I'm back! After so many incredibly flattering reviews from the fans of my (now) prequel, Prey Play, I've gone up and created a multi-part sequel! n_n happy face. It took a very long list of terrible ideas (the ashes of which are scattered across the universal writing plane of life) and a hunt for inspiration before I found both. (Thanks to the people who gave that random self-playing piano to my job!)
DISCALIMER: Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2 are the sole property of Valve (those of you who say it's yours, shame on you). I own the meat-eating Witch concept character, the OOC actions of the Special Infected, the miniature Hunter concept character, the Huntress concept character (since I assume Valve isn't using it in the games listed above), the Immunes that I insert into the story, and any other things that don't seem to tie to Valve. That is all.
For all of you very patient and eager people who are just dying to get along and read, you're in luck. Just a clear and concise WARNING and off you can go!
WARNING: This story and its prequel are rated properly as M (that stands for Mature, not Milk and cookies) for sexually explicit content, violence or mentions of violence, language, and other stuff that is inappropriate for those readers under the age of 18.
Side effects for reading this fanfiction include delusions, watery eyes, sharp pains in the pelvic region, excessive sweating, babbling, loss of consciousness, and delirium which may cause you to run around the neighborhood in your underwear screaming nonsense. Should you obtain any of these symptoms, I warm you no one will be able to help. So just put on your helmet, buckle up, and get ready to ride.
ON WITH THE SHOW!
Dusk shambled around the Hunter compound mindlessly nowadays. He had been this way for the greater part of four months, his Infected mind reeling. What had once been a simplistic life of eat, sex, sleep, repeat was now running on hyper drive with the introduction of new and startling emotions. He had become more cautious about how he hunted the Immunes and he found his heart going out to the miniature Specials that wandered the compound.
One quiet afternoon, a mini Huntress went running and screeching through the compound with blood pouring from her back. She screamed that her uncle had scratched her for sleeping too late into the day when "work had to be done." None of the other Hunters paid the small child any mind, but Dusk patched up her wound, let her sleep off the pain, and assured her that she would be fine.
He laid on his nest in thought and shuddered. What the hell was he doing? She had been disciplined rightfully, and yet, he had felt bad for her. Why? It wasn't like she was his own child. Now that the thought was in his mind, did he have any children running around naked in the compound as all children did? If he did, no Huntress has ever approached him with the wriggling sack of meat and bone. And yet, the idea of another male raising his flesh and blood made him feel rightfully angered, but also…terrible. If he did have a child, why had he not been there for the miniature?
He felt like he had escaped a role in life, in a Hunter pack. Fathers cared for their children up until they die. Dusk recalled all of the Huntresses he's mounted over the times and realized that it would be utterly impossible for him not to have a kid. The wrongfully feeling overtook his mind. Every other Hunter in the pack had a child so…why not himself? One answer popped in his mind: he was sterile. He wanted to shriek in disapproval. Being sterile was associated with being weak. He was not weak; he was one of the most revered Scavengers in the group. He had hunted everything from Immunes to rival Hunters to Tanks and even Wit-
His brain ran full-throttle to the meat-eater Witch. She was a dangerously beautiful vixen who had captivated him at first look. Sure, he pushed it away and told his comrades that she had what should have been their kill as an excuse to slink into her territory alone. He wasn't cautious when he entered because she didn't appear to be home. It wasn't until she had surprised him and shoved him powerfully into the ice box that he remembered to be careful. And still, she taunted him to the point of no return. After a while, he mounted her slim form and left almost as if he had never been there, but he had. And he enjoyed the time.
It hurt him to leave. As he was walking back into the house, he quickly stole some food for the clan and left out of the window. Before he had arrived home, he rolled around in a river to wash her scent off of him. He arrived home, claimed to have slipped during a jump that caused his soaked state, and went straight to his nest to gain much needed sleep. He couldn't sleep at all. Dusk had been plagued with sleepless nights ever since. His busy mind recalled two more run-ins with the wonderful Witch.
