Kilraven looked down on his prey. The chubby man snored loudly. He watched him for a few moments before pulling Flayer out of his sheath on the inside of his arm.
Getting to the man had been almost laughably easy. Apparently, he had never considered the fact that someone with Kilraven's unusual abilities might be sent to kill him. The assassin had merely watched the man's mansion from a nearby house. As the night drew on, his quarry had gone to one of the large rooms on the top floor of the mansion. When the lights went out, Kilraven had known where the man slept. He waited another hour to be sure the man had fallen fully asleep before teleporting across the street and straight into the man's bedchamber.
He had no idea why his employer wanted this man dead, nor did he care. He had undoubtedly stolen from him, or slain one of his kinsmen, or merely insulted him, or half a dozen or more other slights that was of unimaginable importance to the two of them but no importance to anyone else.
Without anymore thought or hesitation, Kilraven plunged Flayer into the man's right eye, and wiggled it, scrambling the brains underneath. The fat man jerked, his body spasming reflexively, for he was already dead, before lying still for the last time.
Unfortunately, the man's death throes awakened his wife, who was lying in bed next to him.
"Roland? What's wrong?" she asked as she rolled over. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in horror as she saw the demonic apparition standing over he husband's corpse.
In an instant, the assassin leapt over the body of his target and landed between the woman and her dead spouse on the bed. His hand clamped down on her neck, stifling the scream that rose in her throat before it could alert the rest of the house and give him away.
He took a moment to study her, his face no more than a pair of inches from hers.
She was quite lovely, likely one of the trophy wives that men of power and money often took for themselves. Her skin was, for the most part smooth and unblemished, though a few laughlines were beginning to become evident around her eyes and mouth. Strangely, rather than making her less attractive, made her more so. Kilraven imagined that she was one of those affable women who always had a smile on her face and a twinkle of happiness in her eyes.
None of that happiness was evident in her eyes at the moment. Instead, they were wide and filled with fear, the pupils dilated to their fullest as she tried desperately to see the man who held her down. They were beautiful, nonetheless. They were a breathtakingly deep shade of blue, like the sky just after the sun has set. The big, almond-shaped orbs swept back and forth frantically in the darkness.
High, prominent cheekbones accentuated the delicate bone structure of her exquisitely heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and delicately pink. Perhaps the only flaw in her appearance was that her nose was perhaps a little too aquiline, slightly too prominent. Her hair was a deep, flaxen gold, with only a few random strands of gray betraying her entrance into middle age.
Kilraven decided he had time to enjoy more of this woman. After all, it would be hours before anyone would even know that the nobleman was dead, let alone that he had been there. He shoved Flayer into the oak nightstand next to the bed. It sank into the wood with a loud "thwock." Her eyes followed the blade fearfully before returning to stare up at the fierce mask that covered Kilraven's face.
He shifted his weight and moved his hand from the woman's throat to her mouth. Her face had begun to turn blue and the hands clawing at his wrist had grown frantic. If he didn't let her get at least a little air, she would suffocate.
Kilraven jerked the blankets off of her body. She was wearing a long, shear silk nightgown. It was bright white and fairly shone in the dim light of the bedchamber. It also did nothing to hide her figure, rather clinging to each curve and line of her body.
His eyes were drawn first to the woman's breasts. They were large and full, only beginning to show the loss of firmness that came with age. He slid one finger down her neck and chest, slipping it under the low-cut fabric of the gown and across the impressive swell of one of her breasts. He lightly brushed the nipple, circling it gently, and smiling behind his mask as her body responded. He let his finger linger where it was as his eyes scanned the rest of her form.
Her waist was still impressively narrow, though it was showing the thickness of age and her stomach had the slight bulge that came with bearing children. Her hips flared broadly from the narrow waist. Her entire body gave an impression of fertility that Kilraven found extremely alluring.
Without taking his eyes off of her, he reached over and pulled Flayer out of the night stand. Though it had sunk halfway to the hilt in the wood, it slid out easily.
The woman's eyes grew even more terrified as the blade slipped toward her chest. Her muffled screams became more frantic and she clawed desperately at the hand that still covered her mouth. She twisted and writhed, trying to get away from her assailant. He straddled her, using his weight and supernatural strength to pin her down.
Kilraven slipped the blade between the woman's smooth skin and the silk of her gown. There was the slightest whisper as the knife sliced through the fabric. He took his time and it took several seconds before he cut it down to her waist.
Kilraven embedded Flayer in the wood of the nightstand again before pulling the severed gown away from her flesh, laying it on either side of her body. He smiled behind his mask at the form revealed to him.
She was everything that the form hinted at under her clothing had promised. Each full, well curved breast was topped by a large pink nipple. The skin of her bosom and stomach was just as flawless as that of her face. There was a small patch of fine golden hair nestled on the mound just below her stomach. It had clearly been carefully trimmed, probably, in a manner pleasing to her husband.
