Half Blood (A Helheim Wolf Pack Tale)

by Lauren Dawes

  The ache of his orgasm was coming. He could feel it deep down in his body––a tingle of pleasure warming up his skin. He picked up the pace, stroking himself from the base of his shaft to the tip, twisting his wrist to crank out a little more pleasure, his balls tightening from the extra attention. The intensely warm feeling that had started travelling up his shaft began to burn like liquid fire until his orgasm pulsed out of his body in slow hot waves all over his hand and stomach. He milked his body until the rest of him was shaking. With one final shudder, he released his cock and washed himself off quickly before killing the water.

  Water dripped from his hair and slid down his chest as he stood in the steam for a long time waiting for his cock to go soft. But it was just as hard as it had been before. When he wrapped a towel around his waist and stalked out of the bathroom, he realised what he needed to do.

  Throwing on some clean clothes, he slid his feet into some old shitkickers and left the apartment, determined to find one of two things; a whore or a fight. If he was lucky, it would be both at the same time.

  Chapter 6

  ‘What do you want?’ Indi demanded, still keeping a safe distance away. When the guy didn’t answer, she tried again. ‘How did you know this was where I lived?’

  ‘Oh Kitten, you didn’t think I’d give up so easily, did you?’ Mr Wright, the prick from the café, was sporting two partial black eyes and a swollen, misshapen nose. Indi couldn’t take credit for how he’d brained himself on the table, but she had helped him on his way and that made her smile.

  ‘What. Do. You. Want?’ she hissed.

  Running a finger across his chin in thought, his top lip curled up into a sneer and he said, ‘I want to teach you a lesson.’

  She laughed dangerously. ‘If it’s about how I shouldn’t beat the shit out of people when they touch me, you’re wasting your time. That ship hasn’t just sailed, it’s sunk.’

  He pushed himself off the wall. There was a small snick and when he uncrossed his arms there was a small switchblade in his left hand. ‘Now, you’re going to play nice Kitten, or I’ll be sure to cut you up a little to remind you what happens when you don’t do as you’re told.’ The blade flashed in the little streetlight available as he twisted it menacingly from side to side.

  ‘And if I don’t?’ she asked boldly, raising her chin a fraction. She’d been threatened with knives before so she was strolling through achingly familiar territory.

  ‘And if you don’t,’ he replied teasingly, ‘it’s nothing a bullet can’t help.’ He opened up his jacket and revealed a holstered gun on his right hip. Oh. That’s why he was so damn confident. He tapped it with the tip of the knife––a ringing metallic sound pealing around them.

  Indi swallowed thickly. Gun trumped knife. It was as simple as that. As if the weapon was a signal to her body, her pulse began racing again––her heart hammering against her ribs, pumping much needed adrenalin around her body. It cleared her head, allowing her to think through her options properly.

  Indi wasn’t in the habit of running from a fight, but she knew when she was beaten. If the fight was between a gun and knife then the loud, bullet-ridden thing would win every time.

  One point for run.

  She knew from the café that he was a south paw. If he wanted to draw the gun, he’d have to drop the knife first, unless he just also happened to be ambidextrous … which she was suddenly praying he was not. She was sure she could get her blade out of the holster before he could reach for the gun though. Her reflexes had always been good.

  One point for fight.

  Factor number three: he had at least fifty pounds on her. If he pinned her, she’d be dead; plain and simple.

  Two points for run.

  Indi glanced around at the buildings. They were all very well sound-proofed thanks to the flight path they were living under. Nobody would hear the fight between them, which meant that if she had to resort to screaming for help nobody would hear her.

  Three points for run.

  Madness bubbled in his dark gaze as she met his black eyes again. Rage, greed, lust and revenge were the fuel to the fire that lit him up from the inside. And that was the deciding factor.

  Four points to one: she ran.

