Author's Note: This chapter is pretty bad. Lots of violence and blood shedding and even a bit of an explosion. This story is meant to entertain. I seriously don't want to be a blood whore. Is that what they call them? Enjoy!
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It was the day after Wyattr's first nocturnal visit when I remembered what my father had always told me. Knowledge is power. I would need that power and more to fight the hideous beast that had become my nightmare.
Turning to my computer, I searched the Internet, reading everything I could find about those that hunted at night, that fed on the blood and despair of others—the so called Night Walkers, Nosferatu, Bloodsuckers, the Vampire. There were stories everywhere filled with mostly conjecture and little fact. Some stated wooden stakes were the only way to kill them, others said daylight, or silver. Nothing pointed to one certain way to make them die.
I read stories of Vlad the Impaler, the first Dracula, and his reign of terror in Moldavia. The horrors this one man had committed upon tens of thousands of people, impaling them upon wooden stakes buried in the ground and leaving them to die foul and painful deaths brought tears to my eyes.
But none of this got me any closer to the information I needed. I had to find my salvation elsewhere, for once, the Internet didn't hold all the answers.
Daylight came once more after another night of checking locks, jumping at every noise, listening for the scratchings at the windows that would once more call to me of Wyatt's return. I locked our house, the bright sunlight shining warmly down on me, feeling an eerie sense I would never see my home again. But I was determined. I had to do this.
I reached the city just before sundown and found a motel. Of course, it was seedy, as the section of town I felt drawn to was a warren of alleys connected by neon lit streets. Triple x-rated movie houses and book stores mixed with darkened store fronts that stood decayed and abandoned. The hopeless stared at me as I walked along, and I felt my heart harden just a little at their plight. So many seemed homeless and needy, a hand out for coins that might at first have me searching, but soon had me brushing them aside as I tried desperately to find that which I needed.
Prostitutes called out to passing cars or made crude remarks to me as I walked by. I was threatened more than once by scantily dressed streetwalkers out to sell their bodies for rent money, food money or even that next fix of whatever poison they craved. I was propositioned more than once, but I kept my head down, my eyes averted from the men who stared or followed in my wake, shouting obscenities.
It was in the most unlikely place that I found what I was searching for, a store called "Hardbodies" run by a skinny white guy with glasses and funky teeth. He wore leather, showing off a girlish stomach and a hairless chest. His nipples were pierced, small golden hoops swinging as he moved. He had huge tattoos over his arms and shoulders, but I didn't want to look at him long enough to discern their shapes.
Something had called me into the store, almost as if it were fate that I find the card which changed my chances on a board situated at the front of the store. I ignored the looks of the pierced boy, the way he stared at my jeans and preppy-looking button-down shirt. I knew I stood out in this depraved part of the world, but I didn't care. I was looking for information, not a critique of my fashion sense. The card, hidden by a few other notices, caught my attention as I rifled through the want ads.
Buried under the 3x5 cards advertising "Slave for fetish torture games wanted", and "Kinky little M Sub looking for Kinkier Bi M Dom" was one that caught my attention. It was white, business card size, and held a phone number and a single word. That word was "Hunter".
I took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans. Then I hurried out of that place, feeling like a layer of filth covered my body. I desperately wanted a shower. I hurried back to my motel room, cutting through one of the dark alleys in my haste. I was scared, feeling unprotected and vulnerable outside of my own home, so I kept one hand holding the gold cross which had saved my life before.
Halfway through the alley I knew I'd made a mistake. I heard the voices, low and menacing, coming from in front of me. I wanted to turn and run, but I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Instead, I snuck closer to some empty boxes and tried to hide myself in the shadows.
"Aww, come on, baby. You know you want this." The voice was cruel and taunting. I chanced a look and then couldn't look away.
She was beautiful in an earthy way, dark brown hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of her head and wrapped in the fist of one of the four big men standing around her. She was naked, huge breasts jiggling above a tiny waist and full, rounded hips. Her mound was thickly covered with brown curls and was being pawed by another man. She struggled against them, kneeling in the filth of the alley, her mouth stubbornly closed against the huge cock the one man was trying to shove down her throat. Her hands were on his legs, pushing at him frantically, her nails pushing into his jeans.
The man mauling her pussy grabbed the entire mound in his hand and squeezed cruelly. The girl opened her mouth to scream, the sound cut off as the cock was shoved in her mouth, forcefully pushed until I saw her gagging around the wide shaft.
