It was a location Camdin had avoided out of sheer disgust or showy lack of interest. The Subway, a place marked by an untapped flow of human comings and goings. Rather like an infestation of termites or roaches, bothersome and often filthy. Mortals in general were unclean and had the rather bad habit of contaminating locations of heavy traffic. It produced a somewhat grungy atmosphere, often retaining this even with the existence of other counteractive groups or cleaning crews, who, despite their best efforts, were unable to keep the area looking very sanitary.

There were nights when the decay of the modern population had its appeal. A hungry body with a craving for sullied blood. A plunder exacted savagely at a point scarcely beyond the scope of the public’s eye. It was a fusing of a dark and demanding willpower with the harsh capabilities of the physical. Associating closely with Miss Euthalia Akakios was enough to cast a person beneath the affects of desolation. Camdin was not a simple associate. No, she had offered everything she had to give, entering a position of willing servitude. It left her urgent for the harsh metallic taste of vital fluids spilled through acts of violence. So, she had come.

The Ancient was simply another potential passenger, one of many crowded about the low-ceilinged platform. She was nothing but a slight figure, caught between clusters of warm-blooded bodies, either standing or occupying any of the several benches. It might be speculated upon that the groomed precision of her appearance hinted at a rigid business woman, employed in a standard variety, established firm or company. The clothing she wore was classic and well fitted. A wispy bolero of russet silk covered a portion of her top half, overlapping a sleeveless and scoop necked blouse of matching color and material. Her slacks complimented the shirt-set as a straight-leg cotton pant, bearing a similar chestnut hue. Fashionable shoes with a pointed toe and small heels covered her feet. Yes, perhaps she could have been mistaken for a calculating slave to the business world, had she not appeared only in her late teens. Perhaps an intern at some local organization.

With a distracted cobalt gaze cast about, Cam forced a few strands of hair away from her pale and heart-shaped face. Slipping through gaps not occupied by brisque business men or party-hopping adolescents, she followed the signs that indicated the avenue to the public restroom. Crudely rendered arrows led her further across the messy and human ridden walkway, initiating a series of side-stepping and movement to where free space existed. As it was, she reached her destination after a period of bothersome toil, pausing only to check the lock before ducking into the previously unoccupied spot. The area she entered was comprised of two rather dismal stalls which were currently empty. A set of sinks, flanking a large, streaked mirror occupied the nearby wall, still leaving a generous amount of space for any future ….encounters.

She deposited herself against the near wall, crossing her arms over her chest. It would seem that she had made the journey to merely lounge in a less crowded spot. That would certainly be a rather ridiculous cause. Approximately five minutes passed without disturbance, before the twisting of a cheap metal knob registered within her vision. A scarce few seconds separating the actions, the door was suddenly pulled open, admitting a somewhat scruffy looking man, who she imagined to be in his mid-thirties. He glanced at her briefly, arching brows that were in need of a good plucking, before breezing past her to the far stall. Ah, the wonders of unisex bathrooms.

The man emerged once more after a short time period, having apparently relieved himself. Moving past her with another poorly shielded glance, the path he had selected would have taken him to one of the twin sinks. Likely, he would have washed his hands and left, had the chance for departure been granted. However, fate decided not to be so kind. As it was, Cam reached up, a razor-like grip catching hold of the side of his throat and twisting it at a sharp angle. There was distinct and particularly sickening crack as she snapped his neck, his rather large form becoming a dead weight before a startled yell had even managed to escape his lips. Turning the corpse around to face her, the flannel shirt he had been wearing was torn away, before her nails found tender skin. Submerging her hand within his chest, her fingers wrapped around his heart before ripping it from his body. Slowly she brought it to her lips, fresh rivers of blood sliding over her pale features, marking her chin and the arm which grasped her prize. Fangs extending, she bit into the once vital organ, previously belonging to her victim. A soft moan surfaced in the back of her throat.

