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  A Short Vampire Story

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  Hunters' Game

  By Denysé Bridger

  Copyright © 2012 Denysé Bridger

  Hunters' Game

  Chapter One

  The hunt begins…

  Cliantha Alexandros loved the rain, especially when the fury of thunder and sizzle of lightning tore the sky to shreds. She glanced upward, wishing the torrent of the storm would be unleashed. The heavy darkness in the sky had threatened rain all day, but now, late in the evening, the promise remained unfulfilled.

  But it was there. Like so many other threats lurking within the shadows. Threats like you, her inner voice whispered, making her smile. The storm-grey above her deepened, and a gust of wind shredded chunks of white cloud before tossing them into the emerging maelstrom. Fragments of cloud lost their airborne wildness, drifted, spiraling downward to nestle her in a shroud of fog.

  Mortal fear tainted the air in storms, and the terror lit a frenzy in her veins. Her skin tingled, her body vibrated with awakened urgency. Her mood was quicksilver, dangerous, and she was eager to indulge all her desires.

  Enveloped in the night-cooling, rain-laden air, Cliantha walked, the sharp, staccato click of her stiletto heels tapping out each step. She smiled, soaking in all that surrounded her, both the physical and the internal nuances that caressed her heightened mental awareness.

  Spring loomed nearby, but the chill of winter dominated the air, keeping it crisp and biting. The streets of downtown Toronto were always busy at this time. People rushed through the surreal daylight of glowing street-lights, caught up in the importance of their fleeting lives. Inwardly, she mocked them, the doomed prey among unknown predators.

  Among the multitude of faces and bodies, she stood out. Her superiority came as naturally as breathing, something she accepted without humility. Emerging from the swaths of cottony, damp mist, minion's thoughts washed over her, their unspoken words of praise amusing and familiar. Men gazed at her with longing, women with combined envy and pride for the magnificent creature who embodied the beauty of their gender.

  Snaring the gaze of a staring male, she forged a passing bond with his mind. Laughing, she relished a vision of herself through his eyes for fleeting instants. Blue-black hair, jet-dark eyes, long legs glimpsed with each step she made.

  Cultivated arrogance shrouded her in mystery and sensual allure. She released her hold on the stranger's thoughts.

  Several young men eyed her, and she read their calculations as each decided if they were, indeed, brave enough to approach. Her laughter as her gaze swept over each of them in turn was all the deterrent they needed.

  She knew what she wanted tonight, and her senses resonated with his presence. Somewhere in this crowded mélange, Demetri deVerieux was lying in wait, his deviant desires beckoning to her with invisible fingers. In this alone, was he like their maker, Stavros, with his ability to lure her into amoral desires until all that existed was her need to find release.

  She paused at a dark corner, closed her eyes and reached out to the night. A shudder of rapture slid along her veins at his mental caress. He summoned her to him, taunting her with waves of memory and promises yet unfulfilled. Their game began in earnest.

  Edgy and eager now, she rubbed her hands against the velvet of her skirt, her breathing rapid and shallow as harsh reality bit into her eagerness. Her present life was a necessary ploy to disarm an old enemy. Despite the pleasures they shared, her relationship with Demetri served a greater purpose. He was not the mate she had chosen to spend her eternity serving and loving.

  She seized a seat at a sidewalk café, and took a moment to pull her emotions together, before he picked up on her distraction. Or the reason behind it.

  She drew in a calming breath and closed her eyes. Demetri's hunting games always triggered the memories seizing her heart. Shivering, she opened herself to the past. It was the only way she could hope to bury her secrets beyond his reach again…

  The dreams came, as they always did, breaths of disjointed, blood-tainted images. Fragmented and disconnected, the scenes flew across her mind like clips from a movie in which she was the star. Terror assaulted her, a distant, abstract awareness, part of her, but not born of her. Within Cliantha, an unmistakable thrill of excitement awoke—a macabre delight in the fear that flourished all around her. A reckless surge of abandon filled her, and she threw back her head. Laughter filled the night, hers, and his.

