fated - Part Three
Gah, I really need to get into the habit of cross posting!
Here's Part Three of Fated, my fic for good__evil's Challenge #1.
A big thanks to Niamh for her beta work on this fic - you're far better than I deserve :)
Fated Part 3 - Transformation
The smell of coffee lured Faith from her blissfully uneventful slumber and she smiled as her eyelids opened. Stretching to release the kinks a night on Doyle’s sofa had created, she sat up, reminding herself of where she was. She picked up her shirt, about to put it on when her nose wrinkled in disgust: she really hoped her new friend had a washing machine.
“Grand morning, isn’t it? How are you doing?” Doyle’s Irish-American lilt reached her, and the young woman looked up.
“Strangely, five by five for the first time in a few days. Is this the part where you tell me it was all a tall story to impress me and we cut to the chase?” she joked.
“Sadly, no. Although it is a relief to know you can’t resist my charm and fiendishly good looks, but then, what woman could? Today’s more goin’ to be about you, darlin’ - we need to figure out just what you’re capable of, so we’ll do some training. Fancy getting to grips with some weapons?”
The shocked look on Faith’s face made the man laugh, even as she asked him to explain.
“You mean guns? No way, man. If that story you told me is just to drag me into some gang shit, I am outta here,” declared Faith, scrambling to her feet and throwing on her dirty clothes. She’d worry about that later, once she was away from this nutcase.
“Hold, on, hold on,” Doyle made the mistake of placing a gentle hand on Faith’s elbow and she reacted by grabbing his wrist and twisting it back brutally, the loud crack of a broken bone causing them both to yell - he in pain and her in horrified wonder.
“Holy shit! Oh man, Doyle - I am so sorry. I-I didn’t meant to…,” she trailed off, not sure how to help and terrified by the casual way she’d inflicted the damage. Meanwhile, Doyle was swearing colourfully as he cradled his arm, gritting his teeth against the sharply throbbing injury.
“Jesus, dark eyes! What the fuck did you do that for? Never mind,” he added, interrupting himself. “Now this is why I was suggesting training. You can’t just walk around not knowing your own strength - sooner or later you’ll end up hurting someone that can’t recover quite so well as myself. I was goin’ to leave this until later, but you might as well know,” he trailed off, concentrating, and suddenly his skin was a scaly grey-green, his hair was absorbed into his scalp, and he was covered in small spikes. “I’m what’s generally known as a demon.”
Faith’s mouth dropped open and she backed hastily away from him, tripping over and falling backwards onto the couch.
“Not to worry, though. I’m not the kind that goes on the rampage, nor am I the kind that eats people. There’s some benefits to being in this form, and healing’s one of ‘em,” Doyle continued conversationally, holding out his long arm and wriggling the bones with his other hand, grunting when they made a grating click. His fingers were longer, tipped with claws, and his wry smile in her direction more closely resembled a threat; Faith realised her fear was swiftly being overrun by adrenaline and a fierce determination, and it must have shown in her expression. Doyle trembled, his demonic visage submerging beneath his human guise once again, and he held up both hands, slowly walking backwards.
“Calm down, I’m no threat to you, Slayer. That’s something else we need to work on - you have a kind of supernatural demon radar, part of the whole Slayer gig. Just because you know I’m a demon doesn’t mean you have to kick my ass, you know - it’s just a side effect from the curse. Means every time you run into a demon, you go into combat mode and can’t help getting aggressive, just like the Council wants you to.”
With visible effort, Faith relaxed, breathing deeply and passing a hand over her eyes.
“I guess you’re right then - training’s the way to go. But I think we should leave the weapons for a bit, given I don’t want you to lose anything you can’t heal. I’m still not keen on guns,” she fixed Doyle with a resolute stare.
“Babe, you’ll never have to use one, I swear on my grandmother’s grave. But I think you’ll like the crossbow.”
____________________________ * ____________________________
The cargo ship set sail from the French port of Brest on the early morning tide, at approximately the same time that Faith was making herself comfortable on Doyle’s couch. The crew and captain had been paid a very large sum of money to travel lightly, rather than waiting for a full manifest as was customary, with the result that they loaded a consignment of 12 assorted crates, most of which contained various soil samples bound for the University of Chicago. The Persephone weighed anchor, anticipating docking in Chicago within the week.
Deep within the hold, one box held more than soil in its dark interior. Dracula slept, buried within the embrace of his homeland, concentrating on the magic required for the change from wizened ancient to youthful prince. The energy crackled quietly around him as he controlled his metamorphosis subconsciously, but even in repose he could direct energies only barely comprehended by mankind, and he sent a tendril into the skies.
