Author's note:
This one took an unconscionably long time to write, but there was a period where I couldn't write it properly, and today that finished, and so did this story.
It's shorter and punchier than the others, and the sex is more about the foreplay and the build than the consummation, but it finished well enough, I think.
There's probably no point in you reading this if you haven't already read the first two - Hunters Ch. 01, and Hunters Ch. 02 (They'll be easy to find).
As always, comments are welcome, and help persuade writers to do more of it.
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Rachel ordered us more room service - her company could afford a very large tab - while I walked into the bathroom, feeling my new senses, my new appreciation of balance and forces and delicate minutiae, with every step, and stared at my naked body in the mirror.
I looked better now. I was fixed. I was now as beautiful as Christopher. I looked the way I should. I could hunt well, now.
Rachel glided into the room behind me, every footstep placed perfectly, every line of her body exquisitely arranged, a beautiful goddess men would fall in love with and beg to feed.
She draped her arms around my shoulders and breathed into my ear "I couldn't have you missing out on this."
I laid my fingers over hers, feeling the life in her pressed against my back, and replied "It was the right thing to do."
I stretched, feeling each individual muscle move as I did so.
"I'm hungry," I said, speaking for both my needs.
"I ordered room service," she replied, then faked a human giggle perfectly, "and take-away."
I slid around in her arms to face her, curious, but she lay one finger against my lips before whirling away and stepping out of the bathroom with a swing of her hips.
No matter, I would find out in time.
I looked at myself in the mirror again, in profile. My gaze travelled down my body. With the faintest effort of will, my penis sprang erect, hard and engorged. Yes, it worked perfectly.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I could almost smell her anticipation. She was pulling a robe about herself, adjusting it automatically to better show her sexuality. I did not pay attention to her breasts as she hid them in the fabric - vampires cannot feed from other vampires.
"I ordered dinner to eat in," Rachel explained, "you need to feed your body, and you need to be sure that you can pass in human society. But you need to feed the vampire first, so I ordered something else."
I cocked my head to one side, and belatedly realised to give her my usual quizzical look.
"Put a robe on," she ordered me. "She should be ..."
She was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door.
With a stirring of predatory anticipation, I put myself out of sight of the door, slipping noiselessly into one of the hotel's supplied robes.
Rachel called out "Come in!" investing her voice with submerged layers of seduction, not yet compulsion but planting the seeds.
The door was opened briskly, and I felt a curl of energy, of vibrant and headily potent humanity, before the woman walked through.
She was medium height and had musculature sculpted by constant, disciplined usage. She wore cycling pants and expensive jogging shoes, with a midriff-baring top, little more than a sports bra, stretched firmly across tight breasts. She was carrying a folded massage table in its bag across one shoulder and a gym bag in that hand, her other hand opening the door, and was neither straining nor leaning to counter-balance them.
As she walked past me, I could taste her like the first vapours of whiskey as they curl into your sinuses.
She smiled, practiced and professional, as she judged her distance to Rachel against the need to close the door, and stepped forwards with her hand out, saying "Hi, you must be Rachel, I'm Sam."
"Magnificent," I murmured as she walked past me, pitching my voice to slide past her consciousness unnoticed, but linger in her subconscious and prime her for later touches. Rachel's expression did not alter, but I could sense her approval at my touch.
"Hello Sam," Rachel said as she shook hands, feeding her familiarity and trust through that touch. "I'm so glad you could fit us in. That's my husband Brett, behind you."
She twisted around, startled not to have noticed me, and I smiled at her as I closed the door, investing the smile with all of my human charm and feeding into it enough vampire direction to soothe her surprise and redirect her imbalance to an appreciation of us - our strength, our beauty, our virility.
As I shook her hand, tasting her, I could tell that she wasn't interested in Rachel, not sexually, and that she had an implacable professional discipline which would prevent her from so much as flirting with me, but she also had an informed appreciation of us physically, and there was more than enough there to work with.
I had to exercise the strongest discipline I could, to prevent myself from lingering over the handshake, but I hid the struggle inside a mannerism and stepped back, leaving her with an extra twinge of flattery lubricating her subconscious.