The first time he had been hunting at night, following a frightened Immune female traveling alone. He let her see salvation, let her get close to safety, before he made his presence known. She screamed in fear and fired blindly and poorly at his position. With an empty clip, she took off for the trademark red door. He hated that door so much, with its steel locks and unbreakable grate. He lost too many comrades to that damn safe haven.
It was open, inviting, and she was about to make the final leg in when there came the crying. A Witch wandered out of the safe room, fresh blood on her clothing. The Infected crier left the Immune nowhere to go but back towards the Hunter. He crouched and growled deep in his throat, a sadistic grin on his face. He enjoyed terrifying his meals. The leftover adrenaline in their system was sweet to his palate. Suddenly, the Witch began to growl loud, her eyes locked on the woman in her way. Her long, sharp claws clicked in anger. Both Specials ignored each other, eyes focused on the same prize. Dusk crouched and launched forward at the Immune at the same time the Witch began to charge.
They missed their target and got tangled together, crashing through the glass door of a Walgreens convenience store. He could hear the hurried footsteps of his lost prey and the locking of the cursed door. He was ready to run off when the Witch screamed beneath him and slashed at his face. The nails cut lightly across his left eye and his nose. He growled before biting her neck in a threat, leaving light teeth marks. The body pinned beneath him tensed and the Witch fell silent. They locked eyes and he recognized the familiar glint in the ruby eyes before him. Before he could decide what to do next, a sharp klaxon rang through the store.
The ground began to tremble and the air filled with the collective screams of Commons. He stood and leapt onto the top of a shelf. The Witch rose as she was swallowed in the sea of grabbing hands and bared teeth. She screamed in displeasure and began mowing down their numbers expertly. After a few minutes, the swarm of a few hundred dwindled down to none. The blood-covered woman visibly shuddered, gave a soft whimper, and sprinted out of the store faster than the Hunter could comprehend. By the time he was out of the broken front door, she had vanished from his sight.
The second time, the Scavenger team was drawn to the sight of a Tank attack. Dusk was curious, as Immunes had not been in the area for a long while. If the monstrosity was killing something, it meant easy pickings. The five Hunters knew the Tanks didn't eat the Immunes, but rather the other Infected, most abundantly the Commons. The diseased shamblers were in greater numbers, but they normally were a horrid thing for any other Special to eat. Tanks were one of the strangest eaters, though. If it moved, they most likely devoured it. The team landed on the top of the building adjacent to the structure that was receiving the behemoth's blows. The Tank bellowed and hooked its hands into the doorway, chipping the opening with a loud grunt.
Dusk growled warningly at the others to stay put while he got closer. He leapt onto the monster's back. It paused momentarily, the soft landing tickling its skin slightly. It ignored the feeling when a sound of fear (or was it anger?) came from the building. Dusk scaled up to the Tank's shoulder and peered inside past the dust and darkness. A pair of miniature Hunters, boy and girl, were huddled together. A figure sat behind them, pulling the trio farther and farther into the quickly fading safety of the room. The Tank paused to reach its chubby hand into the still small opening.
There came a shriek of disapproval and the monster roared as it pulled back. Its hand was missing the pinky finger, black pus-like blood dribbling from the digit stub. It punched at the building even harder. Dusk watched frighteningly. Why would something purposefully attack the Tank? It was as if they were trying to die. He waited for the monster to pull back before leaping into the darkness. He leapt out of the way of another crashing blow and landed on the edge of something unstable. He fell with a clatter.
There was a long growl and two soft whimpers of fear from the black cloak of the dark and damp space. He slowly rose to his feet, a slight ignorable pain in his shoulder. He made soft and soothing noises to the three creatures and sniffed the air experimentally. One, if not all three, of them smelled strongly of Immune blood. He rose to his feet and followed the scent farther back. The growl became a high-pitched hiss of pure anger. The miniatures were whimpering even louder at the stranger. He could rationalize with their thoughts: Was this Hunter a friend of the Tanks? Would they both kill them? The Hunter cooed again at the younger Specials, stopping about two feet from their position. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he pulled off his hood. The Tank was screaming at something else from far behind, letting a greedy ray of light pour inside the room.