The crew was alarmed when the sky began to darken, bringing with it a rising wind from the east; the weather reports for that day, and indeed the whole voyage, had been good with clear skies and no storm warnings. Seasoned as the crew was, one of them muttered under his breath that it was a devil’s breath storm, one that blew out of nowhere to claim ships and all hands, but the shiver that ran through all fifteen men in the mess was quickly dispelled by another man suggesting that perhaps next, they’d be seeing St Elmo’s fire on the hull.
The journey continued, the rain and wind driving them ever onward, and the navigator was astounded as he calculated their position when the sun set on the second day.
“Captain! Captain! We’ve travelled one hundred and twenty miles further than we had planned. The wind - it’s pushing us faster along our course, it’s as though it wants us to get to Chicago. Or whatever sent the wind wants us to reach port soon.”
“All the more shore leave when we arrive then, Francois. For now, we should simply count our blessings, no?” The Captain dismissed the navigator’s concern, thinking that the contract he’d signed would be one his most lucrative deals yet, and wallowed in fantasies of how he’d spend the money once they’d completed the Atlantic crossing.
In his cocoon of earth and wood, Dracula stirred, feeling the sun slip below the horizon. Extending his senses, he located each of the crew members, amusing himself by sifting through their thoughts. He needed to choose one of them for tonight’s prey, as his transformation was extremely draining. Which one of them would be expendable?
‘Ah, there you are. Come to me,’ he beckoned with silent compulsion, drawing the man into the darkness of the hold. Entranced, the human crept closer to the crate holding the vampire, his will so thoroughly overruled that he scarcely flinched when a clawed white hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. Swiftly and inexorably pulling the unresisting body towards the open lid of the box, Dracula felt his teeth lengthen in hunger. He was ravenous, striking savagely to tear a wide, messy wound in the unfortunate man’s neck and draining him to a husk within seconds. The deep scarlet stained his lips and gums, stray trickles trailing down his chin and pooling in his cravat as Dracula sighed in relief. Pausing, he relished the sense of rejuvenation the dead man’s blood provided before muttering an incantation which burned the remains to dust in a matter of moments, settling back as he waited for the ship to carry him to his destiny.
_________________________ * _____________________________
Five days had passed, and Doyle had been working Faith hard for each and every one of them. This afternoon found them in a small dojo in the demon’s neighbourhood, the dark-haired man wearing protective padding and a face mask as the girl pressed her attack once more, wielding dual bokken with a precision that still amazed her. Doyle was sweating hard as he struggled to defend himself, deflecting no more than one in three of her blows and grunting in exertion. The flying kicks, gymnastic blocks and leaps Faith was effortlessly employing to keep him off balance and prevent him striking her were graceful, beautiful and vicious; more than once Doyle found himself distracted less by her ability and far more by her sleekly rounded body. He’d never encountered Faith’s predecessor, some girl in California who was, by all accounts, blonde, dumb and somewhat self-absorbed; the Slayer before him was every guy’s wet dream. Determined, focussed, cunning and powerful, Faith embodied the whole Slayer ethos to his mind. A beauty with more than a trace of the beast lurking under the soft, smooth surface, unafraid of the darkness and what lay concealed within it.
A sudden crushing blow to his legs felled him, jolting Doyle from his reverie to see Faith straddling him, one knee to the mat and the other bent as she held her killing stance.
“What’s up man? I don’t normally catch you quite that easy,” she smiled, staring down at him. He raised his head, winced at the pain, and lolled back to the mat with a groan.
“Nothing, lass, just not sure I’m strong enough to go another round with you. You’ve given me quite a beating today already.”
Faith sprang to her feet, holding the wooden training swords in one hand and offering him the other.
“Hey, you’re the one that started me on this training kick, remember? Don’t blame me if you can’t stand the pace - although I’d hoped you had more stamina. You get me all hot and bothered, then leave me hanging? No wonder you haven’t got a girl,” she smirked provocatively, and Doyle swallowed hard.
“Why would I want just one when there are so many to try?” He grinned back, trying to wish away the reaction the Slayer’s blatant sexuality aroused.
“Please! One night with me and I’d break you,” Faith goaded him, and secretly, he suspected she might well be right.
“I never mix business with pleasure, darlin’. And with you, you can bet I’d be all business,” leered the demon, causing the girl to roll her eyes.