  A shudder penetrated the madness and she wondered who he was. She gazed up, drowning in eyes so blue, they filled her vision, and he smiled. That fleeting shift of expression sent a tingle along her spine that made her arch toward him, her body seeking contact with his. He laughed, sweeping Cliantha into his arms.

  Before she could make sense of whom he was, the dream/vision skewed again… becoming one of lust and savagery as images blurred and aroused a hunger she couldn't define. His lips parted hers and demanded her soul.

  She gave it.

  His taste and scent filled her senses, stirring a passion that threatened to make her scream for fulfillment. Still he teased her, his mouth searching out the most vulnerable places, plundering her secrets, revealing them to her with a wickedness that made him all the more terrifying.

  When he refused to answer her broken pleas, she grew angry, and that, too, pleased him.

  "Bastard!" she hissed.

  "Take what you desire, Cliantha!" He matched her anger, but still smiled. "You can have anything you want, if you dare to claim it as your right."

  Her eyes swept over the man lying beside her and she rose to her knees. She stared at him, her passion swelling to an agony of exquisite need with each caressing shift of her gaze. With shaking hands, she stroked his silky platinum hair, while her sensitive fingertips traced the mocking smile that tilted the corners of his mouth. She parted his lips with a gentle probe of one finger, and punctured the tip against the razor-sharp edge of one extended fang. He licked the droplet of blood as she traced the fullness of his bottom lip.

  "I hate you," she murmured, leaning forward to straddle his hips. Her hands wandered over his smooth, cool chest, memorizing contours she knew better than her own. Touching him intoxicated her like a drug, addictive, senseless, and exciting beyond anything she'd ever known.

  It had even ceased to matter that he had forced her into his bed. His dominance had long ago stripped her of the innocence she'd once possessed. She let another drop of blood drip from her finger; it pooled over his heart and she bent to lick the scarlet stain. This time he reacted, and the tiny shiver inspired deep satisfaction, making her smile down at him. Pure hunger blazed within her. A hunger he had cultivated and fed for decades. A thousand years could pass and she'd still crave his touch with an insanity that made her despise herself, and him.

  "Show me how you hate me, bitch!" His hand tangled in the waves of blue-black hair that fell forward when he pulled her to him. She tore away from his embrace and glared down at him. Amused, he gripped her throat.

  She arched her neck, inviting without a word. His blue eyes grew dark and dangerous. She rose and bent forward until her lips brushed his, then allowed her tongue to invade his mouth. Strong, elegant fingers drifted across her back, waking trails of fire that left her shuddering against him. She drew away from the bitter sweetness of his mouth and stared down at him again, her chest heaving with her effort to regain control of her body's responses.

  His hands at her waist shifted, found the fullness of her breasts and she moaned as he brushed his thumbs across the hardened buds of her nipples. Cliantha shook her head and slid back, pushing his hands away as she began to explore his pale, defined body. When her mouth finish
ed its teasing trek across his chest, and closed over him, she shuddered at the rise of his hips.

  "Hate me, Cliantha." He was, even now, unable to resist reminding her that he allowed this erotic torture.

  Her head rose and she smiled. Reflected in his glowing gaze, her fangs gleamed in the silvery haze of muted moonlight that illuminated the elegant room.

  He pulled her to him and rolled, possessed her body with his, biting into her throat in the same motion. She spasmed in a shiver of pain and ecstasy. He mirrored her response when he drew back and she found the softness of his neck.

  * * * * *

  Cliantha gasped as the mixture of dreams and memories left her trembling and disoriented. She rose from her seat, annoyed because this always happened when she permitted the truth to surface.

  Ten years ago, Stavros had reclaimed her from Demetri, but then Demetri had killed their master.

  Demetri now owned her in ways she hadn't believed possible. What had begun as a game she'd controlled had become an addiction, a trap from which she made no effort to escape. Even when the truth had returned to her mind, Demetri's seductive hold remained unbreakable.

