Undead in the CityBy: Lynda Hilburn
Malveaux skulked in the shadows along the abandoned industrial buildings. A relentless blizzard – an uninvited Canadian visitor – pounded the urban landscape, causing even those with exceptional vision to falter in the wall of white. Hard snowflakes, slamming earthward like mini ice darts, caused him to raise an arm above his eyes as a shield to forestall the storm’s assault. The frozen projectiles couldn’t hurt him, almost nothing could, but the act of protecting one’s eyes was habitual. Instinctual, perhaps. Even for beings that hadn’t been human for a very long time.
Parts of the inner city of Detroit had become the stuff of nightmares. Not only because they were inhabited by creatures of the night like him, but because of the frighteningly ingenious methods humans had devised for harming each other. And they called him a monster.
One benefit to frequenting this seedy part of town was the readily available food source. Prostitutes displayed their charms for pitifully small amounts of money, and they were always more than willing to donate a bit of blood for the right price, even in a storm like tonight’s. He quite enjoyed sucking the throats of these ladies of the evening, then erasing their memories of said event. They always struck him as painfully honest, acknowledging the very human need for sex, unlike the masses who pretended to feel no such compulsions.
He was excruciatingly aware of his needs. Blood and sex. Even though those two things weren’t commonly linked in most vampires, Malveaux’s creator had been unique. A human who’d been addicted to sex of all kinds before being forced into vampirism against his will, he’d passed along the mutated desires to his vampire offspring – who were also taken against their wills. A family tradition. Certainly not Norman Rockwell’s idyllic vision, but a tradition, nonetheless.
Malveaux had sated his bloodlust earlier in the evening, but had yet to fully relieve the aching, throbbing tension in his cock. He knew that if he didn’t find another satisfactory outlet for the building sexual pressure soon, he’d kill. And killing was always more trouble than it was worth, not to mention, messy. He could have tempered his sword, metaphorically speaking, with the street-walking blood donor he’d sampled earlier, but she’d smelled of garlic. Even though there was no truth to the old wives’ tale about garlic repelling vampires, he had a personal dislike for the odor. Foul aroma aside, he’d guided her hand onto his cock and used mind control to encourage her to stroke vigorously while he fed. He wasn’t inclined to add his juices to the fluids he scented in the long-unwashed area between her legs. Even a vampire had standards.
Unfortunately, a hand job was the equivalent of finding a drop of water in the desert when an oasis was needed.
So, Malveaux prowled the filthy streets in the middle of the worst blizzard of the year, seeking a moist, warm place to sheath his aching rod.
He sought a human female with soft, round breasts and a pleasant-smelling, tight cunt.
Not that he was limited to women, his creator had seen to that, but he definitely leaned in that direction.
All thoughts about his flexible sexual tastes ceased suddenly as his finely tuned radar engaged. He sensed an almost-imperceptible disturbance behind him, moved with preternatural speed into the nearest trash-strewn alley, then pressed himself behind a filthy, overflowing dumpster. Going completely still, as only the strongest vampires could, he waited for his guests to arrive. He’d known it was only a matter of time until his enemies tracked him down. As good as he was at evading their attempts to kill him, he’d gotten sidetracked by what felt like a perpetual hard-on. Malveaux wasn’t usually held prisoner by his cock to such a degree. Whether he wanted to face it or not, the relentlessly escalating urge could only mean one thing: the legend was true. He’d be forced to create his own offspring soon, or go mad.
Offspring meant responsibility, something he avoided at all costs. Responsibility had never brought him anything but pain.
Nearby, shuffling footsteps sounded. He tuned in with his enhanced hearing, and smiled. There were two of them. The clumsy oafs must be very new or very stupid. No vampire with functioning brain cells would make that much noise while in pursuit of someone with Malveaux’s reputation. Quade must be desperate to send such lightweights his way.
He waited until the two dullards paused under the streetlight at the mouth of the alley, actually discussing whether they should go straight or venture into his hiding place. His heart pounded in excited anticipation. He could already imagine his steel-like fingers knifing into the cold, white flesh of their necks, ripping out their throats. The surprised screams and arcing spray of blood would be the highlight of an otherwise-meaningless night. He did relish these primitive moments, and focusing on the matter at hand would take his mind off his crotch, at least temporarily.