April 4th Ch. 02

Mizrah was gonna love this.

You two snag a drink in the living room, leaving the schmoozing and blending-in to Mizrah - you were his mysterious, quiet girlfriend, scanning the room for...there. You spot her by her cheshire smile, rapidly resolving into a vengeful frown when she realizes you're here.

Lana. How could you forget the Werecat? She'd seen potential in you, she'd tried to hook you but...Mizrah had already marked you as his, and she'd never let that grudge go. Something made you wonder if she was envious, but of whom? Which one of you?

Lana's wearing a revealing, pink tanktop over her curvy, soft form, her cat-like, green eyes tracking the two of you with cautious irritation; she clearly hadn't intended to run into you here. A pair of Daisy Dukes do little to hide her long, tanned legs; the Felid predator in a young woman's body is perched on the back of a couch, her fingers running through the curly brown hair of some poor preppy boy she no doubt intended to spread her foul Curse to...just as soon as she'd played with him.

You point her out to Mizrah; when he spots her, he smiles her way, flashing a mouthful of wolf-fangs, pleasantly surprised. You wonder sometimes why he doesn't just kill and eat her, or why she hasn't simply killed him (aside from not being able to) - she keeps trying to geld him specifically through her proxies, and her ambushes have had less success thanks to your presence at his side; with you, it's been far easier to...shall we say...remind her that she's not just a Lesser Turnskin, but simply Prey for you both.

She's not on the menu tonight, though.

Instead, the two of you sneak upstairs, go into the mystery host's bougie guest bedroom and close their door, locking it. It's so scandalous, so disrespectful of others' territory but...who the fuck cares? You're Werewolves. You don't give a shit about property that isn't yours, turf that doesn't belong to other Firstbloods, or really...anything but each other.

Why would you? You've never really had anyone else after everyone either died or left, why should you care about anything in this world that has simply rotated along an axis of causing you pain?

You came out in a beautiful, black button-up shirt with red and orange flowers, a flowing black skirt and ruby-red tights that you easily discard, sitting back on the bed and grinning at him with little pretense - your nudity has his attention as you rub a hand up your long, smooth leg, from shin to thigh, from hip to cup and tease him with your firm, petit breast. You wanna throw that bitch Lana off her game? you ask; the Werecat was grooming that boy for her Colony after the two of you had picked off three of their number a couple weeks ago (their fault for coming after you, their fault for being Prey).

After so much positive reinforcement and his very obvious attraction to you, you're confident in your own sex appeal. Tall, slender and swan-necked, you stand out from the sun-kissed, zaftig beauties of the Gulf coast with your alabaster complexion, the light curve of your chest and tiny pink 'Hershey's kiss nipples' as Yusuf had so poetically described them. You were blessed by the sort of metabolism that had always kept you like this, Dryad-thin with a long torso with a flat stomach, hips that flared alluringly outward and 'the kind of ass that Mycenaean kings go to war over' (which, to you, was terribly suave). He'd often paid a great deal of attention to your legs, long and corded with steely muscle that shifted with each step you took. Little gold rings glitter in your right ear, delicately shaped leaves gleaming, and around your neck a steel chain holds a trio of different fangs, delicately dipped and preserved in pewter; a Hisser's canine, a Sobek's incisor, and the dagger-like tooth of something hideous and dead that neither of you knew but killed all the same. Proud trophies of your hunts, lain glittering across the delicacy of your collarbones.

"Like you have to ask." He's already letting his dark green cargos fall away - hard already, the staff of his cock gleaming and standing before him, demanding your attention. "Let's break this bed."

Round two! you cheer.

You gasp and smile under his ministrations, gazing up at the ceiling as you arch uncontrollably before looking back down at him, his tongue gliding skillfully between your labia. Your fingers comb through his hair and you reach for his hand, pulling it to your chest - he drives you mad by dragging his nails over your sternum, down your belly to your waist where you hold it. You can't take it anymore...you want him in you, and you let him know by tugging lightly on his hand. Not that you don't love the way he lavishes you with his tongue-stud but...

