In coming there that night, the man had not expected that the prearranged rendezvous would put an end to his profitable enterprise of trafficking drugs. Actually, his train of thought was to the contrary, and his entrance had been marked by nothing other than an air of extreme haughtiness. And why shouldn’t he be haughty? The dealer knew the power he wielded over those who would give anything to satisfy their demanding addictions, willingly providing sex, large sums of money, and a great variety of other peculiar, yet, equally appealing payments. As the popular phrase went: life was good, and he did not expect that to change anytime soon. How wrong he was.

****

In a provocative manner, Cam lightly pressed her lips to the underside of the man’s throat. Languorously, her mouth hesitated there, her tongue darting out slowly to sample his mild taste. Over the past several minutes, the dealer’s heart rate had increased, until finally it had reached a thundering pace. She could hear it threatening to break free of its prison of tissue and arteries, an appropriate response to his current position. By now, the shrill screams of intense physical agony had died down, replaced by the broken sobs of the hopeless. The way the human carried on both aroused and disgusted her, his twisted pleas for mercy quickly growing old. She was beginning to tire of this game.

Alternating her focus, the vampiress returned to lapping up the tendrils of blood that wrapped themselves about his exposed arms. At her first taste, she had been rather surprised to find the dark liquid free of the effects of substance abuse, expecting the presence of either cocaine or marijuana at the least. How ironic--a salesman who did not even use his own product. No doubt he was aware of what actually went into the drugs provided to the general public. How intelligent to avoid polluting his fragile, mortal body.

Following a significant period of blood loss, she could sense that her plaything was slowly nearing his final breath. The horror had since left the eyes that stared at her, now drooping and half open. For a moment, she raised her impassive gaze to meet his, before it traveled still upward. Since the accomplishing of it, Cam had examined her handiwork on several occasions, each incident provoking a response that varied from the last. On this final occurrence, seeing the male’s wrists nailed above his head to the wooden post generated no reaction, except the boredom of one who had long since grown weary of the spectacle.

In a casual manner, she licked the last of the blood from his forearm, before retreating a step backward. As the man’s head slowly grew slack, she noted that any remaining life had finally departed. Running her tongue over her lips in an acknowledgement of satisfied hunger, she pondered the reaction of the authorities to this most recent crime, when it was eventually discovered. No doubt the body would be significantly decayed by that time, creating a spectacularly gruesome sight for whoever bore the misfortune of stumbling upon it. It would be clear at once that the victim had bled to death. The rather unusual manner of torture would most likely be attributed to an act of hustler or gang violence, and the world would go on, content with this explanation. The police liked questions that had obvious answers. The police were to easily appeased. Humans were to easily lured by the illusion of quick profit.

Greed had been this creature’s undoing. Contacting him over the phone had been like confirming a dinner date. At mention of her desire to purchase rather large quantities of his “stock”, she could hear the immediate eagerness in his voice, spilling over on the opposite end of the line. Getting him to meet her at the decrepit, ancient building had only been a matter of making a series of promises that she had no intention of keeping. It had been easy, and altogether unfulfilling. Where was the challenge?

Glancing about, Cam surveyed her rather dark and dank surroundings. The large space smelled strongly of recent death, and of the buildings’ own decay over the years. The sound of dripping water had immediately assailed her senses upon entering, indicating an entire network of leaks in the roof and foundation. The atmosphere was grim and dirty, and looking at her tailored slacks and expensive coat, she outwardly did not match the setting. But, inwardly? Inwardly the immortal was at home in the shady, run down area. That was why that particularly area of town was one of her favorite hunting grounds, even if her prey was sometimes exceedingly dull.

Who knew? Maybe if she waited long enough, something far more interesting would come walking through that door.

The derelict section of Demaitre was sprawled out before him, like a kingdom he could claim with virtually no effort at all. In the orange glare of the few streetlights that littered the neighborhood, everything seemed brown and black. He himself fell into this category rather nicely, crouched on the roof of a building that had seen better days. Black hair fell about his dark face, and he was dressed in a tight brown t-shirt and black pants. As per usual, a cigarette hung limply out of his mouth, glowing orange at the end. Dark eyes scoured over the dilapidated buildings, full of brightly painted words that he couldn’t decipher. Words were meaningless anyways. Actions, and abstract… art … provided far more potent messages.

