Bela the Nymphomaniac Vampire Slayer

Chapter 5: Why


The bass. I can hear it from two sets of traffic lights away, and I can't help but smile. It would be rotten to actually live anywhere near this noise-polluted place, but since it's in the middle of the CBD there aren't all that many besides janitors and late-night shoppers who might be disturbed by it. The neon lights and carved sandstone facade of Vibe are a mixture that despite its anachronicity I've always liked.

Hey, I can't help that I have a weakness for steampunk. Hell, I spend half of my nights culling legendary monsters by luring them with my body then using whatever I happen to have on hand, so is it really much of a surprise that I have an appreciation for the incongruous?

There I go getting all philosophical again, but fuck it, I like this sort of place.

Apparently Pretty Guy was not of the same opinion, as I could see from where I was seated his nose immediately wrinkling at the very sight of the club.

“If you have a problem with it you can fuck off elsewhere with this cab- hell, I don't need it now I'm here.”

I noted with satisfaction that the taxi driver must have taken a detour at some point specifically to run up the meter, as the glowing digits of the small machine showed a price that was at least ten dollars more than I usually paid for this trip.

With a slight stretch, I gave a saccharine “see you later, cocksucker,” and then elegantly disembarked from the car, noting with amusement the miffed expression on Pretty Guy's face.

He must have just shoved the notes at the driver, because a second later I heard a “keep the change,” and the taxi sped away.

I smiled and winked at Ferdinand the Bouncer, and smirked at the people lined up to enter the club.

Suckers. Sometimes it really pays well to be a known trouble-solvent. Even Blinkered bouncers (and trust me, there really aren't that many- think about it, they spend all night people watching, they either get wise, or they get eaten,) consider me to be a lucky charm. Something to do with the fact that on nights I'm around they don't have to answer questions to police about various club-goers last seen leaving with strangers from their premises.

Fuck I'm good.

Speaking of which, Pretty Guy would make some great bait for tonight. He's nice to look at, and if I play this right he'll draw in whatever female vamps are in the establishment while I scout for males. This place is a pretty popular hunting ground, despite the high mortality rates, as it's always bursting with young, energetic, inebriated, horny humans.

Vampires love that in prey.

I'm just glad that they're so territorial- it's rare to see more than a few in the same place, and the more alpha the vamp, the less chance there is that they'll have company with them, unless like the vamp I stillettoed already tonight they're inducting a newbie.

Company means having to share, and vamps aren't too good at that one, particularly when it comes to territory containing prime watering holes for prey.


As I contemplated this, I felt a hand suddenly brush my shoulder.


I whipped around, ready to deck whoever it was, but stopped myself a mere millisecond before I spoiled Pretty Guy's face.

Shit, he was going to make this just too easy wasn't he.

Fighting the urge to beam, I cocked an eyebrow at him and bit my lip while rolling back my shoulders to make my breasts even more emphasized than they already were in the tight bodice. He did his best to act the gentleman, but the guy's adam's apple gave away the fact that he swallowed hard at that little display.

Now why did the Jaws theme just get stuck in my head?

“I-I wanted to apologise for shang-haiing your taxi, but I was trying to get away from someone back at the club.” Did he just stammer? Now I definitely felt like a shark. Trying to avoid someone eh? Must have been desperate to put up with my shit.

“They must have been pretty fucking terrifying by the way you jumped into the car,” I mused dryly, noting the slight darkening of his olive cheeks.

“A guy who used to go out with an old friend of mine wouldn't leave me alone. It's not like I have any problem with that sort of thing, but I don't appreciate being dry-humped in the middle of the dancefloor,” he muttered tersely.

Hmmm, I hadn't noticed much of that going on when I passed through the club, but maybe I missed it when I was stabbing the vamps outside with my accessories.

Nonetheless, there was no way I could avoid an opening like that one.

“Well that's too bad, because I was half-thinking of having a go of that myself.”

Cue slack-jaw.

Calmly I pushed his mouth closed, then turned slowly towards the door of the club. I looked over my shoulder at him, smirking.

“So, you coming tonight or what? Because I can assure you that if you stick with me you will. Hard.”

Awww, I think I nearly made him choke on his tongue. Must be used to shy girls, poor sod.

