by Alexis Shore
He swung his arms in front of him, knowing another attack was coming, just trying to fend it off until his sight and hearing returned.
And yet, nothing came.
He blinked, and saw some vague shapes.
Another blink, and things got clearer.
He saw the trees, saw the ground, but didn’t see the other man.
Shit.
Hunter span, and something filled his vision.
A fist.
It cracked into his nose, and he immediately tasted blood in the back of his throat.
And then a smack in his wrist, and he let his weapon go, sending it flying out onto the road.
Hunter came to his senses, and managed to block and parry two more punches, dropping low and sweeping his leg. That upended the other man, who landed on his side and kicked out in annoyance, but Hunter was already moving back to the road to retrieve the weapon.
It had landed in a pool of light beneath an ageing lamp pole, framed in the orange glow.
Hunter stooped and grabbed, and span round ready for another attack.
The other man was quickly on him, screaming a spine chilling scream, trying to bite Hunter’s head and face.
Hunter forced him away, and lunged forward with his weapon.
He missed, but he saw the man’s eyes widen when he saw it, saw him retreat and put up his defences more tightly.
The momentum had shifted once more.
And Hunter took advantage.
He sold the other man a dummy, sending him left as he himself went right, arm extended. The point of the weapon pierced the man’s ribcage with a loud squelching crunch, and Hunter felt it penetrate the man’s heart.
A wheeze bubbled out of his mouth, followed quickly by blood.
He must have punctured his lung too.
The other man’s hands grabbed for Hunter’s wrist, but only took a weak hold, before his knees gave way, and he slumped down to the ground. Kneeling now, Hunter pulled it free, and watched as the man fell on his side and died, the final rattle of his throat so sickening, even as blood pooled around his chest.
Hunter looked to the moon, gasping for air, sweating hard, every muscle aching to the bone.
And when he looked back down, the body was gone.
Three
The noise of the bar was making it hard to hear, and Chloe was examining her reflection in the mirror as she fingered a shot of whisky. The surface of the bar was sticky, and so was the floor, and the smell made it seem even more of a cheap dive.
And that’s what was making her clit tingle.
She knocked back her drink in one, and clunked it down, letting the bartender know she needed another.
Beside her, Patrick stroked the condensation off of his tall glass of Coke. The shift had been hard, and he wanted to unwind a bit before going home to his wife and kids. So she’d bought him here, hoping she might meet someone she could hook up with after he’d left.
Bad idea, as it turned out.
He was on edge, and that put her on edge too.
And so they sat there, in silence, the cacophony of their surroundings like white noise in their ears, making it even more awkward to talk. She wanted to scoop up her jacket and purse and sweep out of there, maybe go home; but more than that, she needed a cock.
Why was she like this?
She didn’t know, and she didn’t wanna analyse it. She was tired of the guilt; she was entitled to do whatever she pleased, especially if it pleased her.
And especially after a shift like the one they’d just had.
It felt like the whole city was on edge after the latest of these Southland Slayings. It was all over the news, twenty four hours a day, and it put folk in a scared mood. Which meant itchy trigger fingers, and explosive arguments.
No wonder Patrick needed to unwind.
He didn’t have an outlet for it like Chloe though, and she felt for him because of that. But there wasn’t much she could do except sit here and listen.
Shame the noise was preventing that.
Patrick fiddled with his stirrer for a moment, pulled it out, sucked it dry, then plonked it back into his ice filled glass. With that, he stood up, gave her a look, and left.
She didn’t know if the look was annoyance, regret, or what; and to be honest, right now, the way her clit was making itself known, she didn’t really care. They’d talk it out next shift.
She knocked back her new drink, and span round on her stool, spreading her arms out beside her along the bar, and looking about the place to see who was here.
Her vest top was a size too small, and she swelled around it, her cleavage full and swollen, her nipples poking hard through the flimsy cotton. There were no faces here she recognised, which made it even more exciting.
The possibilities of it all were getting her wet, and she squirmed a little on her stool thinking about it. And the idea that she might not be able to hook up, that people would be too on edge to take any risks; well that made her slump a little.
Then she saw the face looking out from the shadows in the corner booth. His piercing eyes were bright, even in the dim light, and they were fixed on her, filled with lust and desire.
Chloe didn’t need a second invitation; she never needed one.
She got up from the stool and sauntered to the booth, sliding in beside him, feeling the shadows enclose them and she sidled closer and let him feel her leg pressing against his thigh.
He didn’t baulk, always a good sign.
She glimpsed his lap, noting the bulge there, framed her cleavage for him and licked her lower lip, not saying a word. They always spoke first.
Yet he said nothing.
And made no effort to disguise the fact he was staring at her tits.
Which made her nipples poke harder and more forcefully through the cotton for him, which just made him stare more.
And her clit really began to sing with the attention.
She dropped her hand to his thigh and stroked it, getting higher each time until she tickled at his trapped bulge with the lightest of touches of her thumb.
