| Eliza sat up and shook her
head. She was vaguely too hot, sweating, and slightly
uncomfortable. The sweltering heat of the room, along with her
physical discomfort, reinforced her dark mood. Putting her feet
on the floor, she rested he elbows on her knees and cradled her head in
her hands. Even though she'd fed recently, it had not been satisfying. Jason had pissed her off too badly for her to get any real satisfaction from that meal. His pathetic struggles had been amusing, but as a meal, he wasn't all that satisfying. It was a lot more fun when she and the meal could get into it, but that wasn't the usual turn of events. Normally, she'd enthrall them, take enough to fill her needs, then go on her way, the victim none the wiser. Slam, bang, thank you meal. Straightening up, she shook her head and brushed her hair back and lifted it to allow the back of her neck to cool off. "Hate this weather," she muttered. Sighing, she stood up, she'd showered when she come in, this morning, and rolled right into bed nude. Running her hands down her body, she sighed. No lust, not even a twinge of excitement. "Can't even remember the last time I wanted someone," she mused. "What's to want? Only more problems than I need. A meal is a meal. Like momma use to say, 'don't play with your food.'" She snorted. "And don't let your food play with you!" Since her acquisition of a motorcycle, she found that transportation had gotten a lot simpler. Getting a driver's license had been easier than she'd thought. She'd always been careful to have various forms of identification that should could produce. Eliza Radu was the name she preferred, and at only 43, there was no reason she couldn't use it for another 20 years, before being forced to abandon it due to apparent age. ID was a vampiric necessity as was the occasional identity switch. She stepped into snug leather pants and slid her feet into low boots with a slight heel that fit well over the pegs on the bike. It was warm, tonight, so she selected a leather vest that laced up the front. When she only loosely laced it, she liked the way the wind would caress her body as she rode along. Closing the closet door, she admired herself in the full length mirror. "Looking good. You are looking good tonight." Padding into the kitchen area, she opened an overhead cabinet and took out a bottle of red wine. She poured her self a tall glass, held it up and gazed through the liquid redness. She chugged it down and shivered. Throwing her head back, she let the alcohol warm and excite her. "I'm gonna have fun tonight!" Walking into the bathroom, she examined herself in the mirror. "Think I might go Goth, tonight." She brushed her hair out straight and but a clear gel on it. She had a really neat lipstick that was clear, but when it was applied to the lips, it turned very dark, almost black. It produced a striking effect. Some dark eye shadow gave her that "hollow" look she so loved. She stepped back and admired the effect. "I'm sure glad the legends about the mirrors aren't true. Can you imagine how difficult that would make applying makeup?" She giggled. "And as good as I look, a little make up can make me even better." The evening, shading into night, was sultry and warm. Her apartment building had underground parking facilities, which she took advantage of for the bike. The first week, she'd parked on the street, and discovered it just wasn't worth it. There were hour restrictions that made her get up to move the machine and forced her to expose herself to brutal summer sunlight. She gotten two parking tickets, and one night, discovered some local malcontents draped all over her machine. While she felt a dangerous rush of anger at the sight, when she saw the mess they'd made with their beer and pizza, she vowed to hurt and humiliate them. "Make them pay," was her precise thought. Walking up to the machine, she stopped and glared at them. She spat and hissed, "Pigs disgust me, but human pigs are the only animal that will shit and lie in it." Putting her face right into the face of the one sitting astride the machine, she grinned her most sardonic grin. "You are human, aren't you, Porky?" She stepped back, legs spread and hands on her hips. She had been dressed in the same outfit she was wearing tonight, and she presented an unusual sight. There was total silence. The one she'd called Porky had hesitated, a dripping slice of pizza half way to his mouth. His three companions looked at his dumbfounded expression and at each other and burst out laughing. Stomping, insanely giggling, and slapping each other on the back, they produced a simian sight. "She's got your number! She's even got your name! Little Momma has you pegged." His laughter abruptly stopped as Eliza grabbed him by the shirt, and with an iron grip, yanked him towards her. "Momma. Momma!" she hissed. Having him at a disadvantage, she twisted, forcing him to scrabble around to maintain his balance. "If I spawned crap like you, I'd have kill myself." She pushed him backwards with such force his feet came off the ground as he went flying backwards, landing heavily on his back. The breath exploded from his lungs and he got the glazed expression and fish like mouth movements of someone who has had the breath knocked out of them. Eliza stepped over to him and put her boot on his chest. "Do I make myself clear?" she almost whispered. There was only the sounds of him gasping. Digging the heel of her boot into the hollow of his