My Precious Nightmare

Chapter 37: Master of the Shadows

This time, when Husani gave over his senses to his instincts for the hunt, rather than a sharp thrill of elation, a wild howl of fury tore from his throat, earthy, shrill, and animalistic. Every hair on his body went on end. His wings burst forth from his bare back on reflex, throwing shreds of his skin to the sky. Scents came to him sharp as neon. His vision brought the night to brilliant complexity.

There was no sweet freedom in this hunt. No happy abandon. Lea's missing presence throbbed inside him like an open wound, and the scent of his prey, her captor, imprinted what part of his mind wasn't saved by his meager consciousness.

Not her.

Cement cracked beneath his claws. Air sliced open, breaking gravity, lifting him up—out—at whiplash speeds. He tasted the vile fume of the city, the musk of flesh, the too-sweet rot, and then, finally, the thread thin moldy-fruit trail of a very, very old vampire.

Without his conscious mind in full control he couldn't control the shadows to hide him from any onlookers below while he flew. But Lea threw all caution to the wind.

Not her.

The girl with the big blue eyes and strawberry milkshake across her toes. The girl with the gentle smile that washed over him as sunshine used to do, when it didn't burn his eyes and skin. The girl who took him in and all that he was; accepting, unafraid, and curious.

Husani snarled into the wind. The animal within him gave a bestial roar for lavender-scented, butterscotch blood.

He had just enough self-awareness to register that the scent didn't lead him to the old dock he had found the vampire at previously. Rather, it led him inward, past the too-bright lights and noise of the crowded city to an old brick and steel factory being renovated (into what; Husani's instincts didn't care). All they knew was that butterscotch and lavender had twined within the rotten fruit scent.

The thunderous bang of crashing through a tin roof brought him to his senses just in time for him to catch himself on the hard, cement floor. A tall carpenter's tool box shot away, spraying metal and tools in a raining cacophony of silver. Bits of old stone and metal pattered about him.

"Five stars for dramatic entrance," said a cold, mellow voice. "Very cinematic."

Like a rise of bile, his instincts rolled towards his throat, lengthening his fangs so quick and hot, it hurt. Only his fury kept it from taking over him completely.

"You had no reason to take her," he said slowly, but his care was sloppy and he tasted his own nasty blood.

Through the settling dust, across the vast main floor with two walls of wooden framework between them, the ancient vampire's white hair almost glowed.

"On the contrary. You just don't know what you've found."

A chill zipped down his neck. Ice gripped his stomach hard, harder still when he traced her sweet scent to the ancient vampire and knew.

The monster within him, fed by his panic and feral ferocity, lurched forward. All coherent thought left him. His wings took flight, his claws took aim—

And crashed into a brick wall, his prey having stepped aside.

"Already in that deep, are we?" said the smirk beneath the white hair.

Husani gnashed his teeth, then lunged, pummeled—

Stop! He yanked hard on the reins, forcing himself back from the haze of bloodlust. The monster clawed at his body, making him tremble from the effort and want. He had never craved the death of another more than he did then. But he was going to end up dead if he gave in to his senses now. This one was too old, too strong.