Hunted Ch. 03

Disclaimer: Warning this story contains scenes of Non-Consent/Reluctance, Vampires, Demons, Blood, and Violence. It may be offensive to some. Please read at your own discretion. Enjoy! -Dannygirl31

*

Davik Scott James did the best he could to admire the lavish surroundings in which he found himself, despite how uncomfortable he felt about being here: Satin curtains were hung everywhere, in a fairly successful attempt to hide the dreariness of the old, moldy, black brick walls. There were shelves and tables littered with all sorts of unusual junk everywhere: shrunken heads, healing crystals, voodoo dolls, the list goes on... Davik had successfully hunted several witches before, but never had seen the inside of one of their dens. He had not imagined they would be so... stereotypical.

The woman, the witch Alrune, steps out from a backroom hidden behind a curtain woven from beads. She looks to Davik with a strangely comforting smile, "Ah, Davik, so you return to me at last."

Davik can't help but to swallow back a sudden dryness in his throat as he looks upon the witch once again: She is a vision of perfect beauty, having all the correct curves in all the right places, an alluring vision of every man's fantasy woman. Her short black hair reminded him of Samantha's, but that's where the similarities ended: Samantha didn't tend to enjoy such lush, extravagant dresses for one. Alrune, however, wore an amazing crimson dress that draped on her body loosely, the silk so thin that, thanks to the candlelight, Davik could see the silhouette of her form underneath. The dress hung so low on her chest that it showed the entirety of her cleavage, the straps of the dress barely covering her nipples teasingly. Davik couldn't help but to guess at her bust size: C-cup perhaps? Whatever the case, her breasts were large enough that they threatened to slip out of their insufficient coverings all too easily. The woman wore a coy grin and had green eyes so vivid they almost seemed to glow. Her facial features were further accented by her black lipstick, dark purple eyeshadow, and dark blush.

"Did you bring me something of this woman, this Samantha?" her voice was lyrical, inviting.

Davik tries to shake off the spell her form seemed to cast upon him, and withdraws a simple hairbrush from his black, leather coat. The hairbrush was well used and littered with strands of black hair. He had ransacked every drawer in Samantha's room before he realized that the easiest way to obtain some of her DNA was to simply nab a few strands of her hair.

A wide smile crossed the lips of the witch woman at the sight of the brush, "Ah, yes, that will do nicely!" She takes a seat behind a small table centered in the middle of the room, clears off all sorts of junk: A crystal ball, tarot cards, etc. Then she motions to a chair on the opposite side of the table, "sit down my precious."

Davik still doesn't like this one bit: When he had found the witch woman responsible for cursing this small town's pastor with a dreaded and incurable disease, he had every intention of simply running his sword through her. But the witch promised she could repay his every desire in return for her life, and best of all she promised she could tell Davik everything about the ever mysterious Samantha.

Samantha, his thoughts turn to her sourly as he reminds himself why he was trusting this creature. Fight fire with fire, he thinks, use one monster to unmask another. Samantha had been the favorite of the Father for far too long. Yes, she had supposedly slain more monsters than the rest of the hunters put together, but that shouldn't excuse her of the fact that she was too obviously not human! The way she could move faster than most could see, the way she could punch her way through a brick wall: No human could do that! Samantha was a freak, a monster, and the sooner he proved that to the Father, the sooner they could be rid of her... Forever.

At last reassured, Davik hands the brush to the witch. Unexpectedly, the woman sniffs the brush deeply, then, her eyes closing, sighs long with satisfaction. "Mmm, yes," she purrs, "definitely not human, or at least not quite..."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Davik demands, perturbed by her strange actions and growing impatient.

"Hold on precious," she giggles at his fury, "I must ask the spirits."

"What spirits?" Davik doesn't trust the sound of that even a tiny little bit.

Alrune plucks a hair from the brush deftly with a sly grin, then tossing the brush aside she lies the hair down on the table stretching it with both hands at either end. Then she closes her eyes and begins chanting in a strange language Davik isn't familiar with. It almost sounds like Latin, but not quite.

Was it getting darker in here?

