tagErotic HorrorBlood Ch. 04

Blood Ch. 04


The car idled around him as he squinted into the harsh daylight, hands lingering over the keys, not entirely sure what he was waiting for.

Lincoln should have felt calm during the day, felt safe, but for some reason, it had the opposite effect. Whenever he was baking under the sun's rays, he could almost feel the hours falling away, feel night coming. He felt like a kid trying to hide under the covers from monsters, only to discover the blankets didn't cover his feet. The light seemed artificial now, and although women walking past him were wearing board shorts or bikinis as was customary with the hot weather, he wore his leather jacket everywhere. He didn't just feel cold, he felt like eventually the ice at his core would spread out along his feet, to the ground, and freeze the Earth in its tracks.

The shop lay open across from him, doors propped to offer cheap air conditioning, and he noticed that they would be closing in a few minutes. He had been sitting outside for near an hour, and he wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but it hadn't come yet. He had been to five shops similar to this one, all over Los Angeles county, and none had been able to help him. The earthy wares lining the shelves had seemed authentic, the knowing attitudes of the clerks seemed genuine, but upon further inspection, he decided that witch craft and the occult were a fad undertaken by teens rebelling against their parents. Linc was shocked to find that when he hinted, subtly, that he may be dealing with a real vampire, most of them went on for hours with their own stories of the undead. Like, for instance, this one time, at this club, like, this guy with black hair, and, like, a cape, totally made out with me, and, like, said he needed my blood, and, like... Lincoln had found that doing a stockpile of all the professions he had wished he'd taken instead of being a cop was a good way of drowning out the rest of these inevitable conversations.

He finally slid the keys into his pocket and exited the car, blinking into the setting sun as he crossed the street. Cop instincts kicked in and he absently watched a late model Crown Vic parked across from him. He noted in his head that it had been sitting there, idling, for as long as he had, and he'd have to deal with it on his way out.

Letting his hand slide idly along the shelves as he entered, Lincoln surveyed the shop. It was smaller than most but was also crowded with more crap. A Dracula metal lunch box slid under his fingertips and he snatched them back, worried about what, he wasn't sure, but positive he didn't want to be seen even looking at the gaudy piece of junk.

"Can I help you?"

A large man, tall, not fat, dressed in black, waited behind the sales counter recessed into the far wall. Linc sized him up, and noticed that he had several stone runes hanging from his neck. Promising.

"Probably not. But it's worth a shot."

The man's eyebrow shot up.

"What're you looking for?"

Linc sighed. He'd found that beating around the bush didn't help anybody, least of all himself.

"My friend and I are being stalked by a psychotic vampire woman, and I'd like some help. Please."

The man stared at him blankly, as if the validity of his statement could be read in fine print right in between Linc's eyebrows. On the plus side, he hadn't laughed or told him about some guy at a party yet, so that...

"Come with me."

Spoke too soon. The man stood quickly, opened up the counter and disappeared into the back of the store. The authority with which he rose surprised Lincoln, and he felt compelled to follow.

The back of the store was dark, musty, and looked like a bad horror movie in and of itself. Ancient books lined the walls, celtic runes peppered the walls, and Linc could smell incense burning. The man led on to a large oak desk, and after a brief moment surveying his stocks, brought out a velvet bag. He held it with the reverence that suggested that inside, quite possibly, were either a large assortment of his most prized chocolate salted nuts or a holy bible blessed by Jesus himself. Lincoln stifled a laugh, and took the bag. As overdramatically as possible, the man stood, hands steepled, waiting eagerly for his customer to open and discover the treasures within.

The tie came off easily, a slipknot, and the contents of the bag slid out into Linc's hands. It was heavy, metal, and smelled slightly of wood polish. Rectangular in nature, it certainly looked mystical. Linc raised his eyes quizzically to the man, who smiled a toothy grin and took the object in his own hands.

"It's a DaySpire. Very rare. I was able to come into possession of one through a friend who had some vampire problems of his own. Very powerful."

He handed the object reluctantly back to Linc, who turned it over in his hands.

"How does it work?"

The man's eyes faltered slightly, but his hands moved faster than ever, as if to grasp answers from the air.

