The Hunter's Prey

by Diane Whiteside

  And oh, how I wanted those hands to be touching me. Kneading and smoothing my breasts, lifting and plucking my nipples, sweeping up from my core to my ribs and up to my agonizingly hard nipples. . . . She moaned her pleasure and her need. Her leg lifted and reached over his hip, opening her further to him. In my mind, I hissed at her to do more of that so I could see more of him.

  I started to arch my back instinctively as if I, too, could lean into his caress. A strand of hair caught on a thorn and I froze, warned by the almost infinitesimal change in tension. I could not move, could not make a sound, could not change my breathing lest they know I was there. My core tightened in protest then focused more strongly on Rafael and his lover—and heated faster.

  He eased her down on the ground, with her legs spread. I could see far too many details for my comfort—how flushed she was, how incredibly wet, how she rocked with increasing excitement. The skillful movements of his fingers playing through her folds.

  My folds swelled, rubbing against my cotton panties, pouring cream. My clit was swollen, aching, as if Rafael was inciting me.

  I tried to close my eyes but I had to look again. I tried to think of something else, tried to recite multiplication tables but gave up when I couldn’t remember what four times five was. I tried to recite my dissertation, which I’d worked on for so many years that I’d memorized it. But now I couldn’t get past the first paragraph.

  His hand kept working her, masturbating her until she started coming in a series of waves. I’m sure she was having multiple orgasms.

  I fought my body’s demand to do the same.

  Then his mouth left hers, setting her free to start screeching again, and he bit her on the neck. It wasn’t a nice little nip either but a deep puncture.

  I choked, shaken to the bone.

  He stopped for just an instant while his eyes searched the clearing. I went as still as I could, trying to make myself invisible.

  A little voice whispered in my head, “Go away.” I ignored the voice; I couldn’t leave the thicket without making noise.

  The small voice kept urging me to leave, but I stayed where I was. A headache built behind my eyes as the voice got louder, until it almost reached a shout. Still, I somehow managed not to panic and run but remained in the thicket.

  He evidently didn’t see me because his attention went back to her. He pulled her across him until I could see every inch of what happened to her and how she responded. Then he began to play with her again, his hands working her breasts as he crooned into her ears.

  And my traitorous body, which obviously deeply resented being denied its orgasm, promptly started heating up again. In fact, it climbed faster than I’d have thought possible, especially when his hand delved between her legs. She was calling him her favorite stud as cream ran past her thighs. I shuddered to think of just how far down my pants I too was wet.

  Her hips rocked hard against his hand when he shoved his third finger into her. He started to suck her and she was moaning happily as she started climbing for another orgasm. I could see his cheeks hollow as he drank her blood. She climaxed hard, screaming happily when he bit down.

  And heaven help me, I climaxed at the same time she did. Without lifting a finger, without touching myself. Only from watching Rafael with his lover.

  My brain began to work again.

  He was still lapping gently at her when I opened my eyes again, so very little time had passed. He hadn’t taken much though, probably a little less than a pint.

  Functional fangs, apparently razor-sharp, comparable to those on a vampire bat. I shuddered. But those pests required their prey be asleep, not at an orgasmic climax.

  The only other choice I could think of was that he was a vampire. But I can’t believe that. Vampires are creatures of myth and legend, studied by social scientists. No veterinarian, or other trained biologist, has ever observed one.

  I started wondering what I should do. Should I try to stop him? How?

  But all the time, I could hear that screech of hers, carrying on like he was God’s gift to women. So I continued to observe them, telling myself that I must be mistaken, that she wasn’t being hurt. Besides, he looked so much like my knight, who would never, ever injure a woman—and wasn’t that a most illogical thought?

  She caressed his head when he stopped drinking. He began to lick her shoulder and she just kept petting him, talking about how good he was in little gasps. When she’d recovered herself and her voice was back to its usual volume, he helped her to get dressed. Very courteous behavior, just like my knight.

