The Hunter Arrives

Fear…it had a certain, shall we say, appetizing aroma as it wafted upon a starless night. All creatures, great, small, living and especially the dead could be counted on for such a response when threatened by something beyond even their primal understandings. It was the “Bramen” as the Hindu’s would call it, that spiritual force that somehow connected everything together. In his own culture it would be the guardian spirit or ones ancestors that would give someone forewarning of the death that stalked them. Pragmatists in this modern world would simply say it was the ruminants of our human instinct kicking in. All had a bit of truth, but knowledge of that didn’t change the fact that this city was rank with it.

The soft dirt shifted softly under the old combat boots as the smells of earth transferred over to the smells of the city. The smell clouded over everything and the stench of human filth already started a pounding in the back of his skull, the flaws of his position and life choices. Cities had never made him, or his native people, comfortable and how his city cousins could choose its confines over the open places of the world was beyond his ability to understand, even if he would choose to make the effort. His coming here was out of necessity and if he could help it, would be as short as possible. War had come and he had answered its call as all soldiers should, as the beast demanded. The soft thuds of feet on cement echoed through the night air as earth became man made.

A few cars honked as they speed by the lone Indian walking along the side of the road. To them he was just another homeless bum swelling the underbelly of the city, straining its resources to and past the breaking point. Many of those would glare at him in their rearview mirror and head home to spouses complaining about the dregs of their society and how politicians should do something about it. None would know how close to death they had come, but all would have felt the tingling upon their spine as Mother Nature attempted to protect her flock.

He would meet them all another time. Now it was time to find the General…….but first a meal. A wild war whoop descended into a cruel howl as the hunter began to stalk his next meal.

Stale whiskey and vomit poured through the streets easily guiding the traveler to a suitable hunting ground. Some back country hick bar on the outskirts of town or a small ghetto dive in the slums they all smelled the same. Here the weak and sick of society pooled together in a cesspool of human filth. Here gathered the weak of the herd, those ready to be culled by the hunters of the night. Only humanity had become a herd without a predator to cure the ills that the weak placed upon the species and even the Vampires that clamed the nights had lost much of instincts that had made them the cure to humanities ills.

As with all animals, those too weak to survive in a time of crisis must be purged to make way for the superior genes. A weak member who is allowed to live will pass on an inferior gene which will fail a herd at a time when they most needed it. That had clearly happened within the urban walls of this city. But with the Camarilla’s leaving the herd sensed the baying of the wolves and deaths noose tightening.

Time would make a better prey. O’olish was sure of that. He would start culling those to stupid to survive in the wild to speed up the process. Where one predator had failed he would succeed. Towards that end he had begun to prowl the streets, just another homeless Native American too often seen passed out in the gutter.

Tonight’s prey had seemed challenging enough, a large muscle bound Cuban bar bouncer intent on kicking the shit out of the piss drunk Indian attempting to gain entrance into The Flamingo, a Cuban bar on the out skirts of Tampa. The outcasts of Miami’s Cubans attempting to regain the power that being Cuban gave them in a city not used to their presence. The bouncer had stopped him immediately, “Gringo isn’t welcome here.” He spoke in a practiced Spanish that spoke more of the generations his family had been in country then the spray on tan that covered his forearms.

O’olish gave him a look that would have stopped a pack of starving werewolves, but the bouncer, pumped up on steroids, had missed the primal signal to run. The fight lasted only a moment, the feeding took significantly longer as O’olish took his time. The darkness of the wee hours masking the events completely as O’olish feasted. By the time the next drunk skank drew a breath of fresh air in an attempt to get a piece of the bouncer the body was long gone, buried in the bottom of a dumpster three blocks away.

The still packed streets were beginning to show the signs of emptying as O’olish approached the intended meeting place. They had better have had some life or death reason for calling on him. He was no longer one of them, had not been for generations uncountable. His time in the Sabbat was short, but profitable in the eyes of Milian and their memories of his oath to aid were long. Snake eyes, a remnant of his first night of frenzy, slowly scanned the streets as he allowed his senses to feast in the newness of the city. What had it been, 40 years…..50 since he had traveled anywhere outside of his hunting grounds.

Still the smells confused his senses; it was probably why he had missed her before. Though the smell of a mate tickled the insides of his nose drawing up an old hunger once thought long buried, moments before her body hugged his own. Her small frame wrapping around his own in an attempt to regain her footing. A small ‘O’ softly escaping between her red lips as her eyes met his own. Her scent fogged his mind in a way he hadn’t felt for another of his people since his joining the ranks of undead and the primal nature he had embraced answered. A soft growl of lust escaped him as he turned to back her towards a darkened alley. His thoughts of his meeting lost in the thoughts of sex that claimed his being.

Well, now ... she thought to herself, popping her back in a few places as she settled in for a rest against a tree. Won't this be a show.

She sniffed the air. It reeked of her master's pheromones, Yes, he was needing "some." And he was never one to go for none when he could have some. Or more than some, in fact. All was more his style. Why have none, or some, when you could have all?