"They were supposedly crafted centuries ago, by druids who faced vampires in their homeland. Not like the vampires we see today, but more natural, more powerful..."

"It says on the bottom it was made in Taiwan."

The man grabbed it back and looked at the inscription.

"That's not what that says."

Linc pointed for clarification.

"Sure it is. The last half is worn, but that's what it says."

"That doesn't say Taiwan. It looks more like Ta...Tay...Taiyan. That's a very mystical coven in England."

"Covens have to worry about labor laws when creating their DaySpires to fight the undead huh? Has the government nothing better to do than tax those fighting the good fight?"

The man stammered, staring at the piece in his hands. Sad as it was, Linc realized that the man himself believed the piece to be authentic. He wondered how much he had paid to acquire it.

"Thanks for your help, but I don't see anything I want here."

He left the stammering clerk to his own devices, and stepped out into the main area of the shop. What a waste of time.

"Vampires huh?"

He turned to the voice, and found himself confronted with a young woman, about Alex's age. He wondered if she'd always been in the shop, or had come in after they had gone in the back. She was Alex's height, Alex's size, but there the similarities stopped. Instead of straight blonde hair, the girl had shortly cropped black hair, obviously dyed, and streaked with pink. Her outfit was similar to what all gothic teenagers wore, pleated skirt, mesh, safety pins. She looked like she would be equally comfortable at a rave or in a graveyard. After sizing her up, he realized he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he stammered.

"Like, Bela Lugosi or Stuart Townsend?"

"Wear lots of black?"

"This is LA."

"Turn into a bat?"

"Not that I noticed."



She looked at him curiously.

"How do you know he's a vampire?"

He looked back at her, equally curious.

"She's killed a lot of people."

"This is LA," she retorted.

He smirked.

"Well, she seems to be really fast, her eyes glow in the dark, she's strong, she..."

The girl put her hand out, resting it on his arm, and stopped him. Her face had frozen.

"You're for real," she breathed.

His eyes narrowed.

"Are you?"

"You have no idea how many posers there are," she spurted. "How many dregs out there pretending to be witches, or werewolves, pretending to understand, but never understanding, not really. You really know, you really understand."

It was his turn to put his hand on her, and she broke off, out of breath, meeting his eyes fiercely.

"My name is Raeven," she stammered.

"Lincoln," he said, hand outstretched.

She shook it, then giggled, as if surprised he was solid.

"We need to talk."

"You have no idea."

"We can't here."

He looked out the window, at the setting sun, and realized if darkness reached him here, he would have no leads left that Kara didn't know about. She pulled him close, and he felt her press something small into his hand. Over his shoulder, he saw the clerk come out of the back room, staring at them suspiciously.

"Don't show anyone this," she hissed. "But I'm free tonight at 8."

"Nights aren't really that good for me."

She backed away from him, back towards the counter.

"Don't tell anyone about me. But don't be afraid to use that, either."


Detectives Mitchell and Hobson watched as Lincoln exited the store, and started the car. He had been leading them around the city all day, and they were debating moving in now and blowing their cover, or continuing to follow him in the hopes that something interesting would happen. Neither worked out, since Lincoln walked right up and knocked on their window.

"Shit," Mitchell said, and rolled the window down.

Lincoln eyed the inside of the car, and nodded at Mitchell.

"Mitch. Who's the new guy?"

Mitchell sighed, tiredly rubbed his eyes, and jerked his head towards Hobson.

"Det. John Hobson, LAPD. He's helping out with my case, showing me the sights here in LA."

Linc nodded,

"Why are you following me, Mitch?"

Dobson looked at Mitchell, who looked at the floor mat of the car, which just sat there.

"The strip club on 8th."

"Jesus Christ," Hobson breathed, and glared out the window.

Lincoln ignored him.

"Stay out of this Mitch."

With that, he turned, and walked back to his car.


Lincoln got into his car, breathed hard, and started the engine. They didn't arrest him. Which means they knew he didn't kill those strippers on 8th. He'd been going over it in his head, and he'd touched a dozen smooth surfaces in the place, so they had to have known he was there. His finger prints were probably in the girls' blood for god's sake. So that meant the club must have security footage. Which meant they knew Kara had done it. He wasn't sure if vampires showed up on video, but he did know they had seen something, and they thought he was the key. They must have the hotel staked out.