Kilraven frowned as the woman grabbed the severed edges of her nightgown and pulled them closed over her body, hiding herself from him.
"This will go far better for you, if you cooperate," he growled at her, his displeasure at her action evident in his voice. He moved his hand back to her neck, leaning on her windpipe and squeezing. In only moments, she grasped at his wrist with both hands, trying in vain to break his grip on her throat, or ease the pressure cutting off her air supply. One of her manicured nails broke as she clawed at his forearm, drawing blood.
Ignoring the pain, and quite leisurely, he slowly moved the cloth away from her body once again. He released some of the pressure on the woman's throat, allowing a trickle of air to get into her tortured lungs.
The woman gasped for air, causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly and her fleshy breasts to vibrate invitingly. Kilraven grasped one of them with his free hand, giving the mound a gentle squeeze before tweaking the large nipple. The look of fear in the woman's eyes grew as he touched her and she fought against him more frantically.
The vampire continued to hold pressure on her throat however, and her struggles soon grew weak and feeble. As he continued to stroke the now erect nipple, her hands slowly fell to her sides and her head lolled to one side.
Kilraven removed his hand from her throat, knowing that she had passed out and would suffer permanent damage if he didn't let her get enough air. He used the opportunity to quickly bunch the bottom of the silk nightgown up around her waist, exposing her smooth, firm, well-shaped legs and broad hips.
He pulled those legs apart and slid between them as she slowly began to stir, her head shaking slowly from side to side and her eyes fluttering open.
"Ro…Roland? Wha's go'n on?" she muttered just before her eyes settled on the man perched above her and between her legs. Those deep blue orbs snapped wide open and the terror filled them once again. Her mouth opened wide and she took a deep breath.
An instant before she released a scream that would likely have awakened the whole neighborhood, Kilraven's hand snapped out, clamping around her throat and cutting off her air again so that only a week gasp escaped her lips.
She struggled again, alternately clawing at his arm and pushing against his chest as she twisted and turned her hips and legs, trying to free herself from him. She might as well have been trying to move a statue. The only effect that her struggles had was to make him more aroused.
He deftly undid the ties that held his breeches up with his free hand and pulled them down, exposing his engorged manhood. He pressed his hips down against her, letting her feel his rod on the mound between her legs, ensuring that she had no confusion about what he was about to do.
Her eyes widened even more and she shook her head frantically, her mouth forming the word "no" over and over. Kilraven loosened his grip on her throat, holding it just tight enough to keep her from getting any volume from her protests. He didn't want her passing out again.
He let her struggle for half a minute, growing ever more excited. Then, he guided himself into her, forcing his rock hard cock into her protesting pussy. He sighed in pleasure as he felt her warmth engulf him, ignoring the whimper of pain and shock that escaped her.
He lay there for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her around him, and the smell of fear mixed with her perfume, and the sound of her labored breathing and sobs. She writhed against him, desperately trying to free herself from him, but only stimulating him more. Then, slowly, he began thrusting in and out of her. She went rigid underneath him, her small fists pounding against his chest and mask rapidly and completely ineffectually.
Kilraven began stroking her breasts lightly, squeezing them gently and rolling the nipples between the forefinger and thumb of his free hand. He thrust a little faster, his cock soon drawing blood from her abused hole and providing lubrication.
The woman continued to twist under him, but her struggles only drove him on. He was very careful about the amount of pressure on her throat, wanting her fully conscious for the duration. Most women gave up at some point during such an assault, either resigning themselves to their fates, or stopped fighting in the hopes that it would end faster or their assailant would take pity on them. She did neither. She clawed at his arms, chest and mask and bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him
Her struggles heightened Kilraven's pleasure and his climax was rapid and forceful, his entire body shuddering as his seed sprayed forth into her womb. The woman tensed as she felt him cum insider of her. Then, she went limp as she collapsed into muffled sobs.
The vampire was to caught up in the aftermath of his pleasure to notice, until her cries became loud enough to echo in the room. He realized that in his enjoyment of the moment, he had released her throat. The woman seemed to realize it at the same moment. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream, a scream that would alert the entire household. He clamped his hand down on her mouth an instant before the scream erupted. Her face was a mask of fear, revulsion and hate as she stared up at her tormentor.
Now that one hunger was satisfied, Kilraven realized that another had been building. He slipped his mask up with his free hand, letting it rest on the top of his head.
Jacob's fangs extended and he saw a look of horror dawn on the woman's face an instant before he plunged his teeth into her neck. A shudder of ecstasy went through his body as the first spray of blood spattered the back of his mouth. Her hot throbbing pulse rushed down his throat, slowly satiating the hunger that twisted and turned deep inside of him. As he drained more and more of her blood, his heart began to beat faster and faster, until it matched hers. For several seconds their hearts beat with one rhythm, her life filling him and giving him strength and power. Then, her heart began to slow as she got weaker and weaker while his remained strong.
