Vampire and His Mate Prequel

Yawning, Heather triple checked the plan for the run later, while drinking wonderfully hot hazelnut coffee out of her favorite pig mug. The target was going to be at the Starbucks at exactly 7:45pm, as he had done every Saturday for the past 7 years, where he will order his usual: a low-fat skim milk caramel-macchiato with exactly 1 and a quarter inches of whipped cream on top and 2 yellow splenda sugars- talk about OCD. After sitting in the coffee house for an hour and 21 minutes he will get up and leave and walk down the ally way parallel to the street- that's where she planned to jump him. This should be easy. Scooping up the papers, she stood, put them on the counter, downed the rest of her coffee and went to get ready. After showering and drying her long auburn hair, she put it up in a low bun to keep it out of the way and moved to her armoire. Grabbing her leather

pants, tall leather ass-kicking boots and a tight shirt with a snuffling little pig on it, she dressed quickly before moving to the weapons room below the trap door under the thick shag rug at the foot of her bed. After grabbing 3 oyabun knives and strapping one to her thigh, and one in each wrist sheath, she slid the fibre wire in one of the loops on her belt; next the Beretta 91 on the left shoulder holster and the Glock 17 on the right; and finally 4 magazines of ammo, 2 for the Beretta and 2 for the Glock. She highly doubted that she would need all of this, but it was better to be safe then sorry. Jumping on her beloved sleek black Harley, an FXSTB Night Train that was practically her child, she rode out into the dusky night.

Moving through the crowded streets of London at this time of night was easier then she had expected. The throng of people parted fairly easily except for a fair few guys either wolf whistling or making perversely rude comments towards her leather clad body- honestly what was it with men and feeling the need to make as many sexual comments as they could to a girl that looked even half decent? And why did it always seem to be the fat ugly old men who were interested? Not that it matters Heather thought with a smile, thinking of later tonight; she hadn't seen Damien in a fairly long time due to a business trip he had to go on; and because she knew this, she had him make the bite marks on her neck heal nice and slowly. There he is; she spotted the target sitting in his normal window seat in the Starbucks across the road. She checked her watch, 8:00pm; she had exactly 6 minutes before he left. She moved to the ally way where he would go and waited in the shadows. After 8 minutes had past she heard footsteps and watched as the target walked past her shadowed corner and continued down the path. Silently, she slipped out of the shadows and followed him. Suddenly his body stiffened as if sensing her presence. He whipped around, saw her, turned and then bolted down the path.

Azael smiled darkly as he spotted a leggy blonde in a short, tartan miniskirt, a fishnet shirt with a black bra underneath, fishnet thigh-

highs and an ass to die for. She was bouncing with a crowd of girls, all dancing with beers in their hands to the throb of the techno beat in the flashing dance club filled to bursting with an ocean of clubbers. She was swaying a bit more then all the others and so he coined her to be a little

more intoxicated as well. He walked over to the group, the erratic crowd around him parting like the red sea as he moved; the girls turned to him

and instantly took an interest. He slide up behind the blonde and pressed that luscious ass right up against his groin and began to grind with her.

Giggling drunkly she pressed back against him hard. He whispered something into her ear and a few minutes later they were in his silver Lamborghini speeding to his dark hotel room. His seduced beauty followed him up the stairs and into the room before she jumped on him, kissing him madly. He dropped her on the bed where she crawled to the middle and then lay sprawled over the sheets, tartan miniskirt hiked to around her hips, knees bent, allowing the fishnet thigh-highs and garter to frame her lacy thong. He let his hair fall loosely around his shoulders before crawling onto the bed. He knelt over her body and bent till his mouth was on the inner side of one of the mounds of her breasts. He penetrated the tender skin with his fangs and allowed the blood stream to divert into his mouth and down into his hungry veins, hydrating them, filling them. An hour or two later, he stopped before he got too far into the act and potentially killed her. Pulling away gently, he gave the girl one last hungry kiss on the mouth. He reached out with his mind into the ocean of space surrounding it, grasping for her mind like a hand grasping for a ball on the ground. Latching on to it, he shuffled through her thoughts and memories, altering the ones about his fangs and, over all, him being a vampire. He then commanded her to sleep, pulled out and recoiled back into his own thoughts. He dressed quickly then put a single red rose on the bedside, bent to collect the lacey thong off the floor, slid it into his pocket, lit a joint and left the hotel.

Running flat out, Heathers legs flew over the blacktop, she could feel the muscles in her legs expanding and contracting as she pounded against

the tar. The wind blew in her face and her heart pounded, pumping blood right to her legs, her adrenaline soaring. She dodged trees and gained

ground; he turned slightly, pointed a gun, shot her and kept going. Swearing profusely she reached out with her mind and slipped into his and froze him. Her thoughts slid back to when Damien had chosen her; she could recall the feeling of fire running through her veins up to her head the

moment he sunk his fangs deep into her neck. It felt as though there were walls around her mind that she hadn't been aware of before. Suddenly all

of those walls fell down around her mind at once; opening up a vast abyss of space in which all the minds, the consciousness of people around her,

were suddenly reachable, and with this new ability, Damien showed her a whole new realm of sexual possibilities. Shaking her head slightly, she focused on her target, frozen mid leap in front of her. She pulled out the Beretta took aim and shot him in the heart. Swiftly recoiling back into her own mind, she shot him in the head as well, to kill him quicker. Looking around to be sure no one was watching, she disposed of the body

quickly, bandaged the bullet wound and hurried home to get ready- she had a date tonight.