  Taking off in the opposite direction she’d come from; her lighter frame and longer legs carrying her a lot faster than his could. She rounded the corner, seeing that the alleyway to her left was the one that ran behind her building. She knew that it was a dead end, but maybe she would be able to find a fire escape left down at random. If she couldn’t find a way out, she’d have to hide and launch a surprise attack. She’d done it before and there’s a lot to be said about the element of surprise.

  Her footsteps echoed all around her, amplified by the brick walls soaring up on either side of her like the walls of a prison. Her breath caught in her throat when she heard his footsteps stop. After some frantic searching and no fire escape later, Indi dived behind one of the dumpsters and waited for her opportunity. If this guy had half a brain, he would know that was where she was hiding, especially since she was panting from so much adrenalin. Forcing her breathing to slow, she held her breath and waited.

  A few seconds later, his footsteps echoed through the alleyway. ‘Kitten, I know you’re hiding back here,’ he called. The sound of his steps competed with his words, making it difficult for her to pinpoint exactly where he was. ‘Where are you?’ he called in a sing-song voice.

  Indi shifted her right leg forward, being careful not to make a sound, and pulled her knife from its sheath. She took comfort in the feeling of the blade in her hand. Taking a deep breath in, Indi retreated in on herself to find that place that was quiet and cold. This was her angry place––her safe place. She removed her fear completely, replacing it with her perpetually-raging anger. She stroked the imaginary cat that represented her rage. It pressed its head against her palm, nudging her to attack, but it wasn’t the right time yet.

  Grit crunched under Mr Wright’s shoes, edging him closer to her and further into the alleyway. With the blade out and ready, Indi let go of her held breath and felt complete calm sluice over her head, across her shoulders and down her back.

  ‘If you just come out here Kitten, I’ll take it easy on you. I promise.’

  Indi rotated her neck until every vertebra cracked individually. He knew exactly where she was. He was just playing with her. His shuffling footsteps ended around the corner of the dumpster, no more than a foot away from her. He was so close that she could hear him breathing. She steeled herself, ready to lunge for him. A trickle of anticipation burned through her body, stirring a low growl from her cat.

  One more step, she thought.

  One more step and then I attack.

  One more step.

  Chapter 7

  Buddy pushed into a bar in downtown Buxton; the stench of stale beer, cigarettes and sex raping his olfactory senses. His sharp eyes surveyed his surroundings before he took a seat close to the liquor.

  Throwing a coaster onto the pockmarked bar, the bartender asked, ‘What’ll it be Buddy?’

  ‘The usual,’ he replied from around the hand-rolled between his lips. The bartender grunted a reply and shuffled around the bar, producing cheap whiskey in a dirty shot glass and a beer chaser. ‘Thanks.’

  He nodded. ‘You want me to start up a tab?’

  Buddy thought about it for second. ‘Yeah. You do that.’

  ‘You got it.’

  The shot of whiskey burned his throat as it went down, but he let it burn. He needed to feel this pain now. When the edge had worn off, he sucked back his beer, draining the bottle in one sitting. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. As he placed the bottle back on the bar, another shot of whiskey and a fresh beer were sitting there. His eyes met the near black of his new best friend behind the bar and he nodded.

  By his sixth ride on the merry-go-shot, Buddy’s body hummed with warmth. The temperature of the liquor in his blood didn’t deaden his
hard on for a fight though. If anything it made him hopped-up for more than just one. The sound of rough laughter brought his head up from looking down at his now empty shot glass.

  The bar had slowly been filling up with the usual Wednesday night crowd as he sat there drinking himself into a stupor. Most of the cocksuckers were truckers wearing their wife-beaters and ripped jeans like it was something they could be fucking proud about. Their arms had some kind of ink on them, and mostly it was the name of the trash they’d managed to knock up. The rest of the clientele were working girls getting nice and blunt for the whoring that would come later. They were all the fucking same. His top lip lifted from his teeth in a sneer before he focused on the fresh drink in front of him.

  ‘Hey Mac?’