throat, "Is that CLEAR!" She emphasized. Holding her leg, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat while attempting to inhale, "Yes," he managed to gasp. Increasing the pressure, "Yes, what?" she grinned. His eyes rolled and he beat a tattoo on the ground with his heels. "Yes, Ma'am. Yes, Ma'am!" Pawing ineffectually at her leg, he gasped in relief when she removed her foot from this throat. Eliza stepped forward, toward the bike. The other two stepped back, leaving "Porky" to face Eliza alone. "You were just getting ready to leave, weren't you Pork Puss?" Uncertainty was written all over his face. He was unwilling to allow a 5'4" "girl" intimidate him, but he'd seen what happened to his buddy, and Eliza's total confidence was totally overwhelming. Stepping towards him, so that she was obscured from the sight of his two companions, she allowed her fangs to descend and the red glow of her eyes to be clearly visible. There was a ripping sound, a vile smell in the air and "Porky" was running down the middle of the street with a strange bow legged waddle. Turning to glare at the other two, she saw they were leaving the scene, in the opposite direction, at a rather rapid pace. She looked at her soiled bike with disgust and sighed. Opening a saddle bag, she got out a soft terry cloth and some glass cleaner. The next day, she rented garage space. Eliza snuggled down on the soft leather seat. The rumbling of the big Harley, between her legs, was exciting on several levels, which she made no attempt to analyze. She twisted the throttle and grinned at the throaty roar. She shot out of the underground parking, rear tire smoking and short flames licking out of the dual pipes. A car swerved and braked to avoid her, but she accelerated hard, doing mini wheelies, making his panic reaction unnecessary. She was out of sight before he came to a complete stop to catch his breath and shake, while vainly cursing at that biker idiot. Cruising along at a more sedate pace, Eliza was contemplating the need to feed. It was not yet a full moon, but that irritating feeling in the back of her throat had started, and her mouth was dry and gummy. The pain hadn't started yet, and she didn't want it to. Lately, it had been coming on hard and fast. She didn't understand what was going on, but she knew what to do to keep it from getting worse. She licked her parched lips and could feel the sharpness of her fangs. Her body was sending some very clear messages. She made a fast left, just clearing the intersection as the light changed to red. She grinned and waved at the patrol car and the officer that was watching her disapprovingly. She was getting a reputation with the local traffic patrol, but she always seemed to stay within the letter of the law, at least when she was being observed, but only just barely. This could be attributed to her instincts of self preservation, but it wasn't something she thought about a lot. Stimulus and response had been more her mode of operation, lately. She positioned her body so the breeze would flow through the loosened laces of her vest, cooling her. She still loved cold weather but still hated cold water, although a nice cool foggy day was a complete turn on for her. Tonight was hot, humid and more steamy than foggy, but on the bike, she was comfortable. She sighed, considering having to stop and hunt in this weather. "Maybe this would be a good night for an air conditioned club," she mused. "Or I could drive over to Munson and do what I need to do real quick and with no games." Munson was the drug/sex area of town. The Rusty Nail, one of her favorite clubs, was on the periphery of the Munson area. Not only were drugs and sex plentiful and cheap, there was some really good liquor and music available. The periphery was a melting pot of the down and desperate and the upscale citizen who wanted a taste of the seamier side of life. It produced a volatile combination that was fascinating and a fertile hunting ground for a hungry vampire. Tonight, though, the Rusty Nail was not her destination. On the back of the hog, she wanted to keep in character so she drove a little deeper into the Munson area and parked her hog with the others, in front of "Chains." Chains was a biker bar that had a unique Munson flavor: upscale and trash, mixed together. The Chains staff, all carrying chromed, motorcycle drive chains, kept order in their unique Chains way. style. Flipping the kick stand down, she activated the alarm system and strolled towards the entrance, flanked by two Chains bouncers. Both smiled and nodded to her. She was recognized. Entering, the buzz of a busy bar assaulted her senses. There was the stale beer and smoke odor. The music was loud, but not as loud as the conversational roar. It was crowded, noisy, smelly and crude. An excellent place to find a meal. As she entered, she saw Duk's colors. She quietly approached him from the rear. He was standing at the bar, drinking beer, and didn't notice her closing the distance between. Poking him in the ribs got the expected response. He spit out his beer, slammed the can on the bar, spun and delivered a hay maker punch. Eliza didn't even step back. She was too short for his punch, aimed at an opponent he imagined to be as tall as he. As she knew it would, his punch wiffed air above her head, and he momentarily looked bemused. "Kinda had one too many of the brewskies," she asked, grinning. Duk looked down, where the sound was coming from