two males and a female. The two males wore suits, and the female who was as dark as ebony, wore a deep blue dress. "Calm yourself, Mr. Stone," the red-haired male vampire spoke. "We come in peace." Michael thought he detected a bit of a Scottish or Irish brogue. "I think it might be him that should tell us that," the other male answered. His hair was blonde. Michael recognized the accent as pure English, probably from the heart of London. The black female approached him slowly. She looked him from head to toe, and then looked at Anita. "Mmmm, you did tell the truth, m'lady," she stated. She, too, had an accent, African possibly, maybe Caribbean. Anita made the introductions. The red-haired one was called Robert McKay, from Scotland. The other was Thomas Smith, from, as he guessed, England. Her name was Nera. She was from Africa. Stone learned that she was Nubian. Dinner went well. Stone sorted through his steak, drinking only water, while he watched the vampires muse through their courses and drink wine. He knew that the food they ate did little for them. A vampire's body was made to digest blood, and it extracted very little from normal, "human" food. The dinner conversation was about tomorrow's meeting with the Council of The Organization. "It would be nice if they simply accepted us," the vampire Thomas Smith stated. Stone agreed. "It would," he said, "but it won't be that easy. There never has been an open alliance with you. Everyone in The Organization is aware of how some of you have helped us over the years. But, remember, we used to hunt you as well." Stone noticed the room air seemed to chill a bit as his last words hung about the table. McKay cleared his throat. "Aye, we remember it all too well, lad. I have narrowly escaped death at the hands of one of your hunters a few times in the past." "But what has kept us alive for so long," Nera said, "is that we've stayed out of your sight." She looked at Stone with cold dark eyes. "We hid ourselves, never killing unless we had to, never taking more than what we needed." Stone nodded. "It will take words like that to make them see," he concluded. "I believe," Smith offered, "that Anita has already taken great steps in proving her loyalty. One does not take lightly the killing of one's own kind." Anita looked at Smith. "Would you not have done the same?" "Certainly," he replied, "given the circumstances, I am sure any of us here would have. But in doing this, you yourself have brought our attention to the others." Stone guessed that by 'the others', Smith was referring to the 'bad' vampires. Stone shook his head. He had been taught to believe that all vampires were bad, period. "It doesn't matter now," Stone told them. "Akuma is a threat to us all. You would have had to come out of hiding sooner or later to deal with this." Smith and the rest agreed, knowing that Stone was right. Room service arrived not long after they had finished to clear the dinnerware from the table. Stone and the others had moved onto the suite's large terrace, where they sat sipping wine. Except for Stone, who dared not dull his senses with the slightest of alcohol. Not now, not when he had four vampires within arms reach of him. Anita watched him. Michael seemed uptight. She knew that many things were on his mind. Tomorrow evening would be stressful for him. And then, he had probably never been in a room with so many vampires and not been killing them. She tried to peek into his mind. When she pushed, she struck a solid wall. Michael had mentally armored himself against a probing vampiric mind. The evening turned later, with Smith and McKay venturing off into the streets to "get a taste of Roman nightlife" as they put it. Anita and Nera stayed behind. They were sitting in the suite's day room, Michael and Anita on the loveseat, and Nera across from them on the sofa. Nera's gaze held Michael and made him somewhat uncomfortable. She looked like she was ready to devour him whole. "Keep a tight leash on this one, M'Lady," Nera said. "I'd hate to steal him from you." Anita only smiled. "I'm afraid this one can't be tamed," she answered. Nera bade them goodbye, and retired to her own room in the hotel. Stone made slow and passionate love to Anita that night. And afterwards, they held each other, both sleeping soundly. Even with the anticipation of the coming evening, Stone slept like a baby in her arms. - - The old monastery had sat in the same spot overlooking part of the city for many hundred years. Built when Christianity first came to Rome, the monastery soon became the headquarters of The Organization. Unusual for monasteries, this one had a gate that guarded its cobbled-stone drive. A guard, dressed in a non-descript suit, stood at the gate. He looked passively at the drivers of black Mercedes and BMW limos as they approached. He could be seen touching the transceiver earpiece on his left ear, speaking to those inside, telling them who was arriving. He made no special remark as Stone’s car pulled to him. He casually glanced inside, seeing Stone in the front passenger’s seat. He gave Anita and the others a once-over glance, then nodded to the driver to proceed. They got out of the car, and entered the monastery. Stone made his way quickly toward the rear of the church. He paid no attention to the monks that were praying. He saw that Thomas Smith and Nera were beside him. He guessed that they were not Catholic, either. He noticed that there were hushed gasps from the monks. He turned, and saw what they were looking at. Anita and McKay had stopped, and knelt, crossing themselves and bowing their heads before the visage of the Virgin Mary. The monks looked from them to Stone. They knew what Anita and the rest were. They had never believed a vampire would set it’s foot upon holy ground. Stone motioned for Anita and the Scott to join him as he made his way around the pulpit to an antechamber. Once inside, Stone removed a book from the old bookcase that stood in the corner of the room. The bookcase swung aside, and the group moved into a darkened, stone passage. A short walk down the passage brought them to a set of sliding metal doors. The doors parted, and they entered the elevator. Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch. 6 “I suspect we’ll meet someone named ‘M’ once we stop,” Smith said. Stone smiled. He had to admit, it did appear somewhat James Bondish. The elevator stopped. They were now deep underground. They emerged into a whitened corridor, with a red runner carpet down its floor. There were many rooms off to the sides, and the group noticed several intersecting corridors. Stone spoke as he led them, “No one has ever been down here before.” “You mean none of our kind,” McKay stated. Stone nodded. He stopped at the end of the hall. The two sliding doors parted for him, and the group followed him into the chamber. There was a large table with many men seated around it. They were all dressed in business suits. There were all of different nationalities. One of the men, a large man with a smiling, Slavic face stood and walked to Stone. “Mikhail Ivanovich,” the man said, holding Stone by his shoulders, “it is good to see you.” “And it is good to see you, Yuri Pavelovich,” Stone said, returning the hug. Yuri had called Stone by his Russian name; Michael, son of John. The story of these two went back a few years. Michael had made a cloaked insertion into Soviet Russia to track a dangerous vampire. His contact was then KGB colonel Yuri Pavelovich Rustov. The two made friends quickly. After the iron curtain fell, Yuri was appointed to The Organization’s council. Yuri looked Stone’s accompanying vampiric horde over, and returned to his seat. The man that sat at the table’s head spoke next. “Welcome, Master Hunter Stone. And we welcome your comrades. Please sit and we will call this meeting to order.” They did as Shultz instructed. “This is a waste of time,” Wu Sing stated. Shultz looked at the Chinese member and shook his head. “We will hear him,” Shultz ordered. He then looked down the table at Stone. “Please, Herr Stone.” “You have all read my reports,” Michael began, “so you know the substance of what I have been doing. We come now to an important decision, one that will affect our future work with serious precision.” He had practiced these opening words over and over. He was doing pretty well so far, he though. “In order to fight this battle against Akuma, and win, we will find it necessary to enlist help. It has been discussed, and I am sure you have made research based on my reports, that there are too many of Akuma’s people for us to deal with ourselves. We need intelligence that only vampires can provide.” “If I may interrupt,” Yuri spoke, “we have done research. It is as you say, this Akuma appears to have vampires in different areas all over the globe.” Stone nodded. “They are like terrorist cells awaiting activation.” “But what you propose,” Sir John Gallow said, “is absolutely absurd. Allying ourselves with vampires? Have you gone mad?” “There has been numerous occasions when Hunters have made use of them,” Stone stated. “Its not like-“ “Your lust has blinded you, young man,” Gallow said. And with that, the room literally burst forth in confusion. They were all talking at once. Michael was afraid of this. He didn’t know what to do now. He looked to Anita, who silently shook her head. A loud voice boomed over them, silencing them at once. “If I were you, I’d listen to what he has to say.” The entire room turned to see who had walked through the doors unnoticed. John Stone stood at the table, directly behind his son. It would have been expected. No one would have questioned John Stone. Everyone seated at the table knew him. Everyone respected him. Shultz took John’s hand and shook it. He then pulled out a chair for him. Once John was seated, the discussion began again, but this time with a more civilized tone. “Are you proposing an open alliance?” Sir John Gallow asked. “Precisely,” it was Smith who answered. “We do not wish to remain silent any longer.” “But,” Shultz questioned, “how exactly will you aid us?” Anita turned her pretty head and smiled. “We have ways of keeping touch with the vampire that you do not. There are many instances where you only find that some revenant of our kind has killed after the fact. Many times we know where they are before they kill.” “How?” Wu Sing questioned. “It is in our best interests to be aware of these vampires, so that we may stay away from them,” Nera answered. “They don’t like them,” John Stone offered. “And they don’t like to be associated with them.” “That is correct, Senor Stone,” Anita said, smiling at him. The other vampires nodded. They too saw that, like his son, John Stone could tell the difference between good and evil. “So you propose to openly give us information? And what do you want in return?” Shultz questioned further. “Trust,” Anita answered. “We don’t kill, unless it can’t be helped. We do not invade the sanctity of life, human or otherwise. We respect all life, and as such, we wish to be respected as well. The world is not ready for the truth of our existence, but until it is, we wish to be left to our own.” John Stone nodded his head. Michael looked at him, nodding as well, knowing that over the centuries, The Organization had hunted all vampires, evil or otherwise. “That is acceptable,” Shultz said. “It requires a vote,” he added. Wu Sing spoke up. “It seems fairly sensible to me. I don’t see where a vote is needed.” Shultz looked around the table. No one disagreed. The group moved into another corridor, walking briskly to a plain, polished steel door that had a sign that read “Operations Center”. Once Stone had placed his palm against a black plastic screen on the wall, the door slid open. The vampires, Stone, and the rest walked into the room. The interior of the room resembled the United States Aerospace Command facility inside Cheyenne Mountain. There were several large projection screens on the walls, showing the detail of a global map. There were computers sat at various workstations, and a large flat-screen table monitor in the center of the room. People sat at their terminals, punching keys and speaking into headset microphones. Yuri spoke for the vampires’ benefit. “We use technology to keep track of vampires these days. Much unlike so long ago.” He then walked over to a computer workstation where a technician was working. Stone joined him there. “You see,” Yuri said, pointing to the monitor. “We have done a little investigating indeed. Most of these businesses are in some way connected with Akuma. It is easier now that we know his real name.” Michael nodded. He noticed several highlighted businesses that actually had some part of “Akuma” in it. What an arrogant son of a bitch, he thought. “Where is Akuma now?” Stone asked. The technician spoke. “We don’t know. We know he left Japan, but we don’t know how. I have a list of every ship and aircraft that left since you reported in. Nothing fits.” Michael picked up a print out and scanned it quickly. He came to a nautical registration that he didn’t recognize. Also, the type listed didn’t come to memory. He showed it to the technician. “It’s a submarine. A Russian Foxtrot. Owned by El Cid Shipping, Madrid.” Michael smiled. No shit. He then turned to Yuri. “Selling your hardware nowadays?” Yuri shrugged. “The Foxtrot as you call it is an old diesel boat. Many were decommissioned and sold not long ago.” “Perfect way for a vampire to move,” Stone reasoned. Michael told the technician to search for the sub. After a few minutes of checking registrations with various ports, the sub’s course was located. “It should be somewhere in there,” the technician said, pointing to a highlighted area of ocean on the global map. John Stone was looking at it as well. “The only way to track a sub,” he said, “is with a sub. Let me make a phone call.” -- Aboard the USS Montpelier, SSN-765, it was business as usual. Montpelier was a 688-i Los Angeles class fast attack submarine. She was based out of Norfolk, Virginia. At present, she was on routine maneuvers in the Atlantic Ocean, traveling just South of the GIUK (Greenland, Iceland, United Kingdom) Gap. Her captain, Commander Matthew Sullivan, had just ordered her down from periscope depth, where Montpelier’s secure satellite transceiver had just downloaded tasking orders from the Commander, Submarines, Atlantic (COMSUBLANT). “Leveling at one five zero feet,” the diving officer reported. “Very well,” Sullivan acknowledged. “Steer course two one zero, ahead one-third.” The helm responded, and the submarine banked slightly to the right as it’s rudder brought the nose of the boat around to two hundred ten degrees. Sullivan handed the printed sheet of paper in his hand to his XO, Lt. Commander Don Gibbs. Gibbs scanned the paper, then raised his eyebrows. Sullivan shrugged. Gibbs turned around and took a few steps to the sonar station. He transposed a set of numbers onto a notepad for the sonar chief. The sonar chief looked at them, then he typed the numbers into the terminal of his BSY-Q1 sonar station. “It’s entered in the computer,” Gibbs reported. “If she’s out there, we’ll find her.” Sullivan nodded his head. For the next three hours, they would wait patiently as Montpelier,/I> reached her newly assigned patrol zone. Once there, they would settle into an act of looking for a needle in a haystack. The Soviet built diesel sub would be easy to find, especially with the 688’s highly sensitive sonar array. However, to find one sub in a two-hundred nautical square mile section of ocean was no easy task. To accomplish the hunt, Montpelier would begin a tracking method known as “sprint and drift”. She would make a fairly fast run for a few minutes, then cut back and drift, while the sonarmen used the forward, aft, and lateral sonar arrays to listen for the diesel boat. She would continue these maneuvers until the target was located. “Coming into patrol sector now,” Gibbs reported. “Conn, aye,” Sullivan responded. “Sonar, report all contacts.” “Conn, sonar,” Chief Bulloch replied, “I have one contact bearing one nine zero, range is four thousand yards. Contact identifies as a biologic.” “Conn, aye,” Sullivan acknowledged. A ‘biologic’ meant a whale, dolphin, or some other sea-dwelling creature. The sensitive sonar on the sub picked them all up. Whale songs were a favorite past time of the sonar crew. Some had even claimed to be able to identify familiar whales in their patrol areas. Sullivan issued orders to begin the sprint and drift runs. They were well into the first half-hour of the patrol when sonar picked up the Russian boat. “Conn, sonar, possible submerged contact bearing zero six five. Range is twelve thousand yards.” “Conn, aye,” Sullivan said. He waited. He did not need to tell the sonar chief to identify the contact. His people knew their jobs. “Conn, sonar, submerged contact identifies as a Russian Foxtrot. Engine tonals and flow noise match exactly. This is our boat, sir.” “Conn, aye. Well done, Chief. Designate contact as Master One.” Sullivan turned to