Big city

“Jesus, you killed her! Why did you kill her? God...”
Two men in dark jeans and coats. One dead werewolf female. Dark alley.
Joe Charles crouched beside the dead body and gazed up at his partner.
“Why did you have to shoot her down, Jesus?”
His partner shrugged. “Well, she was drawing her gun at us, wasn't she?”
“You saw that, Jesus? Did you? I didn't.”
“Well... I saw her reaching for her pocket. What else could such beast hold there but a gun, huh?”
Joe sighed and slipped his fingers into the dead woman's right pocket. He drew out an identity card. “Dona Mitchell”, it read. Female, 32, lycanthrope.
“This was what she was reaching for, Jesus,” Joe said. “Her ID. She's got license to move inside the city. And you just killed her, Jesus.”
His partner shrugged again. “So what? She appeared dangerous. They're all dangerous, these beasts. Let them into range and they'll claw your eyes out and tear your throat out. You're so fucking naïve, Joe. So OK, maybe she wasn't attacking us. But it doesn't matter. There's one less now. They're but pests. We should scourge them all. Nobody will care that I put her out. Put IT out. They're not human, Joe. So quit the damn nuisance.”
Joe bit his lip and held his tongue. No point arguing with mister Jesus Barrera. He was older, trusted agent of the city government. Joe was just a freshman. And one to be eaten soon, as they'd warned him. Sometimes he had nightmares about the city turning into a beast with many limbs and claws, chasing him down and eating him. Fucking him and eating him, that terrible monster they called M106.
Ingrid said he had too vivid imagination. She was right, of course. So he no longer told her of his dreams. No reason to trouble his beloved wife. Especially now that she was with their first child.
M106 was for men like Jesus Barrera. They were its citizens. Joe Charles was an alien.

**

“Not so cocky any more, are you, mister Ford,” Xavier heard a voice mock him. Emmanuel stood before the cell and gazed down on him. “Now look at you, lying in a pool of your own shit and piss. Weeping like a little wussie boy. Where has your arrogance gone now? Why don't you laugh at me now? Mad, was I?
How does it feel now, to be what you so much despised. What, I can't hear you? But I can smell it. The hunger. I have just the game for you. I will break your chains and then have some food brought to you. Then I can sit back and watch how long it takes you to make your first kill. How much of a man are you, mister Ford...”
Emmanuel laughed.
“You've killed so many of my kind. Hunted us. Burnt us. Now you shall hunt your own kind and kill them. Only through their death can you live, mister Ford. Or are you so heroic and noble that you prefer to starve or perhaps kill yourself? Frankly – I don't care. I made you an offer which you declined. You serve no other purpose than amusement to me now. I may be your sire, but you are still my enemy, mister Ford.
Toby, release him. Then bring me the boy.”
Xavier didn't respond. He had nothing to tell Emmanuel. Perhaps some of his cockiness had died within this night. Perhaps there were just no words terrible and cruel enough to be uttered.
The stocky vampire called Toby entered the cell and unlocked his chains. He didn't even get up, only turned to a side so that he wouldn't see Emmanuel. Hearing that voice was bad enough. Finally he managed to sit up and face away from the cell door. He was butt naked, he found now. And dead.
Hungry. That fire inside him, that terrible craving he already felt was hunger. One that could be sated in a single way.
The door closed, the door opened again and something was tossed in. Something that let out a weak yelp. Xavier lifted his head and dared to look. Damn them. Damn them to all the pits Dante Alighieri never dreamed of.
Blond pony tail, large gray eyes, slender and pretty as a maiden. Thirteen years old. Goldie's kid.
“Michael...” he whispered.
The boy looked up. “Xavier? Oh my god, Xavier!” He crawled up and ran over to him, flung arms around Xavier. “They caught me, Xavier. I was just patrolling and they flew upon me. I think I almost put one down, sir. Thought they'd kill me right there, but they took me into the House. And then this vampire said he'd feed me to his beloved son. But he lied, didn't he? He lied. I'm so glad. Some said you were dead, Xavier. Shawn was so worried, and Emory and Goldie. They're looking for you. I'm so glad you're alive, Xavier.”
I'm not alive, boy. Can you not feel that I have no breath, that no heart beats against yours. He didn't lie, boy. I am his son and you... of all the evil deeds... Damn you all! I shall kill you, Emmanuel Amado Zimmerman. I shall kill you though you are my sire. Because you are.