The only thing about Itzcoatl that didn’t match the monochromatic scheme the designer of the subway station had created… was his skin. Even after five hundred years of death, it still maintained a rather dark shade of brown that only enhanced the aura of danger given off by him. In truth, the aura of danger had always been a part of him, even when he was younger and the other little boys scurried away from him… Only these days, he had the tools to accentuate it, which he did. Constantly. Few people thought of crossing Itzcoatl even on only first impressions.

Maybe it was the tight leather pants that seemed almost to be painted on, accentuated by the belt with silver Aztec buckle. Or the black combat boots with buckles up the side. Or perhaps it was the tight black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the biceps, revealing toned musculature. Or the fact that the shirt was only half buttoned up, showing a chest littered with scars, and topped off with an obsidian pendant, like a cherry on a sundae. Or maybe it was the way he walked. Yeah, that’s what most people would have thought was the most intimidating about him, hands down, even with the cigarette hanging loosely from one hand.

Anyone seeing this walk would realize that there was no word in the English language that could effectively capture it. It was a walk that only the most confidently animalistic of men could pull off. It had that same fluid grace of a dancer, but there was something just below the skin that promised pain. His eyes watched everybody, and made everybody squirmed, causing him to smirk.

Fear was an excellent aphrodisiac.

Yes, he was certainly something of a worry among these business men in their expensive suits with their attaché cases. A young female intern met his gaze behind those elegant glasses, before dropping her gaze to the side, and continuing to walk past him. As she passed, Itzcoatl took a deep whiff of the air. Jasmine soap; how lovely. Taking a drag of that cigarette positioned in his left hand, he turned in one smooth motion, and watched her back retreat. There was something almost… solid about his gaze. There had to have been, for the cute redhead intern turned back to look at him. He have her a small finger wave, his cigarette bobbing with the movement. She rushed away, and Itzcoatl laughed that laugh that was rich like the cocoa his people had discovered, but stung though around him like falling glass.

Turning back around, his eyes watched the crowd until he caught site of the little ingrate he’d been tailing all evening. Stubbing his cigarette out with his fingers, he flicked it into the back of some business man’s head, oblivious to the man’s outraged outcry. Itzcoatl was careful to remain a significant distance away from his target for the evening, even as he pulled a rather wicked looking dagger from a holster around his left leg, twirling it absently in his hands, even as his smirk grew larger.

If anyone saw the knife, they pretended not to notice.

He saw his intended victim walk inside and followed, pausing only momentarily. It wasn’t to his liking to go into a urine stinking room, but… The promise of a kill was all too satisfying to pass up. He ran his forefinger down the edge of the knife, reveling in the pain, before opening the door. The smell of urine and excrement greeted his nose, but his face remained impassive now, carefully steeled into that blank look that an animal gets just before striking… But that’s when he noticed something else: the smell of a woman.

Coming into full view of the entire bathroom, he steeled his expression not to betray what he was seeing. When he let himself go however, he couldn’t stop the feral grin that threatened to split his face. Leaning against a cubicle, he sheathed his dagger, and watched the woman do his job for him. Normally, he would have been somewhat pissed with whoever did this… but this was different. He’d seen a lot of sadistic women in his day, but this one… The sheer apathy with which she seemed to kill was refreshing. Indeed, it was refreshing, and though he felt that she was quite a bit older than him, he would not let that deter him. He had to admit, watching the blood from the still beating heart run down her chin instilled in him the same awe that witnessing his first sacrifice had, and that moan? It aroused him, very much so.

Unable to contain himself, he walked forward, quicker than a man his size should’ve been able to. He grabbed her small wrist in his large hand, and yanked it – and the heart – away from her mouth. Looking down at her with those black, glittering eyes, he said, “You stole my kill.” With that, he leaned down, and licked the blood from the side of her mouth, not really caring either way if she were to break a few bones because of it. Pulling back, he gazed down at her with a look of animalistic lust. “You’re beautiful.”

Grabbing her shoulders, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss that would have bruised extensively if the woman before him hadn’t been a vampire. There was a groan as he tasted the blood on her lips.

This was almost better than the kill.