the helm. “Come about to zero six five. Bring us up behind her.” Montpelier banked again, turning as it steered to zero six five degrees. The sonar chief kept giving Sullivan steerage and ranging information. It was just a few minutes when he announced that they had closed to within 1,200 yards. Sullivan had already issued the “all quiet” order. No one spoke now, and when they did, it was in hushed whispers. Following standard procedure, the conn had been ‘rigged for red’, in that the normal incandescent lighting had been replaced by red lighting, so that the green displays of the targeting sonars could be easily red. “Conn, Sonar, aspect change on target. Master One is slowing. Speed dropping rapidly, down to six knots now, sir.” “Conn, aye. All stop,” Sullivan said. The only bad thing about traveling with vampires, the human thought, was they tended to leave bodies around. And on a submarine, that didn’t go over very well. So, it was his job to dispose of them. And that, he reasoned, was why this old Russian boat had torpedo tubes. The man had loaded the tubes with two bodies in each. That was all of them, thankfully. He had just heard the helm controller say that they had slowed enough so that he could jettison the bodies. He turned the lever that would flood the tubes with seawater. “Conn, Sonar, transient! Sounds like pump noise. Master One is flooding tubes!” What the hell? Thought Sullivan. The Russian Foxtrot was facing away from them. And there was no way it knew Montpelier was here. But, still….. “Load tubes one and two with ADCAPs,” he said. It was just a few minutes when the XO responded with, “Tubes loaded.” “Flood tubes one and two.” Now that the Russian sub’s tubes were flooded, and the sub had slowed enough, the man turned the lever that opened the outer torpedo tube doors. “Mechanical transient!” the sonar chief reported. “Master One is opening outer doors!” “Conn, aye,” Sullivan responded. “Set ADCAPs tubes one and two for target Master One.” “Firing solution loaded and locked,” the XO replied. “Open outer doors, tubes one and two.” The human pressed a final button, and a charge of compressed air expelled the limp corpses from the submarine’s tubes. They traveled laterally for a few minutes, until ocean currents began to tug them down. “Conn, Sonar, Master One has launched!” Sullivan was not going to take chances. He didn’t know what the Russian was shooting at, but he did know that there was a slim chance the target could be Montpelier. “Match generated bearings and ….” “Wait a minute, Captain!” The sonar chief yelled. “There is nothing there!” “What do you mean ‘there is nothing there’?” The sonar chief shook his head. “Sonar is not picking up anything metallic, sir. There are no torpedoes in the water.” The XO nodded at the same time the captain did. “He jettisoned something,” the XO said. “That would be my guess,” Sullivan replied. “Sonar, what did he jettison?” “Damned if I know, Captain. But it ain’t no torpedo.” “Very well,” Sullivan stated, breathing a sigh of relief. The Mark 48 Advanced Capability torpedo would have blown the Russian boat apart. “Close outer doors. Maintain course.” “Sonar confirms, Captain,” the chief said. “Master One is now resuming speed.” Sullivan breathed. “Very well,” he said. He still didn’t know why the hell he was following it anyway. COMSUBLANT wanted the boat followed, and that was all he knew. Almost seventeen hours later, Jon Stone, Michael Stone, Manfred Shultz, Anita, Sir John Gallow, and Thomas Smith stood staring at the world map display in the operations center. “Norway?” Smith asked. “That is what Admiral Wilkes told me,” John Stone replied. “He said that Montpelier followed the Foxtrot here,” as he pointed to a spot on the map with a laser pointer, “and then traveled up this river fjord. Now this picture we see here is a thermal image taken by a photosat a few hours ago.” John touched a button on a console and the image zoomed and cleared. “See that?” he said, pointing again. “A heat bloom,” Shultz stated. “Exactly,” John Stone agreed. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was in drydock.” “You mean ‘she’,” Anita corrected. Michael smiled and leaned close to her, “Russian boats are called ‘he’.” Anita shrugged, “Oh,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth. “Well,” Sir John Gallow spoke, “if the photosat says its there, then that is bloody well where it is.” Shultz nodded. The photosat information was provided by a contact from Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force at considerable expense. It was good information. But, still, in Norway? “Maybe something left over from World War II?” Thomas Smith offered. “Quite possibly,” John Stone agreed. “You never know about the Germans.” Shultz narrowed his eyes at the playful remark. “Ja, or the Americans.” “So Norway it is, then,” Michael stated. He handed a handwritten note to Shultz. Shultz read it and nodded. “I will make the calls now,” Shultz said, turning to leave. -- Within a few days, Akuma thought, he would contact his people. They were scattered throughout Europe and America. But, he would control them all from this secluded sea-side fortress. And, from here, his domination of the world would begin. Hunted Blood III: A New Beginning Ch. 01 From Michael Stone's Journal: "I have never attempted to write down anything. It was unnecessary before. It was, in fact, against the rules. Hunters are not allowed to have any written record of their activities, except for what reports they file at the headquarters of The Organization. Everything we do must be kept secret. The world is not ready for the truth of the existence of vampires. At this point, however, I am writing this because I have to. There must be some record of the events that have occurred. And, as well, a record of the events that are about to occur. If I do not survive, then this will serve as a warning to everyone. Vampires are real. Know this truth. Believe this before they kill again. As of today, I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of my wife, Anita. After killing Akuma, I returned to The Organization's headquarters near Rome with my tactical team intact. As I promised her before I left, I married Anita. My father, John Stone, walked her down the aisle of the six hundred year old cathedral. The ceremony was at sunset, and there were many, many people in attendance, both human and vampire. Perhaps, I believe now, there were too many of both kinds there. It was the first, actual recorded marriage between human and vampire. But that was not what was unsettling. Because of the death of Akuma, and the resulting targeted locations of his "sleeper cells", the rogue, bloodthirsty vampires were on the decline. The others, the ones wishing for co-existence with humans, had allied themselves with The Organization, giving information and intelligence that was invaluable. And this was the reason our marriage was largely accepted. Or so I thought. The unsettling aspect of the weekend came that night, after I had finished making love to Anita. As I lay there, her head resting on my chest, her raven black hair feathered across my arm, she told me. Anita was pregnant with my child. She spoke to me that night as if God Himself had caused her pregnancy. And well He may have. I was in shock, in awe, and the happiest man alive. I knew, from my studies, that there was an extremely rare occurrence when a human sperm fertilizes a vampiric ovum. The resulting offspring would be half-human, half-vampire. A dhampir was what they were called in the old texts. A half-breed, a hybrid, having all of the vampire's strengths and very few of their weaknesses. We spent the rest of the night intertwined with each other's bodies. I have never made love to a woman the way I made love to her that night. And, I never will. Whatever the case, whether it was due to the aligning of the planets or Divine Intervention, Anita is pregnant with my child. And, for that reason, she is in unbelievable danger." -Michael J. Stone, Rome, July, 2005 - - - There were no lights on in the room. Just as well, for the sunlight outside managed to filter its way in through the blackened windows. Not enough sunlight to be harmful, but just enough to bathe the room in a pale gloom. Anita should be sleeping. If only she could. Her days of slumber had been restless since John Stone and Yuri Pavelovich had spirited her away from the ruins of The Organization's headquarters near Rome. She did not know where she was. And, neither her father or the Russian would tell her. Anita's psychic link with Michael was stronger than ever now. If Michael were captured, her whereabouts could be extracted from him. Or, so she was told. Anita knew that Michael Stone would never give away any information. His father, John Stone, thought as much also. However, they were taking no chances. Food was not a problem. A supply of blood had been secured, in the form of pints from a blood repository. Where they got it from Anita could only guess. Perhaps they had it in-store before the headquarters were all but destroyed by the others. The others, she thought. Such betrayal! How could they? After the promises had been made, oaths of allegiance swore! She knew the reason: they feared the birth of the child she carried. The birth of a human/vampire hybrid, a dhampir, would secure the alliance of vampires and humans. There would be no more reason to fear from either race. They could live openly, instead of in constant secrecy. She knew it was but her dream. The others did not share the vision. Instead, they preferred that humans kept to humans and vampires to vampires. And now, she was here. Where ever 'here' was. And her beloved husband, Michael, was on the run. He had left as a diversion, given the belief they would follow him, believing she was with him. And she feared for him. The others were old, powerful vampires. She believed in him, yet she was not sure he could defeat them. Anita lay back down on the bed, reaching under the covers. The reached beneath the sheer underwear she wore and touched herself. She remembered the night before he had left to destroy Akuma. She had been sitting quietly in sequestered chambers deep inside The Organization's headquarters. Michael came to her, his eyes twinkling, yet his face was a mask of determination. "We've got about two hours before the team leaves," he told her. Anita smiled at him. "And what," she asked, twirling a raven-colored lock of her hair between her fingers, "can we possibly do to pass the time?" Michael took her in his arms, smiling slightly as he kissed her forehead. He moved his lips lower, brushing them across hers, teasing her. Her mouth opened, and his tongue traced the exquisite outline of her lips. His mouth then locked onto hers, their passion boiling over into each other in a soulful kiss, that when they broke it, left them both panting. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Michael held himself away from her, holding her by the arms, studying her. He was trying to take in all of her beauty, as if it were the last time he would see her. Anita was feeling her wanting build as he stood before her, and she parted her lips to speak, but her thoughts had left before. Michael heard her in his mind say 'take me'. He spun her around, bending her over the edge of the bed, where she placed her palms flat against the bedspread. Michael pushed the hem of her dress over the curves of her ass, gathering it taut against the small of her back. He gazed intently on the exposure of her backside, the ripened slit of her sex moistening before him. In almost one movement his pants were around his ankles and he was buried all the way inside her. "Mine," he said, taking her locks of black hair in his hands as he began to move inside her. "Yes," she whimpered, feeling the rigidity of his cock as he fucked her. She let him pull her head back, straining against his grasp as she arched her back. The smooth, creamy cheeks of her ass rounded themselves against his pelvis as she tried to force more of him inside her. "Oh my God, Michael," Anita cried. "Fuck me! Fuck me like you own me!" An almost cruel smile came to Michael's face as he stopped in mid-stroke. "No!" Anita begged. She began to back herself onto his cock, slamming her now-soaking pussy onto him. Stone grabbed her hips, slowing her, stopping her. "Please," she said. Michael moved his palms over the curves of her hips and ass. He grabbed a cheek in each hand, and spread her open. He then began to pound her. Anita began to grunt with each thrust. She could feel him all the way inside her each time he pushed. Her breasts were still bound by her bra, yet they swayed as she was rocked forward as Michael slammed into her. Michael stared down and watched as Anita's pussy gripped him as he pulled out. He could see the pink folds through the patch of dark curls. He knew there was not a more erotic sight in the world. The more he watched, the closer to orgasm he got. Anita heard Michael's breaths coming sharply. She knew what was about to happen. And as she felt him push into her, she could feel her own orgasm rapidly approaching. She gripped the bedspread tightly and let it come. Michael felt her pussy get tighter. Oh yes, it got so tight. He let out a heavy grunt as he shoved forward against the resistance and buried his pulsating cock. His orgasm came in torrents as he flooded inside her. Feeling the jets of his orgasm inside her, Anita threw her head back and screamed his name as her pussy began to spasm in a release of her own. Slowly she felt the contractions yield, and she fell onto her stomach. Michael collapsed on top of her, rolling to the side. She could feel the mixture of the products of their passion leaking from her. She did not even care as she nestled against him. "Hey," he said to her. Anita looked at him, and he was holding something small, gold, and round between his fingertips. Her eyes went wide and she smiled. Michael took her left hand, and he placed the gold and diamond ring on her ring finger. He then kissed that hand, and looking into her eyes, asked her, "will you be my wife?" Tears welled up in her eyes as she said yes. These same tears now ran down her cheeks even after she had given herself an orgasm in some strange room in an unknown place. Anita pulled the covers tighter around her. "Wherever you are," she whispered, "know that I am with you. Know that I love you." And she drifted off to sleep. - - - - Michael Stone sat quietly in a large tree that overlooked the old monastery. He was well-camouflaged among the leaves and branches. He was watching the ancient set of buildings below him through a set of Steiner binoculars. He did not like what he saw. There was no activity, no lights, no anything from the buildings below. This meant that there was nothing at all to be seen in the enclosed facility that lay beneath the old monastery's foundations. It had been almost four days since the headquarters of The Organization had been attacked. People had been slain. Good people. People who were his friends. And now, as darkness fell, Stone knew he was taking an awful risk by returning to this place. He knew the others would be tracking him, and probably expected him to return here. There again, he figured, it was unlikely that they would expect that. If they believed that Anita was with him, as he hoped, then this was the last place they would look. There was something amiss here. Michael and Anita had been on their honeymoon in Scotland when a frantic phone call from his father told them the news. John told Michael and Anita to stay put, and he and Yuri Pavelovich would arrive within a day. And then, when his father and the Russian came, they told him of the loss of life that had been wreaked by unknown vampires on The Organization's headquarters. And then, John and Yuri Pavelovich took Anita. John told Michael to flee, to run, to make it look as though he and Anita had been warned and were escaping. And that is what Michael had done. But how did the others know about the headquarters? Only the other three vampires knew of the secret facility. Did they betray Anita? If so, who did they tell? Who came into The Organization's innermost chambers and killed? These thoughts were filtering through Stone's mind as car headlights shown on the cobblestone drive that led into the monastery. Stone panned the binos around, ducking his head slightly to peer under the tree's leafy covering. The car was familiar. It was a silver BMW 540i. The vehicle belonged to Manfred Shultz, the Director of The Organization. Michael watched the car drive up to the monastery's main building and stop. The headlights switched off, and a man got out. It was Manfred Shultz. Stone watched him go inside. Michael then climbed down, and he made his way along the top of the grassy hill, crouching low. Once he had circumnavigated to the rear of the monastery, Stone climbed down the hill and opened the door to the monastery's wine cellar. He entered the dark and moldy place, walking by memory the fourteen paces straight, then