There was a sense of excitement upon the air. It was like a static electricity that floated over this particular region… or maybe that was the adrenaline from this night’s conquest still alive in his veins. The girl had been no more than eleven, shabbily dressed, and all to eager to take the food the suave, handsome man had offered her. He’d left her looking like she was sleeping on a pile of garbage, where she belonged, so far as he was concerned. If people went around looking for answers – if they even bothered asking the questions – it probably wouldn’t be for long, especially with blood upon the air, blood that he hadn’t spilt. His nostrils widened, taking in the tangy scent, and his cigarette bobbed as he smiled.

Another scent flew upon the air, and it wasn’t one he’d soon forget. She was around here, and if he knew her at all – which, admittedly, he didn’t, as they hadn’t done much talking on their last meeting – he knew that she was behind this, whatever it was. She was the type. She reveled in the hunt, the kill, and the artwork behind it all. She didn’t have to tell him that for him just to know it. If he had a soul, or even a heart, he would’ve claimed that that’s where his knowledge came from. As it was, he assumed that it must come from the demonic aspect inside him, whispering that she was a kindred being, and one who was just as sadistic and masochistic (respectively) as he. The thought excited him. He was curious about her, about what she could do. He wanted to see it for himself.

Standing up, Itzcoatl Tizoc simply walked off the edge of the building. His hair whipped about his face in protest as he simply fell, as straight as a rod. His feet hit the ground with a thud, and he fell into a crouching position to absorb his weight. It wouldn’t do to break any bones at this point in time, no matter how amusing he might find it. No, this was a time to investigate, to tease, and to seduce. The buckles on his boots rang out through the silent night. The only movement was that of the rats that skittered about, picking at the plastic bags, and – he assumed – the feast he had left for them in the form of the young girl. He’d have to check back tomorrow, to see if she was still there. He was interested in seeing the final result, providing the rats got to her. Rats had the uncanny ability to make something gruesome so much more so. They made it the things of nightmares. Itzcoatl assumed that was the reason they were so despised.

Well, that made two of them then. He was disliked even more than the rats, just because he had absolutely no conscience. He could argue that it wasn’t his fault, it was the fault of whatever fucking god had created the fucking earth. If whoever or whatever the hell it was had not made one glaring error, so many lives could’ve been saved. As it was, God – or whatever you wanted to call it – had screwed up big time. He couldn’t say he was particularly upset with the arrangement. After all, he doubted that he’d be having this much fun if he had a soul. Then again, if he had a soul, he’d be nothing but bones being dug up by some company so that they could build a new headquarters out in the Mexican jungle.

Or by archaeologists, who annoyed him perhaps more than the Amman. That was hard to do.

He moved around to the side of the building that was the source of the blood, and where he could only assume that she was waiting. For him, for anyone, it made no difference to him. He was going to be the one to see her this evening, not anybody else. Grabbing onto the ladder, he climbed up the side of the building, and entered through the door from the roof. He caught sight of her in the glare of a single swinging light bulb. Moving quickly and silently over the rafters in a way that no ordinary human could have done, he sung down behind her. He sniffed her hair, long and dark, and pulled some of it behind her, running his fingers though it.

Leaning close, his breath smelling of blood and tobacco, he whispered, “Miss me, darlin’?”

How quaint that she could read the future in such an effective manner, even if her expectations had not quite been achieved in the anticipated way. It had hardly been ten minutes since the passing of her victim, drained of his vital fluids, and already someone had arrived to entertain her. Well, not just any someone. This was a member of the undead, she knew, finding the matter faintly amusing. Most of the immortal riff-raff walking the streets in the present day and age weren’t much better than the humans, though, they did not seem to break as quickly. The point, however, was that in the end, even they broke beneath her will. She smiled cruelly.

All at once, she experienced a familiar arousal, the acute fire igniting in her lower stomach. She could feel his fingertips, slowing moving through the dark strands of her hair, and she knew him by his touch before the vampire even spoke a word. It was that creature who had, dare she say it, “overwhelmed her senses” at the subway just a few weeks back. It had taken place in the bathroom, marking a rather unanticipated interruption of her nightly feeding ritual. At the time, she had found the temporary distraction amusing, but, that was all it was meant to be--temporary. His appearance there now, after the rather unfulfilling ravishment, left her faintly annoyed.