It seems like the witch chants for an eternity before it happens: The candles flicker out, leaving the room in near pitch black darkness, and a cold breeze sweeps into the room from only god knows where. Suddenly Alrune's eyes shoot open, the sight of them are enough to nearly make Davik fall back out of his chair: Her irises, pupils, everything are gone, her eyes are simply white all over.

The witch speaks, but the voice is not of her own. The new voice lacks the underlying current of seduction that Alrune spoke with deftly, instead this new voice is cold, hollow, and empty. "Why do you summon me?"

Davik doesn't know what to say, he is completely flabbergasted: "Wh-Who are you?",

"Is it important mortal? I am not from this world, and have been summoned from my slumber quite abruptly to speak with you. Now I ask again, Why do you summon me?" the voice seems quite impatient.

"I want to know about the woman who's hair that is," Davik wipes away cold sweat from his brow.

The voice laughs, a slow, unnerving chuckle, "it is simple: She is a demon."

The words themselves take the wind from Davik's chest, "A what!?" That's impossible: Demons were creatures of unimaginable power, with psychic abilities that could tear down entire cities and a thirst for destruction unequaled by any creature. Only once had the monastery every encountered a demon, and that was long before Davik became a hunter. As its told, every hunter was mobilized against this unstoppable force, and most were killed before the Father could exorcise it.

"A Demon in it's larvae stage, granted," the voice chuckles again, "but a demon nonetheless."

"Larvae? What does that mean?"

"It means she is like a child demo: She may be full-grown for a human, but to an adult demon she is but a baby," the voice speaks in a matter-of-fact manner.

"When...?" Davik can't even articulate his question, his stomach suddenly very nauseous.

"...Will she change?" the voice chuckles again, "It is impossible to say: It could be any second now, or it could be hundreds of years."

"What do I do?" Davik gulps, already knowing the answer.

"Kill her, simply," the voice makes it sound all too easy.

"How?"

"She will die as easily as any mortal, a gunshot wound, a stab through the heart," the voice pauses a moment and frowns, "but illness, disease, poison won't do."

That's no help: Davik had seen Samantha in action at least a dozen times, she's too fast to catch, too strong to overpower. Then the horrible truth dawns over him... Even if he told the Father about Samantha, even if the Father believed him, even if he set every hunter he had against Samantha, Samantha could simply kill them all.

It would be too easy for her.

"There has to be another way..." Davik pleads with the voice.

The voice thinks on that for a long moment, enough to feel like an eternity passes before it speaks again, "perhaps there is one way..."

"Yes! Anything!" Davik exclaims, shooting up from his chair and slamming his hands down on the table.

"I could give you... the power," the voice suggests, almost too off key, like its a suggestion Davik should pause at.

"The power?" Davik raises an eyebrow, a powerful curiosity overtaking his reason.

"Yes, a gift of the Angels," the voice explains, "you would become every bit as fast and strong as her, maybe even more so. Then you could beat her."

The gift of the Angels? Davik could scarcely believe it. Wow, what a gift! A true blessing from heaven! "Yes, Yes! What do I have to do?"

The angel's grin spreads across Alrune's face unnaturally, stretching further up each cheek than humanly possible, the edges of her lips easily passing over her cheekbones. "Its simple, you just have to let me in."

"How?"

"Close your eyes."

Davik does as he was commanded and closes his eyes. In the darkness of his mind's eye he could see the angel's true form: A tall, strong man, with short, bright, gold hair, and azure eyes that glow with holy light. He has great feather wings stretching out from his back and spreading gloriously into eternity. Upon his head he wears a magnificent jeweled crown that sparkles with the light of a thousand suns.

Instantly the room plunges into total blackness, and Alrune's body, still possessed by the angel, steps up from her chair, and walks slowly around the table behind Davik. She put her hands on either side of his head.

"Repeat after me..." the angel's voice is much deeper now. His pitch and timbre scrapping below what is possible for any human. To anyone not under the mesmerizing spell Davik is under, it would sound too much like the horrible hiss of a deadly, venomous snake, but to Davik it sounds like a heavenly choir.

Davik is under his power now...

* * *

"Questions?" the Father announces as he stands before his small class. Sitting before him, in their respective desks, are two children: Timothy and Mary. Orphans, abandoned by their parents, rejected by society, they were adopted into the church to be two future hunters.