“So, are we done here? We’ve been training for nearly a week - when am I gonna see some real action?” she pestered him, helping him out of the protective clothing.
“Since you ask, we’ve a job tomorrow night. That soon enough for you, now?”
“Hell yeah! What’s the scoop?”
“Let’s get back to the apartment and clean up, and tonight we can go see a friend of mine to go through the details. Sound good?”
“Sure. Whatever you say, boss,” smirked Faith.
The sky was clouded and overcast when they left the dojo, and Faith stifled an inexplicable shudder.
‘It’s just a storm coming, nothing to get worried about,’ she reassured herself, looking quickly at Doyle. He was searching the sky with a thoughtful expression, his lips pursed and a small frown between his brows.
“Something bothering you?” She queried.
“What? Uh, no,” Doyle replied, shaking his head. “Just a bit surprised by the sudden change in weather. It was supposed to be clear for the next few days. Won’t make much of a difference to our schedule, though. What do you think - pizza or Chinese?”
“Hmmm….tough call. Pizza, but only if we can skip the anchovies this time,” Faith bargained.
“You’re a harsh mistress,” her friend sighed mournfully.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
_________________________ * ______________________________
The Persephone swept into Lake Michigan that evening on a swell of rough water and billowing fog. The crew had begun arguing about abandoning ship and taking their chances on the ocean after the first disappearance, and the arguments became harder for the captain to quell when a further three crew members vanished without even a cry of distress. He knew he’d have to look for a whole new crew once they berthed - too many of this group were vocal in their dissent and the rumours of the ship being cursed would lead to most, if not all, resigning once they were on dry land.
This commission was rotten to the core, and he wished his greed had not blinded him to his suspicions. He’d even broken open two of the crates in the hold, convinced they must be the reason behind the disappearances - drugs, animals, who knew? But they were, as the manifest said, filled only with soil. What would anyone want with it, and why would they pay so much for a speedy delivery?
The weather bothered him, too. The storm front blowing the ship before it with single minded purpose was in no way natural, and the fog which heralded their arrival into the Great Lakes was eerie.
Below deck, Dracula’s shape shifting was complete within his haven of soil, and he was present enough within the captain’s mind to know when they were reaching dock through the canal system. He closed his eyes, his physical form dissolving into vapour, and making his way up onto the deck. She was close, so close that she was almost in his grasp, and his impatience clawed at him. If fortune was kind, the ignorant British organisation would not have found her yet and she would be ripe for the plucking.
“Faith,” he whispered to himself. He could hardly bear to wait to touch her, taste her, to make her his. As soon as the port came into view, the mist coalesced into a large bat and Dracula winged his way to shore, following the mystical lure of the Slayer’s power.
____________________ * __________________________
The new Slayer was settling in for yet another night on Doyle’s couch, somewhere after midnight, still absorbing the details for the next night’s plan. It seemed simple enough, one quick smash and grab raid, Doyle and Simon, one of his contacts, doing the sneak work with Faith running interference and providing the muscle which would gain them the initial entry. Simple, quick and easy, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was going to run into something less easily killed than the one vampire she’d dusted - it wasn’t as though she’d had much field experience. Doyle assured her that she was overkill, more than enough to take down the Rezyek demons guarding the place they were hitting, but still she worried.
Sighing, she fluffed up her solitary pillow and lay back, closing her eyes.
Dracula stood on the street below, staring up at the apartment’s window, his instincts having brought him here with unerring accuracy. His aged form had given way to that of a man in his early thirties, with shoulder length blue-black hair, unlined pale skin, and a hard, muscled body. The tailored suit he wore was immaculate, and the aristocratic planes of his face hinted at a debauched sensuality and jaded palate. His eyes were dark, glinting red revealed in their depths as he recognised the spoor of a demon around the property, but rejoicing at the proximity of his intended. Her scent was vibrant and intoxicating, a sweet, velvety musk which made him practically salivate. He’d arrived too late to see her, but as she fell asleep and her breathing slowed, he knew he could rectify that miscalculation and he took to the sky once more, his leathery wings fluttering against the glass as he gazed into the room beyond.
She was breathtaking, her pale skin all the more startling by the contrast with her long dark hair. Her lips were full and sensual, and his eyes travelled eagerly over her body, taking in every curve and trembling with the thundering need running through him. She was definitely his match, the girl in the prophecy - already she made his blood burn and his senses swim as they had ceased to do so long ago. On a rash impulse, he sent her a dream, one of sensuous abandonment and cool, strong caresses, a temptation and invitation to explore.