twelve paces right to the stone wall. He felt along the cobweb encrusted stone wall before him until his palm came to rest on the correct stone. Michael pushed the stone inward, then reached into the small gap and pressed a button. A section of the wall under the stone opened, and Michael ducked and walked through. He descended the narrow, spiraling, and faintly lighted stair case into The Organization. The back door to The Organization's lower levels had allowed Stone to enter quietly and undetected. After all, there was no one there to see him. Except for Manfred Shultz, who Stone knew would be going to his office. Michael debated for half a second on whether or not he should walk straight to The Director's officer and confront him. No, he knew that was not a good idea. Not now. Not until he was sufficiently armed. Michael went to the armory, where his pass code allowed him inside the reinforced, sliding door. Stone was well-armed. He had his Glock 36 tucked into its inside the pants holster and a dagger strapped to his ankle. However, he was looking for something special. Stone made his way through the dimly lighted room to the shelves on the back wall. He scanned the quickly, but he did not find what he was looking for. He turned around, looking quickly at the workbenches and table tops. There, amid the canisters of cleaning agents and rolls of cotton felt, he saw it. Pelligi must have left it out. Maybe he was testing it again, or maybe making some modifications before the Others infiltrated the compound. Pelligi had made it out, Stone knew, as did some others. Some, however, did not. Michael picked it up. It looked just like an ordinary flashlight, one of the small tactical lights stone kept in his gear bag. However, it had a larger, octagonal-shaped head, with a silver colored lens. Stone tucked it into a pants pocket and made his way out. It was no flashlight Stone had retrieved from the armory. The armorer, Pelligi, had been working on this unique item for several years. Pelligi had used the technology of the incandescent lights used by gardeners. These "grow lights" shone with all the necessary elements of sunlight to provide indoor plants with needed nourishment. This had been concentrated, harnessed, and condensed into a small bulb. Power was added, not just by a battery, but a unique battery, for the very unique bulb. This bulb shone with all of the intensity of the sun on a cloudless day. It had been long surmised that the vampire was sensitive to not just one part of the sun's rays, but all of them in their unique combination that made up sunlight. And this was what Stone now carried in his pocket. The power of the sun was his to burn, melt, and scorch the flesh of the vampire. He planned to use it well. Michael stalked like a great cat around the corners, easing against the wall to the stairwell that would lead him back to the outside. He heard Shultz's voice coming from inside the Director's office. Perhaps Shultz was talking on the phone. Then Michael heard the voice of another. A voice he recognized. He stopped, and he listened. "Michael Stone will not be a problem once he is flushed from hiding," Nera said. Stone heard it plainly through the door to the Director's office. He took extra measures to enter the mind state of mushin, to conceal his presence from her vampiric senses. "When he is found," she continued, "he will tell us the whereabouts of the traitor and the abomination she carries." "You may have to force him from hiding," Shultz answered. "Even I do not know where he has taken Anita." "We will need leverage," Nera stated. "In Japan there is a teacher of martial arts....." Stone did not wait to hear anymore. He was slipping from mushin as anger infiltrated his senses. How dare that son of a bitch Shultz to betray them all this way! What was he going to gain? And now, even to betray Osato Sensei. No. It would not be this way. Stone skulked across the hill, hurrying to where he had stashed his car nearby in the countryside. He was also on his unmarked cellular phone, calling ahead to the airport, praying for an immediate flight to Japan. Hunted Blood III: A New Beginning Ch. 02 The flight was available. Actually, Stone had to make it available. He didn't kill anyone and take their place. Rather, he paid someone to take another flight. He bought their ticket. It cost him enough. He would have paid more if he had had to. As Michael Stone walked from the airport terminal in Tokyo to a waiting rental car, a weight began to press down upon him. A vampire, or vampires, was on its way to kill his master. And somewhere, on some part of this Earth, Anita, accompanied by his father and Yuri Pavelovich, was running for her life from them. Them. The Others. The ones that had betrayed them all. Stone now knew Nera was part of it. She even seemed to be in charge of it, judging from the conversation he overheard in Shultz's office. The Nubian vampire was powerful, Michael knew, as she was one of the oldest. The older they were, the more powerful they were. But, like most things that had great power, they seldom saw past their own self-image. That had been the deciding factor when Michael cut Akuma's head from his body. He hoped it would be the deciding factor when he cut Nera's head from hers as well. Of course, if Nera was part of this conspiracy, then it meant Thomas Smith and Robert McKay were as well. Stone clenched his teeth in anger. He had spoken to these people, ate with them, allowed them into the secret chambers of The Organization. And the motherfuckers betrayed them all. And now, they sought to kill Anita. Because she carried his child. He heard Nera speak of the unborn child as an "abomination". Stone shook his head, muttering quietly to himself, "I'll show that bitch who the abomination is." Anger, again. The emotion was as much a part of Michael Stone as any human being. However, it was one emotion he could not afford. Anger was the enemy of a warrior. A warrior studied ways to calm his mind, be at peace with himself, so that when he fought he could fight as if he was going to die. Michael took several deep breaths and calmed his mind. He focused on his task at hand. And that task became real to him as he drove his car into the mountains around Tokyo, seeking the old dirt path that lead to the dojo of Toshiro Osato. --- Anita sat up in bed. She went to the window and pulled the wooden blinds up in her room, watching as the western sky settled into shades of pink and purple. She opened the wooden-slated door and walked into the living room of the motel suite. An old ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. The air was humid, and she noticed the window unit air conditioner was doing little to keep the heat at bay. Although she didn't perspire herself, she knew it was indeed hot in the room when she looked and saw John Stone sitting in a recliner, his shirt plastered to his skin with sweat. Anita sat beside John on the sofa. The TV was on, and she noticed the local cable was showing "The Empire Strikes Back". The movie had just gotten to the scene where Han finds Luke in the arctic wastes of Hoth, and uses the hero's light saber to cut the belly of the fallen tauntaun to keep him warm. "Good movie," she remarked. John smiled and lifted a bottle of water to his mouth. "Yep," he said, "Michael loves these movies." Anita's jaw clenched at the mention of her husband's name. She fought back a tear and struggled to keep her voice even. "Have you heard from him?" John shook his head. "Yuri went out to send him a message. We don't dare use cell phones to contact him, because they are probably being monitored. At this point, we can't trust anyone." Anita nodded. "I would know if he were hurt," she said. John looked at her, his face turning serious. "And that's why you have to keep thoughts of him to yourself. If you reach out to him with your psychic powers, they could find him. They could find you." He took her by the hand. "That's why we don't tell you where we are." The tear began to roll down her cheek. She placed her hand over her stomach, where inside her, Michael's child was growing. "I know," she said. "And thank you for all you have done for us." "He's my son," John said. "And he can take care of himself. As I am sure you can, too. But, the one thing that is most important right now is my grandchild, be it a boy or a girl." Anita smiled. "You will be a good grandfather," she said. John smiled. Grandpa. Grand dad. Yeah, he liked Grand dad the best. --- The dojo was dark and silent. Stone parked the car well away from the building and approached on foot. He stepped upon the porch surrounding the dojo, and slid the door open. The interior of the dojo was quiet. A few lights on the posts along the side of the tatami mat were dimmed. It smelled of blood. Though dimly lighted, Stone could see the bodies of three fallen vampires. They lay in a rough circle, and in the circle's center, lying face down on the mat, was a sight Stone had not wanted to see. Michael rushed to the side of his fallen master. The samurai sensei was covered in blood that stained his white kodachi shirt red. Michael turned him over. Osato's eyes fluttered open, and the old warrior reached a blood covered hand to Michael's own. "You are late, Michael-san," the old man said. Stone bowed his head, taking the old man's hand in his. "Forgive me, sensei. I –" "It does not matter now," the old man said. "Things have been written already, long before you ever walked through the door." Michael nodded. His master had accepted his fate. It was the way of the warrior. "I ask one thing from you," the old man rasped. "I do not wish to die on my back, but as a samurai, with honor." The tears welled up in Michael Stone's eyes. Honor was definitely with the old master this night. The man, well into his eighties, had killed three vampires before succumbing to his wounds. "Hai, sensei," was all Stone could say in reply. He helped his master to sit up. The old man already had a wakizashi, the smaller blade of the samurai, in his belt. Stone helped the dying samurai unsheathe the polished blade. Stone left him for a second, as he walked to the side of the canvas mat and picked up Toshiro Osato's katana. When Michael returned to him, Osato had already positioned the tip of the wakizashi against his stomach. Michael stood over him, the blade of his master's katana held over his head in preparation for the final, downward cut. Michael Stone turned his head as tears began to fall. He heard the old man grimace as he drove the wakizashi into his belly and cut across his abdomen. And then, in the final act of seppuku, Michael Stone cut off his teacher's head. Stone walked to the set of sword stands on the far wall. He picked up an old rag used for cleaning and wiped the blood from Osato's katana. It was his katana, now. He held it for a moment, letting the tears come. He heard the sound of clapping behind him. He spun. There, across the mat, in the shadows, was Thomas Smith. Stone knew he had not sensed the vampire within the dojo. The sight of his teacher on the mat, dying, had distracted him. Stone quietly berated himself for letting down his guard. "Bravo," Smith said. "It was an impressive battle, with a fitting end. Don't you agree?" Michael said nothing. He only eyed Smith hard. Stone was already playing Smith's death out in his mind. "Nothing to say? No witty comments, or perhaps a eulogy?" Smith asked. Stone took a quick second to survey his surroundings. Which way would Smith move if he attacked? There was only one logical conclusion. Stone drew his Glock 36 and pumped three rounds in Smith's direction. Smith, however, wasn't there anymore. His vampiric powers had allowed him to move faster than Stone, and the deadly .45 bullets only smashed into empty wood. Stone had counted on this to happen. Which is why, when he had fired the last round, he snapped the katana's blade around behind him, moving it in a quick arc. He felt it cut into something deeply. Smith gave a yelp of surprised pain as the sword gashed into his upper abdomen. Michael turned, bringing the Glock around, pressing its trigger to the rear as he leveled it with Smith's head. Thomas Smith was staring at the gaping wound on his stomach, holding his fine linen shirt untucked as he watched the wound close. He looked up at the last instant to see the muzzle flash of the pistol. It was the last thing he saw. Smith's body slumped forward onto its knees. What was left of the head began to loll to one side, dripping blood and pulp onto the tatami. Stone was sure the two rounds he fired into the vampire were enough. The bullets loaded into the Glock were the ultra-fragmentation rounds developed especially for The Organization's vampire hunters. However, Smith was an old vampire. Stone swung the katana again and cut off Smith's head for good measure. "No witty comments or a eulogy perhaps," Stone said to the corpse. Michael stepped back and turned away from the carnage that had now disgraced the dojo. He took a deep breath and realized he had been gritting his teeth. He forced himself to relax. Osato had been avenged. The man died an honorable death, and the retribution brought by Michael's hand had been honorable as well. Stone swallowed, closed his eyes for an instant, and then walked to the far end of the training hall. Michael slid a canvas lithograph of Musashi to the side. He opened a panel in the wood beneath the painting, and then flipped a switch. Stone kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked to the door of the dojo. He slid it open, stepped through, and stopped. He stood there for a few seconds, his eyes closed again, and a lifetime of memories of his youth flashed before him. Then he slid the door closed behind him without turning around. Michael Stone was about to put the key into the lock of the rental car when the dojo exploded into a fireball. All traces of Osato Sensei, the three vampire corpses, the vampire Thomas Smith, and most of Stone's adolescent years went up in an eruption of flame and smoke. The detonation charges had been a safeguard built into the dojo long ago. Now the concussive blast was music for its funeral pyre. Stone got into the car, started it, and left. A few hours had passed. Michael had showered at his hotel room in Tokyo. He now sat on the bed, where he plugged his laptop in and waited for the wireless modem to connect to the hotel's Wi-Fi system. In a moment he was logged onto his anonymous email account. There was an email from Marko Ramius. Stone smiled. Marko Ramius was the name of a character from a novel by Tom Clancy. It was also the code name for Yuri Pavelovich. The email didn't say much. Stone learned his father, Yuri, and Anita were somewhere in South America. They were getting ready to move again to an undisclosed location. Everyone sent their love. Stone returned the email with one of his own. He was brief and cryptic, but he explained what he had witnessed it Shultz's office, the death of Smith, and his next move. Michael's plans had started brewing during the drive from the dojo. He finalized them in the shower, where he was able to relax with the hot water and let his mind free. He knew Nera was the unofficial head of this alliance of vampires. She was in league with the Director of The Organization. Surely, though, she didn't give two shits about him. To her, Shultz would be just a means to an end. So, if he confronted or killed Shultz, Nera and the rest would simply go into hiding, and make things that much more difficult in the end. No, Shultz's time would come last, but come it would indeed. Michael knew he would have to find Nera first. Cut the head off the dragon first, deal with the body later. Nera and the rest were actively searching for Anita and him. Would they find her? The fact that Thomas Smith showed up in Japan said enough about how much they did know. Stone also knew that his father would keep Anita moving constantly, and hopefully would stay one step ahead of them. But what if he lured Nera to him? --- "Something to tell you about Michael Stone," Shultz said into the telephone, "is if he doesn't want to be found, you will not find him." "And this is something you promised to deliver," Nera's voice said in Shultz's ear. "I promised nothing," he replied, "except information so you may look." "And this information proved accurate," she stated. "Except so far, I've heard nothing to tell me Stone and his bitch are dead." Shultz sighed heavily. He should have killed her when he had the chance in his office. "Perhaps you should not so much look for the hunter, but for his mate." There was a laugh. "You forget, Herr Shultz, we vampires are adept at hiding, even from our own kind. There is no psychic link with Anita. I have searched, and I cannot find her consciousness." Shultz was getting bored with this conversation. For a vampire, she appeared to be quite obtuse. "I have ideas that Anita is with someone other than Michael. Think for a moment. Would you hide together, or separate?" There was silence for a moment. "Indeed," Nera