Prologue The Lady Of Lusty Lake

The fisherman swung his arm in an arc, releasing the string and letting it sail in the air. A moment later, it landed with a pleasing ploop some forty feet away. Satisfied, he sighed, stretched, and leaned back for a long wait.

This was his favorite part of fishing. Relaxing in his boat, letting the time slowly tick by as he focused on nothing in particular and reflected on life. At nearly eighty years old, he had plenty to reflect on, and yet, not much to reflect on for too long.

His thoughts drifted through his life: childhood, school, college, work, Lisa -- ah, Lisa. The fisherman's mouth twitched as he began to recall small bits and pieces about his ex-wife. He focused on her memories for a little while -- marriage, kids, grandkids, marriage again, their first time.

He shook his head, driving away such dirty thoughts from such a sanctified pastime. It's this damn lake, he thought to himself.

Lockheim Lake was a large body of water in the middle of nowhere that was just small enough not to warrant attention as a popular tourist attraction. It had its fair share of summer campsites and valuable properties all around the edges, but none of them were the main driving force of many visits. Rather, it was commandeered by local lovers and couples as a romantic getaway locale. However, no one was quite sure how that trend even started. Some of the young adults were even calling it by a childish nickname -- "Lusty Lake."

The fisherman never liked that despicable name. Yes, Lockheim had become a popular spot for the young lovers; yes, it had a few more romantic locales than other middle-of-nowhere places; and yes, a good percentage of the couples in surrounding towns could attribute it to their long-lasting relationships. But all of that didn't mean that it should suffer the same title as a common streetside prostitute.

He cleared his throat, then settled back into the boat. He was about to try and think of something else to focus on, something less inappropriate, when he felt a small tug.

His attention shot back to his line. The bobber popped back out of the water, ripples bursting from it. The fisherman carefully rose to a stable position, eyeing the line carefully, and poised himself, ready to react to the bobber again. This was now the stand-off; each side waited for the other to make a move.

The moment the bobber dipped beneath the surface again, he yanked hard and started reeling in. He felt the line snag, and his adrenaline surged, prepping himself for a desperate struggle.

But his excitement was short-lived. There wasn't any frantic resistance or desperate thrashing, like with most fish. The pull was heavy and consistent, no sudden tugs or veering to one side. He sighed and sat back again; whatever was biting a moment ago must have let go and he'd hooked a branch or a clump of weeds instead. He slowed his spinning and rubbed his fingers, preparing himself to pull and tear at the disgusting vegetation he was about to handle.

As he slowly reeled in, however, he didn't notice the large shadow following his line beneath the surface, slithering through the water towards his boat. Its shape grew and shrank, shifting and warping beneath the surface, but it followed the line with definite purpose.

It was the hair he saw first. A blotch of brown began bobbing up from the dark green depths. His first thought was that it was a patch of mud trailing from whatever he was pulling in, until the sun caught it and it briefly shone like polished copper beneath the water.

He stopped reeling in the line, but it slackened and continued the last few feet to his boat. The hair gave way to a glimpse of something black -- wait, no, flesh-colored now? -- beneath it, kicking its way up to his boat. Her copper hair broke the water first, sprinkling him with a misty spray that only enhanced the vision before him. The fisherman gasped, his breath catching in his throat; he was looking upon a young woman -- no, a goddess, staring up at him from the water.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the fisherman could recall the classic story of the "Lady of the Lake" from Arthurian legend, rising from the waters of Avalon with legendary swords or treasures. Here, the Lady was the treasure, a treasure to the eyes and soul.

Her wet hair fell away from her face, presenting her perfect face. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds, and her mouth curved up into a coquettish smile to him. Below the water's surface -- for the fisherman could not help but steal a quick glance -- she was nude, her voluptuous breasts teasing to break the surface and present her supple nipples to him.

She held on to the fishing line daintily with long fingers. If he was more observant, the fisherman would have noticed that they were still pristine, not wrinkled and pruney like she had just been swimming deep in the lake

The fisherman felt his face flush, and the heat spread down his body into his pants, pumping blood into his groin. Deep within him, something churned painfully, something that he buried years ago burrowing its way back out of his soul.

Around twelve years ago, his wife Lisa -- bless her soul - had passed away from heart complications. On her deathbed, he saw her in a new light, a degree of beauty behind the wrinkles and the pained smile. When she passed, he made an oath never to copulate with another woman again. When women came up to him, looking for a new sugar daddy, he turned and walked away. The temptation was hard for him at first, but in time, he was able to resist any and all feminine appeal, all for his dedication to dear Lisa.

Now, for the first time in almost ten years, this woman was making him horny as fucking hell.

He leaned over lightly, his breath quickening on its own. Her smile widened slightly and she rose from the water slightly to meet him, which only made him even more excited as he clutched the boat to balance himself.

Closer...closer...

Suddenly he straightened up, clutching his chest and grimacing in pain. His labored breath caught in his throat, changing into a stifled yell through gritted teeth.

The water woman just stared at him, her seductive smile transformed into something between confusion and frustration.

The fisherman leaned over the side of the boat, trying to speak to her, beg for her help, but another bout of pain racked his body again. He shuddered, giving a final hoarse cry, and slumped over the edge of the boat, one of his arms splashing in the water.

The lake woman scowled. So close, and yet, so very far. That was the problem with the elderly -- eager and ever-ready, but they lacked the strength and constitution for it. She had to pick younger, healthier prey next time.

Tempering her anger for a moment, she pulled at the fisherman, pulling him the rest of the way off the boat and into the lake. As his body slowly drifted underneath the water, slowly drifting into blackness, she dove and swam beneath the boat.

She raised a hand to its aluminum siding. The same hand that caressed the old man had suddenly stretched, with delicate fingers becoming knifelike talons that pierced its meager hull. Slowly, it raked deliberately underneath the boat, tearing through the metal like it was made of wet cardboard. It only took a couple of minutes until it and everything within all followed the old man to the depths of the lake. And that was the end of that.

A moment later, the top of the woman's head gently broke the surface of the water again, with only her eyes and nose peeking just above the surface. She carefully scanned the edge of the lake, looking for human movement.

Nothing. No rushing panic or screams towards her or the dead old man. Her little murder had gone completely unnoticed.

She was suddenly hit by an intense smell, one that only she could recognize. Her nose twitched, and her head spun around, tracking the scent. It was a bitter, ugly smell, carrying a combination of wet fur and dried sweat.

Need. Desperate, insatiable lust that begged to be satisfied. And not just from one human -- it must have been a small assembly of sex-driven peons.

Her mouth curved into a hungry grin beneath the water, licking her lips carefully. She ducked back below the waters of Lockheim Lake. Soon, everything was quiet once again, with no trace of the tragedy that happened only moments before.