Dragon of the Damned and other Journal Exerpts

[Enzo Dragomir]

Enzo stared at his computer screen. It remained black, void of anything. He felt that mimicked his thoughts accurately enough. Why write a journal when the nothing caused by the off switch matched him so well? That wasn't to say he had no emotions, no feelings. They were just too complicated and better left off like the desktop. Pushing back from the desk the newly turned Allurist picked up his pack of Sobranie blacks, flicking the box open to let the scent of the Russian cigarettes soothe him. Tapping one out he struck the top of his monogrammed silver lighter and inhaled as the flame hit the tobacco.

He spent another several minutes like this, just inhaling the Sobranie and watching the smoke curl from his lips. Like the smog from a dragon. Like him. He was a dragon now so it seemed even more fitting he continue his preferred bad habit. Correction. Bad habit that could be enjoyed in public. There were myriad 'bad' habits he had acquired along the way thanks to his world clever father. August Vaughn knew how to grab down the depths of depravity and bring up honey. And the man had taught his son well.

Knowing he was putting off the inevitable he struck out the Sobranie at the bottom of an ashtray and turned the desktop on. Cruised past his former work folders and brainstorm caches full of advertising ideas. Enzo was a master at the advertisement, the stress, power, crushing his competition for a dollar. It was all game to him. He realized he probably wasn't going to win any humanitarian medals, wasn't a 'nice guy' and certainly could be called a few choice words fairly accurately.

And that was when he had been human. Now he was all that and then some. King of the cutthroat. That thought made him laugh, images of tearing out the throats of his former opposition and drinking them down like a sports drink.

Sobering quickly enough the blank document loomed. Enzo had always kept careful journals. They helped him stay ahead of himself, never repeating what didn't work. Readjusting himself against logs of experiences and thoughts. He usually enjoyed the writing but tonight his thoughts were still too tender, exposed. Going 0-60 from Science is my God to I'm a Creature of the Night was insanity waiting to happen. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it and here he was sitting, smoking, dead.

He thought about his new 'family' his new blood. What did that mean exactly? Was he now invited to all the vampire disco events? Was he supposed to become a brooding mess like that asshole in interview with a vampire? That Louis Loser. It was all whine time about being a monster until someone tried to end it for him. The freshly hatched Dragon Soul inside him roared with laughter and menace. Suddenly reaching out he grabbed hold of the desk edge, squeezing with almost crushing power until he settled himself back down. That was it. That was why he had been just sitting here kind of meditating. These emotions were everywhere. He couldn't just feel something, he FELT it. Capitol F... he was going to Hell on a Dragon's back cry laughing his insanity all the way down.

How the Hell did his Sire control this? Finally he felt he could let his grip on the desk go, adjusting the cuffs of his Italian suit. The cuff links caught his eye and he lost himself again in the black depths of the onyx and gold. Forgetting everything even himself for minutes at a time. Like Buddha himself was going to rise from the cold stone universe and tell him how to control his emotions.

Something had to give. He couldn't go out like this and keep sane. 'Dragon Rampage Destroys High Dollar Whore House. News at 10:00.' Brat ******* Prince indeed. Shaking his thoughts free he got down to business at hand. Jamming his fingers over the KB as he started his Dark Path Journal.

Hey Enzo. It's me Enzo.

[Enzo Dragomir]

( this journal is for ooc knowledge only and is kept hidden in the wall behind his medicine cabinet )


Enzo, it's me Enzo.

I'm going to be hand writing my journals from now on. I heard about these 'ghost in the machine' type fangs and figure safety first. I met my brood brother Azrael this week. He's one of those calm to fathomless depths until you're too deep and get crushed by nature types. Get away now Defcon One you've gone too far. I savvy that. August was like that. Smooth as melted chocolate and just as bad for you if you ate too much. Az is bro to the bone though. I'm going to make a deal with him. Teach me how to stamp down the off the chart emotions and I'll owe him a future. I don't have much yet. But I will. I'm a God Damned Dragon.