With a suddenness, due to the previous moments spent without audible reaction, she whipped about to face him. Arms raising, she pressed her palms against his shoulders, before giving him a rough shove backwards. This action threw him up against the wooden post where her previous victim was currently suspended. Stepping forward, she drew close to him, speaking softly, yet dangerously.

“What are you doing here, “darling”? I thought I’d made it clear on our last meeting that I was through with you.”

Rising slightly up onto tip toe, she pressed her lips against the side of his throat, before baring her fangs. Nipping at his neck, she did so in a manner that was just enough to break the skin, releasing a few drops of blood. Dragging her tongue across the minor wound, she lapped up the small supply of scarlet liquid. As she did so, she grabbed hold of both of his hands, lifting them up above his head. Smirking slightly, she drew back.

“You like corpses, don’t you? Why don’t I nail you up beside him?”

Indicating the dead man crushed partly behind Itzcoatl’s back, her eyes gleamed with a dark promise as she regarded the vampire’s unusually colored features. The “tools of her trade” were still about the place, the hammer thrown across the room, the nails tucked into one of her pockets, just in case the dealer had brought ‘friends’ with him. Caressing his wrists gently with her fingertips, as she kept his hands pressed against the post, she eagerly awaited his reply. Cam was still rather put off by his sudden appearance, however, she was not going to let that ruin her devious, blood thirsty mood.

Itzcoalt might not have possessed amazing amounts of preternatural abilities, but in some ways, he was better endowed than those who did have them. For instance, his sense of smell was far better than any other vampire he had ever met. It was for this reason that he could smell the arousal on her, probably even before she realized what it was. Others had often said that Itzcoatl possessed a certain… allure to him. There had been one female vampire he’d had a ‘thing’ with about thirty years back that had sworn it was an ability of his – the ability to lure anybody in with sheer sexual attraction. Making a joke, she’d said that he probably should’ve been in Nephim instead of Ishak, where the vampires seduced the pants off their victims before killing them.

He’d killed her for implying such a thing.

Then, all of the sudden, he was thrown backwards against a wooden post. Chuckling he stood up, wiping the dust that had collected on his black pants off. He ran a hand through his black hair to get it out of the way, but it just came back, falling around his face in loose waves.

That dangerous tint to her voice was enough to make him laugh outright, although that probably wasn’t the reaction she was going for. He moved in really close, so that their faces were almost touching. “You might have, but… what can I say. I love women who play hard to get. It makes it so much more… interesting.” He snapped his teeth at her, almost playfully. It certainly matched the amused gleam in his eyes. “You might be through with me, but who says I’m done with you?” He groaned as she bit into his neck, running a finger over her collarbone.

He laughed again, loud and long. The sound of it echoed through the abandoned warehouse where they found themselves, making it seem like his laughter came from all sides. “You’re right, I do like corpses. I’ve left enough of them in my wake over the years not to like them. They’re just so… fun.” He wrinkled his nose playfully at her. Dragging a thumb over her cheek, he smirked. “I know something else that’s fun.” Then, the smirk disappeared, and there was only a hungry black look in his eyes. “If you want to hurt me, I’m not going to stop you. The pain and the pleasure… they all flow together after a while. If you feel up to the challenge, you’re more than welcome to nail me to the post, even next to the decomposing corpse.”

Oh, this was going to be fun. He could hardly wait to see what happened next.

The man was peculiar, in a manner which she found she did not care for. He did not react correctly to her threats and insults with the expected fear or indignance. Instead, he seemed to almost welcome such attacks, first responding with that exasperating smirk, an expression that soon transformed into a hungry stare. There was something incredibly distorted about such a response, such a personality. It was a mark that she had recognized at once. A preferrence that she had seen those two weeks ago, on the occasion of their first meeting. He was a genuine sadist.

