Jesse could feel the heat at his back, licking the back of his calves, threatening to break through the thickness of his hooded coat. Were he human there’d be sweat sliding, slick down the line of his spine. But he was not human, and there was no sweat. Instead, he had blood sliding slick over his chin and hot down his throat, smoked with fear and fire.
From the city – from those homes and campers closest to its limits – people started to notice the blaze. In fact, they had started to notice at the exact moment the woman had said they would. Sirens drifted through the trees, a melody on the wings of the breeze. The trucks wouldn’t make it through the wilderness; the people gathered with their hoses, waiting to fend off the fury that would threaten to take their homes. It crackled and grew, roaring in the wake of the woman who now was skipping merrily around in circles, as if the fire were a plaything, a pet, something to gambol through the undergrowth with.
Jesse would, of course, agree.
His answers found and his thirst (somewhat) sated – it would never truly be satisfied – he released the husk that his victim had become and laughed. Eyes that were normally an ice blue now danced with the flickering jig of the fire. He cared not if his skin were to burn and blister; the pain was always a welcome distraction, a reprieve he had never known he was addicted to until he’d been turned, until he’d known the miracle of swift recoveries.
”You wanted a hunt,” he said. ”They’re on their way,” he added. His hand plunged into his pocket where his fingers touched upon the tome that would, with a few muttered words, whisk him away and deposit him within the lair’s walls. Away from the fire, away from the good Samaritans who would try to douse its course. First, he wanted to see how the chaos played out.
From the city – from those homes and campers closest to its limits – people started to notice the blaze. In fact, they had started to notice at the exact moment the woman had said they would. Sirens drifted through the trees, a melody on the wings of the breeze. The trucks wouldn’t make it through the wilderness; the people gathered with their hoses, waiting to fend off the fury that would threaten to take their homes. It crackled and grew, roaring in the wake of the woman who now was skipping merrily around in circles, as if the fire were a plaything, a pet, something to gambol through the undergrowth with.
Jesse would, of course, agree.
His answers found and his thirst (somewhat) sated – it would never truly be satisfied – he released the husk that his victim had become and laughed. Eyes that were normally an ice blue now danced with the flickering jig of the fire. He cared not if his skin were to burn and blister; the pain was always a welcome distraction, a reprieve he had never known he was addicted to until he’d been turned, until he’d known the miracle of swift recoveries.
”You wanted a hunt,” he said. ”They’re on their way,” he added. His hand plunged into his pocket where his fingers touched upon the tome that would, with a few muttered words, whisk him away and deposit him within the lair’s walls. Away from the fire, away from the good Samaritans who would try to douse its course. First, he wanted to see how the chaos played out.
