Post by kadenkeene on Dec 2, 2006 1:31:35 GMT -5
"My God..." Was all he could muster. Standing there among the corpses and almost-corpses of the beasts and peasants, Mathew de Gray and William Montgomery tried to wrap their minds around the reality of the situation; Before them, leaning against a poor wooden house, was John Mortimer. He was pale in the face, tired.
But he looked alive. That was the hardest part to swallow.
John cast them an eye. "What's the matter, mates? Did you not think I'd pull through?"
His mates said nothing. Rather, they looked at him. No, better, they watched him. John's armor rattled as he pulled himself away from the house and came to his friends. He threw a soft slap to Mathew's shoulder.
"We've done well today!" He said, scanning the strewn bodies.
"Aye," Mathew said.
"Our horses?"
At first, neither could say a word. Then, Mathew: "Gone, John. broke their ranks and made his way, but the rest..."
John bowed his head, and nodded. A tear fell from his cheek. Mathew and William had known John to be a soft man, but he was taking the death of his steed as hard as a child would. They could not prepare him for the news of their fallen mate.
He looked at them, eyes red and cheeks wet. He went to speak, but halted himself. His gaze had taken up and over Mathew's shoulder. This was where Joseph's body lay. Or, at least, what was left of it.
"Oh no," John said, rushing past them and falling to his knees beside the dead knight. "No, this cannot be! Not Joseph!"
Mathew and William turned to watch, but had not realized that neither had yet to look upon him. The beasts had ravaged him thoroughly, leaving naught but bones in some places. His bowels had been pulled out like so many threads of rope, and strew about the dirt beside him, half-chewed. His face was not one they could recognize anymore. There was no hope that he would have lived through such an attack.
They had thought the same of John...
Though none of them knew it now, this would come to be the last time the three of them shared a moment such as this together. John wept. William and Mathew had no tears to shed, though they wished so very much they had; The battle had run them dry.
The day became dusk, and as the moon climbed the summer sky, it danced with the smoke from Joseph's burning body. This was as he had wished, to die in battle, and to become again the very ash from which his body had come. When the burning was over, Mathew dumped a bucket of water on his remains, and put his bones in a bag. This would be how Joseph de Montfort would return home.
They built another fire, this one far from the last. It burned in the street, as this town was dead, and no one would raise a hand in protest. The ate some meat they had found in one of the houses, and washed it down with water from the well. The did so in silence, save the occasional weeping from John.
When they finished, William: "What are we to do for steeds?"
"'Tis a long walk home." Mathew said, laughing a little. Joseph would have said something like that. He missed his mate immediately.
"We could walk as far as Norfolk if we left our armor. Our weapons." William offered.
"I cannot allow us to return to the King without our metal, and it is a fool's errand to walk these plains without our swords." Said Mathew, sternly.
They thought on this for a while. Mathew noticed John had started to cry less and less.
"John, maybe you ought find some sleep?" He said.
John nodded, and rubbed the place on his neck where his wound had been, but now was not.
"Aye, maybe I should. Will you be joining soon?"
William laughed. "You wish to make a wife of me, John? I'll need more than an invitation, young suitor!"
This made John laugh, but Mathew found no humor that night. Nevertheless, John picked himself up, bid them a good-night, and retired to the house in which he had laid in before. Had died in before...
Alone now, William and Mathew shared a long look. Though Mathew could not know what was on his mate's mind, he had the feeling that they shared the same horrible thought.
Those beasts, the ones that still now lay strewn about the dirt road serving as the main passageway through the peasant town...could they, at one time, have lived and breathed as humans? Mathew wanted to make the thought disappear, and he ever rubbed his face furiously with hopes of rubbing away his terrible notion. Yet, it remained, even grew stronger. When William relayed the events--how the little girl on the back of John's horse had gone from pretty and scared to frightening and vicious--Mathew felt a lump raise in his throat.
Mathew left the fire, and walked slowly among the dead. Not all had been beasts; some of the corpses belonged to the peasants that served as meal in the afterlife, half chewed and most likely dead before they met their second fates at the greedy mouths of the beasts. The beasts themselves (What beasts remained whole, anyway) were frozen forever in their evil form. Mouths agape; lips parted in grotesque ways; teeth long and sharp and ugly.