**

“No pain, please,” Logan whispered. “I don't want...IT...to be terrible. I cannot fight you but please... do not hurt me. I'm not a bad man. I...”
The vampire nodded. “I understand. You shall see, Logan, that I am not an evil man. I see no pleasure in torture.”
You damn bloodsucker, you're killing me, robbing me of my life and you say it's not torture? That you're not evil? Logan bit his lip so hard it bled. But there was no other way now but cooperate. If he resisted, he would be broken. Best that he bend. But in his mind he whispered Jerome's name.
“You hate me,” Enoch asked all of a sudden.
Of course I hate you! How could I not?!
“What does it matter,” Logan muttered. “You shall do with me as you please. What do you care if I hate you?”
Enoch shrugged. “I suppose I don't. As long as you don't resist me, it will be fine. If you do, I shall punish you and still have my way. I've decided what I want as a result. And you have chosen the path there. Now we shall walk this path. Enter here, please.”
Corridor was all too suddenly exchanged for a luxurious room. It was still cold, but there were draperies and tapestries, a medieval styled bed with curtains, white leather sofa, armchairs of similar fashion, loads of books on shelves, soft carpet...
“This is my room,” the vampire said and closed the door. “You may undress and sit on the bed.”
“Undress?” Logan shivered. He was scared, it was cold.
“Once your body dies it will cast out all unnecessary bodily fluids,” Enoch replied matter-of-factly. “Unless you wish to stain your clothes I advise you take them off. Besides, I would like to see you. Naked. You are gay, so it shouldn't be an issue.”
Logan nodded.
Play along. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you and I shall kill you. Yes I will. I'll bend and I'll survive and then I will hunt you down and kill you. I'll find a way!
He undressed.
It was cold, but strangely he got no goose bumps. Enoch measured him.
“You are beautiful,” he said. And Logan nodded. Jerome had said that. He believed him. The vampire didn't matter. Only those mattered whom he loved. None else could hurt him. Not with words. And they couldn't have his mind. That was reserved solely for Jerome.
Beautiful, aye. About 1.80, slender yet muscular, a bit tanned, reddish brown curls falling to his shoulders, set of bluish brown eyes, firm plump buttocks, good looking cock which sized even a bit above average. Clean, trimmed, smelling of soap and some perfume.
Fear withdrawn and mostly replaced by hatred. He sat on the bed. It was still damn cold. Why wasn't he afraid any more? What had happened to him?
Enoch threw his overcoat to the sofa and walked down to the bed and Logan.
“You will make a pretty vengeance,” he said.
Logan didn't say anything. Yes, he would be raped. Since he wasn't actually consent though he would pretend to surrender, it would be rape. His breath was erratic, but still it wasn't fear. There was something else. Something burning inside him. It brought tears to his eyes, but he knew it wasn't fear and it wasn't just helplessness, either. There was more to it. Something with claws and sharp teeth.
Kill you, yes. Kill you.
Enoch sat by his side and ran fingers over his neck. He shivered, but managed to stay still. And then the door opened.
“Grace,” Enoch called out. “Oh, hello dear. Care to come and join us?”
The woman rose her pretty brows. She was beautiful and snakelike all over. Wildly sexy, of course, if Logan had been into women. But he still could see it. She was the crazy wet dream of every straight guy out there and most likely many lesbians as well.
“May I inquire who is this, dear husband?”
So this was Grace. The one who'd cheated on this vampire and thus caused this chain of events.
“So you may,” Enoch replied. “This is Logan. Isn't he beautiful?”
Grace looked at him. Their eyes locked and Logan understood something – this woman loved Enoch. Madly. If he had planned to hurt her and he had, then he was succeeding, Enoch was.
Grace was wise. This was a charade. Just how foolish did Enoch think he was? Bringing a little pet home... One that did not wish to be here at all. Stupid. Couldn't he at least take one that would really want him? Ah, but this was much better. She would...keep an eye on the boy.
“He is very handsome,” Grace said. “Young and fresh. Appetizing. Wonderful selection of food, my dear.”
Enoch smiled at her. “We thank you for the compliment, but here you are mistaken. He is not to be my meal, dear lady. I shall sire him and keep him as a lover. I am certain he will be excellent in bed.”
If Grace had any outbursting feelings, she hid them well and smiled. “I am sure he will and you shall enjoy him greatly, my dear. Now, if you excuse me, I have errands to run.”
“So you won't stay around after all, Grace? How sad.”
“It is sad indeed. Yes... very sad. But I am sure we shall meet again soon.”
She gazed intently at Logan. “Very soon, and then we shall talk. Good night, gentlemen.”
Door fell shut. Enoch hissed. “Arrogant bitch. She is. So beautiful. So intelligent. And such a treacherous slut.”
Logan didn't say anything, of course. He was thinking. Would she grow to hate him? Or could he possibly win an ally. Oh gods please make it so. Make her see that I want this even less than she does. I have love of my own, I hate the one who wishes to turn me and bed me. I want to go back and be a number again. Want my boring daily routine back.
Want Jerome.
Want him so badly.