You claw marks into the headboard as he drives into you from behind. You love being fucked like this, your knees splayed wide, rutted fiercely while your lover plays with your clit...with Mizrah, however, it's a whole other experience, his frenum ladder sliding across your G-spot. You gush your dew with each thrust as you straighten onto your knees, leaning back onto his manhood and reaching around to take a handful of his hair. It's smooth and black, pin-straight and bristly in your grasp, and one of his hands reaches around to knead your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers gently.

You sing sweetly for him, relishing the slow, relaxed tempo with which he enjoys your body. Both of you have found relief tonight, first in the arms of others and now finally reunited with each other. It's an extended mating ritual, one that has even incorporated other people - your memory flashes stills from that amazing threesome you had with his gentle, 'gifted' friend Ascher - and he's rubbed, fucked, and sucked at least two other climaxes from your body in this bed.

His tempo increases. He tells you he's going to finish, and you request - nay, demand he follow through, grabbing onto the pillow that smells of some other couple, shouting your excitement into it as you squirt all over the covers. Lascivious and lewd, you slide him free and instead finish him with your mouth, lavishing his pierced crown with attention and delighting in his salty, creamy load as he bursts onto your tongue. You swallow down every drop, kissing his lower abs after with a breathy sigh and melting at the way he kisses you, unabashed at the taste of his own issuance.

The two of you share a few moments of laughter over the evidence of your pleasure, whitish, clear droplets like rain across the covers of whoever was generous enough to 'allow' you to have sex in their bed. The mess isn't your responsibility, having a great time with your man on his birthday is. "You better drink some water baby," he teases you, pressing one of those little water cups into your hand, then another - you take them both gratefully.

Tonight...you begin, sliding your comfortably dry, sky blue panties up your thighs, I met another Firstblood. Annie. Blue hair, Asian chick -

"I know her," Yusuf replies with his usual assurance, and you have to wonder...

...do you -know- her?

"Isabel I haven't fucked every woman in town." His deadpan as he buckles his belt makes you chortle gently and peck his chin.

Just the lucky ones, right?

"And you're the luckiest babe." Your lips meet once more and you drape your lithe, frame against his powerful body. Your hearts beat as one, your blood dancing to the same primal, vibrant beat when you're this close to him. "Annie Pak. She's Rabid, actually - you wouldn't guess right, she's not huge and she's not blowing her lid cuz she's got a good outlet beating up Herd. She runs alone, but you probly figured that out from a mile away."

Yeah, she...gives that impression doesn't she.

Reluctantly you pull away and continue to get dressed. We're only one digit from being loners ourselves Yusuf...

you've been keeping eye out for prospective packmates; not that you didn't enjoy having him to yourself, but three Werewolves on the hunt were much more effective than just two, and the neighborhood you'd claimed as Hunting Grounds was still thick with the bramble and clutter of other Accursed Beings.

"Annie? Hrnh...she's like the Swiss, more interested in money and neutrality than clearing out Moon Freaks or bats."

You consider, watching him get dressed. Your kind were not immune to the allure of gold, and the two you of had ensured streams of revenue from Thralls and the occasional hit on ATMs such that you were comfortable and didn't have to return to the drudgery of work ever again; the very thought makes your soul rebel against its moorings.

Vahn said she does MMA, but Firstbloods don't get involved with official circuits so she's probably fighting down in The Pit. We should go sometime, watch her...maybe you can challenge her. The Pit. It wasn't far from here, an abandoned old reservoir where the worst, most brutal cage fighting in The City happened; people desperate to hide, or simply enjoying the senseless bloodletting could be found there...and so could Prey.

"Me? I don't know mixed martial arts."

You don't need to, I've seen you boxing - you're amazing, and you'd give her a challenge...and when you beat her -

"She might very well kick my ass Isabel," he states dryly, and you're frankly surprised - Yusuf is usually hot and ready to fight everything and anything and absolutely confident that he'll kill it handily. He catches your raised eyebrows and makes an amusingly self-conscious, male noise. "If it was down and dirty like we did with the Gulder family, then yeah I could take her, but in front of a bunch of screaming mortals?"