I don't do shy. Coy maybe, but blunt and raw tends to take me to all the fun places without having to pretend to be a wallflower, and I have to say, I never was very good at leaning back and letting things happen. I mentioned this to Gareth once, and he burst out laughing.

Can't imagine why.

I saunter towards the entry, ignoring Pretty Guy's comment about there being a line as I smile at the five foot five bouncer Quentin “Hulk” Smash. Not many people know about his day job as a florist, but I used to know his wife, back before I decided it was just too hard to keep up with diurnal friends.

Hulk grins back, and lifts the rope for me and Pretty Guy, seeing as I've grabbed the latter by the wrist.

Nothing says “he's with me” like a good drag on the guy's arm.

The club is loud, full of strobe lights and flashing laser displays. I almost feel sorry for any vampires in the area, they'd be feeling quite disoriented right now, unless they were only relatively recently turned. This is only partly to do with the enhanced senses- think about it, how would you react if you'd spent your entire life listening to nothing but Beethoven and Liszt, and then were thrown into the middle of a club playing some godawful house music?

Not happy, that's for sure, and the half-naked flesh on display would only mostly make up for this.

I yank Pretty Guy out onto the dancefloor, mouthing “I can't hear you” and gesturing towards my ears with a headshake when he attempts to protest. I shimmy a little, and then suddenly his protests cease.

I execute a spin and roll my eyes whilst my back is turned to him.

Men. So predictable.

After about fifteen minutes of this, I pass a surprised Pretty Guy off to a woman who has been eyeing him for the last five minutes, giving the woman a wink to let her know that while I'll let her play with him, that man is mine to take back whenever I want.

She grins back at me, silently sending me a “message received, but I'm still going to do my best to convince him otherwise”.

Meh, I wish her luck. Honestly, so long as I find another vamp or three to stab tonight, I don't mind all that much- the wink was more out of reflex than anything else.

Searching, searching, oh, I fucking have you!

I couldn't believe it. Not two people away from me, a female vamp rubbing herself up against a short man in ripped denim.

I smiled evilly. Didn't have to use Pretty Guy after all.

I saunter over to where the vampiress is twining herself around the blissed-out potential victim, and with a well-practiced sultry smile, tap the man on his shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?”

The vampiress blinks a little at that, but vamps in general are a prideful bunch, and most of them have played at being swingers at least once in their so-called “afterlives”. This isn't to say that being propositioned by a woman isn't a new thing for this vamp chickie- vamps take what they want, when they want it, but like any spoilt brats, delight in being given freebies, either in their normal tastes or not.

Blissed-Out is fortunately too vamp-drunk to give a damn, and so steps away easily, smiling goofily as I take hold of the vampiress' upper arms. Intentionally baring my neck to her greedy eyes I smile back at Blissed, silently wishing him better luck with his dance partners tonight than this one was going to be.

I lose sight of him heading towards the bar, and turn back to my vampiric partner, noting the subtle ravening gleam in her eyes that lets me know that this vamp wants me, and wants me badly.

If she was human, I'd be flattered, but I know perfectly well that the only part of me she is hungry for is the nutrient-rich blood she plans to drain from me. Sometimes I think it might almost be worth contracting some sort of blood-borne pathogen like Hepatitus, but having the vamps less interested in me would get in the way of this sort of rescue mission.

Fucking greater good. Would you believe that HIV was a covert project by a group of maverick Aware trying to create a natural vamp-repellent?

The Aware also made sure that it transferred quickly and easily- through sex, through blood, and through breastmilk, meaning that if a woman received the “protection” then so would her child.

It would have been a perfect idea, were it not for the fact that there are a few itsy bitsy side-effects... oh, like AIDS.

The bitch of it is, it works. Vamps won't touch you if you have HIV- apparently the taste is simply poisonous. I once heard a vamp I was spying on say that a vial of weed-killer and septicemia would be more appetising... and would probably have nicer effects, as if a careless vamp contracts HIV, then the virus goes into hyperdrive, causing the organ shut down due to tumours or whatever cold virus that they might have sitting on their skin, etcetera that your average AIDS victim might have to suffer through for months happen in the course of about two days.

It's not a pretty sight.

Apparently this “revolutionary” treatment was too fantastic to need the normal checks and testing period that any product for mass-consumption is required to undergo.