  Buddy lifted his head to look at the guy slowly. ‘What?’ he snarled.

  ‘My girlfriend here says that you were checking her out. Is that right?’

  His eyes drifted over the guy’s right shoulder. The bottle-blonde who was standing against the pool table was wearing a shirt that was about three sizes too small and a pair of panties that had been mistaken as a skirt. She smiled at him as he looked her over; her legs widening a little telling him all he needed to know—she was jonesing for a fight so she could get laid later on tonight, and by the look in her eyes she wanted it to be him and not the fucking mouth breather standing in front of him.

  ‘So? What have you got to say for yourself?’

  Buddy’s gaze finally fixed back on the Whiskey Tango in front of him.

  ‘Yeah. I was checking her out. What are you going to do about it?’

  The guy’s colour changed, reddening as Buddy metaphorically cranked the guy’s balls in his palm. He could smell his anger––the acrid stench of his rage was like a red rag to the bull in him. Buddy saw the trash’s fist flying before the punch could land. Dodging the fist, he elbowed him hard into the solar plexus. The air left the guy’s body in a warm rush of beer-drenched breath as he doubled over. Buddy rammed his knee into his face while he was bent over, knocking him down to the filthy ground.

  Like all bar fights, it took less than two seconds for a crowd to form; the bottle-blonde front and centre behind her man. They all yelled and jeered as Buddy’s eyes roamed over the nameless faces. His lack of attention left him open for the punch in the face that he hadn’t even seen coming. Buddy felt his lip splitting open, blood crashing out of the wound in an angry wave. His anger pulsed out of him, his adrenalin kicking in and jacking him up. The guy swung at him again; the blow glancing off his cheek and catching him on the jaw. He stumbled backwards, catching himself on the bar.

  The Trash danced back a few steps, holding his hands up in front of him like he was some goddamn professional boxer. The guy squeezed his right eye shut to keep the river of blood from the cut Buddy had opened on his eyebrow from blinding him. His bitch screamed at him to hit Buddy again, but Buddy saw his hesitation.

  With a grin twisting up his lips, he pushed away from the bar and kicked the Trash in the kneecap from the side and watched him go down. When he was finally on the ground, a kick to the face made sure that he stayed that way.

  ‘Fucking cocksucker,’ he growled, spitting out blood onto the guy’s face.

  The cheer that erupted from the peanut gallery hurt his ears. He stumbled back until the bar stool hit him in the ass and a fresh shot and another beer were lined up under his nose along with a cloth. Buddy looked up into the bartender’s life-worn face.

  ‘For your lip,’ he said, pointing down at the cloth.

  Buddy picked up the fabric and held it gingerly to his mouth. The pain felt fan-fucking-tastic. It brought back memories from being at school again, fighting for survival, and later on just for the hell of it.

  By the time he had downed the drinks, the blonde had twitched her way over to him.

  ‘Hi handsome,’ she purred into his ear. ‘You wanna get out of here?’ She pressed her silicone wonders against his arm, making sure to jiggle the goods as incentive.

  Buddy turned his whole body to look at her. Her eyes were the colour of watered-down peas, her lips pumped so full of collagen that she probably sweat the stuff. There was nothing about her that was real except for her eye colour and even then that was debateable. Physically, she wasn’t anything like his usual type, but she would do. She looked like a screamer.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ she asked, sucking in her lower lip so slowly that it made his cock grow hard.

  ‘I’m going to tie you up bitch,’ he growled. She pressed her upper body closer to his, moaning when he ran his hand along her hip and dug his fingers into her ass. He pulled her towards him until she was forced to straddle him on the bar stool. Her skirt rode up revealing just a thin piece of fabric between her core and his straining cock. She ground herself onto him, throwing her head back; her mouth parted in an open invitation.

  He glanced over her shoulder to find the whole bar watching their little show. He lifted his hips up to meet her core until she screamed out. He smiled at all the other cocksuckers and pushed her off him roughly.

