Entry #35 - AU
Truly Anonymous Twilight O/S PP Contest
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Title: Free the Beast
Picture Prompt Number: 41
Genre: AU, vampire, Darksper
Word Count (minus A/N and Header): 1915
Summary (250 characters or less, including spaces and punctuation): He's not what they want him to be. The southern gentleman, the quiet observer, the loyal mate–there's more to him than that. All those things have served him well as a disguise; a way to mask the reaper inside of him. Now, Jasper has freed the beast.
Warnings and Disclaimer: Dark themes and death.
Free the Beast
He's not what they want him to be. The southern gentleman, the quiet observer, the loyal mate – there is more to him than that. All those things have served him well as a disguise; a way to mask the reaper inside of him, to hide the violent need to sink his teeth into human flesh and feel the sweet, warm blood pulse into his mouth and soothe his burning throat. As unsightly as that side of him might be, he does not want to hide it anymore.
He raises his head and closes his eyes, letting his senses guide him, allowing the beast to seep into his carefully controlled mind. Keeping it on a leash day and night and not being true to his nature is slowly making him go mad. He has tried so hard, not for Carlisle's sake, but for Alice's. Lately, the effort of constantly trying to change who he is has made him detest Carlisle and resent Alice for wanting him to choose a path in life that he does not want to follow. The love he has for Alice used to be enough. It's not anymore. As the beast grows stronger, his love for Alice is fading away. She knew she had lost him the minute he decided to free the beast.
He knows he should miss her. He doesn't, and he could not care less.
His nostrils flare as they take in the humid night air. It's tinted with the earthly scent of decaying plants and somewhere in the distance a rotting animal emits gusts of that sweet smell humans find nauseating. The gnawing of animal teeth occasionally interrupts the faint sound of crawling maggots feasting on the decomposed flesh, and he finds himself envious of the feeding creatures. A heavy haze has settled in the park, drifting between the naked trees and covering the ground in small glistening drops.
The sound of footsteps rustling the leaves doesn't come as a surprise to him; her scent has already reached his nose. A small dog is toddling beside her, the kind that is usually dressed in pink tutus and carried in silly little designer bags. Tonight the pink tutu has been exchanged for an equally pink fake leather collar with crystal-covered letters spelling out the word DIVA. The girl deserves death just for that.
He takes a step forward, making himself visible on the path. He shoves his foot back and forth on the ground, pretending to look for something. As she sees him, her steps falter and he senses her insecurity. He crouches down and rakes his hands through the mass of leaves, muttering quietly to himself, seemingly oblivious of the girl.
"Do you need help?" She's standing in front of him, the sorry excuse of a dog yapping annoyingly next to her. Her cheeks blush instantly as he raises his head and shoots her a crooked smile.
"Why, yes darlin', if you have the time," he drawls, pausing to evaluate the effect his deep voice has on his prey. An increase in her heart rate tells him she has swallowed the bait. This one will be easy.
"I seem to have misplaced my keys in this hopeless array of leaves. Most unfortunate, I must say." He winks at her, and turns his eyes to the ground again. She kneels and her hands join his in the search.
"So… do you live in the neighborhood?" she asks in a somewhat flirty tone. "I don't recognize you, and I believe I would remember if I'd met you."
He detects curiosity and excitement, and a slight waft of arousal. He ponders his options. The taste of human blood is tinged by the palette of emotions rushing through their bodies in the draining process, each emotion having its own delicious flavor and bouquet. He enjoys them all and all the possible combinations of them. This will be his first real meal in decades, and he wants it to be perfect. He needs it to be memorable.
Deciding on the delicious combination of arousal and fear, he moves closer to his victim. Want and dread, as being contrary but still closely related emotions, complement each other in an exciting way; not only in the taste of the blood, but also in the game before the kill. The thrill of making them writhe in lust, not able to fight the impending orgasm even as the realization dawns on them that they are going to die… He imagines it must be the best death there is.
Death by orgasm.
He snickers quietly before answering her question.
"I'm only passing through."
Silently, he lets his keys slide down on the ground close to her hands. She squeals in delight as she finds them.
"You found them? I honestly don't know what I would've done without you," he says gratefully. They rise in unison, and he moves closer to her as she hands him the keys. He's not very tall, but the girl is short and he looks down on her as she tilts her head, staring at him with wide eyes.