Despite their young age, a childhood in an orphanage has hardened them, strengthened them. Every day they attack their lessons with a vigor of youth: Their weapons training going better than the Father could have hoped. Their studies going on strong into the night.

Timothy raises his hand.

"Yes, Timothy?"

"How can we tell someone is a vampire?"

The Father nods with satisfaction, an excellent question! He would have expect no less from these two.

"Well," he starts, "first there is their eyes." He thinks back to most of the vampires he had seen in his long life. "Most, have eyes as red as blood," those red eyes would forever haunt him every time his own eyes. There was always a lust for death etched deeply in those kind of eyes. "Others, their eyes may change with age, no one knows why or how."

The children nod, and jot down the Father's words into their notebooks.

"Second, is their body temperature, if your unfortunate enough to get so close," the Father chuckles. "A hungry vampire will be as icy as death itself.. A fed vampire, however, will be as warm as any mortal. As their victim's blood flows through them, it warms them." He pauses, "Also, if they are hungry, their heartbeat slows. They must feed to keep their heart beating, if they fail to do so their heart stops, and they die their second death. This one more permanent."

"That doesn't sound very reliable," Mary pouts.

"Not at all," the Father grins, but if all other signs fail this one just might save your life. So it is, of course, worth noting."

And so they did note it.

"Finally, a vampire will always be pale. When they die and become vampires, the melanin in their skin dies, and they become the specters of death itself. They cannot tan, obviously, since the light of the sun would cause them to burst into flames were they stupid enough to try," the Father chuckles at that last point, and the children laugh with him.

"Any more questions?"

The children shake their heads.

"Good. Lesson adjourned."

* * *

Venice, the most romantic city in the world, and Monica was stuck in a dreary hotel room alone, away from the man she loved. Oh well, it wasn't like he necessarily loved her back, and it wasn't like she could ever be with him anyway. She was a hunter of the church, and therefore forbidden from carnal passions.

Still, Monica felt extra sensitive to her desires tonight. There was just something about Venice: Something that unearthed those feelings she worked so hard to bury.

William was just a couple of rooms away, she mused. With no threat of being caught, no Father to watch them, and no other hunters around to catch them, it was too tempting for her mind to wander on the thought of sneaking into his room.

She lay back on her bed with a coy smile, daydreaming on the possibility: Her imagination makes it feel so real as she sees herself quietly pushing open his door. Despite her best effort, however, the door would squeak and William being ever alert would shoot out of his bed.

"Who's there?" he fumbles for his crossbow.

"Relax William, it's me, Monica," she whispers.

"Oh," he sighs, "you startled me."

"I'm sorry," she'd say, "I... I felt lonely."

Perhaps he would chuckle, yes, that sounds like something he would do. "Well then, come and sit with me," he sits upon the bed and pats an all too inviting spot next to him. Butterflies well up in her stomach, and for a moment Monica has to remind herself its not really happening.

She would be too shy to accept his offer she thinks, but its no fun to fantasize about leaving now: Instead, she should sit next to William, blushing intensely. He gazes upon her, up and down, examining her. His gorgeous brown eyes stare into her intently, seeing past her petite figure and seeing her for the woman she is for the first time. Sure, her long red hair, green eyes, and freckles made her one of the cutest women he had ever seen. Sure she was always so shy, so timid, and so easily started. But, he had seen her in battle, and he knew she could be so brave when she had to be, so strong, so beautiful.

He'd be shy too, she imagines: He takes her hand, blushing at her in return, and they just stare into each others eyes for the longest time. Monica admires his features in return: His bold, thin jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his sexy stubble, and his dirty blond hair, wavy and always so unkempt.

Finally, they kiss. Monica isn't sure who would make the first move, perhaps they could both slowly inch towards each other in synchronization, meeting each other half way. Their lips meld in harmony, and they kiss passionately, their desire for each other growing rapidly.

William would throw his arms around Monica, pulling her into him, lashing his tongue into her mouth, and kissing her much more deeply. Monica would moan slightly as her tongue duels with his own, running her hands down his strong chest.

Then William, his uncontrollable desire for the woman before him, would not be able to contain himself. He pulls Monica's top off fiercely and pushes her back onto the bed. Moving on top of her he firmly plants his lips to Monica's, kissing her roughly, biting her lower lip tenderly. Monica gasps as she feels his hand slip down beneath her skirt.