  He'd destroyed Stavros, run a burning stake through his heart. She'd wanted to die that night, but Demetri refused to allow it. He'd forced her to live, lured her with his seduction and his passion for the darkest desires she could imagine.

  When she had run to her oldest friend seeking shelter, Demetri had killed him while she watched. But, even now, she carried a secret he'd never discovered. He was so certain of his victory, he'd never questioned her absences.

  Demetri had chosen tonight's game, but before the hunt was over, she'd planned a few surprises for him. She stepped onto the sidewalk, moving through the throngs of humanity, and burying the past with determined will.

  Chapter Two

  Meeting

  Mortal heartbeats pulsed in Demetri's head, an undercurrent to the steady throb of music reverberating through the noisy club. A smile curved his mouth, though none who might have witnessed the expression could ever have understood the source of his macabre humor. Toying with the glass in his hand, his long, tapered fingers stroked the smooth surface, tormenting him with memories of her skin. Clia's flawless beauty never failed to sharpen his hungers to near pain. His fangs ached, punching through his gums while the remembered taste of her taunted him.

  Young people drifted through the room, locked in their own worlds. Youth, wild and insolent, full of deluded certainty that they were immortal and untouchable. They played at death and immortality, but the truth would terrify them. The reality he'd show at least one of them tonight would teach a lesson they'd take to the grave–the price of truth in his world.

  He tapped the glass, an unconscious mirror of the pounding music. Cliantha was taking her time joining him, and he wanted her. His muscles tensed, his cock and his fangs ravenous for her, and anger stirred. She was toying with him, and he loved and hated it. He'd lured her from hate to devotion over time. Stavros had chosen a perfect mate in her. Demetri was fascinated by the duality of her nature, sometimes pliant, other times exhibiting a stubborn fury that astonished him. He'd uncovered some of her secrets, but sensed there was much more to know. The only time he could glimpse her mind was when he had her writhing in passion, and from those precious seconds of abandoned lust, he'd pulled hints of betrayal.

  A soft, breathless whisper brushed over his senses, and he looked down at the mortal standing next to him. The girl was no more than twenty, and she wore the pale make-up that created a death-masque look that so many of the club's youth seemed to strive for. Desire sparkled in her hazel eyes. He caught her wrist as she reached out to touch him. Amused with her bold recklessness, he lifted the slender limb he'd captured and stroked the throb of life beneath the translucent surface of her skin. She watched, enraptured, when he bent over her wrist. Her body trembled, and she hissed a gasp of pain and pleasure as his razor-edged fangs pierced her vein and he drank.

  Demetri indulged his thirst, but only enough to whet his appetite, not sate it. The girl leaned into him, her eyes dazed. He licked at the wounds on her wrist, and smiled when the soft stroke of his tongue triggered an explosive climax. She twitched violently, her low moan swallowed by his brief kiss.

  "Would you like to dance?"

  He ignored her question and released her, turned his attention to the dance floor.

  "Go!" When she refused to accept the dismissal, he permitted himself the luxury of inciting fear. He turned to look at her again, and his vision altered, grew sharp and gilded by flames. She gasped at the force of his stare. This time, there was no pleasure in her sharp intake of air.

  "Fuck you!" She stood her ground for a few heartbeats, hands on her hips.

  "Not interested." He laughed, and his mental slap made her cry out in pain.

  Seconds later, he was alone again.

  But she was getting closer.

  * * * * *

  Cliantha relaxed as she moved deeper into the underground nightlife of Goths and thrill junkies. These mortals she understood. They toyed with ways to bring death to them, so they could flirt with the darkness and decadence of those like her. Excited heartbeats vibrated against her mind, making her body hunger. She licked her lips, temptation gnawing at her control.

  Reaching the bar where Demetri waited, she scanned the patrons hoping to get inside. Simply because she was bored, she plucked stray thoughts from their minds. A fluttering breeze caught her black silk jacket and it billowed out, revealing her gauzy blouse. A second, stronger gust had the light material pressed against her curves, and her nipples hardened painfully. She caught the interest of one of the men, and winked at him. The girl next to him saw the exchange and cursed at him.

