Bartok was hungry. He understood that he had a job to do. He understood that the completion of his job was priority number one. However, he could not escape his ravenous hunger. Three times in the past week, Bartok had satisfied his hunger.
But this time, he had to look past his hunger. He had to let his victim live. It was his job. And Bartok can always be counted upon to complete his job.
He walked through the store slowly, pretending to browse here and there. These small-town markets were the perfect places for him to hunt. The clientele consisted almost entirely of young to middle-aged women. Most of them mothers or soon-to-be-mothers.
He passed over quite a few viable candidates. Bartok was always particular about his choice in victims. No identifiable patterns. He loved blondes and brunettes, green and hazel eyes, tall, short, fat, thin, and everything in between. He enjoyed hunting business women and housewives; he relished the chance to stalk shy, quiet women or loud and brash mothers.
Today, he ignored all of those and more. Despite the hunger, Bartok could be patient. Many have fallen to Bartok because they underestimated him. Bartok can be patient. And he is always crafty.
When she walked through the doors to the market, Bartok's head immediately swiveled towards her. Yes, she was the one. She would be Bartok's first hunt this week.
She was an exquisite creature. She stood at just less than 5'2", a full foot shorter than himself. She was in her early thirties with pale skin and black hair that cascaded around her face. A pair of tired eyes, the color of darkened emeralds, glanced around nervously, each rimmed by rings of black eye shadow.
Even more intriguing was her attire. She wore a faded brown top hat with a frayed brim and a taupe stripe across the middle. Her dark brown overcoat was a few sizes too large for her and strayed past her knees. The overcoat was open and beneath she wore a cream sweater, the chest rising and falling over a pair of heaving breasts. Her pants were black and tight against her curvaceous thighs which led to a pair of worn, brown boots.
Rarely in his hunt is Bartok ever distracted by a prize, but this one caught him completely off-guard. As he ran over the details of her body and her odd dress in his mind, the woman had slipped away into another row of booths.
He cursed himself silently and licked his lips at the thought of this particular hunt. Smiling, he pursued.
###
Is that the same man? Adena thought as her eyes caught the six foot tall gentleman who had been gazing at her when she came in to the market. No, not gazing. Staring. She wasn't used to men staring at her like that. At least, not men of his stature.
Unfair though it may be, Adena was poor and that man was clearly rich. His crisp, blue suit certainly marked him as high-class. Pompous, stuck-up, jerk. He had probably only glared at her to make her feel uncomfortable. Or perhaps he wanted something from her. She grimaced at the thought.
Though, she thought, I at least don't look pregnant yet if I can't garner looks like that. Thankfully, she couldn't be more than a month or so pregnant. She couldn't bear to think how her mother would react. Or her dear, Jack. Much less this stupid town.
She pretended to look up at a rug hanging from the top rung of a neighboring stall so she could see if he had gone yet. Unfortunately, he hadn't. He wasn't looking at her, but his attempt to feign interest in some useless trinkets was insulting. His dark brown eyes would turn towards her every once in a while.
She turned and walked between two stalls to the next row. The market was large this year, seven rows of stalls with at least twenty stalls a row. But eventually, if he kept following her between the stalls, she would run out of wiggle room.
After a few more minutes of browsing, she turned towards where the man would have come in. Thankfully, she saw nothing. Then, as she began to turn towards the old woman selling sweaters, a sharp pain rocketed through her leg.
"Ahhh!" she cried out as she collapsed to one knee. Her eyes went blurry for a moment.
"Are you alright," said a male voice. The man took her hand and held it tight.
"I'm fine," Adena managed. She held the man's hand and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet. "Thank you. I'm fine now." She looked up and saw the gentleman from before.
"Are you sure?" he asked. Adena pulled her hand back. "I thought you were going to faint."
"No," she said taking a step backwards. What did he want? "I just had a sharp pain for a second there. I'm fine, really."
"Glad to hear it," he smiled. "Well," he turned around "have a good day."
That's it? Maybe she had read him all wrong. That certainly was kind of him to help her out. "Thank you. You too."
She really shouldn't be so judgmental of people, she thought as she returned to her browsing. She had painted him to be some sort of monster. He was no monster. In fact, he was kind of cute.
###
Trap set, Bartok thought. He smiled as he walked back to the first row of stalls. He was certainly surprised when the woman kept watching him and keeping her distance. Not that it ever mattered; Bartok didn't need subtlety or subterfuge like some of his kind. He was perfectly capable of getting control of the situation.
And he had felt her thigh. A beautiful thigh, thick and powerful. She would be an excellent child-bearer. How lucky he was.
Bartok was sure his hunt would go even luckier still. For in that brief moment of pain when he injected her, he felt a surge of pleasure rush through her thigh to her sex. Then, when he had grabbed her hand, he felt another softer surge of pleasure, like a balm.
Yes, a most excellent time was sure to follow. Bartok only had to wait. And as mentioned, Bartok can be very patient.
###
I wonder what that man's name was. Adena thought as she glazed over some large clothes. Why was she looking for large clothes? She thought. She couldn't remember. She kept thinking about how she had almost fallen and that man had saved her.
He was pretty good looking, especially compared to the poor workmen she was used to meeting. Beneath his blue suit, muscles rippled. His black hair was neat, his face clean-shaven, his dark brown eyes full of concern. And he had been looking at her when she came in.
Why? Her heart skipped whenever she thought about her. Could such a man be interested in her? Now she wished she hadn't of worn this ridiculous overcoat. It was much too big for her.
Then a thought occurred to her, she could get rid of it. She went back to the third row of stalls and found the old man who was selling coats like hers. She slipped out of the heavy garment, removed the coin purse from its pocket, and slipped it into her pants pocket. Then she threw the garment onto the table.
"How much?" she asked.
"Well, now," said the old man. "What have we here?"