Dusk sat on his haunches and waited patiently. The little girl moved into his line of sight first. Her raggedy brown hair was hanging in front of her eyes, a shield similar to the hood of a jacket. She sniffed the air and tried to stand tall and hiss at the stranger. He didn't flinch. She shrunk back and tried a different tactic, snapping at the male that was much stronger and wiser than herself. She gave a small pounce and pushed him over with unforeseen strength. They tumbled for a moment, Dusk making sure the Huntress never met the floor flat on her back. She nipped at him softly and scratched him with her claws experimentally. He let her draw blood.
They ceased to roll and she rubbed her face in his blood. She stopped and yipped for her companion to join. Both children rubbed their cheeks, foreheads, chins, hands, and arms in the stronger male's crimson scent. They licked the wounds closed respectfully and started at the Hunter. He was of another clan. Of the three or four Hunter groups that shared the territory, his was the largest and dominant. The miniatures were enemies, and the sudden realization of death stuck them both fast. Would he kill them now?
Dusk heard his team call out to him and he replied. He motioned for the youngsters to walk back outside. The female looked back at the light cautiously. There was no grunting of a Tank. She could only hear heavy, tired breathing. After sniffing herself to make sure she smelled like the older Hunter, she nudged the male and they made their way outside. Dusk watched to make sure the miniatures reached salvation safely.
He turned back to the third, larger figure. It was silent, glowing red eyes shining in the darkness. He muttered a soft sound but received no reply. He approached slowly and cautiously. The eyes never moved. His snout twitched and he could smell the fresh blood on the other's skin. When he assumed he was in front of a hand, he licked it experimentally. The elixir was inviting, and he continued to lap at the skin. He trailed up a limb and found the creature's neck. His rough tongue dragged over the carotid artery. The pulse was fast, sickly fast, and it made his own heart increase.
He trailed up the side of the neck and found the earlobe, nipping at it softly. There was a soft groan in reply. He licked one cheek, and then the other. Blood was getting on the sides of his face, but he didn't care. His licks found thin lips and he kissed the creature softly. He went back down to the neck, tracing the path of the jugular vein, and nipped at it, his canines brushing against the skin. He went back up to the face and stared deep into the eyes. They were wavering madly, stuck between a sharp anger and maddening lust. Palms found the sides of his face and the pads of fingers rubbed his blood-spotted cheeks. He purred at the attention and leaned in to capture those savory lips in a kiss once more.
Seconds before they touched, the Scavengers called out once more, loudly trying to summon their leader. The figure before Dusk screamed agonizingly loud and tore into his shoulders with one strong slice. He rolled back, biting his tongue hard to hold back the scream of pain. The eyes flashed in remorse and they turned. Footsteps ran far into the darkness, farther than Dusk was willing to follow. He licked the wounds he could get at a few times each before slowly and carefully heading back. The team growled at his scars, but he ignored them to battle the feeling in his chest. That look, that look, it was so familiar. Could that have been...? He quickly went to sniffing the sides of the children and under his own scent was that of a Witch. A sweet cranberry scent.
Ever since that day, he hadn't come within ten yards of the vixen. He sighed and tossed on his nest one, two, three miserable times before rising to just shamble around the compound. His mind was still reeling when a Huntress crossed and blocked his path. He recognized her immediately as the alleged true mate of Razor, the clan's alpha male. This Huntress, Bumble, wore her trademark black and yellow sweatshirt hoodie. She nudged the side of Dusk's face and he caught the whiff of actual honey on her breath. She was famed for stealing the substance from Witches near the sugar plant on the other end of town. She licked at the side of his neck twice, slowly dragging her tongue across his jugular vein. His pulse increased, but not out of arousal. His mind was still focused on the thought of the Witch. Bumble murmured at Dusk lasciviously before coyly turning around and laying on her stomach, her backside high in the air.
