Crash [ Nishaa ]

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

When he was a child, Randall Thorne used to imagine that the night was a giant sheet pulled over the world, with holes poked in it to let in the twinkling pinpoints of light that were the stars. His mind would goggle at the cyclopean scale of this sheet thrown across the sky, and he would wonder what horrifying force existed on the other side, what the source of all that unimaginable light might be. It always made him slightly uneasy, and suspicious that were forces in the universe beyond his comprehension and control. And yet, as long he could remember, he was drawn to the night, and to thoughts of what might exist beyond it.

Perhaps that was why he had chosen to make this five hundred mile trek from New York to Toronto in the dead of night. (Perhaps that was also why night was always the time in which he committed his terrible crimes). In the cockpit of his Piper Mirage, he felt safer in the dark than in the daylight. As he carefully guided the single engine plane between the clouds and the land, Sherry (at least he thought that was her name) slipped in and out of consciousness in the seat next to his. The woman was no stranger to soaring through the sky, though it was usually with the use of illegal narcotics. Tonight was no exception. The young blonde was typical of the arm-candy that Randall Thorne could be seen accompanied by on a nightly basis as he made his way through the social circles of New York's upscale nightlife. Thorne had made his fortune very young, and with deadly efficiency, on the blood soaked killing floor that was the Wall Street stock exchange, earning enough for support a lavish lifestyle that included an apartment in Upper Manhattan by the time he was in his mid-twenties.

The luxury afforded by his wealth allowed him to indulge in other... proclivities. Thorne had discovered early in his life that he fit the definition of what would be considered a sociopath. Empathy, or even sympathy, was an emotion that was non-existant for him. His ruthless nature had served him well as a stockbroker. It was generally recommended that one had to have ice in one's veins (as well as generous helpings of cocaine) in order to be successful on Wall Street. And Randal Thorne was a cold hearted ********, no question. The problem was that rush of power he felt from controlling people's lives through money had ceased to be enough. He realized soon enough that there were other ways.

It started as simply as the reselling of oxycontin garnered through falsified prescriptions to coworkers and friends. But Randall Thorne didn't do anything half-assed, and soon his drug empire had expanded to the streets, bringing him into conflict with others: Nicaraguans, Jamaicans, Russians. There were people who felt they had cornered a certain market on the illegal drug trade in New York, and didn't appreciate new competition. Typically one hired muscle to deal with these problems. The street soldiers fought the wars so that the kingpins could keep on getting rich. But Randall Thorne was a hands on kind of guy. One summer, as a teenager, he had rebuilt an engine from scratch for his '71 Camaro. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty; in fact, he relished the opportunity. Gang bangers would frequently report of raids on their safe houses consisting of the usual meat heads for hire, but always lead by a man in a well-cut suit, face obscured by a black ski mask, with black leather gloves worn to prevent any finger prints. And though the man carried a gun, he also carried a long, wicked blade. And once the gun play was over, if you were unlikely enough to survive the initial confrontation, that's when he would really go to work; work that everyone agreed the masked psycho really seemed to enjoy.

It got to the point where most of his hired muscle were quitting after a few jobs. They couldn't take what they were seeing; their boss's homicidal tendencies were too much even for most of these thugs to bear. Thorne didn't mind. He was realizing quickly that his heart just wasn't in the drug trade. It was in the killing. Soon his drug operations closed down altogether (it wasn't as though he needed the money). But the murders didn't stop. Many drug lords who considered themselves untouchable would be found in an alley or a dumpster; found in a state that would cause any rookie cops on the scene to lose their breakfast. Sometimes they would be found in more than one place around the city.

Though publicly the police decried vigilantism, behind closed doors they were relieved to see so many scum bags leaving the streets in pieces. They did little to stop "Mack the Knife" (their own clever little nickname for the dapper killer of unknown identity, taken of course from the Bobby Darrin song of the same name). But within a couple of months, the police were finding that they were pulling less palatable cases of homicide; corpses belonging not just to drug dealers but homeless people, prostitutes and their johns, card sharks. It came to a head when an undercover cop was pulled from the Hudson with the same M.O. as the other killings. It had become time to tighten the noose and pull this guy in. Randall had caught the scent of blood in the water. He knew the sharks were beginning to circle. He transferred his money to an off-shore account, and pulled up stakes. Grabbing a private plane and this floozie for a cover story (Little vacation, just me and the missus), he headed across the border. He had enough money. He would start over. Of course, Shelly (Sherry? Sharon?) already knew too much. As soon as they landed in Toronto, she would have to go...