Mathew wondered how any of these monsters could have been mothers, fathers, sons, daughters...but as his mind reeled back to the sight of John, there, leaning against the house, he began to see exactly how. The bite of the beast, that was what caused it. Surely it was so.
Then, another terrible thought. As Mathew began to make that connection, he turned slowly, eyes wide and his jaw slack, William had seemed to be thinking the very same thing. He rushed to his mate, wrapped his hands around his shoulders. It was then that Mathew realized that he was slowly tipping, fainting.
"Easy now, friend. Slowly," William said, bringing Mathew to the ground gently. "You need rest."
Stars filled his eyes, but Mathew's hand found its mark: The back of his leg, the thigh. There, a wound. One of the horde had sacked the back of his legs, and bit ferociously at them. He had first thought that his mail had held strong, but as his naked hand found the place, his fingers ran across hanging chain, and torn flesh.
"I've been bitten," He managed, though the darkness was seeping into his sight. "I've been bitten."
William rushed his hand to meet his mate's, and when it did, the knight stopped. Gasped. Held his breath. He thought immediately of John. Immediately, of the beasts.
William carried his mate into a house, this one a few down the road from John's, and held vigil over him until the sun rose. The night was long and cold, but welcome. This was a fine, if not disturbed, rest. William would need all of it, as the rise of the sun would also bring the rise of other things, and the final battle would commence.
******
Bing Crosby sang wistfully of holiday romance as the young lovers embraced. They had finished decorating the tree, and had eaten a nice chicken dinner. He had put a log in fireplace, while she gathered the wine glasses for the relaxing end to their day. Their love was new, their chemistry strong, and the December tunes played softly on the radio was the alchemist.
He ran his fingers through her brown hair, she longingly rubbed his shoulders. They met in a passionate embrace of rolling tongues and hungry lips, the lovers let the sounds of early winter slip away and be replaced by breathy moans and quiet, wanting cries.
He pulled at her sweater, and she let him take it over her head. His hands rushed to her breasts, where they would curiously play for a while. She tugged at his shirt, and he slid it off and threw it behind the couch. They quickly leaned into each other again, and met with the same ferocious passion as before. Smacking lips, anxious tongues, playful hands, and warm bodies, they rolled over the couch until they had taken all of their clothes off.
The tingle in their loins, the excitement that brought lumps into their throats, and the wonderfully strange feeling of being warmer naked than clothed when near the one you want so badly. He climbed between her legs seductively, his manhood at the ready, her womanhood welcoming and wet.
All of this played out before Kaden Keene, who watched with interest from the other room.
They hadn't seen him, hadn't heard him come in. Too many episodes of Buffy on lonely nights had made him wonder if coming in a house required invitation, but he quickly dispatched those irrational fears when he moved faster than sight itself could see, and walked in through the door. He had expected romance from the attractive couple, and wanted to see some of it before he fed. It had, after all, been quite a while since the last time he felt a woman's warmth.
Their breathy moans had turned into gasps of enjoyable pain. Their wanting cries had turned into primal screams of carnal pleasure. He worked his hips slowly, testing his size inside her. She took him with pride, with eager anticipation of the explosion to come.
Kaden licked his lips. The moment was not lost on him, though his mind was more and more becoming preoccupied with the hunt. As the moments passed, he saw less of what made his own manhood rise, and more of a feast that he would soon desperately need. He had not fed today, wanting this moment to be special.
That is how Kaden Keene came to accept his calling. Live in the moment, sugarcoating the kill. Make it about sex, or money, or thrills. Never make it about blood.
He thrust hard now, swinging his hips with speed and force. Her moans came faster as well, and they neared climax. She screamed, dug her nails into his arms, and shivered as her moment came. He shuddered, his face twitched, and he could thrust no more as his moment came.
And at that moment, the one they shared, Kaden moved.