Tomorrow night he would be waiting, as he had been for so many centuries, for her.
Here's Part Three of Fated, my fic for good__evil's Challenge #1.
A big thanks to Niamh for her beta work on this fic - you're far better than I deserve :)
Fated Part 3 - Transformation
The smell of coffee lured Faith from her blissfully uneventful slumber and she smiled as her eyelids opened. Stretching to release the kinks a night on Doyle’s sofa had created, she sat up, reminding herself of where she was. She picked up her shirt, about to put it on when her nose wrinkled in disgust: she really hoped her new friend had a washing machine.
“Grand morning, isn’t it? How are you doing?” Doyle’s Irish-American lilt reached her, and the young woman looked up.
“Strangely, five by five for the first time in a few days. Is this the part where you tell me it was all a tall story to impress me and we cut to the chase?” she joked.
“Sadly, no. Although it is a relief to know you can’t resist my charm and fiendishly good looks, but then, what woman could? Today’s more goin’ to be about you, darlin’ - we need to figure out just what you’re capable of, so we’ll do some training. Fancy getting to grips with some weapons?”
The shocked look on Faith’s face made the man laugh, even as she asked him to explain.
“You mean guns? No way, man. If that story you told me is just to drag me into some gang shit, I am outta here,” declared Faith, scrambling to her feet and throwing on her dirty clothes. She’d worry about that later, once she was away from this nutcase.
“Hold, on, hold on,” Doyle made the mistake of placing a gentle hand on Faith’s elbow and she reacted by grabbing his wrist and twisting it back brutally, the loud crack of a broken bone causing them both to yell - he in pain and her in horrified wonder.
“Holy shit! Oh man, Doyle - I am so sorry. I-I didn’t meant to…,” she trailed off, not sure how to help and terrified by the casual way she’d inflicted the damage. Meanwhile, Doyle was swearing colourfully as he cradled his arm, gritting his teeth against the sharply throbbing injury.
“Jesus, dark eyes! What the fuck did you do that for? Never mind,” he added, interrupting himself. “Now this is why I was suggesting training. You can’t just walk around not knowing your own strength - sooner or later you’ll end up hurting someone that can’t recover quite so well as myself. I was goin’ to leave this until later, but you might as well know,” he trailed off, concentrating, and suddenly his skin was a scaly grey-green, his hair was absorbed into his scalp, and he was covered in small spikes. “I’m what’s generally known as a demon.”
Faith’s mouth dropped open and she backed hastily away from him, tripping over and falling backwards onto the couch.
“Not to worry, though. I’m not the kind that goes on the rampage, nor am I the kind that eats people. There’s some benefits to being in this form, and healing’s one of ‘em,” Doyle continued conversationally, holding out his long arm and wriggling the bones with his other hand, grunting when they made a grating click. His fingers were longer, tipped with claws, and his wry smile in her direction more closely resembled a threat; Faith realised her fear was swiftly being overrun by adrenaline and a fierce determination, and it must have shown in her expression. Doyle trembled, his demonic visage submerging beneath his human guise once again, and he held up both hands, slowly walking backwards.
“Calm down, I’m no threat to you, Slayer. That’s something else we need to work on - you have a kind of supernatural demon radar, part of the whole Slayer gig. Just because you know I’m a demon doesn’t mean you have to kick my ass, you know - it’s just a side effect from the curse. Means every time you run into a demon, you go into combat mode and can’t help getting aggressive, just like the Council wants you to.”
With visible effort, Faith relaxed, breathing deeply and passing a hand over her eyes.
“I guess you’re right then - training’s the way to go. But I think we should leave the weapons for a bit, given I don’t want you to lose anything you can’t heal. I’m still not keen on guns,” she fixed Doyle with a resolute stare.
“Babe, you’ll never have to use one, I swear on my grandmother’s grave. But I think you’ll like the crossbow.”
____________________________ * ____________________________
The cargo ship set sail from the French port of Brest on the early morning tide, at approximately the same time that Faith was making herself comfortable on Doyle’s couch. The crew and captain had been paid a very large sum of money to travel lightly, rather than waiting for a full manifest as was customary, with the result that they loaded a consignment of 12 assorted crates, most of which contained various soil samples bound for the University of Chicago. The Persephone weighed anchor, anticipating docking in Chicago within the week.
Deep within the hold, one box held more than soil in its dark interior. Dracula slept, buried within the embrace of his homeland, concentrating on the magic required for the change from wizened ancient to youthful prince. The energy crackled quietly around him as he controlled his metamorphosis subconsciously, but even in repose he could direct energies only barely comprehended by mankind, and he sent a tendril into the skies.