The problem was, Randall had never flown this far before. His navigation skills were limited over long distances, and judging from the amount of trees he had been seeing for the last forty minutes or so, he had a hunch that he was radically off course. He should have brought along an actual navigator instead of the comatose drug fiend who occupied the cabin with him. Just when he thought the forest would never end, he saw lights below him, the lights of a medium sized city or town. It certainly wasn't Toronto. The woman started to stir. "Where are we?" she mumbled, her eyes only half open, still pulling herself out of the deep. drug-induced haze. Goddammit, he thought. The plane would be running out of fuel soon. He should have studied astronomy more in school. He could've used the stars to guide him. Those pin pricks of unholy light. He stared out through the cockpit at the stars scattered across the night sky. And then everything went dark.

He vaguely remembered falling. And screaming (though he couldn't recall if the screams had been his or those of his female companion). And then a horrible sound, like a garbage truck dropped off the Empire State Building. The sounds of a single engine plane being torn to pieces. His eyes flickered open, and he saw red. Blood from a gash in his forehead was dripping into his eyes. He lay on what appeared to be a forest floor. Everywhere around him were pieces of his plane. Directly in front of him was what remained of the cockpit, sticking out from the ground at an absurd angle. The windshield was completely gone. Apparently he had been thrown. But even so, how had he survived?

The were flames licking some of the debris that had been scattered. They cast a flickering, eerie light on the scene of the carnage. Randall tried getting to his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he braced himself against a nearby tree and allowed it pass. First things first, he had to see if the girl was still alive. It only took him half the distance to the cockpit to know that she wasn't. What was still strapped into the passenger seat was completely missing a head. It was all Randall needed to know. His brain addled by concussion, he followed an instinct that told him to get away from this grisly scene, and head back to the lights of the town he had been flying over when... when what? He still wasn't sure what had happened to cause his plane to crash.

As he passed through trees deeper into the woods in what he hoped was the right direction, his instincts were validated by the sudden sound of an explosion and a temporary brightening of the forest around him. Apparently some of the plane's fuel had not yet lit up, and those flickering flames had finally done their work. That's good., he thought. The evidence of my existence will go up in smoke. It was the best way to truly start over. With his suit hanging off him in tatters and blood and dirt smeared on his face, Randall Thorne continued staggering through the woods. As he passed through a copse of trees and into an open field, he was rewarded with the glow of halogen lights in the distance; street lamps! He crossed the field, heading toward some sort of building on the outskirts of town. His cell phone had been lost in the wreckage. Perhaps he could borrow a phone; find the nearest hospital. Check in under a false name, or claim amnesia. His plan was still on track, and this little bump in the road may have ended up being a blessing in disguise.

[Nishaa]

The Necromancer turned over the silk, purple sheets followed her as she turned to look at her sleeping wife. The mocha skinned woman was sleeping contently. She lifted the woman’s arm so she could unhook herself from her, careful not to disturb her she didn’t want to wake the woman up. She was so fragile and petite Nishaa was constantly protecting her from the world. Marjani was her responsibility not only as her eternal wife, but as her childe. She brought the woman into this darkness. Despite their rocky start - and her forced siring. Marjani had clung to the woman, she never gave up on the darkness that was inside Nishaa, the darkness that was still inside her now. Marjani was her light. Marjani was one of the very few that had seen her compassion, and her kindness - the true Nishaa behind her high walls.

Clambering out of bed stark nude. The pale woman made her way over the chest of drawers where she began to fish for clothes. Nishaa had an odd sense of fashion. Leather trousers - tight fitting, with a childish tee. A pink ‘My Little Pony’ top was always her favourite. Usually made her seem so cute and adorable to people when really she was a vicious, psychotic *****. Heh, who knew.