Too quickly for either to see, he was on them. First, the man. Kaden snatched his closely-cropped hair and yanked his head back. He bit down with a violent clamp on the man's sweaty neck. A scream. Two. He drank. He tossed the man aside.
She kicked at him, her womanhood still swollen and open, clawed at him while she screamed. Kaden slid between her legs as her lover had, and he bit down on her neck. She shook, this time as her body went into shock. Kaden felt her pelvis thrust against his, though this was involuntary. He felt her hot breasts against his body, and he drank. And then, Kaden's moment came.
He rolled off her, like a tired lover would, and groaned. Their blood still wet on his cheeks, Kaden removed a cigarette from his pocket. He sighed at the sight of the pack...crush proof my ass, he thought. He light the stick and pulled thoughtfully at it. So many things to think about, he was glad to be full-bellied while he tried to conquer them.
In the coming days, he would face an opponent he knew better than anyone; his former tag team partner. There would be no quarter asked, and none given when they were finally allowed to get their hands on each other. Kaden liked the thought of twisting James into positions never thought possible for human form, all while the crowd fell silent at the sight of a man dying in the ring.
And no, the thought of losing never crossed his mind. At first, perhaps, but as the weeks had passed, Kaden Keene had come to understand that there was far more to his life than he had first thought. The guilt had began to subside, and the pleasure in the hunt had blossomed. Along with it, Kaden's physical awareness had grown as well. No longer was he a stumbling fool when it came to his swift movements, his new inhuman strength. No, that was in the past.
He looked back over to the girl. She was so pretty, even with one side of her throat shred like something out of a bad horror movie. Kaden was a breast man, and he would be damned if that wasn't the most perfect pair he had seen in his life. And now, as he looked over his feast, a thought occurred to him...if he left them as they were, they would not rot, their flesh would not turn black and fall away. In a matter of hours, they would simply wake up, reborn into a whole new life.
That would not do. He would need to clean up this mess, ruin the bodies until they could not hope to wake as the beast he had become. No matter the evils he committed now, Kaden would never wish this upon another. That would be too much. So, with his greatest battle on the horizon, Kaden went about the business of cutting and hacking, and ensuring that he would not play the Father role to these potential Children.
A smile crossed his lips, despite his best efforts.
A Vampire's idea of safe sex, he said aloud with a laugh.
But he looked alive. That was the hardest part to swallow.
John cast them an eye. "What's the matter, mates? Did you not think I'd pull through?"
His mates said nothing. Rather, they looked at him. No, better, they watched him. John's armor rattled as he pulled himself away from the house and came to his friends. He threw a soft slap to Mathew's shoulder.
"We've done well today!" He said, scanning the strewn bodies.
"Aye," Mathew said.
"Our horses?"
At first, neither could say a word. Then, Mathew: "Gone, John. broke their ranks and made his way, but the rest..."
John bowed his head, and nodded. A tear fell from his cheek. Mathew and William had known John to be a soft man, but he was taking the death of his steed as hard as a child would. They could not prepare him for the news of their fallen mate.
He looked at them, eyes red and cheeks wet. He went to speak, but halted himself. His gaze had taken up and over Mathew's shoulder. This was where Joseph's body lay. Or, at least, what was left of it.
"Oh no," John said, rushing past them and falling to his knees beside the dead knight. "No, this cannot be! Not Joseph!"
Mathew and William turned to watch, but had not realized that neither had yet to look upon him. The beasts had ravaged him thoroughly, leaving naught but bones in some places. His bowels had been pulled out like so many threads of rope, and strew about the dirt beside him, half-chewed. His face was not one they could recognize anymore. There was no hope that he would have lived through such an attack.
They had thought the same of John...
Though none of them knew it now, this would come to be the last time the three of them shared a moment such as this together. John wept. William and Mathew had no tears to shed, though they wished so very much they had; The battle had run them dry.
The day became dusk, and as the moon climbed the summer sky, it danced with the smoke from Joseph's burning body. This was as he had wished, to die in battle, and to become again the very ash from which his body had come. When the burning was over, Mathew dumped a bucket of water on his remains, and put his bones in a bag. This would be how Joseph de Montfort would return home.