Taking a slight step backwards, she released his wrists. Regarding him with a hard blue gaze, she did not speak for a moment, as if she were gauging how to respond to the situation, the offer which he had issued. Was there a true purpose in taking the bait? Why give him the satisfaction? Shaking her head dismissively, she crossed her arms over her chest, wearing a critical expression.

“What precisely do you want? I’m not particularly in the mood to humor your pathetic attempts at seduction.”

Living the life of the immortal, there was no true waste of time. However, that did not mean she had to expend any amount of minutes upon this rather uninteresting subject. The male was like all other vampires who overstepped their boundaries, grasping for something they did not understand. True--he did drip with danger and sensuality, but, those traits, even combined together, were unspectacular. Thus far, his words and actions had only served to douse her mood, douse her desire.

It did not help that she wasn’t entirely certain about his intentions.

“Find someone else to plague with your idiocy. I don’t intend to suffer it any longer.”

Turning smoothly on her heel, she moved towards the nearest escape. With dimmed desire, she had no further interest in the presumptuous male, who was tiring in his acts of overeager submission. Such a lack of challenge bored her. Yielding without so much as an objection--she had not cared for the trait in past lovers, and she would not tolerate it now. It was a weakness with painful consequences, usually resulting in death.

This one, she thought, was fortunate, as long as he stayed away. Boredom to easily turned into an acute detestation.

Itzcoatl’s only answer to that would be: of course I’m not normal! Normal was fucking boring. Once you got passed those expectations of wives, children and those stupid white picket fences, you could focus on the more… pleasurable things in life. He wasn’t only the Devil’s Advocate… He was the fucking devil. If he seduced you, he was just as likely to rip out your intestines and decorate a tree with them, as he was to fuck you. So yeah, he was a sadist, and he loved it, but at the same time, he was a complete masochist as well – if he had the right top.

If Cam’s look was hard, his was liquid. The emotion in them – whatever it was – threatened to leak out and wash over her in a warm rush. Truthfully, he’d just wanted to have pain, and have her be the one who did it. They always said that one desires what one can’t possess. Itzie thought that was bullshit. He knew that he could have her if he wanted her, but he preferred to see how this played out. She could play hard to get, she could pretend she wasn’t at all interested, but in the end, she would be his. He knew it, even if she didn’t… yet.

He trailed a finger down her cheek and leaned in close. “If my attempts at seduction are so pathetic, why were you lusting after me the second I came into view?” The taunt danced upon his voice, swirling about her in amusement.

Uninteresting? Itzie would’ve been wounded by such a thing. There were plenty of people in this city that thought he was the most interesting thing since sliced bread. Some of his kills had been positively genius. His eyebrows shot up when she began to walk away, ruining the nice little game they had going. Something inside rumbled with anger, and he pushed it away. That was not going to help with this one. Shrugging, he pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and said, “Fine. You don’t want to play.” He exhaled a small storm of gray smoke. “I’ll find someone more… adventurous.”

He too turned away, coming to rest before the piece of art she’d created. With one long fingernail, he carved a cross into his chest. “Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis Deo,” he intoned, laughter just below the surface. “Amen!” A slow laugh, low and evil slithered out of him, echoing through the vast spaces of the warehouse. “Have fun. I can tell you from experience… Death is a hell of a time.” Another laugh.

This was what made life interesting.

The soft click of her heels against the concrete flooring faded away, halting just before the door. The action surprised even herself, as she stood, almost brooding as she stared at the exit which lingered just before her, reachable by a single, outstretched hand. Logical thought commanded her to leave the ancient, decrepit building, yet, she hesitated to follow through with her mind's instructions. Something far more prevalent urged her to take another course. She could feel the strength of this impulse slowly growing, willing itself to life. For moment her eyes slid shut, and she simply waited, listening to the offensive sound of his laughter.

This emotion, rage, unleashed itself before she even recognized that it had taken control. As her eyes once more flew open, she discovered that she had turned and begun to move across the room, retracing her steps toward the site of her previous murder. Arms raising, she pushed the male vampire now facing away from her forward. Stretching out one hand, she crooked her finger, and the hammer that previously lay unmoving on the opposite side of the room lifted up from the ground, flying across the space to land in her open palm. Gripping the instrument of her tortures, she forced Itzcoatl around, so that he was facing her.