Fuckwits. That's what they said about the Titanic. And via that nausating movie, we all know what happened there.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Before I decided to give all you Blinkereds reading this a little history lesson, I was about to dance sexily with that vampiress. Well, I did. She was pretty good, for a four-hundred and fifty year old- must have been turned when she was about sixteen or so, as she was plenty energetic for someone old enough to have seen Shakespeare performed live... though it's unlikely she did, as by the looks of her she was from one of the old Spanish lines.

As we twined around each other, she informed me that her name was Carlotta, and I was inclined to take this as confirmation.

Gently stroking the black-vinyl-covered underside of Carlotta's left breast, I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, that she was so beautiful, like a lily or a crystalline dew-covered spider-web and how much I wanted to make her writhe with pleasure upon black-satin sheets.

What? Vamps eat that kind of flowery shit up. Say that sort of thing to your average contemporary human, and chances are they'll give you odd looks, laugh, run for the hills or all three. Hell, I know I would, which is part of the reason I reacted so badly to being sent that creepy package.


It was the sort of thing I might send to a vampire, if I ever decided to do the long-term courtship thing... which you have to admit is about as likely as me taking up knitting teddy-bears with fluffy pink wool and scraps of lace. I think I'd jump off the Harbour Bridge in mid-winter dressed in nothing but rubber oven mitts and a vegemite-smeared nappy first.

Carlotta's smile is demure, but the glint in her eyes shows a blend of smugness and the sort of desire I might show for a piece of expensive chocolate as licking her lips she grasps my arm tightly and begins to lead me outside the club.

I stumble a little to let her think that her “charms” are working on me, disorientating me and making me an easier mark as all of my senses focus upon one thing, making the world around me dissolve into meaningless blurs and snatches of sound.

It looks like love, what vampires induce in their victims, but really, it is fascination.

Addiction.

God knows I can't leave them alone... but I'm good at leaving them dead.

But as far as the whole disorientation shit? Bitch please. If there's one thing we humans are good at, it's adapting and habituating to our environs. Basically, exposing oneself to the same thing repetitively will build up a resistance above and beyond any natural resistance a person might have. Alcoholics are a great example, as they can drink amounts that would kill any untrained light-weight, and still be alert enough to stumble home.

I used to have a close call every once in a while with the fascination thing, but it's like hypnosis. Even if you're highly susceptible, (I'm certainly not,) you can still throw it off if what they're asking you to do is not in your nature already.

And believe me, being out of control around a vamp? I doubt I could find anything less in my nature. Apart from celibacy, but that's a whole different kettle of fish.


Though why anyone would want to put fish in a kettle is beyond me...

I walk with the vampiric doxy towards a shadowed carpark, and part of me sighs. Man, this chick Carlotta has no class. Making out in the backseat of a car or worse, on cold concrete amongst the trod-in chewing gum and broken glass is not my idea of a good time.

I quickly squash a thought about “Carlotta” being a bad pun about her favourite killing ground, as that has to be seen as too lame even for vamps.

I am somewhat surprised when we both walk straight past said carpark and then through the front doors of a four-star motel.

Oh hells yes, this is much better.

Carlotta leans forward and whispers sweet nothings into my ear as she pulls me into the elevator.

Looking down so that she can't see my expression, I smile, realising that we are possibly thinking the same thing.

Oh honey, you are in for so much more than you have bargained for.

This Carlotta has terrible animal instincts- I once overheard Tristan telling his newest bedmate the reason he once nicknamed me “Tiger” had very little to do with my performance in the sack.

Coming from Tristan, that was some praise indeed.

Stumbling, I let Carlotta lead me to door number 13, and then sighed inwardly.

No way in hell was this a coincidence- vamps love symbolism in the foreplay of their killings. I once heard an Aware scholar say something about how it had to do with them subconsciously regretting what they were doing, thus leaving clues for anyone who had their eyes open.

This was about five seconds before I bitchslapped him and told him to wake the fuck up and smell the corpses.

Man, I'm having the worst time concentrating on this chick. Fuck, am I really that jaded?

Carlotta pushed me onto the bed, the expression on her face transforming her until she resembled nothing more than a brown snake about to devour a small bird.

Pity I'm a fucking Kookaburra*.

For her, that is.

Oh man, she's going straight for the dive, isn't she?