He brought out the card Raeven had given him, glossy, with her number written in plain white type across the face. It announced her job at the store he had just walked out of, but he had a feeling that she did some freelance work of a more authentic nature.

Lincoln brought his eyes up again, eyeing the Crown Vic in his rear view mirror. They'd seen him go into a dozen stores today probably, they didn't know about Raeven. He couldn't involve her now that the cops were involved. Vampires could kill you, sure, but Lincoln could keep Raeven hidden from Kara. The daytime was their sanctuary, a free zone. But with the cops, there was no safe house, no safe place to talk. They could arrest her on aiding and abetting, and even if the charge didn't hold, the link could bring Raeven to Kara's attention.

Thinking about it, but only briefly, he crumpled the card up and threw it in the back of the car. Sourly, he started the car. Back to square one.


It was night before he made it back to the motel. As Lincoln pulled in, the cell phone rang. The ring tone was one of those horrible midi reproductions of a popular hip hop song, and it bore little to no resemblance to the original song. Which version was better was arguable. The odd thing wasn't the ring tone though, it was the simple fact that the cell phone wasn't his. He withdrew it from its hiding place, the car glove box, and flipped it open. It was nice, an expensive model, and picked up immediately when he opened it. He pressed it to his ear.


He'd known it was Kara, long before he'd recognized the noise as a cell phone ring, but her voice still caused him to jump noticeably.

"Hello Lincoln."

He paused, trying to establish that he was still in control, even at this stage of the game.

"Who is it?"

Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

"You know who it is. And I know you've been a good boy Lincoln, a very good boy. You didn't tell sweet little Alex about me, you didn't tell her how I'm going to be killing her soon. Are you finally admitting you've lost, or do you still think you can save her?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? You're either very brave, or very, very stupid."

"Nice line. I've seen that movie too."

She ignored him.

"Not knowing whether you've given up doesn't sound very brave, now does it?"

Linc eyed the hotel, saw no noticeable signs of life within either his room or hers. He wondered, with a lot less horror than he should have, whether Alex was already dead.

"Fuck you, lady. Does that sound braver?"

She chuckled.

"You're forgetting our game. That's not how you talk to your master. Or should I remind you: break down this wall, and show Alex what her intestines look like?"

He was silent.

"Lincoln? Should I?"

God dammit.


"Good boy. Now are you brave?"


"I said, are you brave."


"Finally, you understand our relationship. It took the others so much longer. You're going to be my favorite, I can tell. Now go inside and rape Alex."

He didn't speak, just lay his head against the steering wheel.

"In the ass. She probably wouldn't like that, would she?"

He could drive right through the flimsy motel wall. Maybe that would kill the bitch.

"Lincoln," she cooed. "Would she like that?"

He sighed again, lifted his head.

"No. No, she wouldn't."

Kara was laughing, softly, yet it still sounded like razors scraping across his ribcage would sound.

"Good. If you tell her about me, I will rip off one of her fingers for every word you use."

She hung up.

Lincoln opened his door slightly and was met with an irritating beep as the car told him the door was ajar. The shrill beeps pierced his brain, rattled around in the back of his head, and felt like they finally lay at rest stabbing behind his eyes. She had said others. She had said it had taken the "others so much longer". Which means that she had done this before, probably to countless innocents. Which means they hadn't survived. Which means he probably wouldn't.


Alex was watching tv when he came into the room. She had her terry cloth robe on, and he wondered how long it would be before she asked him to go find her some more clothes. Or just seduced some young clothing store clerk into giving her some, he thought wryly.

It's not her fault. It's your fault. She didn't do anything but get caught up in this. She isn't to blame that you can't fix it, that the cops are on you, that every day the past week has been nothing but pointless leads, one after another, and it's not her fault you're a washed out cop, washed out human being, you piece of shit, he repeated over and over in his head. He sat down on the bed.

Alex came closer, to cuddle he thought, but instead brought her hand down hard on his head. He recoiled, confused, and caught the second blow across the neck. Suddenly, she was on him, slapping, crying, and he was catching her wrists, telling her to stop.