and grinned sheepishly. "Hi short quart. Gotta agitate, don't you?" "You know it, Duk. Anything good going on tonight?" When they'd first met, he'd called her "half pint," and she exploded. After calming her down, he'd agreed never to call her that again, but from that time on, he'd called her short quart. Quart, as he said, in honor of the fact she was a full load, and short, well, cause she was. She'd laughed at the warped humor and gracefully accept his appellation of her. But NO ONE else could call her that. It was sort of their personal joke. Duk, picked up his beer, took a sip, "Not unless you're gonna invite me to your place and make a dishonest man outta me," he said. "In you're dreams, you crappy quack," she shot back, making a word play on the sound of his name. "Yea, yea, yea," he grimaced. "Be that way. Here I am, hurting for a good woman, and here you are tormenting me." He stared at the exposure of her breasts through the laces of her vest and sighed. "Damn, I'd love to unlace those things." "In your dreams, again, quack man. Seriously, anything cooking?" Instantly he sobered up and leaned over, so only she could hear him. "A couple of weeks, we could use you on another midnight ride. You up for it? This one could be a little dicier" Eliza smiled. The last ride and literally been a piece of cake! The only scary part was being on a chopped hog for the first time in her life. Superior reflexes and a superb sense of balance was the only rational explanation for her survival, but survive she did, and in that survival displayed a real flair for handling a squirrelly hog, which riders with years more experience couldn't duplicate. "Why not? I ain't seen nothing yet that would make me say no." "You sure? You come on this one, you got to be packing." Stepping closer to him, she slipped her vest open a little more. "Like this," she asked. Duk's eyes were riveted on her breast and he stammered meaninglessly. "Get your eyes off my tit, you idiot quack breath, and look lower." He did and saw the deeply blued .380 tucked in her waist band in a quick release holster. His eyes widened. "Fulminate of mercury hollow points." she whispered. "Shit, Eliza! Those things can hurt you!" "No, Duk. Those things will hurt anyone I aim at, cause I do hit what I am at." "Tuesday, two weeks from now, at the barn, ok?" "Got you, Duk man. I'll be there. I'm going to check out the scene. Catch you later?" "You can catch me any time you want, sweet thang," he said, hardly smiling. "Any time you want to." Eliza pretended not to notice the seriousness of his offer. "Later, Duk Dude. You hang tight." She wandered off looking for something that looked like a snack or even a meal. Looking over her shoulder at Duk, she noticed that his boots were scuffed, his jacket was scratched and the paint of his colors could use a touch up. She knew he had a job, but one he didn't take too seriously. His sideline, which had paid her over ten thousand dollars for that one little ride, clearly brought in more money than he really needed. He'd mentioned that the job was a cover and it kept him inconspicuous. He was, and looked like, a real biker. Looking around, she spotted something too good to pass up. He was about six foot tall, well built and impeccably dressed in bikers leathers, chrome chains, and highly polished boots. There was not a scuff or scratch on anything he wore. Eliza would have bet a lot of money that his bike has a custom shop chop and chrome job, too. She grinned. It was obvious that she wasn't the only on setting her sights on him. Giant, a man who earned his nick name, was staggering in his direction and Eliza knew that if they met, the results would not be pretty. She glided to the table and sat down, glaring at the approaching Giant. "Buy a lady a drink," she asked, offering her sweetest smile. "Pretty boy," as she was already thinking of him, stared at her with obvious interest. "Lady," he mused. "Yes, you may qualify as the only lady among this riffraff. Barkeep," he said raising his hand. "Bring the lady whatever she wants." Giant had hesitated when he saw Eliza sit down. She was known and respected. The bar tender glared at the imperious demand, but he too saw Eliza sitting there and acquiesced. He actually knew Eliza's drink preference. There was not chance that this establishment would ever carry Palinca or Pernod, but the did carry Black Seal Rum, which was a very good dark 151 proof rum. Sitting it in front of Eliza, the bartender waited, hand out. Pretty boy stuffed a twenty in his huge paw and muttered, "Keep it." Wally, the barkeep, was not happy with the treatment, but the twenty went a long way to making him feel better. Wally could definitely be bought! Eliza rased the glass and toasted Pretty Boy, took a sip, and after carefully swallowing, wheezed, "Thank you." He looked at her like he was examining a specimen. "Why me? Why did you sit here?" Eliza took another sip and hesitated. The high proof rum was already warming her up. She looked him up and down and then met his eyes. "You look like you might have money and might not smell bad," she replied. "And of the two, not smelling bad is the more important." "And the money doesn't matter that much?" He reached into his pocket and placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. "Not that much," Eliza replied reaching inside of her vest and placing two hundred dollar bills on the table. He was grinning when, with a move so fast it was hardly