She hid her confusion impeccably, turning to examine the room, asking "Who's first?" as she took a quick look at the carpet, decided it would do, and lowered her bag and table to the floor.
A look passed from Rachel to me, simple glance that told me she was in control as she said "Oh, I'll go first," as she slowly began to untie her robe.
Sam had her table set up in admirable time, and flicked towels onto it from her bag, grabbing more towels and a pump pack of oil as she asked "One hour each?"
"Yes, please!" Rachel replied, but I was momentarily tongue-tied, lost in a brief moment of ecstatic anticipation. One hour, of tasting her through her hands! My vampire hunger became sharp, and I almost salivated, a brief struggle preventing me from trying to seize her mind too early and losing everything.
Rachel shot me a look of measured, admonitory warning as she lay down on the table, using the robe to shield her nakedness from Sam, letting propriety have the upper hand for now.
She lay down with a grace which Sam could not ignore, the masseuse's professional thrill of pleasure at her movement mingling, without her recognition, with her human sexual response to sexuality.
As Sam draped some towels over Rachel's naked body, positioned her oil bottle and squirted some into her hand, I focused myself with an effort of will, bleeding my voice nearly dry of premature subliminal cues as I asked "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thanks," she said, smiling over her shoulder with a quick, barely more than professional, flick of her lips, "but if you want to put some music on, go ahead."
I moved to the stereo, making just enough noise for her mind to track me and not keep her unsettled, and the habits of my old, human sense of humour immediately selected Dead Can Dance from Rachel's already plugged-in MP3 player, adjusting the stereo's volume to occupy part of Sam's attention without distracting her.
I moved into the kitchenette, out of sight of the table, and pressed my back against the wall, mouth agape as a repressed shudder of need ran through me and my hands curled into claws against the woodwork.
It was not a sexual hunger, although Sam's body had awoken that in me as well. Nor was it a hunger from the stomach - I had eaten well that day, and the vampire, in possessing me, had not taken a debt of nutrients or protein.
It was something other. A hunger and a need which I had never felt before, had never imagined and was struggling to understand. The frustration of delayed satisfaction was making itself felt in my human flesh through genital arousal and salivary gland activity, but my mind had the power to control both of those urges - satiating either would not help.
I drew in a deep, silent breath, expelled it and drew in another. The mingled frustrations were making me feel tight within my skin, and gave me a caged-animal nervous energy which I must not reveal.
I closed my eyes and focused, dredging up old practice in Dai Qi and Aikido to pool that energy, concentrate it and make use of it. It helped, a little.
To quell the hollow in my stomach, I pulled iced water out of the fridge and mixed myself lime cordial, being busy for long enough to return to a place of composure before I stepped back into the doorway.
Sam had exposed Rachel's naked back and was making long, deep strokes with her thumbs up the spine, the sight making the vampire in me thirst, and the man admire.
"You don't have any knots that I can find," Sam was saying in a voice half admiring and half surprised.
"I keep myself limber," Rachel replied, her voice distorted by the table but devoid of vampire controls.
I could see what she was doing - she was feeding on Sam through her skin, only a small and delicate tasting, but enough to tire and dull the masseuse's mind, making the extra effort of control, unnecessary.
Nonetheless, as I stood silently and watched, my drink almost forgotten in my hand, I could feel myself mentally stretch and reach out, hungry to take hold of her mind and bring this flirtation to a rapid close.
As I did so, I felt, to my astonishment, Rachel dampen my move, pouring a mental bucket of cold water on my ardour, leaving me no less frustrated but considerably chastened.
I retreated back into the kitchenette for a moment, shocked that she had been able to do that, then steeled myself and walked calmly through and into the bedroom, to lie on the bed staring unmoving at the ceiling, fighting a grim battle to keep myself in check.
My body reminded me of the drink in my hand and I sipped at it, focusing on the physical sensations of the cold sliding down my throat, the wetness and the trickle into my stomach, long practice and discipline removing all sexual connotation even as my body maintained its arousal, the knowledge of what was happening next door remaining in my flesh.
I closed my eyes, stilled my breathing, concentrated, and suppressed the flesh, stilling the chemistry so that my penis and my nipples shrank again, my breathing relaxed without my control and the sense of pressure in my head faded.