And still he said nothing.
She felt her breathing grow deeper, felt her body responding to his presence, his smell, his body, and his proximity. Her fingers curled around that bulge now, feeling his heat, feeling him stiffen in her hand, feeling his shape grow and expand to her touch, and she hovered her face so close to his, so wanton, so teasing, knowing she would never let him kiss her.
And still he said nothing.
Her fingers pushed the denim of his jeans tight around his trapped erection now. It was so big, so hard, and so alluring. She wanted to drop her head under the table, take it out, and feast on it, as she slipped her hand inside her panties and give her clit the attention it was demanding.
And still he said nothing, the heat of his breath on her face now.
She pushed her mouth to his and kissed him hard, deep, wet, her tongue pushing into him and exploring him with a desire that made him grow even bigger in her hand.
He sucked her tongue so hard she let go of his cock and bought her hand to his face, stroking it tenderly as he did so.
It was enough.
She broke from the kiss and took his hand in hers, leading him out of the back door and into the alley way.
The exposed brickwork was crumbling, garbage was piled high, and hardly any light seeped in from the street at the end of the alley. It was so grubby and disgusting it made her sigh with delight.
She lead him along for a few feet, and then stopped, turning to kiss him and pull him back so that she was leaning against the wall, her legs stepped apart, as one hand stroked at his bulge and the other squeezed his ass. All the while, he kissed her hard, breathless, rough, eyes open, staring lustfully into hers.
It was too much.
She pulled her face from his and stared him deep in the eyes, tearing open his belt buckle and yanking his fly apart, loving the sound of the buttons popping, before she reached inside his shorts and
fished out his giant, rock hard, red hot prick.
Chloe had no idea if she could get her hands around it, let alone fuck it.
She swore breathlessly, and cupped his swollen balls in one hand and wrapped her fingers around the top of his shaft, starting to pump it hard, watching it as she did so. He grunted and sucked for air, tensing as she teased his cock in ways that pleased him and got her so fucking wet out here in the filthy alleyway.
She felt like such a cheap whore as she pumped away at this giant cock belonging to a man who wouldn’t speak to her, to a man with no name, a man who buried his head in the nape of her neck and bit into her flesh with such venom she hissed and swore, gripping him harder.
He grew bigger in her tight grip, and bit down harder, his hands snaking up under her vest top and pawing at her naked tits, finding each nipple and pinching it tight, twisting it from side to side, pulling it, making her swear again, making her clit ache for more and more here in this squalid environment.
Chloe didn’t want to let go of this massive prick, and he didn’t seem to want to let go of her tits and nipples, pawing and massaging them roughly as his teeth bit along her shoulder. And yet she needed to rip open her own jeans now, to plunge her hand inside her damp panties and relieve her clit, give it some attention before she tried to fuck this beast.
That cock stiffened and swelled in her hand, and she knew she would have to fuck him soon, otherwise it would just be a mess all over her wrists.
And so reluctantly, she let it go and yanked open her fly, rolling the denim and panties down her legs until they dropped with gravity to her ankles. Her high heels clicked on the concrete floor, and he pushed her vest top up to expose her tits. The cold air stiffened her nipples and tickled at the heat of her swollen pussy, and as he began to feast on one of her tits, she frigged her clit with speed and precision, getting herself ever closer, her breath loud and busty now.
This silent stranger was just what she wanted, and his massive cock was just what she needed inside her.
She pulled down his jeans and shorts, and slapped her hand on his naked ass, pulling it closer to her, feeling the heat and stiffness pressing into her, wanting it so badly, but unsure if she could take it.
His face continued to feast on her tits, and she moaned to him about how badly she needed to be fucked right now.
The tip tickled at her wet, swollen lips, and with one powerful and painful thrust, he pushed deep inside, filling her up with his cock, making her gasp and swear and yelp and moan.
It made her dizzy how wonderful it felt.
And then he started to fuck her, and everything became a blur. She could feel her tits heaving with each powerful thrust of his hips, feeling her pussy take so much more than she ever thought she could.
Her whole body was one giant nerve ending, pulsing with desire and electric arousal, his cock teasing every inch of her, his mouth sucking hard into her neck.
She wanted to come so badly, feel it consume her, but the intensity was too much, and it just washed over her in waves more powerful than any orgasm.
This was the fuck she had been craving all her life.
Pushed up against a wall by a stranger, pounding at her body like there was no tomorrow.
And then she felt how close she was to coming.
Knowing now she was ready.
And it did consume her.
She lost time, and when she came to her senses, he was still fucking her, more slowly now, breathless, tiring, struggling to keep up his previous intensity.
He was grunting and gasping for air, his teeth gritted tight, like he was running a marathon.
So slow now.
No energy left in him.
Her passion and desire for him drained as quickly as his energy had done. He was pale, almost lifeless, barely holding her, his cock shrinking.
She wasn’t even going to get her prize of a come-filled hole.