"Tell me what I can do to thank you, doll." His voice is rich and seductive, and he smiles his crooked smile again, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. She blushes again, and he can see the blood pulsating through her jugular vein, covered only by that thin layer of fragile, human skin. The sound it makes is mouth watering; a soft, rhythmic swooshing that makes him lick his lips. She stares at his mouth and mirrors his movement, darting her tongue out and wetting her lower lip before biting it gently.
He takes a step forward, bringing his body flush to hers, and she steps back, suddenly unsure of his intentions. They move again - him forward and her backward - until he has captured her against the tree behind her. He places his hands on the tree close to her face and presses his body against her. Leaning down, he breathes on her skin and inhales the scent of her warm blood. Her emotions are a tangled mess of insecurity, fear, lust and anticipation. He has chosen already which ones to enhance, but he decides to start off with her lust – he knows he'll be enjoying her sensations as much as she will. A thin sheen of sweat is covering her upper lip, and he can't stop himself from running his tongue across it, savoring the salty taste; a harbinger of another salty, but equally sweet and metallic, flavor.
"No need to worry, darlin'," he murmurs. "I just want to thank you properly for crossing my path today."
She doesn't understand the true meaning behind his words, of course. How could she? For humans, vampires are strictly literary characters, a figment of imagination woven into stories meant to thrill and scare. They do not exist, do they? He knows that in her mind, young, handsome men in dark and lonesome parks are just men, some good, and some evil. He senses her wavering before she chooses to believe – he forces her to believe – that he is nothing but a man. A young, handsome and good man.
In the tales they say you have to invite a vampire. You have to let them in. The truth is, they let themselves in. If she was perceptive enough, she might have sensed him poking around in her mind, exploring her fears, longings and turn-ons. But she isn't, and he continues to untangle her emotions, tugging at her lust, turning it around in his mind before amplifying it and returning it to her. He leaves her fear behind for now - there will be time for it later.
Her eyes are hooded as they rake over his slender frame, from the dark blond hair on his head, to his feet, and back up again, before coming to rest on his crotch. He turns his focus to the swell of her breasts, and watches them intently as her chest rises in response to the need that is suddenly flooding her body. She gasps in surprise and moans wantonly as he shifts his attention from her breasts, down her belly, pausing a moment at her belly-button before pouring all the pleasure he can conjure up over her sex.
Her hands fumble over the bark behind her, searching blindly for something, anything to hold on to, as her legs start to quiver. Her hips buck out, trying to find some friction, and he moves away from her. He wants to make her come with his mind only, creating such a strong arousal that no touch is necessary. She stomps the ground in frustration and he smiles. The sound of her pounding feet reminds him of a prey trying to escape – such a treat to the beast within him.
He briefly considers letting her go just to add the chase to the game, but she is so lost in her needs that she probably wouldn't move even if given the chance. Her moans are getting louder, and her head is rocking back and forth in unison with her hips. He can feel her getting closer and closer, and he's more than happy to let his mind join her lust. He grits his teeth and leans into her, whispering hoarsely in her ear.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
She nods and lets out a small cry. Her head falls forward, and she shakes it feverishly, trying to form a coherent set of words.
"What are you doing to me? How can you… You're not even touching me!"
"Open your eyes and look at me."
She has a hard time focusing on his eyes, and he waits until she meets his gaze before sending a violent tide of lust through her body, pushing her off the edge and deep into the waves of intense pleasure that are suddenly riveting through her body. He bores his eyes into hers as he answers.
"I'm making your last living moment the best moment of your life."
Understanding dawns on her as he lets his teeth sink into her skin and slice through the pulsating vein, and the fierce shudder of her orgasm slowly turns into the spasms of a dying body.
He revels in her delirious last moments, diving headfirst into her confused emotions and the effect it has on her blood. He relishes the distinct flavor that the cocktail of dopamine, adrenaline, testosterone and estrogen adds to it. He's enjoying her lust and making it his own, and then he punishes himself for his actions by wallowing in the fear she feels in her death.
He sits with her for a while after he's drained her. He may have unleashed the beast, but he's still got some courtesy. A girl shouldn't be left alone in death. The dog is still yapping, its little mind not yet able to understand what has happened. He ties it to her wrist so it won't be able to leave, picks up her phone and dials 911. The voice of a female operator reaches him, and he says nothing more than the name of the park before placing the phone next to the girl. He sits quietly, listening to the increasing alarm in the operator's voice as her questions are met with nothing but the incessant barks of a dog. When he hears the sounds of the approaching sirens, he closes her unseeing eyes and disappears into the mist.