visible, Eliza whisked the three hundred dollar bills off the table and back inside of her vest. "What the F..." he started and then laughed. "Good one, now return the bill." "Bill? I don't see stinkin' bill here, do you?" Eliza shot back. His lip curled. "And what do I get for my hundred dollars?" "First of all, I don't see YOUR hundred dollars. Second, you are here, enjoying the benefit of my scintillating presence. You want more?" Eliza leaned forward allowing her vest to reveal more skin that had been visible before. Her stomach was rock hard and defined. A little bead of sweat, from the heat and the rum, ran down her chest and between her breasts. "If you amuse me, you might find that I can amuse you." Stepping outside, even though she was with Pretty Boy, was a welcome relief. Although it was hot and humid, it was cooler than the bar and it smelled a lot better. Eliza was always sensitive to odor and what was inside the bar was not her favorite. Now, Pretty Boy, he smelled of money, lust and blood. Her needs were building. "Here it is," he said proudly, pointing to a motorcycle that looked more like a chrome Christmas tree than bike. "Oh, it's fantastic! Let's go for a ride," Eliza gushed, carefully suppressing the urge to retch. "Told you it was great." He pushed the electric starter and the expensive machine roared to life. "Climb on. This will be the thrill of your life." As they roared off, Eliza allowed her hands to drift lower than his waist, that she'd initially wrapped her arms around. The wiggle of the front end of the bike was the only real indication that the shift of her grip had and effect. Of course, after a few minutes, there were other indications and Eliza was having a hard time suppressing her giggles. A couple of miles up the road, he turned into an alley, made a hard right and pointed his bike into a dim underground parking facility. He parked, jerked the big bike up on its center stand, not an easy feat with a rider onboard, and twisted around and grinned. "My little private play ground." Eliza returned his grin and loosed her vest. The underground was much cooler than outside and felt good to her bare skin. His eyes widened and he reached to caress one of her pale breasts. Eliza, was milk white with jet black hair. Other than the hair on her head and very light pubic hair, she was totally hairless. She was lean and well defined and her tiny, dark nipple responded instantly to his touch, hardening and sending a thrill throughout her body. She watched him strip naked. His body was well toned and developed. He clearly worked out and probably was very good at it. It was a good bet that is personal trainer was the best that money could buy. "This is going to be a good one," she thought. I might even let him live." With surprising speed and gentleness, he stripped her. Picking her up, he held her close to him. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his neck, and gently bit. She mentally sighed as the hot fluid filled her mouth, as she was filled elsewhere. "He lives," she thought. "He lives." Leaning forward, towards the mirror, she daintily dabbed the corner of her mouth to remove a little dried blood. She'd not been too messy, and she'd made sure he not only lived, but had the time of his life. He'd never really know or remember it all, but he would have some fantastic and impossible memories and a few interesting, but very light, scars. She finished washing and ambled to bed, making sure the blinds were drawn tight. She was going to sleep well and didn't want any stray beams of light awakening her. She was well fed, well satisfied, and now, was going to be well rested. "This was a decent day," she thought as she drifted off. Two weeks had passed quickly, and Eliza felt nervous and excited as she dressed to rally at the barn for tonight's ride. She'd gotten some bad news about Sofye, but she wasn't going to deal with that right now. Right now, she was going to get dressed and do.. Well, whatever it was they were going to do. Since Duk told her to be packing, she guessed this one would entail a bit more risk. Of course, the physical danger was simply a turn on. Her primary concern was getting into a legal bind. With a vampires life span and needs, jail would not be a good place to be. She wiggled into some heavy leather jeans, slipped on a sleeveless T-shirt and put on a thick leather vest containing various pockets for concealed goods. Her .380 went into one and to spare clips into another. She stomped her feet into mid calf leather boots with only a low heel. Not bad for riding or walking, since she wasn't sure exactly what was going down tonight. Duk was even more closed mouth than usual about tonight, making it even more intriguing for her. She'd done almost everything a "natural" woman would do to try to loosen his tongue, but to no avail. She'd even let him try her .380 with the special loads, but the real treat was she let him get it from the holster - inside of her vest. It must have been difficult to find, the way he'd had to feel around for it, but even then, he only grinned when she asked him what the gig was going to be. She'd stamped her foot and pouted but Duk only grinned. She'd been tempted to enthrall him, but resisted. That would have been "cheating." She hoped it would cool off a little more. The heavy leathers were warmer than she like, but there was this nagging feeling she may need the extra protection. Tonight could be interesting. |