  They walked back toward the lake together, arm in arm. After giving them a head start, I slipped out of the thicket and followed them cautiously, as quietly as I could.

  Soon that Brooklyn blonde’s mouth was working again, this time paying Rafael the most ridiculous compliments. “You’re better than my chocolate truffles,” she purred once and leaned up to kiss him.

  I gritted my teeth.

  They split up just before they reached the marina. She kissed him on the cheek and went on alone, singing a pop song.

  He watched her go while I kept an eye on him from behind a big live oak, beside the road. I had the night-vision goggles off by then, given the extra light from the marina.

  When she was out of sight, he stretched his arms and legs, then his back. He looked almost like a bird preening on its nest. He was graceful too, which is hard to believe of someone that muscular.

  Suddenly he shimmered and I blinked in surprise. When I focused again, a very big horned owl was taking off from where the man had been standing. (I know that owl wasn’t there before. I have no explanation for this yet; I’m just recording what I saw.)

  I stepped out to investigate Rafael’s disappearance. Suddenly a man’s arm slammed around my neck and dragged me back against him, using a choke hold. I fought hard, using every dirty trick I’d ever learned, but to no avail. The fellow was simply much stronger than I was; he never even grunted when I kicked him. He wasn’t Rafael, being only a few inches taller than myself and more slender than Rafael. At least he was professional enough not to have a hard-on. Finally I forced myself to relax, trying not to curse him or visibly seethe, and wait for an opportunity to escape.

  Then Rafael walked onto the road, clad only in his shirt and jeans, and faced me. “Buenas noches, doctora.”

  What the hell was going on here? Where the hell had he been? Where were the rest of his clothes, like those Lucchese boots?

  “Did you enjoy your observations, doctora?”

  I could have killed him for that quip. After all, he was the one who’d been behaving outrageously by drinking blood. I forced myself to be calm again and wait for an opening. I’d talked my way past murderous thugs in Colombian swamps while counting owls and survived; surely I could deal with a pair of Texans.

  The man behind me relaxed slightly but his grip on me was still implacable.

  “Your activities were somewhat unusual, señor.” That headache was after me again, just like in the woods.

  “Do you intend to share them with others?”

  “What’s to share? A man and woman did some necking in the woods. Would anyone in authority believe the man bit the woman for a nefarious reason, especially when the man is such an important member of the community?”

  “Do you mock me, doctora?” My captor’s forearm tightened against my windpipe.

  I swallowed, hard, and reminded myself they had power here, not me. Always be polite, as the sisters at the orphanage said. I modulated my tone to genuine meekness. “No, I’m just telling the truth.”

  He studied me then nodded. The forearm left my throat but my attacker didn’t release me.

  “How discreet are you, doctora?”

  “If the lady is unharmed, I will be completely discreet.” This at least was the truth. Besides, who’d believe me if I talked?

  “So very much the medical practitioner. If I hear you have been indiscreet about tonight’s activities, you wi
ll immediately regret it. Greatly.”

  “If I learn that the lady has been harmed in any way, you, sir, will immediately regret it. Greatly.”

  He smiled at my ferocity. “Upon my honor, I would never harm a lady.” He bowed to me, as formally as if at the royal court in Madrid. Oddly enough, I believed him and relaxed slightly.

  “Con perdón, may I remove this impertinent thorn from your shirt, doctora?”

  What on earth did he really want? But his expression was completely sincere. My captor’s grip on my arms loosened slightly, from bone-crushing to firm.

  I eyed him suspiciously, the only sound waves lapping gently against the shore, before agreeing.

  “You may depart, Ethan.”

  Ethan hesitated. If anything, his grip tightened on me. “She could be the bait for another assassination attempt, Don Rafael.”

  Assassination???

  “There is no threat to me here and now.” Rafael’s voice was deadly calm—and it sliced the night air like my best scalpel.

  “As you wish, sir.” My jailer reluctantly released me and was gone—without a sound.