The blood was of the sweet variety, though, mildly diluted by to many beers. There was also the distinct tint of the recent use of what she determined to be cocaine. Such an unattractive taste was overwhelmed by the vicious manner of the male’s execution, however, a factor which lent itself to the overall euphoria. She was eating his heart. This thought swept through her head, arousing and coaxing, until all comprehension was shrouded in a heavy haze of pure animalistic satisfaction. All other details than this gratification were obscured.

The action was accomplished with a suddenness that left her utterly immobile. An ensuing sensation of bereavement left her feeling barren and desolate as the heart was pulled away from her lips. Awareness set upon her as she registered the pressure of a harsh grip at the wrist. The fog cleared almost instantaneously, replaced by an acute sense of shock and indignation. What was going on? Cam’s eyes opened just in time to observe a tan face descending towards her own.

It was surely an alternate reality that she had stumbled into. A familiar sensation swelled, deep within the pit of her stomach, as he dragged his tongue across the corner of her mouth, lapping at the freshly spilled blood. “You’re beautiful.” Words that might have been spoken in a foreign tongue, for they refused to register correctly within her comprehension. In fact, they made not even the scarcest tracery of sense, much like the swift bend the moment had taken. Everything seemed distorted as his lips set upon her in a crushing kiss.

Automatically, her body recoiled. Stepping backwards in a hasty retreat, her back was soon pressed up against the bathroom wall. Without notice, her fingers tightened around the heart clutched in her left hand. It seemed to explode beneath such a fierce grip, rendered a mess of tissue. Blood leaked to the floor in a myriad of thin and steady streams. The kill had swiftly faded from attention. A far more pressing matter demanded her interest.

Physical response was involuntary. The itch of desire danced over her skin, compelling. Another moan swelled in the back of her throat as this stranger held her in place. His lips were forceful and demanding. The final remains of the heart slipped from her grasp. Her left hand rose to grab hold of the side of his face in a violent action, as if to ensure that his attention remained anchored upon this ravishment. Fresh blood was smeared across his cheek as the kiss was returned, her own lips abruptly beginning to move against his.

She was backing away from him, but not out of fear, it seemed. That was good. Had it been fear, Itzcoatl would have been most put out. Fear is not something his woman should have, and he’d already decided that this was his woman… Or would very soon be. No, had it been fear, he would have thrown her down, had his way with her for ruining his kill, and probably have killed her. Fortunately for her, this was just a case of the woman playing hard to get, even though she knows the male is stronger and will possess her in the end.

Itzcoatl was determined to do so.

Her moan caused his inner beast to come roaring to the surface, determined to have his fill of her. One of his hands went to the back of her head, pushing it close to his, and the other to the small of her back. He pushed it under her shirt, his fingers caressing her spine. His tongue was inside her mouth, probing, wanting to explore the whole of it. Unconsciously, his tongue slid across her fangs, and there was a sharp nick of pain that caused him to have a rumble low in his stomach, almost like a giant cat purring. His blood spilled into both their mouths, and that only added to the experience, in Itzcoatl’s opinion.

He ground himself against her, pushing her tight against the wall.Damn, but he wanted this woman. He wanted to hear her scream out, and see her bleed, and that alone might be enough to bring him to climax. To possess her in such a manner… He grew more excited just thinking about it. He was sure she could feel it, and wondered if it excited her as much as it did him. He certainly hoped so.

His hand moved out from under her shirt, and down to her thigh, grabbing it and forcing it around his waist; holding it in place while stroking it almost tenderly. He groaned into the kiss.

A quiet and opposing murmur was ever present in some far off place towards the rear of her thoughts. For a time, in spite of this admonishment, she responded as only a completely sexually driven creature could. Kissing, writhing, and pushing against a complete stranger in this stinking public arena. As he forced her up against the bathroom wall, her left hand moved to wind itself around a few strands of his hair, tugging at it on occasion. This action no doubt inspired stinging spasms on that side of his head. A little pleasure, a little pain.