Grabbing Hydra from it’s resting place amongst her other weapons. Hydra. A sniper rifle which had been made for her - by someone whom she didn’t know. Micah had given it to her as a gift. It’s sight was accurate, deadly. The grip was easy - it fit snugly into her petite frame and the damage it could do, was ridiculous. She could shoot someone in the head with this rifle and they would turn to ash in front of her. She never left the Eyrie - or their hotel room without it. Nishaa had enemies. Enemies that would want to see her dead and she would not give them the satisfaction of taking her down so easily without fighting back at least - taking most of them down with her.

Closing the hotel door behind her with a soft click she made her way to the fadeportal. The one that would lead her to Bullwood. She fancied going into the wilderness and looking for plants for Micah and his rituals. It had been a while since she had scavenged - it would be a change of pace for her, considering she was an expert thief.

Feet hit the pavement with a soft thud.

Onyx hues looked around herself as she began to make her way towards the threshold of the woods. It welcomed her into its earthly embrace as she canted her head. Above her a jet skydived flying past her with a massive ‘WHOOSH’. Nishaa found herself blinking. Did she really just see a jet? Next thing she knew the ground shook underneath her feet as the metal and earth collided and met each other. She could smell it then, smoke. It illuminated the wilderness. The humans around her were already on their phones calling whoever it was they called. Pushing branches aside Nishaa slipped inside - and headed for the scene.

She could smell it then, blood. Nishaa always loved the scent of it - even better when it mixed with the dirt. She ran to the scene - the fire was tall, and building. Shards of metal were scattered across the ground. The body of a woman not too far away - pooled in her own blood with a debris in her back. She didn’t need to feel her pulse to know that she was dead - there was no way someone impaled with a **** ton of debris could possibly alive.

Unless you were a vampire.

She swivelled on her heel, looking for any other sign of life. There was none - she came to the automatic conclusion that this jet was private. It was no public aeroplane that was certain. She scowled then. ”Rich Bastards” Could be heard under her breathe as she began to follow a set of footprints heading away from the wreckage. She followed them quickly. There was a survivor. Perhaps she eat this one all up. She licked her fangs in anticipation. She caught up to the male quite quickly.

”You survived, it seems.” She said to him. Hands folded across her chest as she looked at him curiously. She could smell blood on him, his own. It wasn’t life threatening. ”Was it yours?”

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

As Randall Thorne staggered through the woods, he began doing an inventory of his wounds. There was the gash on his forehead, possibly a concussion as well which would account for the dizziness. He could also feel sticky wetness running down his left leg. The blood appeared to be coming from two sources, his side and his thigh, the two streams mingling as they puddled in his shoe. Though the wound in his leg ached terribly, he suspected it was mostly superficial; the biggest concern being if any shards of shrapnel had lodged there which could potentially become infected. It was his side, just below the rib cage, that concerned him more. It felt deep, and that meant that organs or internal bleeding could be involved. He would definitely have to find a hospital.

Throughout all of these thoughts, Thorne remained eerily calm. This was not his first rodeo. More than once, a drug raid in New York had gone south, and Thorne was the only one to walk out of a scene alive from which ten or more of his men had walked into. Thorne was a survivor. An alpha predator. He would survive this.

”You survived, it seems.” She said to him. Hands folded across her chest as she looked at him curiously. She could smell blood on him, his own. It wasn’t life threatening. ”Was it yours?”

Thorne spun around at the sound of the woman's voice, almost losing his balance as another wave of dizziness hit him. She stood there looking at him with a sneer of disdain that Thorne recognized all too well. It was the same sort of contempt he showed for his victims, right before he sliced them to ribbons. Where the **** did you come from? he thought to himself. Her attire was completely incongruous to her surroundings. She had a high-powered rifle slung across her back, which implied, despite the late hour, that she might have been out hunting. However the clothes told a different story. The leather pants and tee shirt were more akin to the typical dress code of some party-goer who had just come from a night out at the clubs. The combination told him what he needed to know. Hunters dressed like hunters. Criminals dressed however the **** they wanted.

