Slipping
down the fire escape as quickly as possible, Jack dropped to the uneven
pavement of the alleyway with a slight stumble, quickly trying to make it to
the body of the werewolf before it could regenerate. He’d never hunted one
before, but he’d heard the stories of how even the most horrendous of wounds would
have little effect on one when in the light of the full moon.
Pushing
through the few remaining onlookers, Jack made his way to the middle of the
street towards the gory mess, pulling a silver stiletto blade from his belt as
he ran. One quick thrust from this into the creatures chest and it would all be
over. How such a mindless monster had made it’s killings seem like those of a
Vampire, he had no clue. But he was determined to find out.
Reaching
the body, Jack stood over it for a moment just drinking in the sight of the
downed beast before him. The bullet had done its work well, shredding the skull
of the beast with unearthly efficiency, blowing away the entire right portion
of its skull from the nose onward. Blood and grey matter lined the street for a
good ways behind it, slushing beneath Jack’s boots as he crept ever closer.
Strange… the wound doesn’t appear
to be closing up? Jack thinks morbidly, watching as a
trickle of blood slowly dribbles from the massive wound. Jack ignores the cries
of panic around him as the few remaining onlookers see the knife in his hand,
turning to flee; no doubt calling the authorities at this very moment to come
and investigate the murder that they all witnessed.
Crouching
down over the body, Jack flipped the blade around in his hand and pressed the
cool edge against the monster’s skin, looking for a reaction of any sort. A
sizzle of flesh, the creature moaning in pain, even the silver bubbling would
have made him feel somewhat vindicated.
But
none of those things happened.
“It’s
not a werewolf…” He muttered to himself, so quietly it was almost a mere
thought. He’d shot someone in a costume. A very realistic costume from a
distance, but up close Jack could see the stitching along the poor corpses
outer layer of fur covered cloth, the patches that held together a listless
tail to the lower back of the costume. Even the teeth were made of a silvery
felt that glimmered in the moonlight.
“Fuck!”
Jack cursed, kicking the corpse once in anger, then again in frustration. “What
the fuck was this stupid kid doing in a Vampire’s lair dressed like a
werewolf?”
“Because
I planted him there of course.” Came a calm response from just over Jack’s
shoulder.
He
would have turned to face whoever was talking, but one of his arms was quickly
grabbed by the wrist and wrenched up behind his back, effectively holding him
in a painful lock. The hand surrounding his bare wrist was as cold as ice, and
he could feel the hard, elongated talons protruding from each finger.
Before
he could say a word, he felt a sharp stab at his throat, a feeling he had
always feared. But instead of feeling his lifeblood draining away, he could
feel something being pumped into him.
Before
he could even rationalize what was going on, the night began to swirl about him
in a mixture of neon lights and fuzzy images. And then it all went black.
***
Waking
up slowly with a dull, throbbing pain in his neck, Jack groans as he lolls his
head from side to side, trying to shake the cobwebs from his skull. Wherever he
is, he couldn’t see a damn thing, the room as dark as a moonless night; he was
hanging partially from his wrists, both of which were bound together and held
aloft high above his head by a length of chain. Closing his eyes and trying to
stay calm, he could hear the sound of rainfall on the walls outside his prison,
as well as the rhythmic breathing of someone close by, someone who was asleep.
Jack
growled softly, cursing himself for his stupid mistake and general
carelessness. He’d come to New York to kill a Vampire, and instead he’d been
lured into a trap by one. Now, he was undoubtedly that Vampires prisoner, as
well as its next meal.
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