Those insistent fingers at her spine were slowly working her senses into a fever-pitch. A slight growl formed in the back of her throat at the sudden taste of blood. In response to the added attribute, her tongue began to slide against his more forcefully, almost as if declaring war against it. Each movement was rough and wild as they entered upon the beginnings of what would likely prove to be a disturbing mating ritual. As he moved against her, she arched upwards. She felt almost crushed beneath his unyielding mass, however, it was something of an enjoyable discomfort.

The voice, pestering her thoughts almost incoherently for the past five minutes, grew very loud as he fitted her leg about his waist. Tender caresses, moving over her thigh triggered a different response. For a scarce moment, her entire body tensed as the red haze enshrouding their dalliance dissipated with one swift rejection. Her fingers tightened around the lock of obsidian hair she held, before a sudden, violent jerk ripped it from his head. As her foot dropped back down to the floor, both hands reached to grab hold of his shoulders, before he was forcefully thrown backwards.

“What exactly do you think you are doing?”

Those words were uttered in a loud, powerful voice. The phrase scarcely avoided becoming a mortified scream as she detached herself from the wall. Advancing towards the offensive vampire, she halted a few feet beyond his landing spot from her prior exertion. A moment where her superior age had aided her significantly, for she was certainly older than this contemptuous animal.

Truth be told, Itzcoatl was not in the least bit angry. A tad shocked perhaps, but never angry. In the blood and bodily fluids that had seeped from the corpse onto the ground, bright reds, blacks and even a putrid looking green, he stared back at her for a moment. His back was now soaked with the foul smelling liquids, but he just stared at her blankly, and wondered what she was thinking. His head cocked to the side in a strangely animalistic gesture, like a hyena surveying something curious. Those black eyes of his were devoid of any emotion in that second, and he truly looked like an animal. There was not a spark of human consciousness.

Then, almost as quickly as that lack of emotion had set in, it was gone. Amusement leaked into his eyes, making them glitter like black beetles in the scorching sun of the desert. Like a worm, that smirk slowly manoeuvred itself onto his face, before it split into a grin, revealing glistening white teeth. A sound erupted from his throat, and it was a laugh. It was deep and made you feel parts of your body you didn’t know you had; arousing, but at the same time, there was something in it, perhaps some desperately hidden insanity, that made whoever heard it shudder in fright. Yet again he could be compared to a hyena. Hyena laughs are both beautiful and eerie at the same time. After hearing one do so, the animal will usually either mate, or feast.

The way he stood up made him look like a natural born predator, and for all the woman in front of him knew of him, he might be. There was a strange, boneless grace to it. He stood up, getting the mess on the floor on his hands. That however, seemed to be the last on his mind. His eyes never left her face, and he chuckled a deep chuckle even as the grin disappeared and the smirk reassumed its position. Standing up, one had to admit there was a definite appeal about him: dark skin, lean muscles, and long black hair.

He trailed his long tongue over his hand, lapping up some of the fluids, while watching her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Half of him was desperately pleased she’d pushed him away at first, half of him was frustrated. On one hand, it proved that she was the one he wanted, and that she wasn’t a pushover bitch that wouldn’t have been worth his time. On the other, he was desperately aroused, and had wanted her that second. Still did, in fact.

“I thought,” he replied, running the middle finger of his left hand over his bottom lip, “that I was kissing you. I also thought, that you were kissing me back.” There was something almost mocking in that voice, but not quite. “You didn’t seem to have these objections moments ago.” He trailed a finger down his cheek, the one where she’d covered it with blood. “No, you’d seemed most… enthused.”

In the instant that she had forced him aside, flinging him across the room with the simple force of open palms, she had proved a point. She was stronger than the great encompassing tide that was lust. Though it still pooled in the pit of her stomach as an ever growing turrent, scrutinizing the specimen before her was enough to keep the waters at bay. However, there was no garuntee that a barrier created from an odd mixture of apathy, curiousity, and indignation would hold. It would have to suffice.

