Rating: about PG
None of these characters belong to me--I'm just playing with them for a while. Archive permission granted for both Fkfiction archives, the FTP archive, and anywhere else for that matter. My thanks to NiteMar for betaing this. Blame this weirdness on too much sleep deprivation, PEZ, chocolate, Pixie Stixs, and Kool-Aid.
September 26, 2004
LaCroix skulked in the shadows, watching humanity pass by on their way home from their mortal jobs. He had been watching one of them for quite some time-a Pulitzer-prize winning reporter for the city's leading newspaper. The master vampire was sure that the man's blood would be delicious. After all, the other brilliant humans that he had feasted upon over the centuries had tasted much better than the dregs of society that he had been hunting lately.
It had been over a hundred years since he had fed on anything but bottled blood or the disenfranchised. He was hungry, and he longed for the warm, sweet blood of the man he had been following. LaCroix spotted his quarry and followed behind at a safe distance, taking in the man's powerful form dressed in a conservative business suit.
LaCroix waited until the man ducked into an alleyway before following him. With vampire speed, he grabbed the man and let the heartbeat fill his ears. "Submit to me," he said, his eyes glowing gold and his voice strangely hypnotic. The young man's brown eyes glazed over and his head drooped. As LaCroix bared the young man's neck, horn-rimmed glasses slid off the man's handsome face and fell to the ground.
He licked the vein in the man's neck, preparing it for his final thrust. Intrigued by the taste, he licked the man's skin again. He tasted… different. The man's skin had a flavor unlike anything he had ever sampled before. A demonic grin lit his face. If his skin tasted like *that* then his blood was sure to be an experience. LaCroix reared back his head and chomped down on his dinner only to drop him and stumble back with a howl of pain.
LaCroix covered his mouth with his hand, and, sparing a glance at the crumpled form of his intended entrée, he took off, headed toward his son's new residence. He flew through the skylight and landed with a soft thump. "Niclasss," he called with a lisp, grimacing at the pain that talking gave him. "Na'lie" he whimpered, clapping his hand over his injured mouth once more.
Nick hurried downstairs, his master's pain resonating through their link. Nat followed close at his heels as she straightened her blouse and ran a hand thought her disheveled hair. Nat hurried to his side and gently coaxed LaCroix to let her look at his fangs. "They're splintered," she informed him. "And I'm afraid that there's nothing I can do about it--I may be a doctor to our kind, but 'dentist' isn't in the job description."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow and regarded his sire with a sardonic look. "Father, I'm afraid it serves you right. You should know better than to try hunting...in Metropolis."
Sneaky little devil, ain't I? ;)