said, "she is with his father, John Stone." "Which is why I gave you that information as well," Shultz stated. He then cradled the phone's receiver, and used his TV remote to turn up the volume so he could hear the German singer. Shultz watched TV for a while. Then he headed upstairs in his house in Munich to bed. He stopped by his office first to check his email as he did every night before bed. When he saw a message from Michael Stone, he almost shit himself. Shultz picked up the phone. When Nera answered, she could hear the smile in his voice. "The hunter has come to us," he told her. He then read her the email. --- John, Yuri, and Anita had moved again. Since they had fled, they had not stayed more than two days in any one location. Now, through some very tactful maneuvering, John had secured them a villa in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. He had plugged his laptop into the house's phone line, and after using an excellent program called Private Surf, checked email. Yuri and Anita both saw his mouth open as he read the message. He turned to them and shook his head. "Michael just sent a message to Yuri's email. In short, he explained he was going to send a message to Shultz, stating he wanted him to meet him so they could salvage what was left of The Organization. Michael knows that Shultz will tell Nera, and he's hoping Nera will come to meet him instead." "That is crazy," Yuri Pavelovich stated. "He's lost his fucking mind," John said in agreement. "Where is he?" Anita asked. "Where is the meeting?" "London," John answered. "In five days." "We must go!" Anita pleaded. "He cannot face Nera alone!" John's jaw was set firm as he spoke next. "No," he told her, "that would put you in harm's way. And that is something I will not do." "Then I will go!" Anita shouted. Both John and Yuri looked at her hard. Anita looked to each of them, and knew she could not go. She could not risk her child. Even for her husband. She opened her mouth to speak, her bared fangs catching the overhead light, but she only sobbed. Anita had retreated into her room with, leaving John and Yuri with a piercing glare. John Stone cradled his head in his hands. Yuri placed a hand on his shoulder. "He is your son, vanya," Yuri said to him. John looked up at the Russian. "I trust Anita and my grandchild will be taken care of?" Yuri smiled the smile John had known for so long. "I am hurt that you would have to ask me that," he said jokingly. John nodded his head. "Then I leave at sunrise." - - - Michael Stone sat quietly in a small café on Albany Street, not far from Regent's Park. He was wary, and watching the door with keen eyes. Every time it opened, the person walking through could be a vampire. Every person walking through could be one of their allies. It wasn't paranoia so much as it was caution. The Organization's hunters had gone underground, melding back into a society which they were never really a part of. Stone had passed the warning as soon as he had found out what had happened. Those that were left, just a handful, had disappeared. But, like they always had, they would still listen to Michael Stone. And Stone knew that his trust in them had not been misplaced when a very large black man walked through the door of the café. The man scanned the room quickly, and upon seeing Michael at the corner table, made his way over. The man sat shook his head. "I would have never believed it," Robert Keller said, "if I had not seen it for myself." "You didn't go to the monastery?" Michael asked. "Yeah, mate, I did," Keller replied. "Had to see it, you know. And I just can't understand it." Michael nodded slowly. "Betrayal is an ugly thing." "Yeah, it is," Keller ordered tea, then looked at Michael. "So your vampire lady is pregnant, then?" "Believe it or not," Stone replied. Keller smiled a mouth full of white teeth. "Congratulations, I reckon. Although it goes against everything I've ever been taught about them," he stated. Keller's tea arrived and he spooned sugar into the cup. "So, where's all this to take place?" "The safe house in Cambridge," Michael told him. "The day after tomorrow." Keller nodded. "I know the place. Take the M11 up from here. You know, I can have my team in place tonight." "Good," Michael agreed. "I don't know how many guests to expect, so pack for a full house." Robert Keller smiled. "Revenge is a dish best served cold," he said. "Indeed it is," Stone confirmed. --- Anita woke at sunset. Her room was darkened still, thanks in part to the heavy shades that John and Yuri had put up. On the night stand beside her bed was a saucepan that sat on a hotplate. The pot was filled partially with warm water. I candy thermometer had been placed in the water. The mercury showed 98 degrees. Inside the water was a plastic bag with a pint of blood in it. Anita smiled. Someone had made her breakfast. She dressed in a robe and walked into the hallway, then down the stairs. The villa seemed deserted. She made her way to the patio out back and found Yuri Pavelovich seated at the table, cutting into a fish filet. "Good evening, madam," he greeted her. "Good evening, Yuri," she replied. "Is John out?" Yuri did not reply. He forked another piece of fish into his mouth and stared at the table. "He went to London, didn't he?" she asked. Yuri said nothing still. Anita's jaw clenched. She turned on her heel and went back inside the house. She knew John had went to London to help her husband fight Nera. She needed to be there. Nera was a powerful vampire, older than she was, and definitely evil. Michael would need more than just his father to emerge the victor in this coming battle. Anita sat down on the floor in her bedroom and closed her eyes. She opened herself, reaching out with her consciousness. She was seeking an old presence. She found it, touched it, and bonded with it. She had reached out to this vampire before, and she had been ignored. She hoped this time, he listened to her. If she could not go to London, then she hoped he would. --- to be concluded. Hunted Blood III: A New Beginning Ch. 03 "It looks as if the German's information has paid off at last," McKay said as he looked up from his laptop. "What have you found?" Nera asked. She stepped behind him, cradling his head against her breasts. "He booked a flight," McKay answered. "I don't know from where, but using the alias names Shultz gave us, I found an arrival flight. At Heathrow. In about an hour." Nera's eyes lit, and she smiled with a glimmer of fangs. "Assemble our faithful and collect him," she ordered. "With pleasure," McKay responded as he opened his cell phone to make the call. - - - John Stone's plane landed at Heathrow. He waded through the customs waiting line and made his way outside. He spotted a taxi, and shouldering his duffle bag, walked over to it. A horde of young men, boys really, crowded around him. There were shouts of "Uncle John! Uncle John". One of them reached to embrace him, smiling. He stepped back, but found he had been cut-off by one of them from behind. He felt the sharp prick of a needle in his neck. The world around him began to blur. They held him up, still shouting and acting as if they were greeting him. He was placed into a car that sped away from the airport. - - - Stone sat quietly in the living room of the safe house. Explosives had been planted in strategic areas of the house and its surrounding grounds. The team assigned by Keller was set up in positions around and on the house. Sharpshooters waited quietly on the roof and at the end of the driveway. Sundown was coming rapidly. The light that filtered in through the windows was growing dark. Stone knew Nera would be arriving soon. Tonight, this would end. One way or another, the past days of running and hiding, of fearing for the lives of his wife and unborn child, as well as his own, would be over. He would see to it. He would fight like a samurai: as if he was going to die. And that may well come to pass. But not before they did. Stone wore his Kevlar reinforced bodysuit, with the cloak. He carried his master's katana tucked inside his belt at his left side. There was a small, unobtrusive radio speaker/mic in his left ear. He heard a crackling of static, then Keller's voice. "Six, Ghost," Keller said. "Six," Stone replied. "Vehicle lights in the driveway. Looks like two cars, coming up to the house." "Roger," Stone replied. He took a deep breath. "Weapons free," he added. "Copy weapons free," Keller said. Stone waited. They would wait until Nera was at the door before they opened fire. They had no plans to kill her, as she was Stone's prey. But whatever vampiric entourage traveled with her would meet with certain doom. Stone slowed his breathing. He centered himself. Mushin. Mind of no mind. "Six, Ghost," Keller said over the radio, "vehicles have stopped. Nera and another vampire, red haired, are exiting, along with several others, some human, from the second car. Wait.. they've got a hostage with them. Male. Caucasian. Michael, it's your father." Stone did not reply. His jaw clenched. "Six, copy?" "Copy," Stone replied. "Weapons hold." "I copy weapons hold," Keller acknowledged. Stone stood from his chair. He watched the door. It would open. He waited. When the door opened, a human stepped inside with a small submachine gun, an Uzi pistol, trained at Stone. He held the door open while Nera entered. Following her was Robert McKay, who held his father by the neck. Two more humans came inside. He saw others, he couldn't tell human from vampire, post up by the doorway on the exterior. John Stone looked like hell. He had been beaten. His eyes were blackened, and one of them was partially closed. His lips were swollen and bruised. He walked with a lip, and his hands were bound in front of him by wire. Michael fought to show no emotion. He looked from his father to McKay, who sneered back at him. He then looked to Nera. "Good evening, Michael," she said. Good evening you fucking bitch, he thought. However, it came out as, "Nera". "This is no final confrontation," she said, looking at his katana in his belt. "This is simply an ultimatum: deliver to me the abomination or I kill your father." Stone looked at his father. John Stone grimaced back at him, but said nothing. He didn't need to. Michael knew. "Why do you call my child an abomination?" he asked. "Because it is what it is!" Nera shouted. "There can never be an alliance between human and vampires! Humans will never let us be, fool!" "So this isn't about Anita or my child, but about your fear of the world learning about your kind," Stone stated. He knew that, in time, his hybrid offspring would fill the gap between the human world and the world of the vampire. And Nera knew this as well. "Enough talk, Michael," she said. "Bring me Anita, or your father dies." McKay tightened his grip on John Stone's neck. John gave a small sigh of pain. Michael's eyes narrowed to slits. He raised his left hand and pointed at Nera. He turned on the small device that ever-so-much looked like a flashlight. Nera screamed as the artificial sunlight struck her face. Her dark skin immediately began to sizzle and burn. As the smoke began to pour forth from her face, Robert McKay pushed John Stone against the wall and leapt towards Michael. Michael wasn't quite fast enough to unsheathe the katana. He had the blade only partially withdrawn when McKay struck him. The force of the strike was sufficient to knock the light from Stone's hand, giving Nera a respite. At least her screaming had stopped and changed to moans. Michael rolled on the floor, coming up on top of McKay. McKay reached from Stone's neck. Stone grabbed McKay's arms. The vampire was much stronger than Stone. Michael could not fight him like this. He kept one hand held tight while he used the other to draw the HK Mark 23 on his right hip. Michael fired three rounds into McKay's chest. "Six! Six! Status, over!" came Keller's voice in the tiny speaker. "Six, roger," Stone replied. "I forgot to advise. Weapons free." "Ghost copies weapons free," came the reply. An instant later, Stone heard the sounds of automatic weapons opening up outside. Michael had stepped away from McKay as he was speaking to Keller. He scanned quickly, seeing Nera crouched in the corner, holding her face, which still smoked. He glanced at his father, who gave him a weak thumbs-up. Stone drew Osato's katana, and advanced towards Nera. Steel-like hands grabbed him from behind. He was lifted up and thrown against the brickwork of the fireplace. He felt the impact against his ribs as his breath was knocked from him. He managed, however, to maintain his grip on the sword. When he fell against the floor, he rolled, keeping his katana's blade under him. McKay, recovered from the wounds Stone had inflicted, stood over him. He had thrown Stone against the wall, and he now intended to take his life. He reached for the back of Michael's neck again. Suddenly, Stone rolled onto his back, bringing the katana up in an arcing cut to McKay's groin. McKay howled in pain. Stone cut again, higher, opening up McKay's abdomen. McKay staggered backwards. Stone was kneeling now, and he pushed against the floor, springing into the air with a yell. The katana sliced through the air as he leaped, its blade cutting cleanly into McKay's neck. Stone landed, completing the follow-through to the cut by bringing the blade parallel to the floor. McKay staggered a few more steps. Then, slowly, his body fell forward as his head fell to the side. The head plopped on the floor. Stone turned around. Nera stood before him, her face a hideous scar of burned flesh. Her lips were gone, and he could plainly see her sharp fangs. She reached out to him with one hand, and he felt himself being lifted into the air with unseen force. Michael was pinned against the brickwork of the fireplace, held there by Nera's psychic will. He fought and struggled, but could not break free. He could feel himself being stretched inside. It felt as if his muscles were burning. He could feel pressure in his chest and abdomen, as if his insides were about to burst out. And then, Stone fell. He was vaguely aware of Robert Keller's voice in his ear telling him someone was there. He struck the floor with a loud thud, and his vision turned red. Nera spun around. Her psychic hold on Stone had been broken by someone. She felt the presence. It was old, powerful, and familiar. She felt it behind her and turned to see it. "You!" she yelled at it. There was a shadow of a man in the doorway, lighted by the outside house lights. It was a tall silhouette, but distinct to her. She shadow raised a hand. "No!" Nera shouted. "It must be stopped!" Those were her last words. Nera burst into flames. The last sight Michael saw before he passed into unconsciousness was the flames from Nera's burning corpse had cast light on the shadow man at the door. Stone saw the face. Very European, he thought. The man smiled, and Stone detected the slightest glimmer of fangs in the vampire's smile. And then everything went dark. - - - Stone woke. Anita was holding his hand, and she was smiling her beautiful smile. He sat up, then rubbed his head. "Ow," he said. Anita leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Stone looked around. He was in a bedroom at the safe house. It was daylight. Anita was there. Everything was fine. "When did you arrive?" he asked her. "A few hours ago," she said. "Mr. Keller says you had quite an altercation last night." "Yeah," he answered. "Where's Dad?" "Yuri has taken him to a hospital. He will be fine, but has a few broken ribs." Michael touched her face. He looked at her neck and saw she still wore the gold crucifix he had given when they first met. "Anita," he said, "there was someone here last night." She smiled. "I called back-up for you," she answered. "An old friend. He will meet us tonight." Stone smiled. "Thanks," he said. Last night was one time he needed all the back-up he could get. "I love you," he said to her. Her smile became beaming. "And I love you," she responded. - - - Later that evening, Yuri Pavelovich and John Stone returned to the safe house. Michael had spent the time waiting their arrival by helping Keller clean up the mess they had made the night before. John Stone had been patched and bandaged. He was looking pretty rough, but his spirits were good. He and Yuri were sharing a drink in the parlor while Michael and Anita sat on the back patio and looked at the stars. "Good evening," came a voice from their right. Michael, startled, turned to see the vampire he had seen the night before. This one was powerful, he knew, and not just from the fact he could cause another to spontaneously combust, but that it took great skill to sneak up on Michael Stone. Anita stood, smiling, and ran to the vampire. They embraced, and she took his hand and led him over to the lounge chairs. Michael stood. The vampire offered his hand. "Mr. Stone," he said. Michael detected an accent. Western Russian, maybe. Czech? Romanian? "Transylvanian," the vampire said in answer to Stone's unspoken questions. Stone's