  Cliantha pulled her jacket back into place, making sure the young man saw her deliberately brush her distended nipples. She laughed when his mind filled with the image of her naked breasts, and his mouth sucking them while he fucked her. A snap of her mind, and he was blinking in confusion at the sudden loss of her mental touch.

  She stopped on the sidewalk, immune to mutters and curses as people stumbled around her. The sign drew her eyes upward. Her mood became wicked, delighted as she read the name: Savage Garden. This place had a reputation for decadence and the people outside certainly gave credence to the image of unbridled lust the club's name was meant to incite. Twisted yearnings and dark desires waiting to be unleashed battered her mind each time she opened her thoughts to the human throng.

  He couldn't have picked a more appropriate place to let loose the thirsting demons inside them. His presence called to her, luring, like a flame illuminating the path that would lead her to salvation. Or, more aptly, eternal damnation.

  A satisfied smile curved her mouth, and she answered the siren-song of her lover's call. She walked past the crowd, ignoring the mutterings of discontent her audacity incited. The young man at the door, selecting the clientele for the night, stared at her. His smile, like so many she'd seen that night, was speculative, calculating and oblivious to the mortal danger his lust for her put him in.

  "What can I do for you, darling?" His faint British accent added a pleasant lilt to his insolent query.

  He was a nice-looking boy, tall, fair, and filled with his own importance.

  "Let me go in."

  "Let me go in and you can have whatever you want, sweetheart." He leaned close and his tongue flicked at her earlobe.

  "Later." She locked her gaze with his, penetrating his mind with little effort. "You're busy at the moment." She nipped the trapped fullness of his bottom lip and laughed when he jerked back, a droplet of blood staining the corner of his mouth. She leaned close again and licked the crimson smear, an electric shock of excitement exploding in her veins when the metallic taste lingered on her tongue.

  She stepped past him as she released her mental hold and his confusion drifted out of her awareness.

  Inside, the bar was murky. Her vision flared with preternatural s
harpness, defining shapes and shadows with vivid clarity. The stairwell echoed weirdly, distorting sound with the hammering beat of the music and she almost floated into the dark room.

  At the top of the stairs, she paused again. Her heartbeat quickened with each step she took closer to contact with Demetri. The fiery red fixture hanging from the ceiling sent tendrils of light spiraling outward, crimson streaks glinted off chrome, absorbed by the shadows. A powerful strobe turned the dancers into frantic marionettes as the madness of primal music carried them into their own private darkness.

  A flicker of reddish blond hair caught her eye and her vampiric sight pierced the murky atmosphere, saw him smile at her from across the room. Already her body hummed with the knowledge that his hands would soon be on her skin, inciting a hunger that no one else could feed.

  She brushed past the few who lingered near the top of the stairs, and skirted the metal bars that gave the place such a distinctive look. By the time she reached where he'd been, he'd vanished. Grinding her teeth, she whirled around and studied the crowd. Again, his pale presence drew her. One arched eyebrow rose in amused challenge.

  "Your game is intriguing, love," she whispered. He'd hear her despite the deafening music.

  And which role do you prefer to play? Predator or prey? His answer whispered inside her head, and she grinned.

  What does it matter? It always ends the same and I have never objected.

  "Can I get you a drink?"

  She started, and reluctantly looked away from her lover. The newcomer was tall and thin, dressed in black pants and vest over a starkly white shirt. He had shoulder-length hair that haloed a face that reflected both innocence and sensual knowledge. He was rather exquisite.

  She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the bar. She accepted a glass of red wine and strolled toward the central row of tables. As expected, the boy followed her, but she stopped at the half-wall bordering the dance floor instead of moving into the shadows where tables afforded more privacy. She leaned on the wide ledge that acted as a counter, and peered at the gyrating dancers who turned the area into a roiling sea of color.