Midnight Saturday at a club simply called X. It's nomenclature is derived from it's owner's name, Xiang. He is Chinese, but not Cathayan. He was embraced by the Followers of Set for his debauchery. X is just one manifestation of that: a members only nightclub on the outskirts of LA that plays hosts to vampires, blood dolls and those just too stupid to know what they have walked into.
The masks are torn away, and the true face of the beast sometimes shines here. Not very often on the dance floor, but in back rooms, private chambers. Xiang has a cleaning crew that disposes of the bodies every morning. He had their tongues cut out so they could never divulge their secrets.
I come here for easy prey. For the rush. For the music. The grinding rage of Disturbed roars from the speakers like a primal call for visceral satisfaction:
"Drowning deep in my sea of loathing,
Broken your servant I kneel,
(Will you give into me)
It seems what's left of my human side is slowly changing in me,
Looking at my own reflection,
When suddenly it changes,
Violently it changes,
There is no turning back now,
You've woken up the demon in me..."
I am hypnotized by the undulating bodies, the strobing light glinting in their eyes, the eternal dance of predator and prey. The pounding of hearts threatens to overwhelm the throbbing bass of the song, and I feel a stirring deep inside me, an insatiable need.
She creeps up behind me, and I pretend not to notice. It is a game we often play. I can smell her, sense her...a smell like fresh poppies, a new perfume she has found. The unique rhythm of her own heartbeat.
She presses her body to me feline-like, purring in my ear, her lips hot on my cold flesh, her soft, warm hand sliding under my shirt to rake sharp nails across the hard muscle of my abdomen. Her voice is a low and lusty "I found him, Krow."
Her tongue flicks across my ear before she withdraws. A chill rises inside me, anticipation of what is to come. Not so much brought on by her touch as by her words. The hunt has begun, and as I turn, I find her strutting away, stiletto heels clicking on the floor, fishnet stockings rising to a short, black leather mini, topped by a low slung spaghetti strapped top.
She glances over her shoulder to see if I follow, her pale makeup making her look like a corpse, dark mascara giving her eyes a zombie-like appearance. The lights flash on the chain dangling from her nose ring, leading to a clasp on her left ear.
She loves the game, reveling in it. I hang back. My presence would ruin it. My six-and-a-half foot frame, broad-shouldered, muscled, clad in leather with long black hair doesn't usually inspire comfort in her conquests. I am the tracker now. The accomplice for the first half. My time will come soon enough.
Her target is a man doing his damndest to be goth. One of the many who have had a taste of the world that exists behind the veil of darkness, and craves more. Silk shirt with lace cuffs, tight black pants and just the right touch of dark eyeliner, all topped off with an ankh prominently displayed at his throat. He is completely enamored with Leslie...Lez as I like to call her. He can sense she has danced on the dark side, and he wants to be her next partner. I will see to his wish being fulfilled.
I follow them as they exit the club, and he is so focused on her, he never has a chance to notice me. Mounting my Harley, I turn the key and it roars to life, and I fall in behind his new black BMW. Perhaps he is a writer, a producer, or just some lucky asshole who invested in the right stock portfolio. Tonight, he is on a quest for something more, something he thinks he is ready to see, but has no idea of the true implications.
We cruise into the hills outside the city, and as we get further into an area with impressive homes behind security fences, I kill my headlight. It is unnecessary as my preternatural senses adjust to the darkness. The night is my home. I am god at night, and you can pray to me for all the mercy in the world, but it's a waste of breath.
As they pass through an electric gate, I dismount my motorcycle, watching from a distance for a minute before I approach the stone wall surrounding his property. A lawyer perhaps? An accountant? It doesn't matter. With one simple leap I fly through the air and land easily on the other side of the wall.
I hear the scrambling of an animal, then a snarling growl followed by a bark. A Doberman races towards me and I crouch in a fighting position, baring my fangs, hissing at the beast. It trips over itself, throwing up dirt and grass as it skids to a halt and turns, trying it's best to tuck it's bobbed tail between its legs as it retreats. I crack my knuckles and continue on.
When I reach his leaded glass front door, I find the knob turns, allowing me entry. His car is parked out front. Lez has done her job well, somehow distracting him long enough to leave the door ajar. Her skills are noteworthy. She is a good pet, and I will reward her for her performance.
The foyer gives way to a large hall, dual stairs leading to an impressive balcony and a crystal chandelier that cost more than my bike. Where oh where has my little lamb gone? I raise my nose and take in the myriad odors of the house. The lingering scent of a cheap cigarette...cologne...Drakkar Noire? And Lez's perfume. Upstairs.
My boots make little sound on the carpeted surface of the stairs. This late, it is unlikely any servants, if he employs such, are up and about. I make my way without interruption to where their scent emanates. I hear Lez laugh as I stand outside the door of what I assume is the master bedroom suite. It is slightly ajar as well, and I can smell the musk of her desire...of his as well, and the lust filled flutter of their hearts drums in my ears. The hunger burns now, like fire in my veins.
Despite my bulk, I move with the silence of a tiger in the jungle, until I can see them. Their clothes are haphazardly discarded across the floor. He is on top of her, kissing her abdomen, and her hands caress his back. He has a tattoo there, repetition of the ankh on his left shoulder.
I know she senses me. We are joined by the blood bond she shares with me. Part of my blood circulates in her body, and she says in her throaty voice "Fuck me, just fuck me baby."
I can feel his heartbeat quicken at her words, and hers beats faster as well As he mounts her, she wraps her long, pale legs around his back, crossing her ankles and locking them together. He enters her, and I see her back arch, her toes, nails painted black, curl down.
"Hard," she says, "hard and fast." I can hear him thrusting in and out of her, grunting. She arches further against him, and I see her small, upturned breasts bouncing to the rhythm of him stabbing deep inside of her.