Azael wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of a pale hand while he strolled along the streets of London. It came away with the sweet blood of his first meal of the night. He took a final drag of the weed and turned a corner on the cobbled street and entered one of the more extensive forests on the edge of the city. wrapping the darker shadows of the tall oak trees around himself, he hid his image from the mortal eye, flicking the joint onto the ground and crushing it with his shoe. His tongue flicked his elongated canines absentmindedly as his thoughts went back to his first ever feeding, when the first wave of blood lust hit him all those decades ago.

He wakes, with a start, to the feeling of his veins aching, feeling so dry, like the arid desert soil. He is also agonizingly hungry. He runs down to the kitchen but everything he puts in his mouth tastes like sand or air or dirt, and it doesn't quench the uncontrollable hunger, doesn't make it go away. He is also painfully aware of where all the servants are in the house, he can hear their heart beats in his head. He hears a sound behind him and turns to see a little child standing there, a doll in her hand. She is staring at him with wide eyes but all he can focus on is the pulsing beat of her heart on the side of her neck. As he starts to make a move towards the girl, Strychnine suddenly appears at her side. He kneels down and tells her to go play, that master Azael is just unwell. Standing as she runs off, he takes Azael by the shoulder and leads him out into the night. Azael, shocked to find that the sun had risen and set while he slumbered away in his room, starts shooting rapid fire questions at Strychnine as to what is happening at him, why cant he sate the hunger with food, why is it tasteless, why do his veins hurt? "It's quite simple really, my son," Strychnine leads him into the forest where they see a young maiden washing in a pond, "you need blood to sate the burning hunger of both your belly and therefore your veins. See that young girl over there? I want you to cast your mind out to her and make her come over here. Yes just like that, well done!" struggling, Azael manages to extend his consciousness to that of the girls and command that she come over to them. "Now this is where you want to bite, just to the left of the main artery on her neck, we don't want to kill her, other wise our kind could be revealed. You must be in control of your hunger!" Strychnine leaps and struggles to restrain Azael as he lunges for the maiden, desperate to feed, to feel the blood rushing through his parched veins. Everything around him is tainted with a red hue and his mind is set only on one thing, feeding. "Now there is one thing that you need to remember by son; because I am the master of this area, I have a Pomme de Sang, and this is she. This means that only when I say it is allowed, may you feed from her. She is under my protection and it is a deadly mistake to ever feed off of a master's Pomme unless they give you their permission. You must always remember that my son." And with that final warning, Azael sank his fangs into the girls neck and tastes the sweet nectar that would keep him alive for centuries.

Soaking under the hot spray of the water, Heather quickly finished rinsing off the last of the soap. Turning the water off, she toweled off, dried her hair and moved to her bedroom to choose her outfit for that night. Removing the bandage around her arm to find the wound nearly healed, she went with her black silken thong with the red roses and lace, and the matching push up bra. Then she slid on her sheer black thigh highs, connecting them to a black garter. Next she chose her mini black skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and ass. Finally she slipped on her leather corset that had a daringly steep plunging neckline that showed off her small but round and firm breasts, and the deep blue veins that peered through her skin. She put her hair up in a high ponytail, revealing her neck and the numerous bite marks, still healing. After applying a touch of makeup she slid back onto her Harley and sped to the forest. Once there she parked it on the side, and began to make her way to the spot where they would meet. It had been over 3 years since she became his full time lover, and she had learned to adore, appreciate and love every inch of him. Damien had shown her that it was possible to feel this way about someone and not have to worry about getting hurt. He showed her that it was possible to be safe in this world. Smiling, she reached the pond, and waited.

As the last images of the memory left him, Azael strode along the path, listening to the sounds in the night air. The soft hooting of an owl near by, the rustling of small critters in the bushes, and the soft beat of a deer's hooves. But what was louder then all of their movement was the rhythmic thud, swish, thud, swish; the sound of blood flowing through their veins, being pumped around the body by the thumping of their tiny beating hearts. He sighed contently as he switched his vision to infrared and watched the little forms of heat scramble along the dry leaves and shrubs. The air felt crisp and clean, the musty scent of earth and wood filling his senses. And then another scent caught his attention. A scent that was tauntingly familiar, but his sluggish intoxicated mind couldn't recall who or what it belonged to. Marijuana had that effect on vampires (not to mention the fact that the girl's blood had a lot of alcohol in it), their minds became sluggish and muddled but their actions were still sharp and fast. He turned in a slow circle, trying to decide in which direction the fragrance was coming from. He stopped when he was facing east, towards a more densely populated stand of trees, following the aroma of plump nectarines, sweet honey and a coppery underlying scent of blood.