Stupid fucking unimaginative frigid newbie bloodsucking bitchwhore.

Carlotta gracefully falls in the general direction of my neck, teeth bared, and I get a good whiff of what I like to call “coffin breath”, i.e. the smell of decades of unbrushed teeth on a diet where the four food groups are A, B, O and AB.

Recoiling, I gag a little. “Fuck woman, did something die in your mouth?”

Carlotta pauses for a moment. This obviously isn't how her internal script of this scene went. Man, lucky I didn't fuck her after all. It would have blown my “no idiots” rule straight to hell.


Just then, the door burst open...

And I took advantage of Carlotta's distraction and stabbed her in the back with the knife from the back of my bodice.

Much to my surprise, Carlotta immediately turned to dust.

“Holy hell, how the fuck did a cretinous excuse for a bimbo like her survive that long?” I incredulously wondered aloud.


“Probably was some vamp's favourite plaything. I think I saw her around Giuseppe and his lot one time, so I'm thinking she was probably his.”

I look up to see the man standing in the doorway start as he recognises my features. His expression would have been a lot funnier if I didn't have the sneaking suspicion that it matched mine.

Pretty Guy is an Aware? A Slaying Aware?

Well, fuck me.

I look down at myself and moan, and Pretty Guy rushes to my side.

“What is it? Did she bite you?”

I snort.

“As if. I'm just pissed that I'm smothered in vamp dust for the second time tonight.” I explain, not bothering to hide my amusement at his instant expression of disbelief.

Brushing the ash off my knife against the bedspread, I continue,“Yeah, that's right hunkalicious, this woman can take out three vamps in a night and come out without a scratch.”

I smirk at him, noticing his slack-jaw at the size of my knife.

“Feeling inadequate?”

Pretty Boy has yet to close his mouth, and I can't help but laugh at him as I tuck the knife back into the small of my back.

God I love having that effect on people.

“Did you just in all seriousness call me 'hunkalicious'?” he asks finally.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“You mean of all the things I said just now, that's what stands out? Heh, you've got odd priorities Pretty Guy.”

To my surprise, he shrugs.

“Well, you are Bela. Unless there's another slayer out there who gets kicks out of seeing how long they can string a vamp out before they slay it, which I highly doubt for some unknown reason.”

Pretty Guy rolls his eyes at the last, and I'm torn between feeling flattered that I've become so infamous, and amused at his euphemistic version of my M.O..

I decide to shock him a little more. He looks so clean and proper, a little bewilderment will be good for him.

Heh. Nah, I'm kidding, but it'll be fun yanking his tail anyway.

“Yep that's me. Getting the fuck, denying the suck.” I pause in a faux-thoughtful manner. “Though I didn't actually get any tonight, due to circumstances beyond my control. Wanna fix that for me?”

Pretty Guy's eyes boggle.

“You don't even know my name and you're propositioning me?”

Inwardly sighing in exasperation, I reply, “Well what's your name then?”

“Taylan. Taylan Yilmaz.”

“You certainly are. Well now I know your name, and you know mine, so...”

Ah shit, he's got the “not on your life you goddamned trollop” look on his face.

I hate that look. Makes me feel all pouty and cheap.

Fuck it, this night was pretty fucked already anyway.

“Fine,” I sigh, “I'm taking you for a celebratory 'I'm not dead yet' coffee then. I take it you know about Wheels?”


Blank.

I freeze for a second.

“Wait, so you've heard of me, but you haven't heard of the coffee shop owned by Gareth?” I ask Taylan incredulously.

Taylan frowns for a second, then I watch as the gears click into place and his jaw drops again.

Huh, Taylan has a scar on his tongue. How about that?

“Y-you're on a first-name basis with the Stakemaster?!”

Oh goddamnit, not another fanboy.

Gareth's going to kill me.


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*For all you non-Aussies: A Kookaburra is an Australian kingfisher type bird that will eat pretty much any critter smaller than it is, from frogs to insects to small lizards, and on occasion small snakes, making them one of the few natural predators of one of Australia's more deadly creepy crawlies. Okay, David Attenborough cap off now. Meh, it felt apt at the time.


Man, I had the worst time trying to get this chapter out. But look, over 20 000 words! Hopefully the next will come out smoother and with less writer's block involved.
Stay Tuned!