Leaning upward, Cam kissed him hard on the mouth, her fangs tearing at his bottom lip. As she did so, her left hand once more pushed both of his wrists up above his head, pressing them against the post. Taking a nail from her coat pocket, she raised one hand upward, centering the small piece of shaped metal above his wrists. Raising the hammer, she violently hit the head of the nail, sending it through his flesh. With another hit, the nail wedged itself into the wood, successfully pinning the vampire up beside the corpse.

Moving her focus away from his mouth, Cam pressed her lips against his cheek, before sliding down to the line of his jaw, smearing blood over his dark skin. Dropping the hammer at his feet, a dull, metallic sound rang out in the empty space. With both hands now free, they slowly pushed beneath his shirt, her fingers slithering upwards over his battle-scarred stomach and chest. With a sudden, violent jerk, she tore his shirt open. Leaning down, she savagely bit into him, just above the location of his once beating heart.

He had claimed to like pain.

Even through his laughter, he could hear her stop to listen to him. It gave him a sense of pride, like a blossom of warmth in his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair, and contemplated what made him so damned alluring. His rebellious nature? Yes. His amazing good looks? That too. His amazing sex? That was probably a big part of it. He’d never known a single woman to be able to turn him down. They might get pissy, and walk away from him, avoid him… those tricks that women liked to pull, but in the end, they always came back. Always.

He could smell her rage, her anger, and it excited him. People were more likely to cause pain when they were angry. Maybe he’d get what he asked for in the first place. It would be a welcome thing. He’d had a tough evening. Nothing like bleeding away your cares, tasting your own blood to help you forget the damned idiots people liked to be. He heard her footfalls behind him, and felt her strength as she turned him around. Normally, in situations like this, it was he – not the woman in question – who was the dominant figure, but he sensed that the bigger payoff would be to let this one do her thing. Itzcoatl was certain it would be extremely pleasing to both of them.

His kiss was just as hard, and he groaned, as he tasted his own blood, brought forth by her. This was what he was talking about. He’d known that just under that snobby little exterior of hers, lived this animal. It was an animal that matched his own, the beast he could feel clawing at his insides, telling him to claim her as his own right then and there. But no, that would spoil the very intriguing game they were playing, and that wouldn’t do at all. Truth be told, he was curious. He wanted to see what she could do to him. If he’d been mortal, he would’ve scared, and would have reveled in those scars. As it was, only the memory would be left, and he wanted to cling to it as hard as he could, so as to relive it later.

There was pain. It was sharp, shooting down the nerves of his arms. Instead of screaming, though, Itzcoatl only laughed again. This time it was wild and free, like a madman. With the second pound of the hammer, he his laughed turned into a moan, arching for a release that wasn’t there. Gods, but he loved the sight of both blood and a lovely woman on him. She bit him, sunk those beautiful little fangs of hers into his chest, and he moaned again, this time with an edge of a growl to him. The dominant aspect of his personality wanted to drag her down by her hair and fuck her senseless. The other, more masochistic aspect, however, wanted to see how this went.

Breathless, he looked at her, desire swimming in his eyes. “You’re my mistress for now. Feel free to have your way with me. I won’t protest.” He grinned his dark, dangerous grin. “I promise.”

The man was laughing again, laughing when he should have been screaming. The sound, both incredibly disgusting and attractive rang in her ears, encouraging her to increase her sudden, violent attention to an extreme level. Sucking the blood from his pierced vein, Cam noted the familiar taste of the elixir, strong and metallic, peculiar in the sense that she had never experienced something quite like it before. Every aspect of him pressured her into believing that he was somehow different from the others, an anomaly like herself. She refused to accept such a notion. They all broke. They were all the same.

Moving her mouth slowly, she carved two smooth lines down the center of his chest, using her fangs like a pair of small blades. Halting just above the waist band of his pants, she moved back upward, dragging her tongue over the leaking cuts. It could be said that she was not familiar with this type of submission. In the past, her more sadistic lovers favored attempts at domination, though, they usually received more injury than they inflicted. Unlike the others, this vampire submitted without weakness. He did it because he loved it, this form of slow, purposeful torture. He craved it like she often craved it, testing the capabilities of her endurance. Cam had never been broken. She never would be.