Dusk stared at the Huntress. His brain slowed long enough for to think only about the basics of the ritual. When a Huntress does as Bumble had, the male was to violently strip off both of their clothing and mount her. Afterward, the Huntress stumbled back to her male and when he smelled the mingled scents of sex on his girl, the two Hunters would fight until one stayed down or the female chose her new mate. He stared at her pleading eyes and a shiver raced through his body. He pulled himself away from the female and started off on his walk once again, a robotic left, right, left, right playing in the far corners of his head. Bumble rose from her position and gave a worried growl. She whined in self-pity. Was she not pretty enough? Or strong enough? Was he a Hunter who chose a mate for life? She growled once again, whimpering pathetically afterward.
Dusk could feel the eyes of surrounding Hunters in the compound on him. He had just walked away from a golden opportunity, an opportunity to become the Alpha. Everyone knew he was stronger than Razor. The alpha had gained his "place of power" back when this now strong and thriving group had simply been a pair traveling to nowhere. It would have been so easy, much like a punch in the kidneys, to have sex with Razor's girl and come into power. He could hear the curious murmurs of the others and it bothered him. They probably thought he was weak now. But he wouldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and dammit, he didn't know why! All he could think about were red eyes, sharp talons, cranberries.
He left the compound to take a walk and hopefully sort out his thoughts. He scaled the outside of the compound and leapt through the air with power everyone knew he possessed but now questioned ferociously. He blocked out all sounds from around him and simply followed his nose. He went towards the park and through the winding maze, quickly killing Commons who came after him in dazed hunger. He scaled buildings and went through broken windows, doing everything and nothing to get his mind put together. At one point, he stopped in a suite of a Holiday Inn. He crawled to a corner and attacked the wall in confused, pent-up frustration.
He was a Hunter. A HUNTER! He was supposed to kill other Infected and Immune without remorse. He was supposed to have sex with whomever he wanted and not give a damn about it later! He wasn't supposed to fall in love with a Witch, he was supposed to fuck her and then kill her, bringing back the body so the others would make him the alpha. His goal as a Hunter was to be renowned as the strongest, the fastest, a cold-blooded killer of all who get in his way! He was supposed to have as many mates as he damn well pleased and to destroy any Hunter who dared to challenge his authority. Immunes were supposed to die by his claws in the most gruesome way possible, and he was supposed to leave a reminder to all of those gun-toting, clean-blooded, talking pigs that he chose their fate, not whatever God they chose to follow. He decided who lived to see another day (or another twenty seconds) and who died immediately. That was his job, and he was fucking it up, big time. And all because of that stupid Witch!
Dusk's vision became spotted with red. He could feel it, the feral mind he once called brother beating the crap out of the pansy he had become over the course of a few months. He felt powerful again, wonderfully strong and rightfully terrifying. His senses bloomed and he could hear them, a pair of Immunes a few doors down. The pair, a girl and a guy, were making primal noises in what they thought to be a safe place. Wrong again. He grinned sadistically. This was the perfect chance to put his feral mind to use. They were so helpless, the two pigs. Here, pigpigpig. Here piggy. Time to go to slaughter. Dusk slunk out of the room silently and into the main corridor. He could even smell what the Immunes had touched, the tripwire trap that any other Hunter wouldn't have noticed. He leapt over the thin wire and landed with a quiet creak. Neither horny Immune took notice.
Dusk felt a fire rise in the pit of his stomach. He was getting excited, more excited than he should have been, but it was the first time he'd felt this way in forever. He was even teasing his prey again, at least in his mind. Sooee! Sooee, pig pig, here pig. Here comes the Wolf! He went right up to the door and stopped. He let a low growl roll of his tongue, almost inaudible.
"Wa—ahh...wait. Stop. Vald...ahgod...STOP!"the female voice hissed.
"Dammit, what now?" the male voice hissed irritably, but from the squeaking of the bed, he had yet to really stop. "Unless you felt the condom break, you shouldn't be telling me to stop!"
"You..uuh...idiot! Didn't you h-h-hear that?"
The squeaking and the voices stopped. Dusk held his breath. No. He couldn't be slipping up already. He's too good to slip up. Bad pig! Bad sooee!
"I don't hear jack shit. You're going crazy, Niki."
"No! I swear, I heard something."
Vlad groaned in anger. "If I go see what it is, will you stop giving me blue balls? This is the third fuckin' time already."