Jacob forced himself to stop as her pulse became thready and weak. The hunger was still there, though it was blunted greatly and was nothing more than a whisper in the back of his mind rather than a demanding scream. Years of conditioning forced him to withdraw before he killed her. He licked her neck, an almost tender gesture. Special chemicals in his saliva sealed the puncture wounds left by his fangs, leaving the smooth skin of her neck blemish free.
Her eyes had rolled up in the back of her head and her skin was pale from blood loss. She breathed shallowly as she hovered on the edge of unconsciousness.
Jacob eyed her speculatively. Even unwilling, she had been an exceptionally good fuck. With enough time and the right training, she would make an exceptional slave. But, that was the problem. Though she was still a beautiful woman, that beauty was beginning to fade. She had already peaked and in 10 or 15 years, that beauty would be almost gone. That wouldn't have mattered to him if he were a mortal man since he would likely be old, also, if not dead. Now that he was looking at the possibility of living hundreds of years, it seemed like a waste.
He sighed. It also seemed like a waste to kill such a magnificent specimen. But, he really didn't have a choice. The Masquerade had to be maintained.
Sighing again, he pulled Flayer from the wood of the nightstand and, without hesitation plunged the blade into her eyesocket, sending her to join her husband in their final rewards
He cleaned the blade of his knife off on the bed sheet and slipped it back into the sheath on the inside of his left forearm. Slipping his mask back over his face, Kilraven crept out of the room.
On feet so quiet a cat would not have heard him, he moved through the pale, blue light cast through the windows of the villa by the moon overhead. As a creature of the night, he had no problem seeing in the dim light and found another large, ornate door similar to the one that had failed to guard the chamber he just left.
Carefully opening the door, he slipped inside the room, a slightly less dark shadow in the dark chamber. He found himself in another bedchamber filled with expensive, elegant furniture and a huge, four poster bed surrounded by thick curtains.
The vampire smiled as he pulled back one of the curtains and looked at the person sleeping there. She was a smaller, younger version of the woman he had just killed and was undoubtedly her daughter. Her features were more delicate, elegant, and almost ethereal. She had the same golden hair, the same heart-shaped face, the same high cheekbones, and the same almond-shaped eyes, which he bet were the same deep blue under her closed eyelids. The only differences between her face and her mother's was that her skin was still completely smooth and unblemished, looking like fine porcelain in what little light leaked into the room, her small, rosebud mouth, and a pert nose. If anything, she was more beautiful than her mother was.
She had kicked off the covers in her sleep, and only a thin silk sheet covered her slender form. She was far more petite than her mother had been, being both thinner and shorter. Some of that could be attributed to her age, for she could not have been more than 16, but even given that she would develop more, she would never have the broad hips or large bosom her mother had possessed.
Kilraven grinned in satisfaction under his mask. She would make an exquisite slave. Though she was to frail to make a good feeder, after the appropriate training, she would undoubtedly prove to be very valuable in other ways.
He was reaching to grab her and teleport the both of them back to the underground kingdom that was his home when he heard the click of the door behind him.
The vampire turned to see a young man standing in the doorway, the light from a small lantern held in one hand illuminating his features and shining on the blade of a short sword in the other. He looked so much like the assassinated nobleman that he had to be his son.
Kilraven had leapt from the bed and was halfway across the room when the young man shouted, "INTRUDER!" in a voice that would undoubtedly awaken the whole household.
Indeed, before the vampire had crossed the remaining distance, the girl behind him had awakened and released an ear-piercing shriek, and a dog had begun barking somewhere outside. His leisurely enjoyment of this expedition had been ruined in a second.
Kilraven was very angry and he decided to take out his anger on the person who had caused it. The man handled his sword with obvious skill, and had Kilraven been mortal, would have posed a serious danger to the vampire. However, the boy was only a year or two older than his sister was and Kilraven had been killing people for 3 decades before he was even born. Add to that the assassin's superhuman speed and strength, and the boy didn't really stand a chance.
The vampire easily sidestepped the boy's first swing. He grabbed the boy's sword wrist and gave it a sharp twist, snapping the bone of his forearm. The boy screamed, dropped both the lantern and the sword and grabbed his wrist. The lantern shattered as it struck the floor, the oil splashing over the carpet and lighting ablaze.
Kilraven hissed. Fire was one of the few things that could really do damage to him now. His few minutes of time before he had to leave because of all the people that would soon be coming had suddenly become seconds before the fire threatened him.
He looked across the room at the young girl, who was still shrieking, her back against the wall and the covers pulled up around her neck.
The vampire shook his head, the flames were spreading quickly, and he couldn't take the chance of crossing the room to her. So he grabbed the boy's wrist, which caused him to scream again, and teleported back to the Erasthai clan caverns. Perhaps Lordess Eve would find him entertaining.
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