  Rafael then slowly plucked thorns and twigs and many other souvenirs of a long walk in the woods off me. I submitted, all too conscious of Rafael’s big hands moving so carefully and almost respectfully over me. Something deep inside me, beyond my mind’s control, whispered agreement and pleasure in his touch, as if he were the most welcome of lovers. My muscles slowly unclenched as my pulse slowed to a more normal beat. My eyes slowly drifted shut, the night’s tensions starting to drift away, as he behaved like a gentleman.

  “Will you exchange the kiss of peace with me, as a token of your pledge?” Rafael asked quietly, as he finished.

  I agreed cautiously, expecting a polite peck on the cheek. I took a formal stance before him, my hands resting lightly on his shoulders in an old folk dance hold, and waited.

  “Ah, doctora,” he murmured and bent his head. He brushed his lips against my temple, gentle and undemanding. I relaxed and started to move away, hoping my contact with him was over.

  Then he kissed me again, which was very different. It was a lover’s kiss, mouth to mouth, starting slow, growing bolder and bolder as we enjoyed each other more and more. My body remembered how much it had enjoyed watching him with that blonde—and began to happily become aroused.

  My hands slid down from his shoulders, over his arms, exploring the iron-heat of his biceps. I murmured my approval and tilted my head back to smile at him, everything in me seeming to slowly swirl into a lava pool of lust.

  “Ah, doctora, your kisses are more heated than your hair,” Rafael purred, stroking my back until I stretched against him like a cat begging for more. I rubbed my leg along the outside of his, the roughness of our jeans heating the fire in my core still further. I sighed and slid my hand into his hair, unconscionably eager for more kisses.

  “Querida.” He bent his head toward me again.

  Just then headlights swept over us briefly, as a car twisted and turned along the lakeshore road, no more than two miles away. I sprang away from him, cursing, and our all-too-intimate moment ended. “Buenas noches, Señor Perez.”

  “Hasta luego, Doctora O’Malley.” He lifted a hand to me and disappeared into the woods before I could challenge his assumption. See you later, indeed!

  After that, I headed for the lake, where I spotted the woman as she was boarding a big houseboat. She moved easily with no sign of weakness or injury. I could see lights and hear voices from the boat’s cabin so I didn’t try to question her then.

  Now what do I do? Tell the police? They wouldn’t believe me; I’m not sure I believe myself.

  The first thing to do is check to see if he injured her at all. If so, I’ll try to talk her into seeing a doctor, maybe the cops. If not, then I’ll keep quiet until I’ve got some observations worth reporting.

  I wish I had some family to talk this over with. I’m proud of having made my own way in the world. But occasionally I wish I wasn’t a foundling, the daughter of a dead drug kingpin and his heroin-addict girlfriend. At times like this, I long for a big family who’d support me, no matter what happened.

  June 1 (later that night)

  I was still thinking about what I’d observed while I got ready for bed. So I took a shower to relax, the water running gently down me from the big, old-fashioned shower head.

  I kept seeing Rafael as he stood behind the blonde, his arms wrapped around her. She must have been able to feel every inch of him—his arms, chest, hips, legs, cock. But he’d never satisfied himself. Instead he’d bent every effort to pleasuring her. What had that felt like?

  His breath stirring her hair, ruffling the strands like the water flowing down my neck. Making me so very aware of every sensitive nerve that a lover could map with his mouth or the delicate touch of his teeth, like the slightly heavier beat of the water.

  The strength of his chest behind his shirt, curved against her back. Cloth and muscles as close to her and moving as smoothly and constantly against her as the water against my skin, warm as the shower. . . .

  I think I moaned as I fondled my breasts, mimicking how he’d blatantly aroused hers. I know my hand slipped between my legs to play with myself. I was flushed, panting, hotter than the shower’s temperature could explain.

  I remembered the contrast between his shirt and his belt, snug against her hips. And the muscles moving under his jeans, when she had opened herself for him . . .