"Oh, just shut up and go kill whatever it is. Please, it's scaring the living shit outta me."
Dusk heard Vlad rise from the bed, clearly pissed as the Immune stomped on the ground. With each deliberate footstep, the heated outline of his prey grew brighter and more defined. Short and stout. Dusk backed up and went right beside the doorway. Sooee sooee sooee...open up. It's the Big...Bad...Wolf! The door swung open, slamming against the wall. The man walked out. He was a pudgy little Caucasian with blonde hair and a Desert Eagle in hand. He wore no pants or shirt. Dusk waited for the man to step further into the hall before grabbing the gun arm and throwing the large enemy with ease. The man crashed through the door to another room, groaning in pain. The Hunter slunk into the room, boldly approaching the Immune. The sun was setting, painting the off-white walls a mixture of teal and pink.
Vlad took aim and pulled the trigger, but to no avail. Dusk pulled the gun's clip from his pocket and tossed it behind him before pouncing his prey. Vlad threw a weak punch at the side of his head. Dusk bit off an ear first. The pained screams were delicious. A hand came as his face and he bit into that too. He was surprised dear sooee Niki hadn't come to see what was taking so long. Dusk stabbed his nails into the pudgy man's chest. Vlad spasmed and blood shot from his mouth in little droplets. Blood splattered on Dusk's face as he cut open the bare torso and ripped out the lungs, shattering the rib cage into dangerous little shards. The man died within seconds with a final twitch. Dusk rose, sniffing the blood on his clothing. He left the body for a hoard to find. He wanted the girl.
He crawled back into the room Niki was still in, not caring to keep silent. He let a needy groan drag over his bloodied lips.
"Vlad? Did you kill it?"
Her pheromones were driving him wild. She was halfway to euphoria and her irritability was leaking through her concern and fear. He walked into the opening that showed the bed. Niki froze in fear, staring at his bloodied mouth and claws. He approached quickly, leaping onto the bed and over her. She was thin, thinner than she should've been, with small, uneven breasts and long, shapely legs. Her blue hair complimented her sapphire contact lenses. She had snakebites and a large multicolored ribbon tattoo trailing up her left side. The tattoo was unfinished at her hips. She wasn't strikingly gorgeous, but she did look like a good lay.
He shifted his weight over her, his claws a menacing few inches from her neck. She smelled of roses and incense. And vanilla. He liked the vanilla scent coming from her body. It was new. Different. Inviting. He put his face closer to hers and bared his red teeth, taking a deep breath of air. The vanilla assaulted him and he swayed slightly. She squealed softly to herself, turning her face away from his. He grabbed her chin with one hand and forced her to face him. Her body shivered with tears. He could hear her breath hitching from deep within her bare chest. The first droplet of salt water ran down her cheek and caught the blood on his claw, leaving a trail down her lovely face.
"Please...let this be a dream, dear God," Niki cried beneath the Special."Please..." Dusk continued to stare at the Immune woman. Now that he looked nice and long, she looked only about 19 or 20, a good ten years younger than her deceased lover. "...please...if you're going to kill me, just do it quickly."
Dusk could hear the plead in her voice. Was she asking for mercy? Or was she just mocking him? From the wavering in her eyes, the mockery option was out. He looked at the Immune girl. Something in his heart hated her. Why did he suddenly feel such a level of abhorrence for this girl? She was rightfully afraid of him. She was beyond terrified, her heart a fast pounding drum. She had crossed her legs, probably to keep from peeing herself or to try and roll into a protective ball. She was an easy fuck and an even easier kill, so why the hell did he wanted her out of his sight?
He stabbed his claws into the mattress on both sides of her head and she peed herself reflexively, his kneecaps dampened by her urine. He glared at her before viciously removing his claws and leaving. She wasn't worth it anymore. She wasn't a challenge. She wasn't worthy to die by his hand.
Dusk crawled down the hall, passing another Hunter with a sharp roar. The other Special reared up to fight, but saw the blaze in the other's eyes and backed down, moving down the hall towards the weeping Survivor. Dusk walked out into the dark street and screamed at the world. He gave a primal yell, stopping all creatures in their path. He leapt towards the darker district, the Witch housing area. He needed to take out his anger on someone more...familiar.