They built another fire, this one far from the last. It burned in the street, as this town was dead, and no one would raise a hand in protest. The ate some meat they had found in one of the houses, and washed it down with water from the well. The did so in silence, save the occasional weeping from John.
When they finished, William: "What are we to do for steeds?"
"'Tis a long walk home." Mathew said, laughing a little. Joseph would have said something like that. He missed his mate immediately.
"We could walk as far as Norfolk if we left our armor. Our weapons." William offered.
"I cannot allow us to return to the King without our metal, and it is a fool's errand to walk these plains without our swords." Said Mathew, sternly.
They thought on this for a while. Mathew noticed John had started to cry less and less.
"John, maybe you ought find some sleep?" He said.
John nodded, and rubbed the place on his neck where his wound had been, but now was not.
"Aye, maybe I should. Will you be joining soon?"
William laughed. "You wish to make a wife of me, John? I'll need more than an invitation, young suitor!"
This made John laugh, but Mathew found no humor that night. Nevertheless, John picked himself up, bid them a good-night, and retired to the house in which he had laid in before. Had died in before...
Alone now, William and Mathew shared a long look. Though Mathew could not know what was on his mate's mind, he had the feeling that they shared the same horrible thought.
Those beasts, the ones that still now lay strewn about the dirt road serving as the main passageway through the peasant town...could they, at one time, have lived and breathed as humans? Mathew wanted to make the thought disappear, and he ever rubbed his face furiously with hopes of rubbing away his terrible notion. Yet, it remained, even grew stronger. When William relayed the events--how the little girl on the back of John's horse had gone from pretty and scared to frightening and vicious--Mathew felt a lump raise in his throat.
Mathew left the fire, and walked slowly among the dead. Not all had been beasts; some of the corpses belonged to the peasants that served as meal in the afterlife, half chewed and most likely dead before they met their second fates at the greedy mouths of the beasts. The beasts themselves (What beasts remained whole, anyway) were frozen forever in their evil form. Mouths agape; lips parted in grotesque ways; teeth long and sharp and ugly.
Mathew wondered how any of these monsters could have been mothers, fathers, sons, daughters...but as his mind reeled back to the sight of John, there, leaning against the house, he began to see exactly how. The bite of the beast, that was what caused it. Surely it was so.
Then, another terrible thought. As Mathew began to make that connection, he turned slowly, eyes wide and his jaw slack, William had seemed to be thinking the very same thing. He rushed to his mate, wrapped his hands around his shoulders. It was then that Mathew realized that he was slowly tipping, fainting.
"Easy now, friend. Slowly," William said, bringing Mathew to the ground gently. "You need rest."
Stars filled his eyes, but Mathew's hand found its mark: The back of his leg, the thigh. There, a wound. One of the horde had sacked the back of his legs, and bit ferociously at them. He had first thought that his mail had held strong, but as his naked hand found the place, his fingers ran across hanging chain, and torn flesh.
"I've been bitten," He managed, though the darkness was seeping into his sight. "I've been bitten."
William rushed his hand to meet his mate's, and when it did, the knight stopped. Gasped. Held his breath. He thought immediately of John. Immediately, of the beasts.
William carried his mate into a house, this one a few down the road from John's, and held vigil over him until the sun rose. The night was long and cold, but welcome. This was a fine, if not disturbed, rest. William would need all of it, as the rise of the sun would also bring the rise of other things, and the final battle would commence.
******
Bing Crosby sang wistfully of holiday romance as the young lovers embraced. They had finished decorating the tree, and had eaten a nice chicken dinner. He had put a log in fireplace, while she gathered the wine glasses for the relaxing end to their day. Their love was new, their chemistry strong, and the December tunes played softly on the radio was the alchemist.
He ran his fingers through her brown hair, she longingly rubbed his shoulders. They met in a passionate embrace of rolling tongues and hungry lips, the lovers let the sounds of early winter slip away and be replaced by breathy moans and quiet, wanting cries.