"My plane crashed back there, he said to the dark-haired woman. "Can you help me get to a hospital?" Thorne put his hand on the small of his back, as if it ached badly and needed support. As a matter of fact, it did, but that was not his first concern. Under his torn and bloody jacket and clipped to his belt were a sheath for his hunting knife and a holster for his .44 Combat edition Magnum. The advantages of not flying commercial included not having to check his weapons. For a drug-dealing serial killer on the run from the police, that was pretty important.

As he shifted his hand and fingered the clip on the holster, he noted the pleasing appearance of this woman. There was something he found very attractive about the fact that she might actually be intending to kill him. Randall Thorne was twisted like that. Nonetheless, he had no intention of letting the gun-nut in the My Little Pony tee add to his inventory of injuries.

[Nishaa]

He spun like a ballerina stuck to a box which gave off music. A box that would help children sleep. She watched his face register emotions. Confusion was one that seemed to cross his features more than once. She gave the man a coy smile. Like a fox licking it’s lips after it had cornered a rabbit with no escape. Oh yes the man was clearly injured - not life threatening but it would inflict pain if he tried to run away from her - once he managed to catch a glimpse of her fangs. Fangs that she had been unable to subtract since her siring. Nishaa usually left her usual haunts for two reasons, to feed or to hunt. Her fangs were a break of the masquerade. She didn’t want to risk them being seen by a passerby.

He was looking her over. Sizing her up. She could feel his eyes all over her - and then glancing over her shoulder to her rifle. She almost bit back a laugh. The poor man was deluded if he thought he had a chance of taking Nishaa on. A woman who had not lost a fight since her run in with a mooncalf.

His plane had crashed. It was HIS plane. He spoke the words to her. The man was rich, he had money. That much was for certain. This made Nishaa less inclined to help the man. He was looking more and more like dinner to her by the second. Nishaa had an automatic dislike for anyone who was richer than she in their human lives. Someone who had everything delivered to them at a snap of their fingers. Nishaa had no such luxury she was a child of the streets - thrown into an asylum in her childhood, left to rot there. Abandoned by her parents who even now despise her because she had killed her brother, their son.

Her tongue clicked in annoyance. Nishaa had the bare minimum. Stealing food from bins - from soup kitchens just to keep herself alive - this man could have any food he wanted, anytime he wanted. Her lips twisted into a smile as she canted her head to the side. Strands of raven caressed her cheekbones as she considered what to do with him.

”Sooooooo.” She said. Slowly making her way towards him, one step at a time. ”You want me to help a rich boy like you - who crashed his private jet in the woods - to a hospital?” She gave a devilish smile then. Flashing fangs with no care. She didn’t care too much for the man in front of her - who seemed to be in pain, considering how he was holding onto his back - supporting himself - or so she thought unaware of the firearms at his back.

A minute of silence hung in the air between the pair. ”Nope.” She shrugged her shoulders.

”Not in a helping mood, sorry.” She gave a sneer at the man and was running at him - closing the gap between the two quickly. She wanted his blood. She wanted it now. Her fingers were already going for the rifle at her back.

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

It wasn't completely unexpected. She didn't look like your typical good samaritan. Thorne wondered if he had inadvertently disturbed some drug runner's secret stash in the woods with his plane crash, or if the woman was just psycho. Of course, as he was wondering this, he was also pulling both weapons from behind his back. She had telegraphed her intentions with her words. She seemed to be taking issue with him because of his perceived wealth. Ok, his actual wealth. Don't hate the player, hate the game, baby, he thought. Meanwhile, her declaration of class warfare right here in the middle of the Canadian woods had given Thorne time to unsnap the holsters of the weapons hidden behind his back and loosen them for combat readiness. Now he held them both the knife and gun in front of him, the knife blade facing downwards in a tanto jutsu slicing position, his wrists crossed as he readied a combat stance and aimed the .44. All thoughts of his injuries were set aside. When Thorne prepared to kill someone, it always a moment of crystalline clarity for him. No emotions, no distractions. He was about to do what he did best.

But Jesus she was fast! Her legs were eating up the distance between them at a superhuman rate. Her feet seemed to barely make contact with the forest floor. She was also swinging the rifle into position as she ran, although within seconds she would be too close to use the long range weapon effectively, unless she meant to make him eat it. The unpleasant possibility crossed his mind, as he squeezed off three shots.