It feels so real as Monica's imagination runs away on her: She can actually feel him rubbing her nether-lips gently through her panties: Oh wait! Monica didn't realize she had slipped her own hand down into her skirt... Well, that explains it.

She digs her nails into his shoulders, her breathing quickening as he fondles her delicately. He moves his hand under her panties next as he moves his lips to her neck, suckling her softly. Monica moans as she feels his fingers stroking her labia gingerly. Then, slowly, he inserts a finger into her folds. He can feel how wet she has become for him...

Suddenly there is a knocking at the door, and, like being smacked upside the head, Monica is forced back to reality. Reeling from the hormonal effects of her own imagination she quickly pulls her hand out of her underwear. She notices the glistening of her own wetness on her fingers and wipes them on her skirt quickly, feeling flustered.

"W-Who is it?" she stutters.

"Its Samantha, its time to go," Samantha's voice echoes from the other side of the door coldly.

Of course, the mission: To slay this vampire, this Darrien, a Nosferatu. "Right now?" Monica looks out the window, the sun is setting quickly, the vampire will soon wake. "Shouldn't we get him when he's sleeping?"

Samantha's answer comes with a sigh of regret, "I can't find him during the day."

Monica collects herself off the bed quickly, "One moment, I need to get changed!" Flustered she squirms out of her skirt and starts collecting her hunter attire.

"Alright, William and I will meet you downstairs."

Monica can hear Samantha's footsteps as she moves down the hall towards the elevator, and when the sounds fades into the distance Monica stampers as she chastises herself. She was being foolish again, like most nights. The truth was she could never be with William, no matter how much she desired too, and even if he actually wanted her in return. She should accept that and move on.

She slips on her flexible, black, pants and leather coat, grabs her crossbow, and starts after Samantha and William. Another hotel patron stares at her like she's a freak as she bursts from her room towing a crossbow with her. Embarrassed of the slip up, she quickly stuffs it into her tout bag to avoid any more people from seeing it as she makes her way to the elevator.

The wait for the elevator and the ride to the lobby is torturous as Monica can't contain her excitement to be doing a mission with William again. Its not the first time they have worked together, but every instance is a rare thing, so Monica has to savor each time like it could be the last time. And considering the dangers of their job, any time very well could be the last time.

Monica chastises herself for thinking like that: She will protect William with her life, just as she is sure he would do the same for her. Besides, they have Samantha with them this time: Samantha is more powerful than any vampire she has ever encountered, sending Monica and William along with her to kill one vampire seems like overkill really.

Though, what was it the Father called this vampire? A 'Nosferatu'? An elder vampire, stronger than any other vampire they have ever encountered... Monica swallows back some saliva as she feels her throat going dry.

The elevator doors open at last and Monica steps out into the lobby. The lobby is quiet, mostly deserted at this hour, save for a couple of new arrivals checking in and a few hotel staff. There is no sign of Samantha or William anywhere.

That's odd: They should have beat Monica down here. She waits for several minutes to be sure, then starting to get really worried she approaches the front desk.

"Hi, I'm looking for my friends, have you seen them? They look..." she starts to ask, but is interrupted.

"They were 'ere for a few minutes, but they left," the receptionist cuts off Monica rudely.

"How-?" Monica is cut off once again.

"-Did I know they were your friends?" Monica only nods. "They were dressed jus' like you: Going to some kind of weird bondage club?"

"Um sure," Monica doesn't bother to argue with the rude receptionist, "Thanks, I guess."

Monica starts to get frantic: Why would they leave? Would they go and try to kill the vampire themselves? Monica wasn't taking THAT long to get dressed, was she? Of course not, they couldn't possibly be that impatient.

Then that meant something had gone wrong, and Monica wasn't fond of that thought. No, wait, they must be waiting outside, yes, to get some fresh air while they waited, of course! Monica suddenly felt so silly for not thinking of that possibility before.

Monica quickly steps outside earnestly expecting to see Samantha and William waiting for her outside. They must be growing impatient by now. But when she gets out there, she finds the front entrance of the hotel to be as sparsely populated as the lobby and there was still no sign of what happened to her friends.