This creature was of the attractive variety. Such an observation was impossible to dismiss, for she had never been one to overlook the truth. There was no gain to be had from blinding one's self to the reality. Physical appeal changed very little, however. What had been a flare of anger initially had transformed within moments. In its place, a cool apathy now shadowed her thoughts and glacial gaze.

"I don't recall," Dividing her firmly spoken dialogue, she selected that moment as opportune to take another step forward. "granting you permission to touch me. I believe you have discovered what happens to those that take what is not their's to possess."

Her chin lifted, a subtle rise of gently curving bone. At this new proximity, it was a fair observation that he towered above her. Unerving as this might have been to another, it had no affect whatsoever upon her emotions or viewpoint. Fear was not a part of her vocabulary, nor was she prone to intimidation. Size was a concern for the living. It had no place within her affairs. Unfortunately, sexual desire chose that moment to break free of its confinement.

"Perhaps you should try asking. It might turn out better for you."

The simple fact had occured that she did not know this man. At first, the recognition that she was involved with a stranger had seemed reprehensible. Thus the fact that the vampire had ended up on the far side of the small area. Now as lust once more washed over her body, setting each nerve ending alight, a single thought continued to reoccure. She would probably never see him again. The perfect ingredient for some quick satisfaction.

Itzcoatl’s hand stroked his chin as he all but grinned at her. His fangs were visible now, just as they always were when he smiled in such a manner. His eyes locked into hers, before moving slowly and intentionally down her body. There was something primal in that look, like they were windows to the soul of some being that had come long before humanity had evolved into the most developed of species. It was the look a male gives a female when wondering how they’d taste, how many children she’d produce, and how long her stamina would hold out. It was also a look that promised a great deal.

“I’d apologize,” he said at last, his head tilted to a side like a great cat looking at something vaguely amusing, “but that isn’t really my style. Let’s just say… I’m not used to waiting around for what I want.” There was a certain pride in his voice at this confession. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a chest littered with scars, long healed but most obviously made before he’d been made vampire. There was one on his lower right that was about five inches in length and looked particularly nasty. Itzcoatl ran a hand down his front. “How do you think I would have gotten these otherwise?” There was some perverse pride and amusement in those eyes.

“Besides,” he added nonchalantly, his hands dropping to his side, where one grasped the knife, and he fiddled with it, twisting it around his fingers again and again. The gesture could have been taken as a threat, but somehow, the general aura he exuded said that this was just a game to him. “Who said I didn’t like rough women?” The grin was now roguish. “I don’t know, being thrown across the room… I find it almost exciting.”

He could smell it on her; her desire. It was almost contained, but there was still enough to reach his senses. He walked slowly towards her, slowly circling her a few feet away. “Oh, it would, would it?” He came up behind her and ran a finger over her shoulder. “Well, wonderous woman, I’m asking.” He placed an oddly gentle kiss on her shoulder.

Momentarily incapable of further movement, Camdin found herself staring up at this magnificent tempter. For he was surely there to capture her senses, guiding and beckoning, as if pulling her forward with an invisible force. Pulling her into a motion, an embrace, a surreal place marked by blood and eternal lust. Lust. Here, now, it was nothing more than a word concocted to describe a truly sinful and soothing sensation. Cutting, like a knife sheathed in smooth flesh. Caressing, as if a silk garment brushing against a bare body. They were not bare yet.

The messages his eyes authored were enough to send a shiver down her spine. Amusement and assessment. Standing transfixed, she watched as his fingers slowly pried at the buttons that secured the black folds of his garment. Gradually, more brown skin jumped into sight, accompanied by lashes and puckers of discoloration. Scars. Earned through wars waged in centuries past, no doubt. A warrior. The slightest smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, an expression both expectant and oddly cruel.

“You willingly subject yourself to injury. Let me guess ….Another sadist?”

Pleasure and scorn tainted that rather dry observation. Mildly, she examined the blade that he fondled, much like a child does his favorite toy. Crossing her arms over her chest, one brow rose as he began to move around her in a circular motion, rather like a ravenous animal stalking its prey. Should she allow herself to be preyed upon? While pondering this question, something of a delicious sensation swept over her, as he caressed her shoulder. Momentarily, her eyes fell shut, as she savored the feel of his lips pressed against her skin.