So now that I'm the boogeyman it's time to learn how to operate from my under the bed. I had to quit work at the firm. Can't think up logo's for Victoria's Secret when all you want to do is fang bang the models. Once I get my shite in control and can be unchained for company I plan on grabbing up some property and starting my own. I can even operate during the day too. Not me in the flesh but this thrall thing. Slave some unsuspecting hopefully useful tool. Could have used that when I was a breather.

There's other perks too. Don't want to look back at this and think it was all bleak and emo. I'm sharper now. More focused than ever. I thought I was quick before but my mind goes at lamborghini pace now. If I stay topped off with blood my energy is on par with a no aderall having hyper active two year old. I can GO man. Women are easier too. I always had a way with them, they can smell if you appreciate the fineness of them and I do that in spades. Now they slam their panties to the ground dying for disco. Down side? I can't get in there. I mean I 'can' but there's some bad shite that goes down if you do. Whatever it is I don't want part of it so I have to be extra creative. Wait did I say that was a down side?

I've been on the hunt for some high class pay as you go that has fang willing participants. You have to figure there's some out there, too much money to be made to not. I don't do clingy and clingy comes with your typical steady piece of ***. Less drunk text drama if you pay to play. I'll have to ask Az.

Been getting my portfolio in order. I've always been a power creeper, never see me coming 'til it's too late to change it. I've been called a workaholic before, but if it comes to it I'm all about the power. They say ( and man 'they' are right ) fame is the poor mans version of power. Any mug can be known these days but it takes sacrifice and commitment to power. You get that? You're untouchable. I feel this beast in my chest and it's spitting fire wanting out. And when a dragon wants free? You free the Dragon.

[Enzo Dragomir]

It was a quiet early evening in HR. Enzo stood on his small balcony that floated several stories above the dark streets. He registered that it was a cold one out here. Not by any physical discomfort but the dress of the people hurrying to wherever it was they were going. Turning on the nightly news helped him dress appropriately. Couldn't be out in a trendy short sleeve geek chic if it was 20 below.

Slowly rolling his exhale, smoke from the sobranie curling over his head barely seen in the dark. He was debating going out for a long evening. Or cut it short with a quick happy meal. The dine and dash didn't appeal to the Allurist, he far preferred the hunt. Lee Morgan's trumpet solo'd mellow in the background until 'Since I fell for you' picked up with the bass and piano. Adding to his feel of being alone. Some hiss from a nearby neon sign joined into the melody, all Humphrey Bogart. He needed to decide soon before he lost that cool vibe he was wearing.

He'd been a damn fine hunter all his life. Game had been different but that didn't matter. Just had to use the right weapons. Now he hunted for food not sport. Didn't take away the pleasure of it. No it did not. Enzo didn't care if it were catch and release or big game kill. It all was in the build up. Finding 'the one' for the night. He couldn't help the snarky inner comment with that thought. At first he'd felt like a criminal, some well dressed version of Dahmer. All raw seduction lure and then being overcome with the blood.

Enzo was still learning to combine the two into less of a potential live newsbreak. When he chose? He chose someone who completely took his head. Talented, beautiful, freakish, unique.. What did it matter 'why' they were special? It just mattered that they were. Maybe it was the freaky vampire genes sorting him to get ready for siring his own brats.

Exhaling again, the scent of the black cigarette mellowing him further, almost numb now. He knew he wasn't going to find his tonights bride of dracula standing on the rail. He just wasn't ready to feel the flood of senses yet. He made quite the picture standing out there in the dark. That wasn't even ego talking. Across the street a curtain moved and he watched a petite blonde stare at him. Going on 10 minutes now. She thought she was being covert but his blood enhanced gaze could clearly make her out.

He didn't know if that was typical of all vamps or if it was the dragon eyes he'd inherited. For now it didn't matter, she was definitely interested in something about him. And that interested Enzo. Flicking his cig over the rail he leaned back against the French door leading into his flat. The Versace thin stitch lapel he wore was the perfect shade of charcoal to blend into the dark.

It worked because he could see her looking flustered, moving against the drapes to see if he'd just gone inside. Enzo counted the windows up her building and over, noting what number that would be. Maybe this guy didn't have to go far after all.