You get his point, but you think he's downplaying his own prowess (for once). Okay, okay, I can see how she intimidates my big beautiful peacock -

"She does not intimidate your big beautiful peacock - "

- so we shall speak of it later...it's a special night, you remind him with a coy smile. And you've already outdone anyone else who's touched me before, so...shall we go and see if we've stroked Lana's fur the wrong way? Fully dressed again, you lace your fingers with his and leave the disaster zone of your lovemaking for the house's owners to deal with.

"She's my favorite Hisser to fuck with!" that gleaming, ivory-bright grin is so many things - a mask for the mortals to cover the leering wolf beneath; for you, it was an open proclamation of how much he loved every minute he spent with you.

You hope that he isn't taken from you.

You both glide downstairs surreptitiously, easily blending back in amidst the mortals - nobody's the wiser that you just fucked in the guest bedroom thanks to the pounding hip-hop / pop issuing from tall, doubtless absurbdly expensive speakers. The lights have been turned down and the air stinks of marijuana and booze...feels almost like a small, illicit club in here.

You move like sharks amidst the fish - this sort of environment has become your savannah, and you were hunting a lioness...of a sort. Hissers - 'Werecats' to use terminology both of you cringed at - were the first Prey you'd cut your teeth on and frankly a total menace to society. Driven to 'avenge' whatever misdeed or slight they perceived against themselves or their peers, colonies of Hissers often had a couple of 'matriarchs' like Lana to go out and spread their flesh-warping infection.

Her scent isn't hard to follow - you'd trailed it before, and you easily weave through the crowd toward the sliding door leading out into the backyard. Ignoring a few college-age partiers making out near the pool, the two of you easily enter a sort of stalking mode at each other's side. At the outskirts of the yard you smell the coppery tang of blood, and as your ears lengthen and auditory canals distort, you can hear it...the quiet crunch of feline teeth digging into a soft human neck...a gurgling struggle and something resembling a wildcat's purring shudder.

Mizrah's grin is sinister, pointing up into the boughs of an oak tree, mouthing the words 'after you'. You give a stage bow, silently positioning yourself at the place where hot blood flowed in rivulets down the trunk. The muscles in your thighs bunch and you leap upward, at least two stories, effortlessly ascending through leaves and grabbing onto the base of a branch and hauling yourself up.

Your sensitive eyes, piercing the cover of darkness with little trouble, easily make her out, balanced on the tree branch. She's Changed, wearing her hybrid form, saber fangs sunk to the gum in that boy's throat. His eyes roll to meet yours, already becoming cat-like and slitted, swirling a sickly yellow

Lana wears her true shape - short, orange fur defines her body, bunched feline muscles like springs curled around the mortal she is Afflicting. Her face is no longer than of a sassy punker girl but reminds you of a hungry Puma, her muzzle nearly black with gore. In the flicker of milliseconds she takes surprised, frightened note of your presence, but it's too late and you're already reaching out with a clawed hand to sink into the scruff of her neck.

You've never been one for wrestling, but...pulling Lana down from her tree in a two-story throat slam that breaks her spine, even as you go rolling away with only some (major) bruising that clears in seconds, is glorious. Mizrah claps and whoops, helping you to your feet and pulling you out of the way as her Prey's body also succumbs to gravity, clattering through the branches and impacting the roots below.

It's taking her more than a few seconds to repair the sudden, bone-crushing damage you inflicted upon her Isabel, and in that time you've already shifted your body into the shape of a long-limbed, slender-mawed wolf. The world comes alive in a panoply of thousands of scents intermingling, your brain picking out each one individually...the most alluring, of course, is that of your mate, and the other fallen Accursed Being's blood. Your fangs find the back of her neck and you worry her relentlessly, growling as you throw the female shifter around. She yowls and hisses, slashing at you with razor sharp claws that tear your flanks, but you've fed recently and the rents heal almost as soon as she creates them.

You throw her like a ragdoll and she rolls with broken limbs across the grass where she lands near Yusuf's booted feet. He smirks down at her as she shrinks from her deadly, clawed and fanged hybrid form back to the shape of a pretty, red headed girl with a pert little nose, a dainty chin, and a broken neck.

Paralyzed from the shoulders down as her body works to right itself, her inhuman eye rolls her way and she wheezes a single, wet word: "Hate."