“I doubt you know just what it is you are getting yourself into.”

A hand moved upwards, lightly teasing his cheek as he still hovered behind her turned back. Unseen, her eyes narrowed into slight slits, mirroring a rather devilish expression. Suddenly, executing a rather swift motion, she had rounded on him. Palms once more flattened against his shoulders as she gave him a rather heavy push forward. Following in the wake of the exertion, she slid slender fingers over the bared flesh of his chest once he had been forced up against the far bathroom wall.

“Perhaps I can add a few marks to your collection.”

Sharp nails pressed into his skin, splitting the various top layers. Blood rose from the angry lines as she inflicted long marks, scouring his front. Momentarily, she brought her head downwards. Rather like a cat lapping at a saucer of cream, she dragged her tongue over the jagged cuts, tasting the scarlet liquid that had already begun to slide over his stomach. He had asked.

He could see her shivering, and it did nothing to quench the lust he felt at this particular moment. It was one of the things he loved most about himself, and he had no delusions about modesty impeding the emotion. Affecting people is what he did, whether it was a shiver of fear as he walked past them, or making them scream in pain as he ripped their intestines from their bleeding bellies and wore them as a belt. This, however, was most amusing to him; the ability to make this woman lust after him was something that gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

She touched his scars, and Itzcoatl felt the urge to purr like a great cat. His scars were one of the many things he was proud of – perhaps too proud. Lines of puckered flesh paler than the rest of his skin were clearly visible whenever he discarded whatever shirt he was wearing. He could remember where he got every single one of the lines. One rather nasty one in the middle of his abdomen is where he’d been impaled on the edge of an enemy’s sword. They hadn’t thought he was going to survive. He’d proved them wrong.

It was what he had been best at, in life.

He tilted his head towards her in a gentlemanly gesture that he seemed to make more sensual than the gesture was supposed to be. His smirk matched hers. “You could say that. I’ve been this… alive since I was young.” He trailed a finger over her jawbone. “Tell me, have you ever seen a human sacrifice? The way the sacrifice’s eyes bulge as the High Priest took his obsidian knife and carved out the heart… it captivated me. I longed for it. So yeah, you could say I’m a sadist.”

Giving a soft chuckle that caused him to move like he was purring, he leaned in closer. “Maybe not, but I’d love to find out. I love a good challenge.” There was some light in his eyes, some… glint that suggested dark deeds in darker places; that also hinted at a battle of dominance, and one that he’d willingly fight over and over. It was this look more than anything, more than his catlike walk, or the way he smelled his victims, that made him truly look like a predator dressed in man flesh.

Usually the one to be in charge, Itzcoatl found that he didn’t mind letter her steer for a little while. The texture of the concrete wall was rough against his back, small bits poking into his back. He barely noticed it, as the petite woman in front of him looked at him with a look that made his blood stir for the first time in a very long time.

Those small, beautiful nails dug into his skin and the man gave a low, guttural moan that could easily have been mistaken for a growl. This was the one… This was her. She drank his blood, the only other besides himself to ever taste it, and he found that he didn’t care. Taking her up by the shoulders, he wrapped his arms around her so tight it must be painful, and dominated her with a kiss.

He was glad he’d asked.

He talked of sacrifices and the spell of captivation. For a moment, she pictured the scene of which he spoke. The High Priest, holding a jagged knife poised just above the exposed chest. The layers of skin splitting, one by one as the blade carved its path, carved its way through the flesh of the victim, who, still living, bore the exquisite torture without any sedative or hope for relief. The only relief was death, and she could hear them screaming out for it, pleading incoherently for it, each cry formed as the heart was wrenched from their body. Finally after the thrashing and flailing, the body goes still, leaving only the devastated corpse and the intoxicatingly sweet scent of blood. He had longed for such things. Cam had never watched in want. She simply took and did without a second thought. Much like the organ that earlier she had so eagerly devoured. Much like she would soon do to him.