eyes widened. The vampire was immaculately dressed, complete with a black overcoat. His hair, black as night, was combed neatly back into a short pony tail. His face was regal, of aristocratic bearing. Stone took his hand. "Michael Stone," he said, shaking the vampire's hand. "I am Vlad," the vampire said. Stone almost took a step back. Vlad Tepis? The Count of Transylvania? Dracula!? "A name I have spent many, many years trying to hide from," Vlad said, again answering Stone's thoughts. "But, nevertheless, the Order of Dracul lives still." Stone was in awe. The Organization had detailed files on Dracula, but they were mostly open to interpretation. There was no conclusive evidence that Vlad Tepis had been a vampire. The book by Bram Stoker was fiction, but he saw now there was some truth in it. "Like I said," Anita spoke, bringing Stone's thoughts back to the now, "an old friend." They sat and talked for a while. Stone learned that Dracula was Anita's maker, and was hardly the monster Bram Stoker wrote about. Stoker did a lot of embellishment based on a few facts he knew. Stone learned that when Anita called out to Dracula through a psychic bond, the count could not refuse. "I would never allow the beloved of someone so dear to me to fall to harm," Vlad told him, "Especially since you are the father of a new hope for all of us." Introductions were made to Michael's father and Yuri Pavelovich, and the talk continued into the morning hours. The count was about to take his leave when Michael spoke up. "Vlad," he said, "I was wondering if you would mind lending us a favor?" Count Dracula smiled. "I am at your service," he said with a bow. "We have some unfinished business in Munich," Michael stated. John Stone nodded. "You're damn right we do," he said. - - - Shultz was sitting quietly in his living room reading the evening paper when the door bell rang. He got up, dressed in his housecoat, and answered the door. He was shocked when he looked through the peephole. He opened the door quickly. John Stone stood in the doorway. He looked better, but still had the tell-tale signs of a beating on his face. He looked at Shultz with cold eyes. "John!" Shultz exclaimed. "What happened to you? You look terrible!" John Stone's answer came in the form of a Kimber .45 auto which he pointed against Shultz's forehead. He stepped through the doorway, followed by his son, the vampire Anita, and a tall male vampire with regal features that Shultz had never seen before. "John! Michael!" Shultz pled, "let me explain. They –" "Save it," John said. "You betrayed us all," Michael stated. "Wait!" Shultz shouted. John struck him hard across the face. Shultz fell back into a chair. John, Michael, and Anita stood for a few seconds staring at Shultz. He was clearly frightened. He should be. The price of betrayal was high. John turned first to leave, followed by Michael and Anita. Only Dracula remained. He looked at Shultz, then he opened his mouth slightly. The room lights caught the gleam of his fangs as he walked towards Shultz. Anita shut the door behind her as Shultz began to scream. -THE END- Hunted Blood: Predator and Prey Ch. 01 Author's Note: This story takes place a few years before the events depicted in the first "Hunted Blood" story. It would have been just another day in Seattle. It was raining, though not heavily. The streets had that oily film that comes with the first light shower of the day. The sidewalks were equally slick, and in this part of town, equally grimy. And this meant it would have been just another day, even with the corpse lying across the sidewalk near the alleyway entrance. However, there was something unusual about this particular corpse. But it was similar to ones from before. This was the third one. The third female victim found in the early morning on a street known for its over-abundance of females. In this part of town, murders were not unusual at all. Drug deals gone bad, or drug deals gone well, either way, someone sometimes died as a result. It was the way of the streets. For this part of town, it was accepted. But, not this one. Not the third, or the second, or even the first. There was a crowd gathered, as there always was at a crime scene of this type. They were curious onlookers hoping to get a glimpse of death. Yellow crime scene tape had been tied to a few light posts and secured to a fire-hydrant, making a triangular shaped area guarded by uniformed patrol officers. A police dog, secure and dry inside a patrol car, barked while his handler stood silently near. The crime scene technicians were knelt down beside the body. Two plainclothes investigators and another uniformed officer stood near them, all within the boundaries of the tape. One of the investigators, Melissa Cove, stared hard at the third victim. She had been the lead investigator on the previous two. Both of those had turned up absolutely nothing, beyond a very puzzling crime lab report. And this one looked the same. Female, young, very early-twenties. Definitely a street-walker. Hooker. Whore. Whatever. Drug user. Crack head. Whatever. This one had the same tearing to her neck, over her jugular vein, just like the ones before. Melissa even thought she could see what might have been the blood vessel itself inside the ragged hole through the dead girl's flesh. She fought back the rising bile and looked around the body. There was no blood. None. She and the other officers had already searched the alleyway. There was no blood there, either. None. Just like the first two. Which led Melissa to the logical conclusion: the girl, whore, hooker, whatever, had been killed somewhere else. Or, and this was the one that Melissa didn't want to think about, the killer had drank the victim's blood. Like a vampire. That was just plain crazy. Even though the lab report from the first two said there was some type of saliva in the wounds. The lab report couldn't define the type of saliva, but stated it was human-like, or had human characteristics, or some such shit. She watched the guys from the medical examiner's office stuff the corpse into a black body bag. She and the crime scene techs exchanged a few words, and then she went to her car. The rain coat Melissa wore did little to save her dark brown hair from getting wet. She had pulled it back into a tail, as was customary when she was working. It didn't matter now, she thought, because she was soaked to the skin thanks to the early morning drizzle. This was number three. They were obviously all killed by the same person. Some sick, twisted sociopath was out there preying on the girls who worked these streets. Some of the police officers didn't think that was such a bad thing. She could understand that kind of attitude, but whatever the case; there was a serial killer on the loose. A killer the newspapers and TV had already labeled "The Vampire Killer". If they only knew how correct their identification had been. - - - It took almost six rings for Michael Stone to answer his cellular phone. He had to change the fishing rod he held to his left hand and dig in his shorts' pocket with his right. He put it to his ear and heard a familiar voice. "Michael Ivanovich," the voice stated. Stone smiled. The voice belonged to Yuri Pavelovich, a contact for The Organization. The Organization was a secret directive of vampire hunters, funded by many world governments. Their mission was not only to destroy vampires, but to also study and maintain intelligence on them. In other words, they hunted down and killed the ones who threatened humankind, and watched carefully the ones who didn't. "Yuri," Michael said into the phone. "I'm not catching a damn thing." "Have you seen the news?" Yuri stated, not bothering to acknowledge Michael's comment about his fishing trip in Florida. "News?" Michael asked. "Yuri, I'm on vacation. I don't watch the news." Yuri made a sigh. "Too bad, vanya. Your vacation is going to be cut short. I've emailed you a brief. Read it and comply." Michael's voice took a serious tone when he replied. "Will do," he said. Michael ended the call and began to reel his line in. This was going to be a good week, he thought. He had even met a rather nice looking young lady that was staying two doors down from him at his hotel in St. Augustine. And at this point, he knew he would never get to ask her name. - - - It had taken a little while for the chartered fishing boat to make its way back to the marina. Michael snatched up his gear, but he had no fish to take with him. Back in his hotel room, Michael plugged in his laptop. When the computer booted, he accessed his email and waited for the encryption algorithms to run. Once the email program had downloaded his message, he read it. The brief was detailed with newspaper articles and some television video feeds about Seattle's "Vampire Killer". The newspaper headlines caught his attention, as it had no doubt done the same when read by one of The Organization's analysts. The word "vampire", along with several others, was a key word that ran through The Organization's servers. The servers collected information from various news agencies, and if any of the key words came up, these articles and stories were flagged for review. It was one of the many ways the secret society of vampire hunters kept track of their quarry. Michael read further. He learned he would be using his FBI cover, with an assignment to the Seattle field office. The Seattle Police Department's criminal investigation division had requested a profile to be done on the Vampire Killer. Stone would provide them with just that. He learned his point of contact was an investigator named Melissa Cove. Further details told him his identification and other necessary items would be waiting for him in a hotel room in Seattle. The Organization was tied into just about every major government in the world. In most cases, these governments had contacts with The Organization at the executive level. This included national law enforcement agencies such as the FBI in the United States and MI5 in the United Kingdom. As a result of this Michael Stone had official status in several different agencies. His training, however, surpassed anything modern law enforcement could provide. Michael sighed. He wasn't quite ready to leave sunny Florida for rainy Washington. He had no choice, however. His quarter-million dollar yearly salary meant he had to go to work. He drove his rented car back to the airport in Jacksonville, Florida. He found his plane ticket waiting for him at the Delta counter, and soon he was in the air once again, heading west. - - - Michael Stone settled into his hotel room. He unpacked his luggage, and retrieved a briefcase from the closet. Inside was his official FBI identification, as well as the issue FBI sidearm, a Springfield .45 that was designed and built for the FBI Hostage Rescue Team. Not too many agents were issued them as side arms. Stone hoped no one asked too many questions about his choice of carry weapon. The .45 round was necessary, though. It was the preferred ammunition choice for hunters, as The Organization had designed special hyper-fragmentation rounds that were almost explosive in nature. They were the perfect bullets to kill vampires. Stone power napped for half an hour, then dressed in a navy blue business suit and left the hotel. He took his rented car to the medical examiner's office. His ID let him through to the morgue, where he asked to see the body of the latest victim. It was as he had read in his brief, but seeing it was much worse. Michael noted with his trained eyes the distinctive tearing of flesh over the jugular vein. The bruising around the site told Michael the vampire had sucked hard, draining the young girl of blood. Michael donned a pair of latex gloves and opened the corpse's eyes. The eyes were glazed over, the pupils fixed and cloudy, the way they should be. This told him the young girl was truly dead, and had not been fed blood from the monster that killed her. She was dead, and would stay that way. "Toxicology report?" Michael asked the Medical Examiner. "Evidence of metabolized cocaine," the ME replied. "Typical for where she was found." "What about the wound? Anything at all?" The ME got a perplexed look on his face. He shook his head. "Something," he answered, "that I'm not sure about. There was saliva present in the wound. But the DNA doesn't match anything. And I mean it doesn't match anything human. It's almost the same, but there are proteins I've never seen before. Amino acid strands that just do not come from people. It's like they are alien or something." He looked at Michael as if he expected Stone not to believe him. Michael nodded his head. "Thank you, Doctor," he said. Stone pretended to look the body over once more, as if he was studying for post-mortem details about how she was killed. Actually he had learned all the needed. She was killed by a vampire, and she would not become a vampire herself. He turned to leave, and as he walked out the door into the hallway, he literally bumped into Investigator Melissa Cove. "Pardon me," Stone said. Melissa stepped back and gave him an accusing look. "Who are you?" she asked. Michael retrieved his ID from his inside coat pocket. He opened the leather folder and showed her. "Michael Stone," he said. "I believe you asked for me?" Melissa sighed. "You're the profiler?" Stone nodded. She was shorter than he was, but tall enough that he wouldn't have to bend too far to kiss her. He watched her mouth when she talked. She was very pretty, beautiful even, but Stone sensed a hard edge to her. Well, she was a cop, after all. "What were you doing in the ME's office?" "Formulating a profile," he said. "Looking at evidence. Cop stuff." She was clearly exasperated. "And do you have a theory yet, or are you just as lost as the rest of us?" Michael gave her a slight smile. "I'm working on one," he told her, "but I'd really like to see where she was found, as well as the scenes for the others." Melissa's face softened a bit, but she still had the edge of someone in a hurry when she spoke. "I'm off duty in about twenty minutes," she told him, "and I was just checking here to see if anything new had turned up." She shook her head, clearly tired. "Tell you what, pick me up at the main station in an hour and I will take you on the tour." Michael was watching her talk, which he berated himself for later. He couldn't help but wonder how her lips would feel – "Is that okay with you, Agent Stone?" He mentally slapped himself for loss of concentration. "Yeah," he answered, "that sounds like a plan. See you in an hour," he concluded. - - - An hour later, Michael drove the rented Ford Taurus into the neighborhood Melissa had directed him to. The term neighborhood was a loose descriptor. The streets were grimy, and the buildings along them were old, decrepit, and only a few occupied. Stone could see it clearly: a feeding ground for a predator. Michael noticed people gathering on the street corners, obviously prepared to sell whatever to whomever was buying. They seemed oblivious to the fact that any one of them was potential meals for a most hungry stalker. Melissa showed him the alleyway where the latest victim had been found. Stone parked the car, and they walked a few yards into the alley. When they stopped, Melissa pointed to the dirty concrete below their feet. Stone noticed they were far enough into the alleyway that, when the street lights came on, very little light at all would make it to where they stood. Stone looked up, seeing a building top about two stories above them, and the opposing one was about another two stories taller. He then knelt to examine the grime beneath him. Melissa knelt, too. "No blood," she said. Michael nodded. "Which means what?" she pondered. "She was killed somewhere else and then dropped here?" Melissa looked around. "We even had canines try for a track, but nothing was found". Michael shook his head slightly. "No," he answered, pointing behind him and then in front, "even with it being night time, I imagine these streets have enough people on them that someone would notice the killer bringing her in here. And a police dog is only as good as the weather will allow. There wouldn't have been a scent trail for them to follow anyway." He sat up and brushed his hands off from where he had touched the filthy pavement. "She was killed here." "So where's the damn blood?" she asked. "The human body has like 8 pints of blood. So where did it go?" Stone stood and looked her in the eye when she stood as well. "The killer drank it," he answered. "And the human body has about 11 pints or so." Melissa sighed and looked at the ground. "So that's your theory? The killer thinks he's a vampire so he drinks his victim's blood?" Stone looked at her with a serious expression. Melissa felt his stare bore into her, his cold gray eyes piercing and somewhat intimidating. "You've seen the ME's reports, Investigator Cove. How did the victims die?" "Extreme blood loss," she answered. "Extreme and very quick," Stone added. "The killer tore open their necks