  ‘Are we going to get out of here baby?’ she asked pulling her non-existent skirt down.

  ‘I’m going to finish this drink then I’m going to fuck you next to a dumpster in the alleyway. You feel me?’ he asked raising an eyebrow at her. She nodded slowly at him, her eyes heated. Her arousal was so strong that he could have said anything to her and she would have done it.

  Picking up the drink in front of him, he threw it down before grabbing some green from his pocket and leaving it on the bar. The bartender lifted a bushy eyebrow in question.

  ‘To clean up the mess,’ Buddy told him gruffly. He took the girl around the waist and led her out into the cold, winter night. It was a good fucking night.

  Chapter 8

  Indi’s hand flexed around the handle of her knife and waited in the suffocating darkness for her attacker. Her anger liked the suspense; the anticipation of spilling fresh blood.

  ‘Found you, Kitten,’ Wright purred above her head. She whipped her head around to look up at him, unable to move fast enough to dodge his hand that was only a few inches away from her now. He pulled her out from behind the dumpster and threw her to the ground. Her teeth rattled as she landed, her fingers losing their grip on the knife’s handle. Wright kicked her knife away, leaving Indi to watch it skid under the dumpster.

  She shuffled back against the wall, patting around on the ground for something, anything, that would work as a weapon. Her fingers touched something smooth and cold. When she ran the tips of her fingers around one edge to judge the shape, she sucked in a hiss. She’d found a piece of broken bottle. Wrapping her fingers around the neck, she shifted the weapon behind her back to hide it in the space between the small of her back and the wall.

  He crouched down in front of her, balancing all his weight on the balls of his feet. The switchblade was hanging casually in one of his hands that rested on his knee. ‘I told you I’d teach you a lesson.’ He caressed her face softly. Indi pulled away and spat in his face.

  ‘You fucking pig,’ she replied fiercely.

  She watched as his face clouded over with dark thoughts. He wiped the spit away with his sleeve and smiled cruelly. ‘Now, Kitten,’ he said with a strained voice, hauling her up by her arm. ‘You’re going to play nice.’ He flipped her over and pushed her in the back until her nose was kissing the wall. He hadn’t seen the piece of broken bottle yet, so she carefully slid it between her body and the wall down near her thigh.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘I just want you, Nancy. I saw the way you were looking at me this afternoon. I know you want me as much as I want you. You just like to play hard to get, don’t you?’

  Her mouth was suddenly dry. She tried twice to respond before any sound came out. ‘Is this how you get all women to fuck you, you piece of shit?’

  Mr Wright growled down low in his throat before he turned her back around again, slamming her
back hard against the brickwork. Indi’s head connected with the bricks and the dark-fuzzies were back. She could feel her eyes rolling around in her head, but she couldn’t lose consciousness now. She’d end up dead if she did. She pushed against the cut on her finger until the sting of the cut dragged her back from semi-consciousness.

  He brought the tip of the knife to her cheek and pressed it into her skin to make a small dimple without drawing any blood. Indi was suddenly having a moment of clarity, wondering whether this man was the rapist. It was only her twisted luck that would land her in a dark alleyway with him. Her promise to herself came roaring back. She wouldn’t be used like that again.

  ‘Doesn’t your wife indulge your other fucked up sexual appetites?’ she asked, positioning the sharp edge of the glass at her hip. He was only slightly taller than her which meant that if he pressed his body any closer to hers, or rushed her, his stomach would be pierced first. Belly wounds could be fatal. Although he had a knife pressed against her skin, she knew that he didn’t want to cut her face up. Men like him liked their women pretty and unmarred. He was bluffing. He didn’t have the balls to slice up her face … at least that was what she was hoping. She breathed through her pounding pulse and licked her desert-dry lips.

  Wright laughed. ‘You have a lot of spirit, don’t you?’

  ‘Spirit?’ she asked in disbelief. ‘Try a fucking bad attitude.’