Drawing her lips away from his scoured skin, she stared at his face with a certain lust-filled gleam to her dark gaze. Hands moving slowly, with a practiced purpose, they set upon his belt. Proficiently undoing the buckle, that first road block was easily conquered. Unbuttoning his pants, she paused for a moment, allowing one of her hands to grab hold of his still covered penis, squeezing tightly. What she could do to him... Injuries she only reserved for those people who really pissed her off. No, she wanted him relatively intact for what was to come. In one swift movement, she yanked his pants down.

Taking a small step back, her gaze traveled over the male body that now hung suspended before her, completely exposed to her assessment. He was attractive, no question about that. The many scars that littered his chest and abdomen only filled her mind with questions, increasing the desire that burned between her legs. Those long, pale marks were his main appeal, for she was certainly no stranger to the male anatomy. You had to possess more than simple leanness and muscle. There had to be that intriguing element.

Pressing her fully clothed body against his naked form, she returned to kissing him ferociously on the mouth. As she did so, her left hand slowly slid down his chest and abdomen, smearing more of his blood across his bared skin. Reaching her objective, her fingers wrapped tightly around his penis, nails digging unmercifully into the sensitive member. She had castrated males simply with her hands in the past. They were usually mortals that she had grown tired of. This one, however, she simply wanted to watch squirm. Cam wanted to hear him scream, to beg for her to cease these painful tortures. She wanted it because she thought he might be the one person who wouldn't give it to her. The one person she could not turn into a weeping, pleading mess. The thought made her want to fuck the living daylights out of him.

If he could’ve heard her thoughts, Itzcoatl probably could’ve laughed even harder. Fortunately for her, he didn’t have that ability, or any other abilities even remotely similar. Itzcoatl had never broken for anybody – not ever. They’d tortured to him, and burned him, and killed his family, people they considered his friends, people they thought he loved, they raped him, they thought they killed him, and yet he got up again. Time after time, incident after incident. He’d never found any being that could bring him to his knees in submission, or obedience. Hell, not even his coven leader got to make that claim, unless he was on his knees for a completely different reason. The thought made a snake of amusement curl through his veins.

She’d probably never been broken either. She didn’t seem the type, and that’s why he was drawn to her. You can’t have two halves of the same pie if one side of the pie is gooey and threatens to break at any moment. It doesn’t work like that. Itzcoatl needed a woman who could play his sick game of sadism and masochism with him at any given point, and who didn’t need to be told the rules. Those rules should’ve been ingrained in her, instinct. She should’ve had them as long as she could remember. He groaned slightly at the feeling of her tongue. The more he saw of this woman, the more he wanted of her. Not necessarily sexually, but just being in her presence, hearing her threaten him, feeling her inflict pain upon him and taking pleasure from doing so. Just being within touching distance of that dangerous aura that surrounded her… If he could take a guess, he guessed this was the feeling that those crackheads got when they shot themselves full of that shit.

He felt her pulling his pants down, and laughed again. This laugh was husky, but also filled with something like triumph. He’d known that she wouldn’t be able to resist it, even if she hadn’t known it herself. He knew how to play this game, but had never played this particular version. Had she decided to cut of his arms, he would’ve gladly let her. It wasn’t like she could do anything to him that he couldn’t fix. The more severe the injury, the more blood, the more fun so far as he was concerned. Sick as it might have been, it was the way he’d been made. It was the reason he had most of those scars that she seemed to find so appealing. He could’ve easily deflected them – he’d been an amazing warrior – but he hadn’t. He’d run straight onto the weapons of the opposing side.

Kissing her back with everything he had, running his tongues over her fangs so that she could taste his blood – so that he could taste his blood too – his muscles stiffened. They were bunched up, so that his back was arched, despite the fact that his head was bent forward so he could kiss her. Even in the midst of the kiss, he groaned, long and hard. It was painful, yes, but that made it so much more fun. She really did know how to play his game, and that excited him. He wanted her… or he wanted her pain, the pain she gave him. He wasn’t even sure which he wanted more anymore. The pain was exquisite. She was exquisite.

What the hell. He wanted to own her, even if it was only so she could own him.