Detroit, Michigan
He had not fed in over five days. The last time he tried, the prostitute he attacked had come close to escaping. She fought for her life, but he eventually overcame her. Raiden always struck from behind, so the unfortunate saps never knew what hit them. This last woman, though . . . she had some tricks up her sleeve that left him ill-prepared to drain her without making a mess. In light of this near-disaster, Raiden decided that perhaps it was best to lay low for a while. He dreaded his subsequent kill.
Maybe next time, I’ll get caught.
He recalled the scent of urine as it soaked the prostitute’s underwear, and the sight of blood-flecked saliva spraying from her mouth. He closed his eyes, remembering the taste of her hot tears as they slid into the gaping hole he had created in her neck.
Naomi cried when she was dying, too.
Unspeakable memories of his first kill intruded his thoughts. The unexpected feeling of remorse took his breath away. Damn these human emotions. He still could not seem to get rid of them, no matter how hard he tried; no matter how much time had elapsed.
Raiden had sincere doubts about his ability to keep his composure at the dinner with Gabriel tonight. The throng of people he was bound to encounter would serve as tempting potential targets. Gabriel was in danger, too. Thoughts of him turned into thoughts of blood. He could easily picture how disaster could unfold from the merest touch.
* * *
Now, en route to Gohatto, the downtown Detroit restaurant where Gabriel Colin awaited his arrival, Raiden found his patience with self-willed starvation at an end.
As he parked his Nissan 350-Z on a side street, the hunger veered violently out of control. Insatiable craving consumed him. Wrenching the navy-blue door open, he staggered out of the car. A passing vehicle nearly demolished him.
Pull yourself together!
Trembling, he darted into an alleyway to compose himself. With panicked dismay, Raiden realized that eating was no longer an option: it was a necessity. Had he been human, he would have been just about dead. His heart was barely beating. His skin looked waxy and corpselike. There were purple circles beneath his eyes, marking his pallid face. His body felt frozen, as if he were encased in ice. Somewhere nearby, he smelled a warm body.
Please.
Sobbing in relief, he turned the corner. The promise of blood guided him—he needed it now. Raiden licked his lips, hastening his pace in order to find the source of that tantalizing aroma. Turning a few more corners, he came upon an alleyway that dead-ended. Dimly, he realized that he had stumbled upon the back entrance of Gohatto. Though he knew it was dangerous, as well as stupid, to prey so close to a populated area, need destroyed logic as he caught that crimson scent again.
He heard movement near Gohatto’s back door: it was a male human. Eyes narrowing, Raiden silently sped toward the standing figure. He ignored all other smells, focusing solely on the odor of blood wafting in and out of his nose like the most seductive perfume. At the last moment, he remembered to put on his gloves. He could not leave fingerprints.
The silhouetted man started to turn around, but Raiden was too quick. He shoved him behind a dumpster. Gripping his captive’s hair with one hand, Raiden muffled his cries of protest with the other. Forcing him to kneel, Raiden straddled his back and roughly tilted his neck to one side. The man bucked and groaned, strengthening his desire with every push and thrust.
With a dark smile, Raiden bit into the gloriously straining neck as all traces of humanity abandoned him. The tender skin broke. He lapped up the blood in long lines, intimately curling his tongue around the open flesh, licking the ragged wound. His victim gasped and writhed beneath him, pulse pounding. He did not need to glance down to ascertain that the helpless man was aroused. He knew from experience this kind of reaction was common in victims. His own swollen erection throbbed against his zipper.
He sank his fangs in deeper, relishing the effortless way in which the skin tore apart, swirling his tongue into the bleeding depths.
Tastes so fucking good.
Kneading sensitized flesh beneath his fingers, Raiden brought the man’s face closer to his own as he fed, completely absorbed in the rich coppery fluid weighting down his tongue. He moaned as his prey’s quickened breath grazed his cheek like a caress. Shifting, Raiden knelt forward on his knees and pressed against his victim’s body, locking him into a firmer grip. The man spastically twitched.
Raiden’s consciousness faded for a moment, lost in the mass of pleasurable sensations coursing through him. This was the best blood he had tasted in ages. He attempted to get even closer to the body supplying him with so much ecstasy. In his haste, he leaned too far forward and abruptly lost his balance. He growled as his fangs disconnected from that luscious neck.
Still holding his victim’s hair with one hand, Raiden attempted to regain his
earlier positioning. A quick burst of energy from the man, however, knocked him
back on his ass. He sat up on his heels, grunted in surprise, and reached for
the man’s collar to prevent him from escaping. Reflexes dulled by the high of
feeding, it took him a few seconds to register that his victim was now facing
him.
Suddenly, the man stumbled backward. His head hit the pavement with a dull thud. Raiden loomed over him, pinning his wrists in place. Blood dripped freely from his chin, wetting the face below him.
“Raiden?”
Something clicked. I know that voice.
Startled out of his bloodlust, going against every protocol he had enacted, he locked eyes with his victim.
No! It can’t be him. That’s just not possible.
In shock, Raiden watched Gabriel Colin blink away drops of blood. Hunger abated, he stared into the actor’s disbelieving eyes with numbed horror.
“Holy shit,” he murmured.
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