Blood Lust
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
18,943
Reviews:
194
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
18,943
Reviews:
194
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Blood Lust
CHAPTER ONE
Weeping Bride Fork
Foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains
Not far from Roanoke, Virginia
Late November 2008
Although research made up a significant portion of Isaac Felix’s life as a writer, until a week ago, it had not included spying on people. As he positioned himself in the bay window of his circa eighteen-ninety-eight farmhouse’s parlor window, he shook his head.
First time for everything, it seemed.
Lifting the Ultravid binoculars, Isaac gazed across the snowy expanse of yards and field separating his place from his new, intriguing neighbor. He adjusted the dials. The lights in the windows always seemed fire and candlelight, never electric, though he’d seen American Electric Power getting the long-empty place up and running.
A shadow passed behind the curtains of a window. By no means a mathematician, he still sucked in his breath, then whispered to himself, “This bastard’s huge.”
Isaac had only actually glimpsed the man who so intrigued his writer’s curiosity. As an author of murder mysteries, this puzzling cluster of info felt irresistible. Who else but someone like himself, a loner who liked the peace and quiet, to ride, hike, snoeshoe, drink naked on the porch occasionally, and write about killing people would move out here?
Someone either escaping, hiding, or both. That’s who.
Never adverse to robust physical activity, Isaac snowshoed across the back of his property to where it met the adjacent parcel. A slender field he’d learned once served as an orchard, separated them. In the clear, brittle sunshine, he approached. A light sweat built under his clothing. Strange bit of latitude and longitude, the Blue Ridge, he thought. A place where one might perspire traversing the unseasonably deep snow.
He tracked around to the front, removed his snowshoes, then ascended the top two steps above the heavy drifts. Screwing his courage to the sticking place, he knocked the crusty residue from his boots as he walked to the door, and knocked. “Hello? My name’s Isaac Felix! We’re neighbors!”
Moments passed. Inside, not a sound. No radio, running water or television. Isaac saw the big black Ford 4x4 still parked in the much blown-over drive with no tracks out save the foot traffic.
Thwarted, yet more intrigued than ever, he returned home.
He made a quick dinner of bagged greens and some chicken. Despite living most of his adult life in isolation, whether traveling or at home, he’d never really learned to cook. The lettuces came from a determined delivery service, and the meat, a frozen rotisserie from the same. Isaac ate, brushed his teeth, and then did his stretches. Natural demands of his environment kept him fit.
He woke in the night to howling.
The family who’d lived in the neighboring residence had bred wolf-husky hybrids. After moving, they had left the animals to pair naturally into a resident population of feral canines. The owners had signed off on responsibility for their dangerous creations. As a result, pack of wolf-hybrids roamed the timbered foothills.
Isaac dragged on his clothes, donned snowshoes, took out his beloved night vision goggles, buckled on his pistol and rig, He trekked toward the excited yips and yowls, ascending the slope.
He could find a novel in this somewhere, he concluded.
Slightly winded, he realized he approached the scene of a kill. A buck deer bellowed in its death throws. Lifting the visual aid to his eyes, he shuddered.
A large man with flowing black hair knelt to press his mouth to a felled deer’s throat. The feral dogs waited, apparently answering to the call of their mixed lupine blood.
And the domain of an apex predator.
Even as Isaac observed the strange scene, he turned to flee.
The towering man from the feeding scene stood before him. Isaac staggered backward. His breath merged in white plumes. “Shit. How the hell?”
Starkly attractive features in his face and wildly masculine dimensions of his body evident, the other man stepped closer. “Mr. Curiosity. We meet.”
The cold of the snow and his own uncomfortable sweat chilled Isaac. He shivered from cold as he attempted to rise. “Wrong place, wrong time. Sorry.”
One of those large hands shoved him back down. “I think you saw a little more than your literary curiosity allows for.”
Isaac attempted to rise. The other man’s strength kept him on his back, surrounded by cold. “All right, you fucker. Let me go or follow through on your inferred threats.”
The man above him smiled. Not in a display of friendship. More like a show of weapons. “What a ballsy specimen.”
Scents of wood smoke and brewing tea.
Isaac roused slowly in a strange bed. Although not fully awake, he glanced around, locating his questionable neighbor standing before a mellow hearth.
Without turning his regard from the blaze, the man remarked, “Flames are so impersonal. They lick and burn where they will without conscience.”
Isaac scrambled up from his floor-bound pallet. “Listen, man. What you do in your off time’s your business.” The comforting heat in the room failed to reassure him.
The other man faced him. Eyes a rare burgundy set in a wildly handsome face met Isaac’s. “What will you do with me, boy?”