and drank every last drop of blood that they had." Melissa sighed again, clearly exasperated. "This is fucking crazy," she stated, "to think we really have a serial killer running around that thinks he, or she I guess, is a vampire. I'll put a BOLO out on Count Dracula." "I don't think telling your patrol officers to be on the look out for Dracula will do much good," Stone told her. He glanced up again, checking the distance to the lowest roof top. Two stories would be an easy jump for a vampire. "We're looking for something that stalks their prey, entices them, attacks very quickly, and then flees with great stealth." Melissa narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?" Stone thought for a moment before he answered her. "Is there a coffee shop nearby?" She shrugged. "I don't know," she responded. "Come on, this is Seattle. Surely there's a coffee shop somewhere near here." - - - They had had to drive for a few minutes, but they found a Starbucks. Michael and Melissa sat across from one another. She had a steaming mocha latte in her hands, while Stone had just finished spooning sugar into his cup of Earl Grey. "So you think our killer believes he is a vampire?" she asked. "I have to admit, the ME's reports and everything else adds up to that. Some sick sociopath that is so mentally deranged he actually believes he's a walking corpse." Michael looked at her over the rim of his cup. "The killer doesn't think he's a vampire, he is a vampire." Melissa almost dropped her latte. "You're kidding, right?" Stone took a sip of his tea and then set his cup on the table. He looked at her impassively. "Oh my God, you're serious!" she exclaimed quietly, aware of the other customers in the shop. "What part of the FBI do you work for, anyway? The X-Files?" Michael ignored her comments. "How long has it been since the last murder?" "Four days," she answered. "It will kill again tonight," Stone stated. "What makes you say that?" "Most vampires feed every four days. Although this one seems to over-indulge itself. They really only need a few pints of blood to sustain themselves." "Okay," Melissa said, setting her latte cup on the table, "let's just say for a minute that this really is a vampire. Why is he, she, it, whatever, stalking around that part of town?" "Food supply," Michael answered calmly. "The same reason great white sharks stay around small islands when seal mating season occurs. As long as there is a good supply of food, a predator will remain in an area until that supply is exhausted. Or, until it gets scared away. But the lure of an easy kill will commonly keep the predator close to a food source even if there are other threats to it in the area." "Damn," Melissa said with a low whistle, "you go from Fox Mulder to Nigel what's-his-face from the Discovery Channel in one swipe." "This isn't the first time something like this has happened in a location similar to what we have here." "Really? When and where was the last?" "London," Michael answered. "The Whitechapel area, 1888." "Jack the Ripper?" Melissa asked, and saw Michael nod. "You're telling me Jack the Ripper was a vampire?" Stone nodded again. "This is insane," she stated. Michael would spend no time trying to convince her. He looked out the window. It was getting dark. He had work to do. Stone stood up and grabbed his rain coat. Melissa took it as a signal that it was time to leave. They drove in silence. She showed him where she lived, and he told her he would see her in the morning at her office as she got out of the car. He watched her walk up the steps to her apartment. He shook his head to bring himself out of a lustful reverie, then put the car in drive and headed back to his hotel. Michael made a phone call on his cell while en route to his hotel. The call connected quickly, and the person on the other end listened quietly while Stone placed his order. There was some hesitation at first, and then the person told Michael he would receive his ordered items within an hour. Michael ended the call as he parked his car. In the hotel room, Stone changed into his black, Kevlar reinforced combat suit. As he was buckling the straps on his boots, there came a knock at the door. Stone grabbed his rain coat and opened the door. There was a very non-descript looking, very large man turned and started walking down the hall. Stone followed him to the elevator. They rode in silence to the parking level. Stone followed him out to a plain, white van. The man opened the rear doors and retrieved a large, rectangular shaped box which he sat down in front of him. The man then turned and walked away without a word. Stone hefted the box inside the trunk of his Taurus. He then got into the car and drove away. Michael drove from memory, from when he and Melissa had gone to the crime scenes earlier. When he entered the area, he parked his car in the parking lot of a closed corner store. It was dark, yet not entirely secluded, so he was careful when he removed the box from the trunk. He also grabbed his katana and a small backpack. He ducked into an alleyway, and once he was out of sight, he cut the box open with a pocket knife, and he found a large rifle case inside. He opened the case and checked its contents. The rifle case contained a Robar SR-60 sniper rifle. It was matte black, with a very large ITT Nightvision scope. This rifle was chambered in .300 Winchester magnum, as Stone had requested. There was a box of twenty specially-made .300 rounds with it. Stone pulled one of the rounds of ammunition from its box and looked at it. It was a version of the hyper-fragmentation rounds developed for the .45 auto by The Organization's armorer. This one, however, was designed for a rifle, and was extremely accurate at the high velocities achieved by the .300 magnum cartridge. Hunted Blood: Predator and Prey Ch. 01 Michael removed his raincoat and then opened the backpack. He strapped a small, lightweight rappelling harness on, and then slung the rifle across his back. He did the same to the katana. He then moved quietly down the alleyway, stopping to find an old fire escape. He carefully climbed up it then made his way across the low rooftop to another rooftop. It took him a while to successfully navigate the rooftops, sometimes having the climb down partially in order to reach a fire escape ladder on the next building. Finally, he made it to the roof top he wanted. He now had a good view of the main street that was full of side alleyways, two of which had been the scenes of murders. Stone took a few moments to get set up, all the while remaining quiet and undetected. He tied a coiled length of black nylon line to a roof fixture, and then threaded it through the carabiner on his harness. This would provide a rapid way to the ground should he need to egress in a hurry. He then unfolded the legs of the rifle's bipod, and set it so the rifle's muzzle would just clear the roof ledge. When he was satisfied that he was well concealed behind the roof's short facing, Stone turned on the night vision scope and looked through it. Michael discovered there was enough light from the street lamps that he didn't need the scope on at all. He only needed the light amplification feature when he panned the rifle to peer into an alleyway. Otherwise, he could see fine, a little dark in some places, but clear enough to make a shot when the time came. Stone saw that the people on the street below really didn't care about the fact they were being hunted. He saw drug dealers, prostitutes, and all sorts of what he considered street vermin. It didn't matter, though, about their social status. The fact was there was a vampire stalking this place. And if the vampire killed these people, it could just as easily kill anyone else. Michael Stone was going to make sure that never happened. He checked his watch as he lay prone behind the rifle. It was nearing midnight. The sky was cloudy, and looked like it was going to rain. Well, he thought, this was Seattle. Starbucks and rain. Oh yeah, and Pearl Jam. It was an hour later, an hour of constant scanning with his eyes and the rifle scope, when he saw his target. The Organization had trained him to spot vampires. There were subtle traits they had, the way they walked, the way they moved. To everyone else, this one looked just like another Goth wanna-be. But to Michael Stone, the vampire stood out like the full moon. Michael peered through the ITT rifle scope, watching the vampire as it crossed the street. It was male, about six feet tall. Michael couldn't see the face, but he really didn't care. As the creature stepped upon the curb of the street, Stone centered the crosshairs on the base of its skull. He eased the rifle's safety to the off position. He took a breath, and then exhaled slowly, letting about half of the air out, holding the rest. His mind entered mushin, and he knew nothing but the crosshairs that rested tightly on the vampire's head. As his right index finger touched the trigger and prepared to press it rearward, the vampire turned around, obviously distracted by something in the street. Stone twisted the scope's zoom, bringing the image into wide focus. A Seattle PD patrol car had stopped in the street. There were two officers in the car. The one on the passenger's side had gotten out, and was gesturing to the vampire. Stone figured out the cop was asking the creature for some identification. Michael zoomed back in on the vampire's face. He settled the crosshairs between its eyes. He was going to take the shot. He didn't know when he would be able to again. It had to be now. He started to apply pressure to the trigger. It would only take two and a half pounds of force to move the trigger to the rear and engage the sear, which would cause the firing pin to fall on the ammunition round's primer. Only two and half pounds of pressure. But the vampire moved. With a blur, the creature moved from Michael's line of sight through the rifle scope. He backed away from the rifle, scanning the street below with both eyes now. He saw one cop, the one that had spoken to the vampire, start to run across the street towards his location. The officer that was driving had gotten out of the patrol car. Both were now standing in the street, one pointing towards his side and the other gesturing wildly. And then he saw Melissa grab the driver and point towards some buildings not far from where Michael lay. He didn't know where Melissa had come from, or why she was on the street. What he did know was the vampire had used its superhuman speed to ran quickly away from danger. He had seen Melissa point across the street, seemingly directing the cops to his side, but a few building away. Michael picked up the rifle, folded the bipod, and slung it across his back. He stood, then turned to pull the knot from where he had tied off his harness. That was when he heard it. Footsteps. Running. Very fast, and with a rush of wind. He was turning around when the vampire hit him in his left side. The force of the blow knocked him over the edge of the roof. Michael was falling. The edges of his vision began to turn black as pain clouded his sight. His mind worked to focus itself despite the pain. The rappelling line was still attached to him. He reached to his chest, finding the line and closing his fist around it. He tried to roll himself face up, and at the same time he pulled hard against the line. His body straightened, upright, and then the hold he had on the line caught. The resulting jar nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket. Michael caught his breath and looked down. He let go of the line and literally stepped onto the ground. Michael dropped to his knees. He looked up to the roof from which he had just fallen. There was no one there. The pain in his left side was harsh now. His right arm, around the shoulder, was on fire. He disconnected from the line and was about to stand when the beam of a flashlight caught him. "Seattle Police!" Melissa yelled. "Show me your hands!" Michael raised his left hand above his head. He cocked his head to the side and spoke, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't shoot me, Investigator Cove. I've had enough for one night." Melissa clicked off her light, then stepped close. "What the fuck are you doing?!" she exclaimed. "My job," he answered. Michael then stood stiffly. He flexed his right arm. It burned, but he recognized it as a sprain and nothing more. His ribs on his left side, though, he wasn't so sure about. "What happened to you?" Melissa wondered. Stone told her about being on the roof. She looked up while he was talking, then back at him, her eyes wide. He then told her about the vampire, how he had him dead bang. Stone had figured that when the creature fled from the police officers, it jumped to a rooftop not far from his own, then leapt across them until it came to where he was. Stone postulated the vampire didn't know Stone was there, and when it encountered him, it just figured it would knock him off the roof. "So where is he now?" Melissa asked. Stone shrugged, which caused him to wince in pain. "Come on," she told him, "we need to get you to a hospital." "Negative," he responded, "I just need to get somewhere I can rest and take care of my injuries." She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Alright, come on then." They left his car and he went with her to her apartment. She helped him into a chair in her living room. She watched as he began to remove the black suit. "What is that? Body armor?" she asked. Stone nodded. "Yeah, of a type. Its Kevlar, spandex, nylon, reinforced with titanium in places." "Damn," was all she could say. Stone figured she was awe inspired by the suit's construction. Melissa, however, was remarking on Stone's defined upper body. He wasn't big, like a bodybuilder, but smooth and leanly muscular, like a swimmer. Michael looked down at his left side. There was a nasty bruise there, which hurt like hell when he pressed against it. However, he determined the likelihood of fractures in his ribs was low. Michael retrieved a small bottle of ointment from his backpack. He opened it and asked Melissa for a washcloth. She returned from the bathroom with one. Stone poured some of the dark colored goo on the washcloth and held it over his ribs. Melissa wrinkled her nose. "What is that stuff? It smells horrible," she stated. "Its an ancient Chinese liniment called Dit Da Jow," he explained. "It smells bad, but it heals very well." She sat across from him on the sofa. "Okay, look," she began, "you've got something to tell me." She indicated the katana and rifle. "What the hell is going on? Who are you?" Michael took the washcloth away from his side and placed it on the coffee table. "Mind if I use your shower?" he asked. "Yeah, actually, I do," she replied. "I want to know who you are and who you work for. It sure as hell isn't the FBI!" Michael sighed. He then told her about The Organization. He told her everything, how it came to exist, what they did, everything. She stared at him the whole time, not moving, not saying a word. "You saw one tonight, Melissa," he said, pulling back to the conversation, prompting a reaction from her. She shook her head. "I saw a man," she stated. "A man that can move very, very fast." Michael leaned close to her. "What you saw was no man. No human can move as fast as that. No human can jump two or more stories onto a rooftop like that." "Okay," she said, rubbing her temples. "Okay, so say it was a vampire. So why the sword? The rifle? Can't you just use a cross and holy water?" She looked at him, and for the first time noticed he had a small gold crucifix around his neck. "No," Michael told her, "unfortunately that stuff only works in the movies. Vampires aren't supernatural, although they possess skills that seem supernatural in nature. They aren't beings rejected by death, or God, or anything like that. They are simply a mutation of genetics; another race, a subspecies of homo sapiens. Some even consider them an evolution of mankind. The vampire uses almost all of its brain, we only use on the average of about ten percent. Their unique body chemistry allows them to live an extremely long time, and some may even be truly immortal. "But, for all of their gifts, they have weaknesses. Sunlight will kill them. A vampire's body heals extremely fast, but it can not heal vast damage that's done quickly. Cutting off the head, burning, or extreme mass trauma will kill them," Stone finished, and he waited. Melissa touched the crucifix around his neck. "So why do you wear this?" "That," Stone said, "belonged to my mother." Melissa smiled. "What happened to her?" Stone's face lost all expression. His eyes took on that cold, distant look. "She was murdered by a vampire," he stated. He then told her the story of how he was a small child when one night, his father burst into his room. He recalled how his father snatched him out of bed and carried him off into the night. He told how he remembered being cradled in his father's arms as his dad ran. How he looked back at their house and saw