He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, following the lingering smell of honey in the air. About twenty yards from the Witch nest, a noise caused him to stop. He could hear crying. He scaled down the brick wall and traced up and down alleys until the loud wailing made him stop. He was in front of an empty supply closet with the door wide open. He rocked back and forth, debating. Was she worthy? Would she be the one, the key to returning life to normal? Only one way to find out. He slunk up to the crier and he could already feel the front of his pants about to burst. She was so unaware. So vulnerable. So...easy. He stood right behind her before she even heard him.
He pushed her onto her stomach and pinned down her arms before she could even growl. He breathed heavily on the back of her neck. She was covered in honey, and his erection twitched against the damn-near-broken zipper of his pants. Fuck, he was so worked up. The Witch yelled at him, and he bit her, hard, on her shoulder. She yelped and bled. He wasn't playing with her, toying with her like the Meat-eater. He just wanted to fulfill his basic functions: eat, sex, sleep, repeat. He raked his claws down her back and cut the little clothing she had, letting the blood from the cuts run down her thrashing form. She screamed for her sisters. Silly little Witch. Silly, stupid little crier. Your sisters don't care about you.
He heard how high her voice was, how easily it cracked as she tried harder to call for help. She was young. Possibly even newly turned. He growled with lust. Could that mean a virgin? He's never had sex with a virgin. That was what he needed now. Total domination. Complete control of the situation. He quickly peeled off his own clothing. His nether regions were starting to hurt, all the blood loss from his brain making him light headed. He grabbed the slender hips before him and forced her chest down to the ground with one hand. He bent over her and lapped at her wounds. Even her blood was sickly sweet. He couldn't hear anything anymore. Not the young Witch's screams. Not his own heavy breathing. Not anything.
He forced himself into the young girl and her screams broke through to him. He felt the resistance from inside her and grunted as he tried to move farther into the warmth. He went as far as he could inside of the virgin and stayed there for a moment. Her walls were trying to force him back out, but he wouldn't have it. He pulled out slowly, the resistance still very strong. He could smell the blood from her core, a strange scent he only encountered when he went by the docks. She was still jabbering at her sisters to come and save her. No one came. Witches didn't care for each other unless it came to finding food. No food, no team. He thrust himself back in and felt the young crier buckle and choke on her tears.
She buried her face in the grimy tile, her hands held in her captor's grasp. She could feel him ripping her petite body in two as he raped her. She couldn't breath, couldn't cry anymore. The pain was melding into itself, intensifying all the nerves in her body. She wanted to die. Hunters were to be feared. Hunters were crafty, vicious, blood-thirsty beasts. If one comes out of nowhere and attacks from behind, don't resist. Just let it happen. As a young Witch, that was what everyone told her. That was what she learned.
Marie stopped her feasting as a sharp and strange cry rang through the factory. She lowered her honey jar from around her mouth, the sticky substances dribbling down her chin and neck into her shirt, running between her breasts. She turned to her mentor Gazelle and gave a curious growl. Gazelle lowered her own jar, licking her lips and listening. The shriek came again. Gazelle grunted at Marie and pointed to one of the items that hung on a wall. A hoodie. Marie's eyes grew wide. The Hunter. They were to be avoided if possible. "Never fight one for a meal lest they chop off your head and eat your entrails."She had always been curious about the hoodied creatures. Could they really be as terrifying as everyone claimed? She's seen Immunes avoid her sisters but open-fire at the Hunters. She rose from her spot and went towards the noise. She could smell a new creature as she got closer, a foresty pine amidst all the sugar. She saw his green hood from behind and froze. He was grunting, almost angrily, and then he screamed.
She continued to stare at the scene as another figure came into view; a Witch, who laid on her side, head watching the male curiously. He moved away from her, turning to Marie with a grin on his face. His maw was covered with dried blood and dripping honey. He slunk to all fours and approached the girl, still smiling at her. Her honey jar crashing to the floor was what snapped her out of her daze and she took off, using all the training that Gazelle had given her to create distance between them. She went back to her mentor and jabbered on about the scene. The older Witch didn't even bat an eye. Later, the Witch who had been with the Hunter came to the sleep pile as if nothing had happened. Maybe it was normal, Marie thought. Maybe if a Witch lets a Hunter do as he pleases, then there won't be any repercussions.