The crew was alarmed when the sky began to darken, bringing with it a rising wind from the east; the weather reports for that day, and indeed the whole voyage, had been good with clear skies and no storm warnings. Seasoned as the crew was, one of them muttered under his breath that it was a devil’s breath storm, one that blew out of nowhere to claim ships and all hands, but the shiver that ran through all fifteen men in the mess was quickly dispelled by another man suggesting that perhaps next, they’d be seeing St Elmo’s fire on the hull.
The journey continued, the rain and wind driving them ever onward, and the navigator was astounded as he calculated their position when the sun set on the second day.
“Captain! Captain! We’ve travelled one hundred and twenty miles further than we had planned. The wind - it’s pushing us faster along our course, it’s as though it wants us to get to Chicago. Or whatever sent the wind wants us to reach port soon.”
“All the more shore leave when we arrive then, Francois. For now, we should simply count our blessings, no?” The Captain dismissed the navigator’s concern, thinking that the contract he’d signed would be one his most lucrative deals yet, and wallowed in fantasies of how he’d spend the money once they’d completed the Atlantic crossing.
In his cocoon of earth and wood, Dracula stirred, feeling the sun slip below the horizon. Extending his senses, he located each of the crew members, amusing himself by sifting through their thoughts. He needed to choose one of them for tonight’s prey, as his transformation was extremely draining. Which one of them would be expendable?
‘Ah, there you are. Come to me,’ he beckoned with silent compulsion, drawing the man into the darkness of the hold. Entranced, the human crept closer to the crate holding the vampire, his will so thoroughly overruled that he scarcely flinched when a clawed white hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. Swiftly and inexorably pulling the unresisting body towards the open lid of the box, Dracula felt his teeth lengthen in hunger. He was ravenous, striking savagely to tear a wide, messy wound in the unfortunate man’s neck and draining him to a husk within seconds. The deep scarlet stained his lips and gums, stray trickles trailing down his chin and pooling in his cravat as Dracula sighed in relief. Pausing, he relished the sense of rejuvenation the dead man’s blood provided before muttering an incantation which burned the remains to dust in a matter of moments, settling back as he waited for the ship to carry him to his destiny.
_________________________ * _____________________________
Five days had passed, and Doyle had been working Faith hard for each and every one of them. This afternoon found them in a small dojo in the demon’s neighbourhood, the dark-haired man wearing protective padding and a face mask as the girl pressed her attack once more, wielding dual bokken with a precision that still amazed her. Doyle was sweating hard as he struggled to defend himself, deflecting no more than one in three of her blows and grunting in exertion. The flying kicks, gymnastic blocks and leaps Faith was effortlessly employing to keep him off balance and prevent him striking her were graceful, beautiful and vicious; more than once Doyle found himself distracted less by her ability and far more by her sleekly rounded body. He’d never encountered Faith’s predecessor, some girl in California who was, by all accounts, blonde, dumb and somewhat self-absorbed; the Slayer before him was every guy’s wet dream. Determined, focussed, cunning and powerful, Faith embodied the whole Slayer ethos to his mind. A beauty with more than a trace of the beast lurking under the soft, smooth surface, unafraid of the darkness and what lay concealed within it.
A sudden crushing blow to his legs felled him, jolting Doyle from his reverie to see Faith straddling him, one knee to the mat and the other bent as she held her killing stance.
“What’s up man? I don’t normally catch you quite that easy,” she smiled, staring down at him. He raised his head, winced at the pain, and lolled back to the mat with a groan.
“Nothing, lass, just not sure I’m strong enough to go another round with you. You’ve given me quite a beating today already.”
Faith sprang to her feet, holding the wooden training swords in one hand and offering him the other.
“Hey, you’re the one that started me on this training kick, remember? Don’t blame me if you can’t stand the pace - although I’d hoped you had more stamina. You get me all hot and bothered, then leave me hanging? No wonder you haven’t got a girl,” she smirked provocatively, and Doyle swallowed hard.
“Why would I want just one when there are so many to try?” He grinned back, trying to wish away the reaction the Slayer’s blatant sexuality aroused.
“Please! One night with me and I’d break you,” Faith goaded him, and secretly, he suspected she might well be right.
“I never mix business with pleasure, darlin’. And with you, you can bet I’d be all business,” leered the demon, causing the girl to roll her eyes.
“So, are we done here? We’ve been training for nearly a week - when am I gonna see some real action?” she pestered him, helping him out of the protective clothing.