it in flames. He explained to her he later learned that a vampire his father had been tracking followed him home and killed his mother. "So your father is a hunter, too?" "He was," Michael explained, "but he's retired now. Has a farm he tends to." He stood up. "Can I use your shower, now?" Melissa pointed to the bathroom. Michael gave a small smile and picked up a small black duffle he had brought from his car. He always traveled with a change of clothes, including an extra combat suit. He took it into the bathroom with him and turned on the shower. Melissa watched him go. She sat there for a minute, her mind reeling with what she had just been told. Vampires. She wanted so much to not believe it. Michael believed it. That was blatantly obvious. But, she knew what she had seen was real. The only explanation available was the one Michael Stone had given her. And as fantastic as it sounded, it was the only one that made sense. Melissa stood up and went into the bathroom. Michael was standing in the shower, letting the hot water run over him when he sensed someone else in the room. His eyes opened, and through the shower curtain he saw Melissa's silhouette undressing. The curtain opened slightly behind him, and she stepped in. Neither said a word to each other. Their first embrace was tentative, and Michael held her as she began to sob. He didn't need to ask her why she cried. He knew. He could feel it in her tears, even as the water from the shower washed them away. She cried for him, for the pain he suffered and the path of vengeance he now walked upon. She cried for the victims of the vampire that now stalked her streets, for even though they were far from innocent, they did not deserve to be food for an unholy hunger. She looked up, her mouth finding his. She relaxed in his arms as their tongues explored each other's mouths, touching, tasting. There was passion in the kiss, but not force. It was tender and sweet. Michael's hands roamed down her back, across the roundness of her ass, and then to her hips. She felt him hard against her as he pressed her to him. She pulled against his shoulders. Michael moved her backwards, pressing her against the wall of the shower. She involuntarily lifted her right leg, placing her foot on the tub's rim. Keeping himself pressed against her, Michael slid down. She felt him pressing at her entrance. She was on fire there, throbbing, and she moved her hips around, trying to capture him, hoping to pull him inside. Michael pushed forward, cupping under her lifted thigh to bring her hips in-line beneath his. And at once, he was inside her. Melissa's mouth formed an "O" shape, her lips pursed as she gave vocalization to her body's reaction as Michael pushed inside her. She held onto him as he began a gentle movement in and out. Her mouth found his again, and she moaned into him as they kissed. Every time Michael moved into her, she rocked her hips forward, causing the top of him to scrape across her most sensitive spot. She fought against throwing her legs around him, grinding her clit on him until she came. She let him control the pace. He moved inside her so sweetly. Michael wasn't thinking about anything but how she felt right now. Her tightness and warmth enveloped him, and as he pushed farther inside her, he could feel her muscles deepen. He kept the pace even, not too slow, but not too fast. He knew the constant and consistent friction against her clitoris would have its effect soon enough. And, as he pushed into her, he rolled her hips to meet his, causing him to rub that most sacred and hidden of places deep inside her. Melissa had her head back against the shower stall now. The words "Oh God," repetitively coming from her. She could feel the heat inside her building. Her legs were starting to tense, but she knew she would not fall because Michael was holding her. She was nothing but one solid mass of sensuous feeling being joyously made love to against her shower wall. And then she came. Her muscles clamped down on Michael, she stiffened, her hands digging into his shoulders, and she screamed. Michael felt her come on him. He held her, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as she dug into his flesh. He held her as she shuddered, with each tremble causing her to bang her head ever-so-slightly against the shower wall. When she had come down from the peak, she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at him. Michael withdrew himself, then turned off the shower. He slid open the curtain and helped to step out. She reached for a towel, but he grabbed her by the back of her hips and pushed her against the bathroom counter. "We're not done, yet," he told her. He then pushed against her back, causing her to fall forward against the counter. She caught herself, bracing her hands against the sink as she felt her ass being raised up. She watched in the mirror as Michael moved behind her, cupping her ass first, then spreading her open. She was about to tell him to not hurt her when he suddenly pushed into her. It was forceful, but not too hard, and he didn't bury himself inside her. He waited a few seconds for her to adjust to him in the position. When she raised her head, he saw her smile in the mirror. He smiled back, then grabbed her by the hair and began thrusting into her. Melissa started the repetitive moaning again, only this time the words "Yes!" and "Harder" spat from her mouth. She looked up again, into the mirror, and saw Michael behind her, one hand entwined in her hair, and his muscled physique rippling as he held onto her. She could feel his hand around her hips, holding her steady while he pumped in and out of her. Michael was getting closer. He looked down and watched himself going in and out of her. He looked up and saw her in the mirror watching him. "You feel so good," he said. She moaned something unintelligible and arched her back, opening herself more for him. He disentangled his hand from her hair, and grabbing her ass, spread her cheeks wide. "Oh fuck!" she exclaimed, her orgasm starting build again. Michael didn't stop, but instead he pounded harder. He could feel the tingling start, the sensations of the impending explosion coming deliciously soon. He clenched his teeth, a low moan coming from him, almost animalistic sounding. And then, when he though he was going to pass out from sensory overload, he thrust one last time and held himself there as he shook and came. Melissa felt him throbbing, shooting inside her. She gave into her own orgasm, gripping the sink faucet and accidentally turning it on as she screamed her pleasure. She didn't care, she didn't even know, because all she was aware of was that Michael Stone had just fucked her like she had never been fucked before. And she loved it. When Michael finally withdrew from her, she could barely move. She vaguely lifted her head and looked at the sink faucet. She gave a small laugh and turned it off. She looked into the mirror and saw Michael smiling and shaking his head. She gave a small shrug as he stepped back into the shower and turned it on. They actually showered this time, washing away the sweat from their previous exertion. Afterwards, they both lay nude, and cuddled on Melissa's bed. Michael checked his watch. It was about two hours until sunrise. He thought about the vampire, and seeing the creature on his roof. The vampire had ran from the police, but why towards him? The fiend was escaping, but to where? "Hey," Michael said, "what's beyond the building where I was when you found me?" Melissa thought for a minute. "Not much, just the docks. The sound. Boats and stuff." "Warehouses?" Michael asked, "like old warehouses? Abandoned warehouses?" "Yeah," she answered. "Why?' "Because," Michael reasoned, "the vampire was fleeing when it came across me. And I believe it was escaping to its lair. And there's nothing better than an old, unused warehouse where it could come and go as it pleases." "Oh," Melissa understood, "so we need to check out some old warehouses." Michael nodded. "Get some sleep," he told her, "we leave at sunrise. In daylight, we have the advantage." Melissa spooned against him and drifted off. Michael held her, and despite the pending battle he knew he would fight, found himself falling asleep. ---to be concluded. Hunted Blood: Predator and Prey Ch. 02 They had spent most of the morning looking through the vacant warehouses that sat around the dock area. Every one they had checked had, so far, turned up empty. "This is the last one," Melissa told Michael as he walked around the perimeter of the building. He was checking the few windows along the building's front. He found none of them with loose panes, or even any that were, or would, open up. He shook his head, confirming to himself the vampire wasn't using the windows as an entry point. Michael looked up to the roof. He then pointed to the Melissa's car. "Drive that over here," he told her. She nodded, understanding he wanted the car near the edge of the warehouse roof. They had found old crates or other objects to use to assist them in getting on the roof of the warehouses before this one. Some, though, Michael had scaled using his skills. This one, unfortunately, had nothing available nearby to help them and no easy access points that could be used for climbing. Melissa pulled the car up to the building with its front bumper almost touching the metal siding. Michael stepped onto the vehicle's hood, then he jumped and caught his fingers on the edge of the warehouse's metal roofing. It was fortunate he was wearing gloves, otherwise the sharp edge of the tin roofing would've cut into his fingers. He and Melissa both had dressed warmly to ward off the chilly air. Michael was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck, black leather bomber jacket (it had been given to him by his father), and sneakers. He pulled himself up onto the roof and crouched low. There were three skylight access points, all of which were made of metal and opaque fiberglass panels that could be opened and closed from within the warehouse to provide ventilation. He stepped softly and slowly across the roof, wary of any loose or squeaky tin beneath his feet. The first panel he came to, on the side of the warehouse nearest the street, was secured tightly. The middle one was the same. The last one opened up when Michael pulled gently at its edge. He slowly raised it up, again wary the rusted metal hinges of the panel would squeak. When it was open enough he could peer in, he did so, and saw nothing but a darkened and empty area below him. Michael continued to open the panel, and when it was fully open, he dropped down into the darkened warehouse, landing softly. Michael crouched again on the dusty concrete floor. He extended his awareness, opening himself to the smells and sounds within the warehouse. He heard nothing, and he only smelled the musty odor of a space that had been kept closed too long. He slowly took a small flashlight from a jacket pocket and turned it on. As he played the beam across the warehouse's interior, he saw nothing but the concrete floor and bare metal framework of the warehouse's skeleton. The beam of light came across a door at the warehouse's far end. There were two windows beside the door. Stone guessed this was an office or reception area. Stone went to the door. He shined his flashlight into the windows and saw a room lined with paneling. There were frayed telephone wires protruding out of one wall. The floor, Stone noted, was carpeted. As he shined the light across the room's floor, he saw the corpses. Stone found the door to the office unlocked. He entered and looked at the pile of bodies in the corner. He then shook his head once more, and moved through the office to the warehouse's entrance door. He undid a deadbolt, opened the door, and called for Melissa to come around. "Anything?" Melissa asked as she stepped into the doorway. "Yeah," Michael answered, and he shined the flashlight beam into the corner of the room. "Oh!," Melissa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand, "rats!" Michael nodded. He held the flashlight so it illuminated the corner of the room. There was a pile of rat corpses there. Michael figured there were probably twenty or so of the things. They looked desiccated, as if they had been there for some time and had dried out. Melissa noted this aloud. "Looks like they're mummified." "They were drained of blood and tossed into the corner," Michael explained. "The environmental conditions inside this warehouse are just so that they've become preserved." "So the vampire is here?" Michael shook his head. "No," he said with a sigh. "But it has been. I'm starting to think this one came in on a boat," he told her. "This warehouse was the first place it bedded down. It lived off rats here around the docks until it got enough strength to venture out to feed. I think it has moved on to somewhere else." Melissa looked at his face. "Where else would it go?" Stone turned off the flashlight. "I don't know," he answered her. He reached for her hand and clasped it in his own. He pulled her to the open door. Once outside, Stone put his flashlight back into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the hood of her Taurus and looked at the ground. Melissa stood in front of him. She could see he was in deep thought, but she still put her arms around him. She kissed his lips. "This is a big city," he said. "There's a thousand places to look." She nodded. "So what now?" He looked her in the eyes. "We're going to have to wait until it feeds again," he told her. She narrowed her eyes. "I know," he explained, "I don't like it, either. But, we've got no other way, no other really logical way to track it." He looked off towards the ocean for a moment. "It was fleeing this way to draw me here, make me think it was sleeping in one of these warehouses." "So it was trying to deceive us," Melissa surmised. "Makes sense, I guess. I mean, animals do that, right? " "Right," he said, "but this one is a very smart predator. Think about a wolf, now think about a wolf that can rationalize," Michael explained. "That is what we're dealing with here. When this one was fleeing from you and the other police officers last night, it was just trying to get away, but when it hit that rooftop and saw me, it changed its tactic to more than just flight. It had to draw us, especially me, away from its lair." Melissa narrowed her eyes and turned her head slightly in a sudden understanding of the point Michael was making. "You're saying it recognized you, aren't you?" she inquired. Stone nodded. "Not me specifically, but I do believe it recognized me for what I am. It recognized me as a hunter," he answered her. He pulled up the left sleeve of his leather jacket and glanced at his wristwatch. "It's time for lunch," he announced. "And I've got to send a report to my bosses." They left the warehouse and dock area. Melissa drove them to a small café where they had some sub sandwiches, and then she took Michael back to his hotel room. There he got on his laptop and quickly sent a brief report via email to the Organization's secure servers. "So," Melissa said as she sat on the edge of the bed and watched Michael close the laptop up, "what do you wanna do now?" He looked at her with a half-smile. "Well, I know what I would like to do," he told her, "and I know what I need to do, but there always seems to be what I have to do." She laughed and nodded her head. "Yep," she admitted, "funny how things like that get in the way." He sat down beside her and planted a kiss on her lips. "What I would like to do is stay here and get you all sweaty for the rest of the afternoon," he told her. She smiled. "What I need to do, though, is take a nap; because what I have to do is recon this fucker's hunting grounds." Melissa didn't say anything. She took of her shoes, unzipped and took off her jeans, pulled back the bed covers, and curled up on the bed. Michael followed suit, undressing down to his underwear as well, and curled up with her under the covers. It wasn't long at all before they were both asleep. Stone slept most of the rest of the afternoon. Melissa had gotten up before him, and she left the hotel room to pick up some take-out for dinner. Michael got on his laptop and retrieved a return email from Yuri Pavelovich. Michael read it, then picked up his cellular telephone and dialed a local number. The phone call connected to a secure server, which split the call to a satellite orbiting high above Earth, and also to a non-descript clothing shop in Sydney, Australia. The satellite routed the call to somewhere in Montana, then bounced it again to a privately owned Boeing 727 somewhere over the North Pacific. "Mikhail Ivanovich," Yuri spoke into the phone. He stirred his cup of tea sitting on the oak table in front of him. He reclined back in the chair he sat, looking out the window at the dark water as it passed far beneath him. "Yuri," Michael responded. "Where are you now?" "Still a good distance away from you, Vanya," Yuri answered. "It will be tomorrow morning