The first one took her in the shoulder. For any normal person, it would have been enough to drop them right then and there. With a grunt she staggered for a fraction of a second. Thorne knew the second shot would take her down, But too late he realized that the stagger was a feint, as the other two shots went wide. Her movements were practically a blur. The fresh wound caused the psychopathic woman to snarl with displeasure, and Thorne's eyes widened as he saw her fangs for the first time, long and pale in the moonlight, like an animal's, some kind of viper. Thorne's eyes narrowed again. Well aren't you a piece of work, he thought. And then she was upon him.

[Nishaa]

She already closing the gap between them. Her long legs barely touched the blades of grass beneath her knee high leather boots. Her pale, bony fingertips were grabbing the rifle from her back - maneuvering it so it slung across her chest instead of her back. She wanted the rich man to each her gun - before she pulled the trigger. Onyx hues could slowly see the way the man was moving. He was fumbling for something on his back - at a second study he wasn’t holding himself up. Not at all. He had something strapped there. She grunted. Why didn’t she notice this?

No matter.

The man was only human, he couldn’t stop a natural born vampire hunter from stealing her prey. My god was she hungry.

The gun and the knife were on display then as he put himself into a stance - a combative one. Despite his wounds, and the fact that he had just walked out of a plane crash he was still about to defend himself. A flicker of a second passed and she was almost proud of him - and the fact that he wasn’t going to roll over on his stomach and accept defeat. Cute.

BANG, BANG, BANG

Three consecutive shots were fired. Nishaa had heard them. She knew they were aimed at her as she gave off her most devilish smile to the male. The first one embedded itself within her shoulder, pushing itself against the bone. She grumbled and staggered. For a brief moment she looked down at the hole in her shoulder and inspected it with her finger by poking it several times - ignoring the fact that dark blood was slowly oozing from the wound. So the ittle wittle human had shot her.

A second later the bemused glance turned angry - as she let a feral snarl rip through her fangs as she once again began to make her way towards the human this time at a slower pace. No, she was going to enjoy this. A moment later she was upon him her hands were disarming him with ease making him drop the gun and the knife to the grass beneath them. Then a hand went to his throat, applying the smallest amount of pressure to make him cry out. Nishaa loved it when they cried out. Always made the blood more euphoric.

”You shot me.” She told him, as she lifted her free hand to waggle her finger back and forth in front of him like a disapproving school teacher. ”You were naughty.” She shook her head released her hold on him and instead wrapped both her arms around him. Drawing him close to her in a tight grip before she ran her tongue along the nape of his neck. Then fangs entered the flesh of his skin as she began to drink him dry. Eyes closed as she drew his life force into her.

Two minutes later his heart had stopped - blood drained she dropped him to the ground. His blood was all down her mouth, her chin. She looked like a feral wild beast. It was quite the endearing look for the woman as she looked down at the man on the floor. Perhaps she should drag him back to the scene of the crash - that would be wiser.

She was completely unaware she had the ability to turn someone into a vampire with a single bite. Bad Nishaa.

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

Were they going to hug it out, Randall Thorne, entrepeneur and mass murderer, and this amazon woman of the Canadian wilds? She had disarmed him. No one had ever done that. He, who had witnessed grown men twice his size begging on their knees and weeping like children, hoping for a quick death. And now that she had him at her mercy, she was hugging him, she was-

What the ****?

The fangs sank into his jugular. Her grip was iron. She wasn't a viper, she was an anaconda, crushing the life out of him. Randall Thorne suddenly felt like he could relate very well to a bottle of ketchup, one of those squeeze bottles. All the blood was being pushed up and out and into her waiting mouth. He was getting lightheaded. This reminded him of something. Oh yes, vampires. Movies he'd seen as a kid. Dracula. Near Dark. Lost Boys.

Lost Boys, now that was a good mov- was the last thought Randall Thorne had before he died.