His blood was sweet, yet with a harsh element to it, much like she had anticipated. Mildly, she touched her lips again and again to the skin that her nails only moments prior had ripped apart. At times, she had taken such lovers in the past, following what the modernized population seemed to refer to as a ‘one-night-stand’ philosophy. However, usually the partners she had taken were human, and that was a rather obvious reason as to why they had not lasted until morning. As it was, she had never encountered such an occurrence with another vampire, specifically one who’s appetite for violence appeared to at least match hers. This would prove interesting.

That pain seeking streak seemed to real up in him again, as he took her by the shoulders and efficiently crushed her to his body. If she had need for breath, no doubt she would have been gasping at this point in time. Nevertheless, there would not have been an opportunity, for his mouth was ravishing her own, in a way which exuded power and demanded obedience. Camdin knew how to be obedient, however, domination had always been much more thrilling. If she could claim to have ever truly been ’thrilled’ by anything in her very long life.

As he held her against him, she could feel his blood sinking into the fabric of her shirt, no doubt staining it beyond recovery. Something that would likely later serve as a reminder of this day’s dalliance. His aroma, the scent of death, blood, and stimulation served as an intoxicant to her over heightened senses. With some effort, she managed to break the kiss he had forced upon her, one that she had returned gladly enough. Tossing the hair out of her eyes momentarily, she glanced about, feeling flustered and incredibly aroused. However, she still hesitated on the threshold, almost unwilling to take the plunge and finish the game that they had started with one another.

Sometimes unfulfilled sexual desire was the greater torture, and therefore the greater pleasure.

Looking back to him, she stared upwards into his dark eyes, her own expression incredibly vacant. Leaning upwards, she made a point of placing a kiss upon his bloodied cheek, before finally taking a step back. This action was the only indication of what strange new thought process had suddenly emerged in her mind, clearing out the previous euphoric haze.

“That is enough, my dear warrior. I have no intention of becoming your next conquest.”

There was a cold amusement in that statement, random as the comment was. Turning she moved towards the door, her fingers briefly resting on the cheap metal knob. Glancing back at him, she continued.

“Don’t feel to bad in your failure. No doubt you’ll be able to find fulfillment with some cheap mortal woman. They thrive in these parts.”

When it came to domination, she always came out on top.

Damn, but she tasted good. As animalistic as he was, he could smell the desire oozing off from her, like the smell of hot flesh in the sun. Even after centuries of darkness, he could still remember the smell of sunshine. There were those that would call him mad, but... he could remember it. Even as a human, he'd had an incredible sense of smell. He could still remember the sound of hot stones in the noon day sun. Even better, he could still smell the corpses and the blood as they prutrefied in the heat of the Jungle.

Neither smelled as sweet as this, at the moment.

Then she broke the kiss. Itzcoatl would be lying if he said he didn't growl when she did so. Whatever primal beast lived within him did not like being torn away from his conquest. She pulled herself out of his grasp, and he let her, though his eyes seemed darker than they had been. They were glaring at her, despite the half amused half-smile that danced upon his lips. Despite this, there was a rumble in his chest that seemed like a great tiger watching a meal walk into the meadow it was watching. She wasn't his prey though, or at least not in that way.

Upon hearing her words, the Aztec couldn't help but feel a bubble of anger. It was a small bubble, however, and it was drowned by amusement and... pride? His smile became wider, and he put his hands in his pockets, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye. It was an almost dangerous look, but there was some line of his face that ruined it.

Surprisingly, he shrugged.

"Very well played, I'll admit," he said, grinning so that his fangs were visible. "You certainly are all that I'd imagined. I'll also admit that I like women who play hard to get. However, if you're certain that you won't..." He walked forward, close to her and scratched a long scratch upon her chest, before licking the blood off his finger. "Perhaps I should go scour the covens for someone whose animalistic drive matches my own. It seems that yours might not."

He brushed past her, his smirk growing when it couldn't be seen.