Something in him balked at the thought. There was attractiveness about his peeping Thom that begged he take his time. Savour the rush of the long chase. Close in and then let her slip away only to be pulled back again. It was cruel he guessed. He really didn't care. His Dragon heart had found a treasure and all it needed now was to mark it as his. Enzo was spectacular at marking his territory and keeping it. She just didn't know it yet.

[Enzo Dragomir]

His form was still, muscles flexed with exertion. Arm bent with elbow out at his side, his other hand gripped the sword, extended halfway from his body. He remained in this stance for several more minutes, training his arms to hold the weight of the weapon without movement to alleviate the tension. The sword, a Montante was long, bordering on a polearm and could only be carried across his back. Enzo was tall and with his vampiric strength he found the heavier weapons a better match for his reach.

He'd begun training again recently having given it up years ago in University. Fencing had played a part in his criteria mostly to keep him graceful and aggressive. Now he knew he needed it for survival. Turning in an arc, both hands taking the hilt into a thrusting motion, sword held over his head he stopped again. Holding. Tearing his muscles down to be rebuilt better. Stronger.

Enzo gritted his teeth fangs extending. Narrowing his dragon gaze he willed them back. Control. He would learn control. His nature had already been disciplined. You didn't partake in the illicit activities he preferred and lack self control. An iron will. Now he felt himself evolving. Becoming more reptilian soul. His Lizard brain taking over. That didn't mean he was losing his satirical sense of humour. It just was more cruel. Darker. Colder.

He wanted to drink the world. Make it his. He wanted his own horde. A great pile of 'mine'. He didn't care how he got it. By stealth or force. So here he was, honing his new body. Demanding things of it he would never have considered as a human. The hell of it was he was beginning to think he had never been more alive since he'd been dead.

His emotions were still chaotic. But he was learning to sift through them. Grab one that seemed the most 'shiny' and spread it like silk through his brain. He didn't care if it were appropriate for the time. What did he care if he really did become that brat prince? Seemed to him those who thought further from the box won. Look at his Sire. His family. He wanted that. Wanted to protect that.

Was that a by product of all fangs? Protect your own? Or was that a side effect of Dragon. You became Dragon and it became yours. And Dragons protected their things. To the death. That was another hard one to wrap his brain around. You die here in HR? You go to this shadow place and wait to be spit back out. You die anywhere else? Gone. Seemed stupid to ever leave then. Finishing his last sword form he lowered his arms, the muscles tense and shaking until he stretched them. He'd been fit when he was turned. His body had always been a pride of sorts. August his mercenary prick of a father had demanded it since he was young.

No son of his would be soft. Enzo excelled in firearms, loved hunting. Stalking prey. Thanks to his father. Bow, knives, guns. Hell he even used just his hands to break a neck. Now when he fanged out it was all second nature. He'd gone completely native. Loved it.

Strolling toward the showers he went to clean up, start the night right. He'd roamed past a few clubs he wanted to check out. Noting where they were, looking them up on regular interweb and then on crownet. Couple of them looked promising. A place to toy with some blood dolls, mingle with other monsters. Be a monster. He wouldn't miss his humanity. He wasn't sure he had ever had any to begin with. Whatever. Less to miss.

He could use a good scotch and woman. Drink them both down. Hone his 'allure'. First he was going to check on that blonde in the building across the way. She certainly was checking him out every night. He was going to give her one hell of a show. Pretty little creeper that she was. Yeah. THAT was funny AND inappropriate. His faves.

[Enzo Dragomir]

Shuffling paper broke the late night silence. The conference room in the office suite now empty but for the lone man collecting the array of contracts and forms piled on the large table. Enzo Vaughn impeccable in a dove gray Canali power suit, smirked as he picked up the sheets of triumph and put them in his briefcase. He'd managed to pull into contract a large book chain that would put a little known author on the map.

Enzo had read the mystery, the launch of a series that was contracted for at least five more. It was good but that didn't surprise him. The owner of the publishing house Whitaker Concord had an eye for talent. Vampiric owned and operated. Easy enough to explain the round the clock hours, book sales were world wide. The Allurist rabidly headed the Euro campaign. Day there was his night. He was a perfect fit coming from London himself.