Stealthily, like a white tiger, Azael slinked through the dark trees, winding his way through the forest of trunks, until he came to the edge of a small clearing. Eyes skirting the edges of the pond, sparkling silver with the full moon's reflection, he paused and watched as a young woman, about the age he had been when he was turned, glided along a path parallel to him.

Heather walked along the brim of the pond, watching the little fishies dart past each other in an endless game of tag. Happy, she looked up in time to see a gorgeous black and mocha flecked owl plummet in a liquid dive and snatch up a russet field mouse. Her smoky blue eyes followed the graceful predator as it fluttered onto the branch of an oak tree, and began to shred the frail body, devouring it completely. Suddenly, awareness shuddered through her body, prickling along the back of her neck and a dark erotic smile played across her lips.

The woman was tall and slender. Her skin shone in a haunting pale glow, so soft and translucent, the deep blue of her veins showing through clearly in the moon light. Her hair was long and auburn, tied up in a ponytail, exposing the length of her neck, for any vampire to taste; and it looked as though she had been tasted many times. It was the way she walked, that languid stroll, as though she were on a high that no one could bring her down from; and the way she presented herself: tall black boots, sheer black thigh-highs with a glimpse of the black garter holding them up under a short black skirt and a leather corset with the plunging neckline, displaying the blue veins running through her cleavage- all very London Goth. She looked like a vamp junkie, which meant, of course, that she was up for grabs. His veins felt dry and icy now, even after the feeding he had just had. Azael needed to feed again, to quench those parching veins with warm blood, with this ones blood, the perfect meal.

Azael moved swiftly from tree to tree, shadow to shadow, following his lovely prey as she moved. Slowly at first, she walked along the edge of the silvery pond, looking down into its depths. Up ahead an owl swooped up into the branches of one of the oak trees to gulp down the little body of

a field mouse. Once past the pond she began to pick up the pace a bit. As he darted past its branch, the owl's feathers ruffled up and its long ears tilted back flat on its head and it hissed at him venomously, its black obsidian eyes flashing. Azael dashed past it and into the next cover of

shadows incase she turned around. She didn't. She did, however, speed up a bit more and so did he. He leapt from darkness to darkness trying to keep her in sight but keeping far enough back so that he didn't alert her of his presence, if he hadn't already that is. He was reluctant to send out a

mental thought just yet, quite enjoying the chase for now.

Heather could feel him close behind her, but she didn't turn to look. Smiling to herself she kept walking, speeding up a bit. The thrill of being chased by him, by something that is stronger and faster made her heart race, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. As she walked farther and farther into the woods, all the hairs on her body standing at attention, she began to go a little faster. Her senses were tuned to the sound of her pursuer, waiting for the moment for collision. The minutes stretched longer and longer and Heather began to taste the first hints of real fear on her own tongue. Why wasn't he making a move...she would have thought that Damien would have leaped on her by now, especially considering the length of time they had spent apart, unless...

Silently, getting tired of this chase, Azael pounced, grabbed her waist and clapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't scream until he wanted her to. He preferred dominating his prey.

Heather sensed the shift of air behind her and suddenly felt hands on her, it took her a moment before she realized that he smelled wrong. It wasn't her Damien, but someone else; her fear was confirmed and she started to buck wildly.

Her body stiffened and started to thrash against him, he loved it when they put up a fight. Azael held on to her tightly, playing games with her. He let her start to win for a mere second before snatching the upper hand once more and reasserting his dominance. The scent of her fear dilated his eyes until there was only a thin ring of green around bottomless black. His veins burned with need, he had to get her to hold still.

Struggling with all her might Heather sent out a mental cry for help to Damien before she continued to fight back as best she could.

Azael grabbed one of her hands and held it still by her side. He grabbed the other and twisted it up behind her back until she stopped struggling and her breath caught in pain. He nuzzled her ponytail out of the way and stared down at her neck. His lips pulled back, exposing his fangs, and he started to bend his mouth over an untouched patch of skin, simultaneously sending out a mental fist to hold her still, only to have that fist slam into a steel wall. Shocked, because she was defiantly human, his guard slipped long enough to allow her to kick her leg back, slamming it into his balls. While hunched over in agony, blonde hair in his face, the woman turned around and smacked him, hard. And only now, after getting a good look at her face, did he realize his mistake.

Her ice blue eyes blazing with indignant outrage, Heather sent out a quick mental search, sensed Damien's quick approach and then stood back to watch her attacker squirm in pain in front of her. She watched as his eyes fill, first with recognition and comprehension, to then dawning horror and fear as he looked up at her. She looked up to a point behind him, and smiled darkly.

She was no junkie, she was the Pomme de Sang of the master of this area and it was, therefore, a grave mistake for any other but the master to draw blood from her. He tried to hold up his hands and explain that it was just a misunderstanding, but before he could utter one word, there was movement behind him, an explosion of pain on the back of his head, and then everything went black.

Damien looked down at the unconscious vampire at his feet, and then up to his Pomme de Sang. A smile curled his lips slowly as her scent filled his senses, making him feel drunk with lust. It had been far too long since he had gazed upon her beautiful face. He moved to wrap her in a warm and dark embrace before bringing her back to his stronghold.