"You son of a bitch," she cried, "you knew, you knew they were dead, they were my friends, you knew and you didn't say anything. I had to find out like this..."

The tv on, turned to the news, covering the strip club murders. Shit.

"Look," he started, but then she was hitting him again, slapping his face, scratching, crying, telling him how much she had trusted him, over and over.

"You can trust me," he said, trying to hold her back, failing.

"You son of a bitch," she slurred through tears.

"You can trust me."

"Fuck you."

"You can trust me. Stop."

"You knew, you motherfucker."

"God dammit!" he cried out suddenly, pushing her back onto the floor, harder than he should have. She fell back, still crying, but shocked at his anger.

"I trusted you," she accused, looking into his eyes, not a vengeful woman now, but a little girl with a skinned knee.

It didn't abate his anger. It made it worse. She did trust him, and how fair was that? Who was he, why the fuck should he have to answer for all this shit, not just for himself, but for her too. It wasn't his responsibility, it wasn't his job, and above all, it wasn't fair.

Alex took his hand, slow, bringing it to her face, letting her feel his tears, and that infuriated him more. He jerked it away, and she grabbed his other one, seeking sustenance from him. He didn't pull away this time, but thrust his hand closer, next to her mouth, pushing his thumb between her lips. Fine. She wanted his protection, to make him responsible for her? Than he would do what he had to do to ensure she survived.

She pushed against him at first, but he insisted, shoving his thumb into her mouth, using his free hand to undo his belt. She sighed as he let his dick spring free and moved her mouth over to him, lust springing up into her eyes. Wet lips engulfed him, her small fingers working over his balls, and he was able to tie both his free hands into her hair. As he guided her head gently, she moaned, her hands beneath the robe, working at herself. Not good enough, he thought, and shoved her down on his cock even harder.

Alex gagged, his cock too big for her throat, and looked up at him.

"Not so rough, ok?"

Linc responded by pulling her mouth back over his hardness, choking her on it, and she forced herself off, spit running down over her chin.

"Hey..." she started.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrenching her up to her feet, he looked her in the eye.

"You'll do whatever Daddy wants, you little bitch," he growled, "and I don't care if you beg and plead, you're getting what you deserve."

Please, please, please let her play along. Kara was listening, and if they didn't put on a show, Linc didn't know what the bitch would do. He took her robe and tore it off her, catching it for a second painfully around her fingers as he tossed it to the floor. She screamed in surprise as he shoved her down on the bed, using her hair to guide her mouth back around to his cock. On all fours she started to suck him off, passionately now, deepthroating his dick all the way to the base, choking on it, not caring, letting her spit and his precum spill out over her lips and coat her face. Linc reached down and delivered a smack to her small ass, as hard as he could, and was happy to hear her shriek around his cock in reaction.

"Take it all, you little fucking slut."

She gobbled hungrily at him, not able to get enough, until finally he pulled her off and flipped her around. She spun around, his hands still moving her but Alex definitely going along with it. She kneeled on the edge of the bed, and presented her ass to him, wiggling it, begging him to enter her.

"Please, no Daddy. Please don't."

She could say that all she wanted to, but her body was saying yes in more ways than one. He could smell how wet she had gotten, even if he couldn't see her juices coming out of her pussy and practically flooding down her leg onto the bed.

"Please, Daddy, please, it'll hurt, I don't want to."

"Shut up, you little slut."

He shoved inside her with one full thrust, and he could feel his orgasm coming as she thrashed around on his cock. She was fucking back, hard, the twin globes of her ass a blur as her pussy clenched down and him and wouldn't let go. Orgasm getting closer, Linc finally withdrew, much to Alex's dismay. He placed his well lubed cock next to her ass hole, slowly. Her head shot back, eyes pleading.


She wasn't playing. There was real fear in her eyes. He could feel the tight ring of her ass hole, and he left his cock hovering at the edge.

"...please..." she whispered, eyes meeting his.

He met her eyes, and his anger was gone, his righteousness disappeared, and he was staring at her again, the girl he wondered if he could ever love, watched her beg him not to take her ass. Their eyes met, and he wished he could comfort her, could tell her it would be ok, and take her away from here. He wished that if that would happen, they would make it to the car alive.

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