before I am in Seattle." Michael nodded. "I'm having some trouble with this one," he admitted. Yuri made a gasping sound. "This is the first time you have ever admitted to having trouble with anything, Mikhail Ivanovich. Perhaps you are losing your edge?" Michael was silent. "I am only teasing, Vanya," Yuri chuckled. "Even the greatest of hunters need assistance. It is a stupid man who does not ask for help when he needs it the most." "The problem here is the sheer size of the area where this one is feeding," Michael stated. "And, the simple fact that there is only me, and of course Melissa, who I told you about in the email. The other police officers simply want to catch a serial killer, and without letting them in on this one being a vampire, I don't think we can effectively contain and kill it." Yuri thought for a moment then responded. "If you are certain it has identified you, then it is possible it has left the area totally. However, I would caution against that line of thought, because if you are wrong..." "Exactly," Michael stated. "So, having said that, I am open to suggestions." "I am en route with additional personnel to put at your command," Yuri said as he looked to the four other members of the Organization who shared the airplane with him. "Until then, recon and mark the creature's movements. You must learn if it has indeed left Seattle and moved on to other hunting grounds before we learn about it in a news report." "Will do," Michael said. He disconnected the call. Stone turned to his laptop and opened a file with a map of Seattle and a database containing the vampire's known kill sites. He added the location of his last encounter and also the location of the warehouse where he and Melissa had located the dead rats. He was studying this when Melissa returned with Chinese food. The sun was setting as Stone and Melissa ate. When finished, Michael looked outside as the lights of the city shone against the cloudy night time sky. "What's next?" Melissa asked. "Reconnaissance," Michael answered. Then he looked at her with a half smile. "But first, I want dessert." "Oh?' She replied with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, yeah," he said, taking her hands in his and pulling her from the bed. He kissed her lightly on her lips then deftly unzipped her jeans. She wriggled her hips as he pulled her jeans down and off. Stone hooked his fingertips in the waistband of her panties, and those, too, slid down her legs. He took her by the hips and sat her down on the bed. He then placed a fingertip against the fabric of her shirt and urged her to lie down. Michael opened her legs and kissed each of her thighs lightly. He then licked along the inside of her left leg, moving his tongue lightly and gently over her skin up to the juncture of her thigh and groin. He nestled his lips against this part and sucked lightly, causing Melissa to moan softly. He then placed a light kiss against the very top fold of her outer labia. Melissa moaned again, and when she did, Michael used his fingertips to open her up. He then licked her with a long, slow movement of his tongue between her folds, stopping his tongue on her clit. "Michael," she said breathlessly, "that feels so --" He clamped his lips around her clit and sucked. "Oh my God!" she sounded out. She bucked her hips against his mouth. Stone held her clit between his lips and while he sucked, he let his tongue dance across this most delicate of places. Melissa's hips began to gyrate and move rhythmically against his tongue. As her tempo increased, Michael used the middle finger of his right hand to delve deep inside her. She shuddered at his entry. He curled his finger, the fingertip finding the puffy pad of flesh inside her, and with subtle pressure he began to move his fingertip against her most sensitive spot in time with the flicks of his tongue against her clit. Her moans became grunts, which turned to vocal enthusiasms of pleasure as Michael feasted on her. It wasn't long before she began to tighten on his finger, and she arched her back off the bed, her thigh muscles tightening and tensing. Melissa grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and put it over her face to muffle the scream that was building inside her. She was talking to him, saying something, but he couldn't make it out. Her body was telling him all he needed to know, however. As she became tighter on his finger, her legs responded in kind, tensing to the point where he had to lift his head from the bed in order to keep his mouth fastened on her. Then, finally, there was a total tightening of her body, both inside and out. A muffled scream came from under the pillow she held to her mouth. Michael felt the rhythmic contractions on his finger from the muscles inside her, and he felt and tasted the flow of her juices as she came against his mouth and hands. Michael stopped and held his finger inside her and his mouth against her. Her body began to relax and loosen, and he made one final lick against her which caused her to jerk against him. She gave a little laugh from under the pillow. Stone withdrew his finger, coated with her sticky come, and he sat up and used a napkin from the take-out food on the desk to wipe his mouth. When he turned back to the bed, Melissa had removed the pillow and was looking at him dreamy-eyed. "That was awesome," she noted with a smile. "That was dessert," he responded. She clumsily sat up, still in the after-effects of her orgasm. "Your turn," she told him. "Get those jeans off so I can have my dessert, too." Michael put his hands together in frustration. "I want to," he told her, "but we need to move so we can try to figure out where this thing is tonight." He leaned forward and kissed her. "You owe me," he said to her in a low whisper. "Yes, I do," she whispered back to him. "And I can't wait to pay up." Hunted by a Dream Ch. 01 I remember that night; I slept the way I used to be. I said my prayers every night ever since I was a child. I have always been a good, and an obedient child, that I'd never given my parents any worries or have caused them troubles. I was always thought of as the good one, that my thoughts were always pure. You see, I've been in an all-girls Catholic school almost all my life that I always had this 'Catholic guilt'. I believed that bad people go to hell, and that good people go to heaven. I used to know the Bible from the heart. I was standing in the middle of my bedroom. The lights were strangely dimmed, and my room seemed wide and yet the same. I was naked, and there, I seemed older, an adult that reached her peak as a woman, with long black hair flowing through my smooth, bare back. I was looking at a man standing a few steps from me; the glass door of my verandah was slid open, the curtain billowing from the cold breeze of the night. It was strange how I could see everything from my body and feel as if I was somewhere else in the room too, like another part of me was present. It gave me a third person perspective, and at the same time trapped in this body, that seemed to be my future self. The man standing there was staring at me. I remember his eyes to be dark and beautiful, but the memory of it had left as soon as I woke up. Something in my mind told me that he was The Devil himself. At that instant, I could feel his presence, his darkness, but I wasn't afraid. Rather, I was attracted to him. My instinct told me that I was the one who let him in my room. I could tell that he came from the veranda, from the way he stood beside the glass door, his tall frame spoke of danger and lust. I desired this creature. I could feel his breath even from the distance. His mouth curled in an insolent smile. His hair was dark; he had a tan, well-toned body with long limbs, the kind of man I wanted from my dreams. It was as if he made himself the way I wanted him to be. Suddenly, I found myself in his arms, I wasn't sure if I glided or he did, but I was in his arms, his breath mixed with the smell of his masculine scent. My heart was beating faster. I felt excitement and desire; something that I wasn't aware of, something that I thought was forbidden, something that was against all what I've always believed in. His body enveloped me in a heat of passion; it was as if his arms became a cape that drew me closer to him, closer that made me even more breathless. I relinquished the thought that he may do me harm, it didn't matter what he was; I found him dangerously irresistible. I was elated that something dark and powerful wanted me. I know it was foolish, but I've never experienced being wanted as a woman before, the wonders that these sensations can do, the power of lust and desire that I can inflict and be inflicted upon was new to me. I was delirious with the new found power that I have but was never conscious of. He bent down, his eyes never leaving mine, his face a few inches away. My eyes fell on his slightly parted lips. I ran a tongue on my own, wetting it, feeling the hunger from his kiss. My hands seemed to have moved by itself, going up from his flat abdomen to his broad chest, my palms savoring the heat, the hardness, the smoothness, until I couldn't hold myself any longer. My lips found his; we kissed, slowly at first, our tongues dueling, my eyes were half-closed from the heady sensation. I pushed my body even closer so that our breaths and bodies mingled. I heard a moan and was surprised that it came from me. No longer was I aware of my surroundings, I only felt his presence, the craving, the lust. My mind lost its volition over my body. Then I felt him shifted, and suddenly found myself void of his lips. He looked at me and spoke without words, he spoke in my mind like an echo, he said; "I will come for you..." I woke up with a start. My eyes automatically fell on the glass door of my verandah. For a moment, I expected to see him standing there. And before I could stop it, the images became blurry; I have forgotten his face. But the feelings he stirred in me, the sensations I felt remained in my memory for years. I sat still on my bed for a long time trying to take the images back, closing my eyes, trying to grab onto something so that I could keep a fraction of detail about his face. "How could I have dreamt of something that felt even more real than anything else?" I asked myself. My body reacted to him; it was so potent that I woke up with his scent still clinging to my senses, my body searching for the heat that enveloped it. For weeks, I was a fool who constantly thought about that dark creature, sometimes even wishing that I could meet him in my sleep again. Half of me wondered why I was longing for this creature, but knew that I was fascinated by its mystery and the fact that he wanted me. The promise that he gave me was instilled in me. He spoke of it in a language that only my mind understood. It was madness, one may think. I kept telling myself that to think such is blasphemous, and that it was only a dream, that I should stop this until it becomes an obsession. Gradually, the dream became a memory, until I've forgotten about it. Eventually I left home, and went abroad for college. Years passed by rapidly. Little did I know that the dream I had will hunt me. Hunted by Amazons I walked through the forest hunting deer. It was high-noon when I had picked up the tracks of a small herd. I lived on the forest edge and had been living in these woods for some time. So it was odd finding foot prints. I was armed with my bow, staff and a short sword. Following the tracks the foot prints went off to the east while the herd continued north. Listing to the forest it went completely silent. This was the first sigh that something was wrong. Stopping my keen ears picked up on the movement around me. "I know that I am surrounded. Come out and face me!" I yelled. Coming from behind the trees and off the branches a group of women surrounded me. Quickly taking in the situation it was five on one and they looked to be seasoned warriors. Two had bows while the others long daggers. They wore hide skirts and tops that only covered their breast. "What is your business with me?" I asked roughly. "We are the Black Leaf amazons. You are now our slave." replied the leader. "I am sorry but I am my own master." They seemed to take this as an insult and the bow women shot at me. In a smooth turn I had grabbed both arrows and taken up my stance with my staff. The other charged and in a three quick motions it was over. I had hit them all two times in the lower stomach and back. Turning around they looked at me with hate and disgust. "What haven you done to us!" yelled the leader. "I have frozen your bodies for a brief moment. The next time you wish to capture your prey be better at it." I chuckled as I left them. The leader cursed in a language that I did not know and I continued to my home. I felt sorry for them, coming across a master warrior but they had brought it on them selves. Dismissing the thought I finally made it home to my small cottage. Taking off my hunting clothes and slipping into more relaxed pants and shirt I rested with a good book. The sun was setting when I picked up the smell of river lotus. Quickly putting on my chain mail and fighting gear I grabbed my staff as I walked out of my small home. The sky was mixed with yellows and pinks as the night's wind brushed across the land. There they stood waiting for me. "You are on my land. I humbly ask you to leave." I said with force. "I am La'Sha leader of the Hunters. My hunters tell me that a boy had defeated them." she said stepping forward. "This is true. Yet, I am no boy. I am a man of nineteen full cycles and a peaceful master of the Numbing Touch. " "Then you will be taken by me weak man." Drawing her sword her advance was quick and strong. Blocking her strike she quickly followed up with a spinning high kick. Ducking the kick I swept her standing leg. La'Sha stumbled back and I advanced with my staff attacking her wrist. Yet her skill prevented me from disarming her with easy motions and moves. Spinning my staff I pushed away her swing and side-stepped her hitting her in the back of the head knocking her out. The others watched as their leader hit the ground. "See is my guest for this offence. Bring me your leader by night fall and I will finish this business!" I yelled to the other. One spat at the ground as they watched me lift their leader over my back and take her into my cottage. Closing the door behind me I took all of her weapons and gear. Tying her to one of my chairs I took her figure in for the first time. She was tall and toned with long black hair. Her breast were oddly larger than what I have herd about these amazons. Her skin was tanned and soft looking. I had thrown two more piece of wood on the fire as I waited for La'Sha to awaken. She awoke soon as I had finished the stew, passing her a bowl. "Why do you keep me here?" she asked. Smiling I untied her bounds and passed her a bowl. Looking at me like a cornered mountain lion she takes the bowl of stew and quickly dispatches it. Giggling I make her another bowl. "You are an interesting man. You untie my bounds and act like that I won't kill you in your sleep." "I have no fear of you and you can try all you like but your skill is not at my level so you pose no true threat." I replied. Changing the subject I picked up a bag of powder that smelled odd. "What is this?" I asked. La'Sha looked at me in shock as she jumped at me causing the bag to fly into the fire. The smoke filled the small cottage forcing me to open a window. After the smoke cleared, my body felt on fire. Looking at La'Sha I could see the same thing. Suddenly my loins burned for her body and her gaze told me the same thing. I tried to fight this odd passion but my will was not my own. Taking her in my arms we kissed and explored each others body. I gently kissed her neck and face as her hands traveled toward my crotch. La'Sha quickly unfastened my pant freeing my hardened tool. Falling on to the bed I fell between her thighs. Quickly pulling off her top her large breast jiggled as the thick hide top slid over her head. La'Sha scooted up her skirt and guided me inside her. My Feeling of lust over took me. Like an animal in heat I sucked and nibbled on her tits. Grabbing her waist I pulled her roughly to each thrust. Pounding on her wet cunt La'Sha panted and moaned as her passion built. Wanting more, craving for more of this amazon's body I put her legs over my shoulders. La'Sha screamed out in her peoples' tongue as she felt my hungry dick slide deeper into her pussy. Her hands scratch and rub my back. A moan escapes my lips as she kisses my neck. My sack tightens, my dick twitches as I can no longer hold back. With one last hard thrust I explode filling La'Sha climaxing temple with my seed. La'Sha cries filled the room as she follows after. Her cunt tightens, her back straighten and eye glaze as her orgasm over took her body. Falling into La'Sha we both passed out from the strong drug induced sex. Laying there I wondered what would happen next with these Black Leaf amazons.