Meeting some of the power players from the pitch for drinks didn't make him hurry. Let them wait. Gave him the edge from the start, told them he was not at their mercy but fully in charge. The night was still relatively young. Finished gathering the hard fought contracts he rounded the table and walked out heading to Whit's empty office to drop off the win. Enzo felt alive again. Back in the game of PR and Marketing Advertisement. Sales on a global scale. It was hardly a shock that his favourite show was Mad Men.

That got a snort of laughter from the polished man. More like Vexed Vampires. Dropping off the folders he left the array of offices, passing by his own but not stopping. He was on such a kill high nothing could distract him from the victory lap. He realized what he was feeling was twice the power rush he would have felt when human. To him that was a perk, this was better than any nose candy loo celebration he'd ever had. Finally he was finding the gold lining in the horror.

Already charming, blessed with his English fathers patrician good looks, his mums Italian depth, colour and mystery, he was a true threat now. His blood seemed to give him that something that put him over the top. Bend people to his wants. Wrap them up and brand his name on their foreheads. There were downsides. People looked at him closer, paid more attention to him, wanted to see him. Made feeding trickier but hell if Enzo didn't find the challenge just flavour for the hunt.

Sliding his impressive 6'4 frame into the low slung sports car, Enzo tore off into the night. He hoped there would be more conquests to notch this nights belt.

[Enzo Dragomir]

Enzo's dragon gaze narrowed behind the trendy round lenses of his sunglasses as he took in the spectacle going on before him. She looked ready to burst an artery right there in the lobby. The extremely attractive brunette was inhaling to begin another tirade designed to emasculate him. He couldn't decide if he were amused or murderous. More than likely both if he had the time to sort the feelings out from overwhelming. He watched her as her delicate flesh the colour of sweet cream began to mottle with rage. Yessss her head was likely to explode at this rate.

He had no idea what she was even going on about so little attention was he paying to her heated words. His manhood was safe. It helped when you just didn't give a shite. She was definitely something special though. Enzo could see why he chose her a few weeks past. Such passion, spark, floral beauty covering a monsters desires and anger. And that sweet little tattoo she had on her ***, the coiled dragon wrapped around the celtic word for power. "cumhacht". It was god damned glorious how dirty it sounded out loud. Like he should be answering where do you want me to cumhact babe?

Enzo could feel his interest peaking again. And that is when he really pissed her off. He began to laugh. Rich full bodied straight from the gut laughter. Here she was trying to castrate him and all she was doing was making him want to man her to the ground and have his way again. He might even call her back this time. He looked over to the doorman trying valiantly to appear uninterested in their dispute and moved his stance so that his broad back completely kept her from view. Dangerously unaware she was being stalked and maneuvered Anna? yes it was Anna continued to tell him he didn't deserve a woman, his member, or his life.

With blinding speed Enzo's hand shot out from his side and his fingers cupped her jaw with enough strength to shock her into silence, but not enough to hurt her. He was very good at measuring just how much pain to inflict to gather the desired pleasure. Ah yes, her brown eyes were softening now, wide and melting like chocolate. Anna believed she had won, goaded him into giving her just what she was itching for. Being mastered.

Her tattoo wasn't meant to symbolize herself. It was an invitation. The Allurists amusement full on inappropriate now was seeping into his wicked grin, the white of his teeth visible as his handsome face became menacing. Enzo began to move her toward the lift, using his natural grace to make it seem he had calmed the beast and their lovers quarrel was finished, driving her to do exactly what he wanted.

It was easier when they wanted it too. His dragon brain was on full hunt, his treasure for the night plopped right into his claws. And just like a dragon intoxicated by his horde, Enzo leaned into the curve of her neck as the lift doors closed, his hand still holding her immobile, stopping just at the point of her pulse that let off her heated scent with each heart pump. He inhaled the sweet secrets of her, dragon eyes closing behind his glasses to worship the heat and life she was about to gift him. Just as she went almost limp against him he released her, stepping back as the doors opened to his apartment. Anna slid to the floor, her mahogany hair hiding the dazed look plumping her lips, dilating her eyes.. "Go inside and pour me a drink Anna." was all he said as he readjusted his tie.