  His fly must have been nestled against the seam in her backside. Like the water running down my back, finding that seam, gliding down the inside of my legs as if remembering the contrast between the masculinity of denim trousers and the femininity of a frilly skirt.

  I spread my legs a little wider, one hand taking up the most familiar rhythm for getting off. But my other hand began to tease me, miming how a man’s cock could test and encourage his lover. Flashes of heat lanced me, centered in my core. Breathing was becoming harder as my hips started to rock.

  How his leg had slid between hers and spread her, how he’d suddenly thrust three fingers into her. . . .

  I too thrust three fingers—and came, stretched wider than I’ve ever been for a lover, screaming his name, as my body exploded in a single, massive, ecstatic jolt, which slammed me against the wall.

  Some time later, I woke up, when cold water started pouring from the showerhead. I’ve never lost consciousness before from an orgasm.

  I’m going to bed now. The scientific analysis can wait until tomorrow.

  June 2 (before dawn)

  I can’t believe the dream I just had. I’m writing it down now, while I still remember it. Hopefully it’ll seem less important in the morning.

  I dreamed that I was a horned owl, flying through the night skies with another owl. It was incredibly vivid; I could feel the wind lifting my wings, its sound being muffled by my feathers. The larger owl and I seemed to be playing, gliding and dipping above the trees. It was more fun than anything I’ve ever imagined.

  Just because I could, I swooped over a meadow to see the flowers. I alighted amid some bluebonnets and quickly turned back into myself, laughing quietly. The other owl landed behind me and a man wrapped his arms around me, chuckling.

  I leaned back against him and realized that it was Rafael. Neither of us wore any clothing, which seemed very unimportant then, almost customary for us. I savored the feel of that big, strong body giving its heat to me. I could feel his chest move as he breathed in and out against my back. I could see his forearms resting against me, their black hairs silvered by the moon.

  I felt safe. And happy and cherished.

  I turned around in his arms and kissed him. A very gentle kiss, the lightest possible contact as I chortled. I could feel his mouth soften and move against mine in a sweet dance. Then his tongue delicately glided over my lips, in an elegant mimicry of the dance we’d shared in the skies above.

  My hand slid up the back of his neck until my palm re
sted on the strong muscles and my fingers tangled in his hair. It was long, thick, and silky—and irresistible to me. My other hand soon joined it and I lost myself in his kiss as my mouth opened for him.

  The only thing that existed then was his mouth, his hands holding me close, and his hard body against me. I lived for the connection with him.

  When he lifted his head, we laughed together for joy. I have never laughed as much as I did in this dream.

  That kiss proves that this was just a dream. Nobody can kiss like that, not that I’ve ever heard of or experienced. Perhaps in books but even there, only in fiction.

  June 2

  I started the day determined to come up with a theory to explain last night’s events.

  A web search returned too many hits to be quickly absorbed.

  Interviewing the blonde told me that she was perfectly healthy and of sound mind but didn’t tell me anything about vampires.

  Austin’s academic libraries had some information but no impartial, third-person accounts of vampires.

  However, local bookstores did provide some useful information. (Note to self: Pick up more beans at the local market. I’ve just ruined the food budget yet again by buying books.) But these accounts raised more questions than they answered. The current literature, whether non-fiction or fiction, does not agree on what a vampire is or does. So I started describing vampires on my own.

  Apex predator at the top of the food chain.

  Feeds primarily or solely on blood.

  Hunting technique emphasizes sexual attraction.

  May or may not kill prey.

  May or may not be seen in daylight.

  May or may not be capable of sexual acts, specifically orgasm and/or ejaculation.

  I tried to figure out the details of a vampire’s attack, see if there were any vulnerabilities in their methods. (All the sources at least agreed that vampires are too strong and fast for standard escape and evasion tactics.)

  This description got me nowhere so I decided to unpack more of my books. But I still kept thinking about Rafael. His beautiful, graceful body—just like my knight. His fangs—so much like every description of a vampire.