Marie forced herself to relax under this deadly stranger's power. Her body was on fire, pins and needles dancing on her skin. She tried to breath normally, but only succeeded on short, uneven gasps. The Hunter moved faster from behind her and bit her again. She gave a strangled gasp and whined as he sucked on the wound. She felt like a spring being stretched apart, her muscles tightening beneath her skin, her claws curling into balls, her body becoming rigid. She cried out beneath her captor, her vision spotting slightly as her head began to swim. Her bladder relaxed and she felt her urine trailing down her knees, a wet slapping noise coming from behind her. He still moved inside her as she panted in exhaustion. Eventually, he shrieked one last time as he buried himself within her, filling her body with a sickly warmth. He pulled out of her and she fell over, her breath no longer hitching in her throat. He pulled on his clothes and left her to lay in the closet. She listened to him leap away and eventually passed out.
Dusk felt...no different than before. Damn it! He was still pissed off at that Meat-eater, and even the domination of a virgin Witch didn't quench his pain-filled thirst. He wanted to be mad at himself for even letting her get to him as much as he did, but his feral mind wouldn't allow it. It was all her fault. Her fault for killing that Immune man during their hunting. Her fault for making eye contact with him and starting this fire. Her fault for not locking her house up tight. Her fault for fighting him in the nude. Her fault for being such a minx! He ran for her house. He had to face his demons one-on-one. Had to if he was to get strong again. Had to if he wanted the be a real Hunter.
After a few miles of leaping, he saw the familiar lone house and watched it closely. Music flowed out of one of the windows, a soft sound. It was smooth. It was out of place in an apocalypse. He crawled closer and saw no one. He sniffed and could smell blood, fresh blood. A mixture of Immune and Infected. He listened past the music for anything else, and he heard it. Movement. Heavy footsteps. Lighter ones skirting across the hardwood floor. The rattling of chains. The front door opened and Dusk leapt into a tree, watching from the leafy cover. The Meat-eater Witch sauntered outside, right in front of her door, and sniffed the air lightly. She looked in his direction briefly, making at appear as casual as a sweep of a crowd. The Hunter saw it, a pair of shackles on the vixen's tiny ankles. He remembered how well they fit into his grasp, the mattress beneath them both, conforming to their constantly shifting, combined weight...! He shook his head sharply and dug his nails into the oak beneath him.
The Witch was yanked back into the confines of her home and another figure took her place. It was Immune, male, and he was terrifying. He stood tall, at almost seven feet, and was muscular. If Dusk had been any crazier, he would have sworn a Tank was hold a pair of chains and a Hunting Rifle. The man raised the rifle and looked around through his scope, passing over Dusk once before sweeping back. Dusk was ready to pounce when he felt a sharp pinch in his thigh and he immediately lost his grip, plummeting to the ground in a fuzzy haze. Wavering footsteps faded in and out with the passing light. Dusk finally heard the pop of a gun. When was he shot? The vixen's face hovered over his and she bent down low, lifting him gingerly from the ground. He tried to scream at her, but his body was fighting to keep him conscious, and losing terribly. He felt the light on his skin from the house and he was placed in a room he hadn't come across in his tour. There was a distant rattle of chains and a whine spilled from his lips. Dusk forced his head up and saw the Immune more-or-less squatting before him with a bright, toothy grin.
"Don't worry, Sonya," the Immune said in a voice that would melt anyone, standing to move towards the blank-faced Witch. "He's still alive. Do you want to say anything to him, before he's passed out?"The Witch didn't move, even as the human wrapped his thick arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. Dusk's body gave a final shudder and he blacked out.
I was curious as to how a Hunter would react to an attraction to a Witch.
Chapter Two on Sonya will be up soon enough. Don't fret, my dears.
Reviews are loved and flames fuel my need to destroy the planet. n_n happy face