Anna gathered herself to do just so, a sob of relief escaping her. The darling. Enzo released another bout of deep laughter. SO inappropriate, and only getting more so. He didn't even have to leave his building. Death was so damn good. Tame -this- you little shrew.

[Enzo Dragomir]

The Montante slipped easily through the cloth, coming out gleaming on the other side. Dark ichor staining the silk yet further. Having already met it's quota for zombie gut absorption it barely managed its job. Enzo looked down the long length of his sword of choice, checking for gauges or other imperfections in the blade. Long and deadly, 125 cm of double edged folded steel, even the hilt was long, 42 cm. A 6/2 ratio. The 'guard' at the hilt didn't end the hilt as most swords did. The leather casing extended further down the blade to a secondary guard. It made the Montante essentially two weapons. A polearm and big *** sword.

Enzo had learned to wield it while taking the more traditional fencing. The enormous sword was now used to separate two combatants when they became too heated. Now? It was a fan of destruction when surrounded by the walking dead. The brainless type, not his type. You had to be clear these nights. He finished cleaning the cherished weapon, he'd been gifted it by his Fencing Master when he graduated. It was one of the few times his father had been proud of a legal accomplishment of Enzo's. Usually praise was reserved for seedier dealings.

August was a Mercenary. Correction really... August owned Mercenaries. Armies of them. His company was quite legal in Europe and most sought after by those shadier than even August himself. Warriors from all walks of life applied there, and some even became the elite. You never heard on the news mention of Mercs. They were usually there even before the more up and up military special forces, leaving the aftermath for the Armies to clean up.

Kidnappings, Assassinations, Flat out murder. That was Augusts bread and butter. The stern patriarch of Vaughn did everything for that one purpose. Even marrying Enzo's mother Simonetta. A diplomat and Publicist of world wide renown she was exactly the person August needed to keep his nose publicly clean. Didn't hurt she was ravishing as well.

Enzo walked over to the bed, slipping the large weapon alongside the edge, slapping the well rounded *** of the woman filling the rest and turned to go clean up. He hadn't meant to spend the evening killing slobbering squishy things with anger issues. He'd gone out to make an under the table connection to food in a bag. Donor juice. He'd heard tell of others making use of the convenience, and knew it was smart. Especially with how things were going down in the city lately. Shite he'd never have guessed when human. Who would? Like living an AMC chanel adventure every damned night right here in Canada. CANADA the zombie apocalypse and fang return with a vengeance starts in Canada.

He grinned as he ducked his head under the shower head, his nights companion smart enough to remain quiet until needed. He'd spent a few evenings with her in the past and she was hot enough that in a pinch he'd ring her. He'd made it to the meeting with the peon in wing tips, a punk *** kid with visions of Al Capone dancing in his head. Enzo was about to finish dealing with the frog, kid tried to hide the accent under a blatant false New York Hells Kitchen dive talk, but he was French. There was this loud bang from the sewers running beneath the alley where the under the table deal was going down, and the manhole started vomiting corpses.

Corpses that moved. The stench would have gagged Enzo had he been breathing and lucky for the Frog Prince next to him the Brit was quick to reflexes. He practically threw the small human magic wielder toward the opening of the alley as a herd of death started stumbling towards them. Whoever said magic was great in a fight must not have been fighting with this kid. Enzo felt a surge of energy come from behind him, pass over him toward the horde and then... nothing.

Nothing but the sound of the kids wing tips beating retreat. He'd pulled the Montante from the scabbard behind his back, the only way to carry a sword that size even at his height and taken that proverbial breath.

Turning the water off, Enzo began to towel dry his hair, bits of zombie having gone back down the drain from whence they came. He wrapped it around his waist and headed back to his bedroom, pouring himself a scotch before lounging onto the bed next to his flavour of the night. His arm rested casually on the curve of her back, his hand idly stroking the soft peach of an ***, not really noting it at all as he drank.

He wondered what was being done about the paranormal surge. He wondered also how the masquerade could possibly be kept much longer under such conditions. He needed to talk to his brood brother Azrael. Az was the closest thing to true friend Enzo had ever had. He was certain the older fang would have some information on the situation. Then he finally wondered before setting his glass aside to dive into the blood pudding next to him, how many vamp mercs would it take to keep that shite under control?