And if this little girl wasn't careful, he would have all of her. And it wouldn't be pleasant.

She had been tracking him, through the Great Plains, into the swamps, and finally here, Florida. Irony, maybe? Is that why he had led her here? A state deemed inhabitable by the early settlers, now a dirty puddle of illegals, sluts, wanna-be everythings.

But the war. Maybe that would change all of that. The tourists had stop coming. Soon, the theme parks would shut down. Soon, the cement would crack, and stubborn, strong living things will begin writhing their way out and up, tasting sun in places where they had been denied existence for so long. Pulled up and or sprayed away. No longer.

She thought of rust creeping into the roller coasters. She thought of rot seeping into the cheap wood holding up the gift stands. She thought of little vermin creatures -- roaches and squirrels and rats -- skittering across the asphalt, reestablishing territories and power structures and food chains amidst the colorful caricatures and screaming commercialism. It all made her tight.

After all, the plants, and with them, the beasts were returning to reclaim Florida. She wasn't patient, but if it meant watching the transformation of this place at his side, she might be able to stand it. At least, for awhile. Until she grew bored of him again.

He had sent her away in disgust last time. When she had failed to satisfy him.

“Why are there no 90-degree angles in nature?” he had asked.

She, still young then, had given what she believed to be the correct response: “Man needs structure.”

He had growled at her, slapped her, and told her to find the answer.

She had gone back, back, back to Iowa, back to the 90-degree angles where she was once contained. Where she once did dishes and fed pets and shit and ate. There she found the answer. And she was eager to give it to him, in the way that beasts give things to one another.

But it wasn't her turn, and she was fine with that. She was content watching, at least for now. Especially since he hadn't noticed her yet. That in itself made her proud, made her feel worthy to be part of her master's pack.

Yet, even in that moment of pride, she knew he wasn't careless. It was only a matter of time.

The rotting smell of decay wafted from the dark stagnant bins of the ally, a place of haunting fears driven home by the countless tales of the vagrants and murderers that lurked there. That which happened even a few inches within its darkened grasp was far enough from the safety of the street lights to be ignored by even the most noble of police officers. In the allies of a city the older ways still ruled, where the strong took what they wanted from those too weak to protect what they had.

The dark pressed in around him as she retreated down an ally that would be her final resting place in this world. The sweet sticky sent of her attraction filled his nose as he pursued her with the subtle fluid movement that was becoming less and less human and more and more snake like. His snake eyes began to shine in an eerie red glow as the darkness surrounded them.

His heightened senses followed her every step as claws began to extend from his hands. Each thud of her foot steps vibrated through his body, her scent clarified his focus as he approached. O’olish timed each of his steps carefully to her own as his eyes feasted upon her youthful form. “Come girl,” his voice came out in a soft hiss, “pleasures await you.” His voice trailed off as he began more aggressive movements attempting to swiftly close the gap between the two.

Has the snake coiled himself around something that even he can't swallow? she asked herself, eyes widening.

She hated, despised the thought of stepping in. Hopefully, he could slide and slip his way out of this, like he had so many times before ... centuries before she even knew of his existence, even. Hopefully, she could watch, and maybe pick up a new trick along the way.

But there was no telling how formidable this little girl truly was. That was, as they say, the nature of the beast. Her beast, his beast, even the not-so-delicate-a-flower's beast. Conceal, conceal, conceal, until you unleash. Then watch. Watch and quiver.

She, of course, wouldn't quiver, but would objectively observe, to unleash only if things took a nasty turn.

The sweet scents of arousal soured in O’olish’s nose as lust flipped to anger. Her young native body which was once so willing, so ready, bent and slouched into one of aggression. Her natural beauty hardened before his eyes as the animal in heat faded to one trapped in a cage.

O’olish halted his advance and examined the vampress in front of him. Her anger or fear seemed confusing and ill placed. Even within the dark confines of the dark ally he could see her hardened features perfectly. Her beauty touched softly at the edges of her hostile face and seemed misplaced on one so small. But his time in the wilds had taught him much about appearances and his instincts gave pause.

By her actions she was unpredictable and everything that he hated about his brother clans and more so about the sect he had sworn an oath to serve. Unbridled hatred and anger bottled up in a hunter ill suited to the world. A predator untrained and with little restraint. A creature of death and not of balance, O’olish pitied her, but arousal was not something that could be taken away with a change in scent. Her anger just made her all the more tempting.

His words came out with a low hiss that marked his speech as the Seminole words flowed forth, “Peace Child*”. He watched her face for any form of recognition that would speak of her heritage.



*Translated into English to keep story moving

She pushed a dirty blonde dreadlock behind her ear with cracked fingernails. Dirty, in the literal sense. So dirty that maybe in life her hair had been blonde, pure blonde, once. But it was so knotted and neglected, it had formed coils of filth.

Idiot, she thought to herself, as her master continued his approach. She pulled her tattered trench coat around her a bit tighter, admitting to herself that she would not walk away from this scene without stepping into it.