Isaac studied the striking man. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
The mesmerizing man spoke in a voice like Valium. “Sleep.”
Weeping Bride Fork
Foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains
Not far from Roanoke, Virginia
Late November 2008
Although research made up a significant portion of Isaac Felix’s life as a writer, until a week ago, it had not included spying on people. As he positioned himself in the bay window of his circa eighteen-ninety-eight farmhouse’s parlor window, he shook his head.
First time for everything, it seemed.
Lifting the Ultravid binoculars, Isaac gazed across the snowy expanse of yards and field separating his place from his new, intriguing neighbor. He adjusted the dials. The lights in the windows always seemed fire and candlelight, never electric, though he’d seen American Electric Power getting the long-empty place up and running.
A shadow passed behind the curtains of a window. By no means a mathematician, he still sucked in his breath, then whispered to himself, “This bastard’s huge.”
Isaac had only actually glimpsed the man who so intrigued his writer’s curiosity. As an author of murder mysteries, this puzzling cluster of info felt irresistible. Who else but someone like himself, a loner who liked the peace and quiet, to ride, hike, snoeshoe, drink naked on the porch occasionally, and write about killing people would move out here?
Someone either escaping, hiding, or both. That’s who.
Never adverse to robust physical activity, Isaac snowshoed across the back of his property to where it met the adjacent parcel. A slender field he’d learned once served as an orchard, separated them. In the clear, brittle sunshine, he approached. A light sweat built under his clothing. Strange bit of latitude and longitude, the Blue Ridge, he thought. A place where one might perspire traversing the unseasonably deep snow.
He tracked around to the front, removed his snowshoes, then ascended the top two steps above the heavy drifts. Screwing his courage to the sticking place, he knocked the crusty residue from his boots as he walked to the door, and knocked. “Hello? My name’s Isaac Felix! We’re neighbors!”
Moments passed. Inside, not a sound. No radio, running water or television. Isaac saw the big black Ford 4x4 still parked in the much blown-over drive with no tracks out save the foot traffic.
Thwarted, yet more intrigued than ever, he returned home.
He made a quick dinner of bagged greens and some chicken. Despite living most of his adult life in isolation, whether traveling or at home, he’d never really learned to cook. The lettuces came from a determined delivery service, and the meat, a frozen rotisserie from the same. Isaac ate, brushed his teeth, and then did his stretches. Natural demands of his environment kept him fit.
He woke in the night to howling.
The family who’d lived in the neighboring residence had bred wolf-husky hybrids. After moving, they had left the animals to pair naturally into a resident population of feral canines. The owners had signed off on responsibility for their dangerous creations. As a result, pack of wolf-hybrids roamed the timbered foothills.
Isaac dragged on his clothes, donned snowshoes, took out his beloved night vision goggles, buckled on his pistol and rig, He trekked toward the excited yips and yowls, ascending the slope.
He could find a novel in this somewhere, he concluded.
Slightly winded, he realized he approached the scene of a kill. A buck deer bellowed in its death throws. Lifting the visual aid to his eyes, he shuddered.
A large man with flowing black hair knelt to press his mouth to a felled deer’s throat. The feral dogs waited, apparently answering to the call of their mixed lupine blood.
And the domain of an apex predator.
Even as Isaac observed the strange scene, he turned to flee.
The towering man from the feeding scene stood before him. Isaac staggered backward. His breath merged in white plumes. “Shit. How the hell?”
Starkly attractive features in his face and wildly masculine dimensions of his body evident, the other man stepped closer. “Mr. Curiosity. We meet.”
The cold of the snow and his own uncomfortable sweat chilled Isaac. He shivered from cold as he attempted to rise. “Wrong place, wrong time. Sorry.”
One of those large hands shoved him back down. “I think you saw a little more than your literary curiosity allows for.”
Isaac attempted to rise. The other man’s strength kept him on his back, surrounded by cold. “All right, you fucker. Let me go or follow through on your inferred threats.”
The man above him smiled. Not in a display of friendship. More like a show of weapons. “What a ballsy specimen.”
Scents of wood smoke and brewing tea.
Isaac roused slowly in a strange bed. Although not fully awake, he glanced around, locating his questionable neighbor standing before a mellow hearth.
Without turning his regard from the blaze, the man remarked, “Flames are so impersonal. They lick and burn where they will without conscience.”
Isaac scrambled up from his floor-bound pallet. “Listen, man. What you do in your off time’s your business.” The comforting heat in the room failed to reassure him.
The other man faced him. Eyes a rare burgundy set in a wildly handsome face met Isaac’s. “What will you do with me, boy?”
Isaac studied the striking man. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
The mesmerizing man spoke in a voice like Valium. “Sleep.”