“Since you ask, we’ve a job tomorrow night. That soon enough for you, now?”
“Hell yeah! What’s the scoop?”
“Let’s get back to the apartment and clean up, and tonight we can go see a friend of mine to go through the details. Sound good?”
“Sure. Whatever you say, boss,” smirked Faith.
The sky was clouded and overcast when they left the dojo, and Faith stifled an inexplicable shudder.
‘It’s just a storm coming, nothing to get worried about,’ she reassured herself, looking quickly at Doyle. He was searching the sky with a thoughtful expression, his lips pursed and a small frown between his brows.
“Something bothering you?” She queried.
“What? Uh, no,” Doyle replied, shaking his head. “Just a bit surprised by the sudden change in weather. It was supposed to be clear for the next few days. Won’t make much of a difference to our schedule, though. What do you think - pizza or Chinese?”
“Hmmm….tough call. Pizza, but only if we can skip the anchovies this time,” Faith bargained.
“You’re a harsh mistress,” her friend sighed mournfully.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
_________________________ * ______________________________
The Persephone swept into Lake Michigan that evening on a swell of rough water and billowing fog. The crew had begun arguing about abandoning ship and taking their chances on the ocean after the first disappearance, and the arguments became harder for the captain to quell when a further three crew members vanished without even a cry of distress. He knew he’d have to look for a whole new crew once they berthed - too many of this group were vocal in their dissent and the rumours of the ship being cursed would lead to most, if not all, resigning once they were on dry land.
This commission was rotten to the core, and he wished his greed had not blinded him to his suspicions. He’d even broken open two of the crates in the hold, convinced they must be the reason behind the disappearances - drugs, animals, who knew? But they were, as the manifest said, filled only with soil. What would anyone want with it, and why would they pay so much for a speedy delivery?
The weather bothered him, too. The storm front blowing the ship before it with single minded purpose was in no way natural, and the fog which heralded their arrival into the Great Lakes was eerie.
Below deck, Dracula’s shape shifting was complete within his haven of soil, and he was present enough within the captain’s mind to know when they were reaching dock through the canal system. He closed his eyes, his physical form dissolving into vapour, and making his way up onto the deck. She was close, so close that she was almost in his grasp, and his impatience clawed at him. If fortune was kind, the ignorant British organisation would not have found her yet and she would be ripe for the plucking.
“Faith,” he whispered to himself. He could hardly bear to wait to touch her, taste her, to make her his. As soon as the port came into view, the mist coalesced into a large bat and Dracula winged his way to shore, following the mystical lure of the Slayer’s power.
____________________ * __________________________
The new Slayer was settling in for yet another night on Doyle’s couch, somewhere after midnight, still absorbing the details for the next night’s plan. It seemed simple enough, one quick smash and grab raid, Doyle and Simon, one of his contacts, doing the sneak work with Faith running interference and providing the muscle which would gain them the initial entry. Simple, quick and easy, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was going to run into something less easily killed than the one vampire she’d dusted - it wasn’t as though she’d had much field experience. Doyle assured her that she was overkill, more than enough to take down the Rezyek demons guarding the place they were hitting, but still she worried.
Sighing, she fluffed up her solitary pillow and lay back, closing her eyes.
Dracula stood on the street below, staring up at the apartment’s window, his instincts having brought him here with unerring accuracy. His aged form had given way to that of a man in his early thirties, with shoulder length blue-black hair, unlined pale skin, and a hard, muscled body. The tailored suit he wore was immaculate, and the aristocratic planes of his face hinted at a debauched sensuality and jaded palate. His eyes were dark, glinting red revealed in their depths as he recognised the spoor of a demon around the property, but rejoicing at the proximity of his intended. Her scent was vibrant and intoxicating, a sweet, velvety musk which made him practically salivate. He’d arrived too late to see her, but as she fell asleep and her breathing slowed, he knew he could rectify that miscalculation and he took to the sky once more, his leathery wings fluttering against the glass as he gazed into the room beyond.
She was breathtaking, her pale skin all the more startling by the contrast with her long dark hair. Her lips were full and sensual, and his eyes travelled eagerly over her body, taking in every curve and trembling with the thundering need running through him. She was definitely his match, the girl in the prophecy - already she made his blood burn and his senses swim as they had ceased to do so long ago. On a rash impulse, he sent her a dream, one of sensuous abandonment and cool, strong caresses, a temptation and invitation to explore.
Tomorrow night he would be waiting, as he had been for so many centuries, for her.