He pulled at her sweater, and she let him take it over her head. His hands rushed to her breasts, where they would curiously play for a while. She tugged at his shirt, and he slid it off and threw it behind the couch. They quickly leaned into each other again, and met with the same ferocious passion as before. Smacking lips, anxious tongues, playful hands, and warm bodies, they rolled over the couch until they had taken all of their clothes off.
The tingle in their loins, the excitement that brought lumps into their throats, and the wonderfully strange feeling of being warmer naked than clothed when near the one you want so badly. He climbed between her legs seductively, his manhood at the ready, her womanhood welcoming and wet.
All of this played out before Kaden Keene, who watched with interest from the other room.
They hadn't seen him, hadn't heard him come in. Too many episodes of Buffy on lonely nights had made him wonder if coming in a house required invitation, but he quickly dispatched those irrational fears when he moved faster than sight itself could see, and walked in through the door. He had expected romance from the attractive couple, and wanted to see some of it before he fed. It had, after all, been quite a while since the last time he felt a woman's warmth.
Their breathy moans had turned into gasps of enjoyable pain. Their wanting cries had turned into primal screams of carnal pleasure. He worked his hips slowly, testing his size inside her. She took him with pride, with eager anticipation of the explosion to come.
Kaden licked his lips. The moment was not lost on him, though his mind was more and more becoming preoccupied with the hunt. As the moments passed, he saw less of what made his own manhood rise, and more of a feast that he would soon desperately need. He had not fed today, wanting this moment to be special.
That is how Kaden Keene came to accept his calling. Live in the moment, sugarcoating the kill. Make it about sex, or money, or thrills. Never make it about blood.
He thrust hard now, swinging his hips with speed and force. Her moans came faster as well, and they neared climax. She screamed, dug her nails into his arms, and shivered as her moment came. He shuddered, his face twitched, and he could thrust no more as his moment came.
And at that moment, the one they shared, Kaden moved.
Too quickly for either to see, he was on them. First, the man. Kaden snatched his closely-cropped hair and yanked his head back. He bit down with a violent clamp on the man's sweaty neck. A scream. Two. He drank. He tossed the man aside.
She kicked at him, her womanhood still swollen and open, clawed at him while she screamed. Kaden slid between her legs as her lover had, and he bit down on her neck. She shook, this time as her body went into shock. Kaden felt her pelvis thrust against his, though this was involuntary. He felt her hot breasts against his body, and he drank. And then, Kaden's moment came.
He rolled off her, like a tired lover would, and groaned. Their blood still wet on his cheeks, Kaden removed a cigarette from his pocket. He sighed at the sight of the pack...crush proof my ass, he thought. He light the stick and pulled thoughtfully at it. So many things to think about, he was glad to be full-bellied while he tried to conquer them.
In the coming days, he would face an opponent he knew better than anyone; his former tag team partner. There would be no quarter asked, and none given when they were finally allowed to get their hands on each other. Kaden liked the thought of twisting James into positions never thought possible for human form, all while the crowd fell silent at the sight of a man dying in the ring.
And no, the thought of losing never crossed his mind. At first, perhaps, but as the weeks had passed, Kaden Keene had come to understand that there was far more to his life than he had first thought. The guilt had began to subside, and the pleasure in the hunt had blossomed. Along with it, Kaden's physical awareness had grown as well. No longer was he a stumbling fool when it came to his swift movements, his new inhuman strength. No, that was in the past.
He looked back over to the girl. She was so pretty, even with one side of her throat shred like something out of a bad horror movie. Kaden was a breast man, and he would be damned if that wasn't the most perfect pair he had seen in his life. And now, as he looked over his feast, a thought occurred to him...if he left them as they were, they would not rot, their flesh would not turn black and fall away. In a matter of hours, they would simply wake up, reborn into a whole new life.
That would not do. He would need to clean up this mess, ruin the bodies until they could not hope to wake as the beast he had become. No matter the evils he committed now, Kaden would never wish this upon another. That would be too much. So, with his greatest battle on the horizon, Kaden went about the business of cutting and hacking, and ensuring that he would not play the Father role to these potential Children.
A smile crossed his lips, despite his best efforts.
A Vampire's idea of safe sex, he said aloud with a laugh.