He stood up and looked her in the eye, nothing left in him, and smiled forlornly, before a flash and lunge, and he hissed as he suckled back into her neck, his erection gone now but still inside her.
But he bit hard, enough to make her gasp with pain.
And then another blur of light, a loud swoosh, and a hooded man slammed into her lover, taking him away from her with a vicious swipe.
She swore and nearly screamed, watching the two of them tumble to the ground, pawing and clawing at one another, fists flying, mouths biting, a tumble of fury and violence.
Automatically she pulled her jeans up and pulled her top down and forgot everything that had been happening moments before, as two giant men fought on the floor of the alley.
The hooded figure got the upper hand, pinning his knees on her lover’s arms. Her lover hissed and spat, trying to bite, but unable to get a clench on anything.
The hooded man slammed down a parade of punches, cracking his fists into bone, subduing the rage of her lover.
And Chloe didn’t know what to do.
Her training deserted her, and she just stood there, watching as the hooded man pulled out a weapon of some kind, held it in both hands above his head, and slammed it down into the other man’s chest.
The noise it made was sickening.
He’d stabbed him right through the heart.
And when he climbed to his feet, the hooded man turned to look at her, just as the corpse at his feet vanished in the blink of an eye.
“Hello Chloe,” he said from under his hood, breathless.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Four
Hunter caught his breath, watching Chloe’s hand hover at her hip like she was expecting to find her gun there.
It was clear she was terrified, and the adrenaline was pumping through her body, putting her even more on edge. Her eyes were wide, and she was staring at the bloodied piece of wood in his hand.
He tossed it into a pile of garbage.
That shook her from her frozen stance, and her head snapped to where the corpse had been, making her eyes widen even more.
Hunter held up his hand.
“There’s a lot to explain.”
She saw the blood on his fingers, and that snapped her into action.
Chloe strode off down the alley, barging past him, and out towards the relative safety of the busy street beyond. It was all Hunter could do to turn and follow her, trying not to spook her even more, just matching her speed and keeping his distance.
And even in these circumstances, he couldn’t help staring at her ass as she moved, taut and peachy under her jeans; this was the effect she had on him, the effect she had on all of them. It was her gift, and she didn’t even know about it.
When she reached the sidewalk, she stopped and stood directly underneath a lamp post, letting the orange glow surround her, making sure she was completely visible to the few civilians milling up and down the street. The odd car passed slowly behind her, not sure if she was hooking or not.
Hunter stood a distance from her, leaning against the closed storefront, its cold metal shutters at his back, his hands deep in his pockets. He watched her from under his hood, making sure she could see his face. She seemed so little.
Time ticked on, and she just studied him, making her mind up, and he couldn’t help taking in the swell of her tits under that tiny vest top, couldn’t help lusting after those nipples, still swollen from her fuck, couldn’t help wanting her.
With a sniff, she came to a conclusion, and strode off down the sidewalk.
Hunter counted to ten, then started to follow.
Her pace was brisk, but not fast, and she wasn’t about to run. Those heels clacking on the concrete would see to that; unless she kicked them off and bolted away barefoot.
It was hard to judge, and he was prepared to give her some time, and some space.
But only some.
She steered right and into another alley, and he smiled, thinking she had come to her senses and was prepared to talk.
When he turned into the all
ey, he felt her fist smack into his mouth.
His hand snapped up and grabbed her wrist, but she was ready for that, and dropped her hip, spinning him round and locking his arm high above his head as she eased him down to his knees.
Her attack had been swift, and she had subdued him with an expertise he should have expected; but he’d been distracted by the curves of her body, and he realised that had been her intention all along.
He felt some plastic slip around his wrist, felt his body being yanked around, felt the plastic loop onto his other wrist, and he was tied up, face on the ground, her knee in the small of his back.
“Talk,” she hissed into his ear, so close he could feel the heat of her breath on him.
“You’re a Nymph.”
“Fuck you,” she snarled, pushing more weight onto his back, making him wince with pain.
“My name’s Hunter,” he changed tack.
“Don’t care. Why are you following me you limey bastard?”
“Because you’re a Nymph.”
She ground her knee deeper onto his spine, letting him feel the bone on bone.
“I’m not fucking you. You’re a killer.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me up and I’ll explain.”
She pushed his face harder against the concrete, her reply perfectly clear.
“Fine. The Southland Slayer doesn’t exist,” he said.
“Taking credit now are ya?”
“It’s no one person. There’s a pack of them. I’m hunting them.”
“Trying to tell me I just fucked a serial killer?”
“No, you just fucked a vampire.”
Her grip loosened.
Hunter took the opportunity, and whipped his body round, wrestling from her grip and staggering to his feet. He leaned back against the wall, his wrists still bound, showing her he had no intention of moving again.
She was on her feet now, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You’re full of shit.”
“You saw it with your own eyes.”
“I saw you stake someone through the chest.”
“And you saw that someone vanish.”