"That wasn't very nice what you did to my girl last week, Lana." Yusuf's voice is easygoing, almost good-natured like he's talking to a booth vendor; his movements are loaded with utter danger as he crouches down on his booted heels next to her...he's talking about the ill-fated ambush launched by Hissers clearly of Lana's dread genesis, an attempt to take you both by surprise on the way back from a meeting with a venue operator.

You and Mizrah had eaten well that night of her Colony's flesh.

She's not able to answer, foam gathering at the corner of her lip - you pad up to her with stately grace, tail swishing, your body reshaping with protean energies until you're standing on two legs over her once again. Your expression is cool, a touch of wry humor on those pretty Aegean lips...you recall well the flavor of her get, and the pain of their initial attack. For now, you let Yusuf strut and avenge your honor - you know he gets off on that, and it's endearing to watch.

"You're lucky I'm a discerning man...nothing on you worth trophy-taking Lana," he bends down, staring into her strange, feline eyes...it's so strange, this relationship; you've never witnessed one take an actual swing at the other, simply causing havoc in each other's lives. She sends her minions to make his life miserable; he kills them, or scatters them.

Your average human would be horrified by the sight of you both terrorizing this thing that resembles a woman, but that's not how things worked in The Jungle...she is a monster, far more bloodthirsty and ruthless than either of you (if not as deadly or intelligent), motivated by spite and grudge-keeping, and this sort of Stalinist beatdown is the only language this awful creature speaks. You aren't fooled by the flawed mask of human flesh covering her hideous, Cursed spirit.

"But now that she's tasted your blood, we can tail you...anywhere. Nowhere to hide." That, too, was a danger of the Werewolf's bite - what he said was true. You could follow the taste and scent of her blood to the gates of Hell and through Tartarus.

That, of course, rankles her. No cat liked to be denied her hiding spot, and she stares defiantly up at you. "What's funny to me, you...rotten-hearted, meatless Prey creature, is how easily you're manipulated. If you'd just stuck around at that party, swallowed down your jealousy that Isabel is mine and not yours and kept on chewing your boytoy, you'd have yourself a new buddy following you home." He bends down, inches from her face, so close he could bite her throat out and end it, but instead he continues to whisper.

You can't help but smile and bite your bottom lip, fingers lacing together behind your back. You love when he gets possessive like this...with other guys it was scary and weird, but he loves you. He may not have said it yet, but you can feel it.

"You can't stand the fact that we make each other happy...that for us, sex is about enjoying one another, the connection we have, getting the other off. Not like it is for you, a twisted, vengeful powerplay...I know you Lana. I've known you for years, and your Get have made me and my Mate stronger. So..." He gets up, looming over her twitching body. "I'm gonna let you live again, cuz you feed us well. But...I'm gonna make you suffer."

He is? You look at him strangely - he's not going to torture her, or ask you to is he...no. He's not like that. At the core of his heart, past the flighty arrogance and hubris (you even had a fight about this once), past the unleashed, primal animal within, he's kind, but...oh. You see the look in his eyes as he holds a hand out for you.

Ah. You know what he has in mind, and it makes your heart flutter. You love doing this with him, it makes you feel like a giddy teenager again and it's so incredibly sincere. You stride across that dumb, feline bitch's broke-spined body, and take his hand. He pulls you in close, and your lips meet.

The two of you embrace, making out loving right near her; she despises every second of your happiness. "HATE," she growls at the soft sound your mouths, your teeth and tongues make against the other.

The both of you are looking at her with wolf-stares and you make sure you're extra vocal when he touches you...not hard - normally you're rather quiet out of respect for neighbors or anyone nearby, but when there's nobody around and it's just you two?

You know it gets him going when you're loud, which just makes you all the louder.

This is different though, the softness of his lips against yours, the way your tongues tangle and dance teasingly before Lana - soon the two of you have almost forgotten about her, your attention pulled to one another with desire and adoration, ambition and singular, driving need. He's smiling against your lips.

Lana's spinal cord snaps back into position and you hear the scrabbling of her feet becoming massive, clawed paws. She takes the form of a mountain lion, an angry feline roar in the night as she flees in shame and rage. Forget her...you've had your fun with the Prey, and now you're alone with him again. Nothing but you two, the sounds of that house party, the wind through the trees and the stinking blood of a dead human, which you ignore.