---

He was in a world of shadows. There was a sense of movement all around him. A pounding in his ears, like blood rushing to his head. That can't be, he thought. She drank all my blood. He looked down and saw that he was made of shadows, or smoke. In a panic he began opening and closing his hands, making fists, trying to make sure he was real, but it was no good. The sense of motion was tearing at his seams, pulling him apart in little wisps, like wind eroding a sand dune. He was dissolving before his very eyes. Where was he going? How could these pieces of himself that he was losing not still be him? He had to get them back! Thorne attempted to run through the dark wasteland, but even as he moved, his feet dissolved, then his legs, then his torso. He was negative space, he mused, as his head and face began to shred. Negative space in a negative world. Two negatives make a positive...

---

Thorne gasped. He was face down in the leaves and dirt and refuse of the forest floor. He tried again, gasping and sputtering like a gold fish who had flopped out of its bowl by mistake. He couldn't breath. He literally couldn't breath! He was alive, and he should be breathing, but he couldn't, nothing was happening. Thorne sprang to his feet. Somehow all of the aches and pains of his injuries had been erased. Adrenaline, he thought. It's just adrenaline. I'll sure be feeling it in the morning, boy howdy. Then he remembered the rest. His neck. He reached up. There was no wound, nothing to indicate that all of his blood had just been drained out through two large holes. He felt his side. There was nothing there either. He felt his face, looking for signs that those gashes too had healed. "Ow, ****!" His finger was bleeding. He had snagged it on something sharp that was sticking out of his mou- "Holy ****, are those fangs?"

Then Thorne saw the woman. She was standing there in the dark woods, right where he'd left her when he died. (Thorne inherently knew that was what had happened. It was no near death experience. He had just had a death experience). The look she was giving him at that moment was very difficult to read, though one thing that was apparent was that she did not seem terribly pleased to see him. Well honey, the feeling's mutual.

"So, he began, putting on the voice that had caused board presidents and cartel leaders alike to bend to his will. "You've had your fun. You've killed me. Now you're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

[Nishaa]

Her attention from the corpse faded. She no longer held the gaze of the dead man's face before turning her attention to the bullet in her shoulder. Bony fingers entered the bullet hole as she wiggled them, nails grabbing at the bullet and ripping it from its fleshy prison. She admired the silver bullet that was caked in blood. She huffed and threw it to the ground. Letting it bounce across the blades of grass. Dirtying them with her blood.

She turned her attention back to the corpse of the survivor sprawled on the ground. Onyx hues fixed on the two tiny marks on his neck - or, where they should have been. She was sure she bit him on that side. There was still blood there. Perhaps she was wrong though. He was in a plane crash. She scratched at her chin and her left hand, and used her right hand to attach her rifle back to her back - incase she came across any Fae.

Fae were dangerous to vampires. They were unable to be tracks but had the ability to inflict deadly damage to a vampire, perhaps even kill them. She kept herself alert. She was about to leave the area - and the corpse where it laid until she saw his eyes flutter open.

Shock was written upon her face, then morbid curiosity. She was sure she had killed him - she could no longer hear his heartbeat. If you listened closely - you could hear a human’s heartbeat up close. Usually it was like a drum - sometimes, she liked to dance to it. Crazy as Nishaa was, this was one of her hobbies.

He got up then. Standing on his own two feet as he began to inspect his mouth, she could hear him say ‘ow’ as he felt for his fangs. Nishaa simply stared. He was a vampire? He had a heartbeat when she fed off him. She growled. She didn’t remember feeding him her blood. He was tied to her though. She could feel it. It was deep within her belly.

So the question that was prominent at the front of her mind, was how he became a vampire. She had heard of things such as vampires being able to turn humans into vampires with just a simple bite - but was she able to do that? She was starting to get the feeling that she could.

”I did kill you.” She confirmed that much for him. With a laugh to boot. ”You were meant to stay dead though, but that didn’t happen.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between them as she inspected his fangs.

”You are a vampire.” Was all she said. She crossed her arms over her chest, and simply glared at him. Great she had another mouth to feed so to speak, and someone else to look after. Micah was going to be oh so pleased with her, that was for sure.

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

”You are a vampire.” Was all she said. She crossed her arms over her chest, and simply glared at him.

Randall Thorne began to chuckle. "I'm a what?" The chuckling increased to a guffaw, the guffaw to a cackle, and soon he was laughing so hard he was crying. "I'm a ******* vampire?" He spread his arms and announced it to the forest. "I'm a ******* vampire!" His audience of one looked less than amused. **** her if she can't take a joke, he thought, and started giggling all over again. "Wooohahaha!"

