“You really are a splitting image of your great grandfather.”
The creature had made no sound when he appeared in the interrogation room; all long limbs and wine-red mane framing a graceful, pale face with deep eyes that seemed doomed to peer into forever. “Hello, little lion. Been looking for me, I hear?”
Knowing instantly what the creature was, he lunged forth; but the ropes that bound him were formidable and he fell back frustrated into the chair.
“The grapevine is abuzz of you setting hives ablaze, bringing genocide in your wake,” the creature made a patronizing tut. “Abysmal even for your moral standards, Christopher Helsing. No wonder the guild has you leashed here in reprimand; can’t have a rogue hunter on the loose in these times of fragile truce.”
“Fuck truce. There isn’t one and you know it.”
The creature laughed; clear and inviting and under different circumstances could light up an entire room. “Indeed I imagine it unnatural for truce between wolf and cattle—then again your docile kind has always believed what they want,” he shrugged; pacing a slow, predatory circle.
“Untie me and I’ll show you docile.” Chris snarled.
“Always so grouchy,” the remark was made with a scrunched nose, as if catching a sniff of something undesirable. ”The petulant obstinacy of a Helsing is expected as it is tiresome. Although I am quite flattered; so much trouble just for an audience with me. Now that we are properly met, I suppose your admirable tenacity could deserve a reward more… generous.”
An alarm went off inside Chris’s head a second too late. There was a whiff of a scent like salt and earth, invoking the musk of aging stones—and suddenly the creature was already on him, pulling him into an embrace. He put on a struggle, but Coulson’s damned ropes stubbornly held.
“Ah, Coulson’s signature knots,” the creature mused, as if reading his mind. “Fine ropemanship. I must thank him later for this most thoughtful favor.”
Chris thought he could hear the rhythmic rolling and crashing of waves growing relentlessly louder, and felt something—not quite an acute sensation but more of an intimate presence—that was not unlike his mother’s. It was a giving sea, a return home, love and much-awaited sleep all at once; and he felt his body growing heavier with each gasp for air.
“Don’t fight it,” a velvety voice cooed. “From me, a gift unlike any other. You will be ageless and mine. We will feed by night and lie by day and you will reside in my bed, deliciously open and ready and willing. I will be your one true sun and you will worship me unabashedly.” A tongue so warm it burns lapped hungrily along his jugular and he mewled; aroused like never before. Every sensation was sharp and erotic and his entire body was desperate and trembling in need.
He meant to shout, but barely managed a raspy whine. “No. No. I don’t want it.”
“Oh, but you do, Christopher; you do,” cool lips danced a seductive whisper on his moist, feverish skin, “Soon it will be the only thing you have ever wanted. The only thing you have ever cared for.” Icy fingers caressed him lovingly, tenderly. “Now, surrender.”
Realization dawned with the command; all his life he had indeed been wishing for this moment, these promises of what will soon become his destiny and forever rest with those liver-red lips kissing him goodnight. In a fleeting moment of consciousness he stirred, feebly making a resistance he didn’t quite mean. Then he stilled.
Eyelashes brushed against his neck and there was the deep murmur of a chant: “From this moment forth you will not be shared. No other will ever lay eyes on you, will ever taste you. You will belong to me and only me.”
Spear-like fangs sank into his neck, into his very soul; Chris opened his mouth to moan, but his voice was already lost to him.