Thorne had to admit, he was a little surprised at the nonchalance he was showing towards the woman who had just murdered him. Of course, he couldn't understand the changes that the vampirism was currently wreaking on him both physically and mentally. He felt good. He felt damn good! In addition to his emotions, all of his senses were heightened. The stars in the sky burned fierce and bright , and he felt like he could see each craggy geographic feature on the surface of the moon. The night had never looked so beautiful. He could hear a cacophony of small woodland creatures moving in the distance, and even the crackle of flames from the crash sight. Every smell of the forest was a new experience. He was stronger, faster. And growing infinitely more insane by the second.

Thorne did a fist pump, like a frat boy who had just scored a point in beer pong. "Vampire! Yes!"

Suddenly his attention was drawn back to the beautiful woman with the sniper rifle and the lethal intentions. The same pull that Nishaa felt was now also pulling on Thorne as well; the sire/childe bond."This is amazing! You did this to me? You're amazing! I can't thank you enough." All enmity towards his murderess was being washed away in the rush of mystical endorphins that were accompanying his change. At that moment Randall Thorne, sociopath and serial killer, gave the dark haired woman the most sincere smile that he had ever offered anyone in his life. He put out his hand. "My name is Randall Thorne, and I am forever in your debt. And by the way, why is that big dog staring at us?"

In the shadows of the trees it had silently come up on them, a white wolf, as many hands high as a Clydesdale horse. Two chips of bright blue ice flashed at them from where animal eyes should have been. The Wendigo stood about 100 yards away. It's nose twitched, testing the air. The number of vampires in the woods tonight had just increased to two. The enormous fae made its intentions clear as it bared its fangs. If it had its way, that number would soon be brought back down to zero.

[Nishaa]

The man was giddy, or in-*******-sane. Take your pick really. Whilst he was laughing acting like a child high on smarties. Nishaa stood there. Unimpressed. Her lips were drawn into a scowl. She actually had to stop herself from facepalming. Arms were still crossed her chest. Watching the male with her dark orbs.

”Yes I did this.” She told him. It was an accident really. She didn’t want to turn him. She wanted to kill him because he had more money than she. He was rich - that was why she had fed on him and drained him dry, it was just her luck that she was stuck with the rich boy for eternity now. Karma sucked.

”It wasn’t intentional either. This isn’t a gift.” She scowled at him, foot tapping on the ground. ”You turned from my bite. I didn’t willingly feed you my blood to make you like me. So don’t get any smart ideas.” She unfurled her arms then. Letting them rest at her side as she turned her gaze around them - she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something wasn’t right. Something was watching them. She had to remind herself that this was the wilderness.

This was fae territory.

She now had to look out for the new baby vampire now - as well as herself. She grunted in annoyance. ”Nishaa Andras.” She told him, ignoring the hand that was outstretched to her. She didn’t do handshakes. ”Considering your now my childe. You will no longer use your human name. You are Andras by blood now.”

It was his last comment that caught her off guard. Dog? She hadn’t seen one. She turned her head to look in the general direction of the dog. She was met with silver blue eyes and froze. ****. Fae. She hadn’t seen one up close, but she knew they could tear a vampire apart if they got their hands on you. Looking at those teeth, she believed it. She backed up slowly. So she was now side by side with Randall. She grabbed his shoulder and made him move with her.

”That” She pointed at the dog. ”Is called a Fae. They live out here in the woods, this is their domain. They hunt vampires. So.. as you are now my responsibility. You are not allowed to die. Because, believe it or not. We can die. Now on the count of three, I want to turn and run as fast as you can for the streetlights just above the treeline. Do not look back. Do not stop. You run. Got it?”

Her face was stern, she was deadly serious. Nishaa didn’t play games.

”One.

Two.

THREE!”

She grabbed his shoulder spun him around and pushed him forward in front of her. She could hear the snarl from the dog, it’s paws touching the ground behind her as it began to give chase. Her other hand was going for the rifle on her back. If Randall was a slow runner. She was going to have to get it’s attention and lead it away from him.

Damn being a sire, damn it to hell!