fiction

Dangerous Temptation

Trigger warning for violence

The fight had been longer than usual.

Once again, it was the Villain who instigated.

Wasn’t it always the Villain who instigated? I suppose it depends on who you ask.

But this time, the Hero had the upper hand. It was rare that this happened. And so often in the past had they let their opportunity pass, that this time… this time… the Hero would have the final word.

After downing the Villain, they hadn’t left the Villain for whichever Minion to find. No, they’d taken the Villain to their own special bolthole. It was nicer than a warehouse, but not much more comfortable. The Hero started using the abandon mansion as a sort of sanctuary when the rigors and responsibility of being a Hero got to be too much. Here they could relax. Here, they could experiment.

“What…” the Villain spat, waking up with a jerk. They were poorly tied in an uncomfortable chair, the Hero sitting before them. This had never happened to them before. They weren’t entirely sure they liked it. But they didn’t dislike it either. This position had an air of… opportunistic irony about it that they could appreciate.

The Hero leaned forward and grabbed their cheeks with their nails. The Villain tried to pull away, expression defiant, but the Hero held them fast. 

The Villain heaved a sigh. 

“I schposh…” they drawled around the Hero’s fingers. The Hero released them enough to speak. 

“I suppose this is you thinking you’re clever, isn’t it?” 

The Villain leaned back, exposing their chest while they stretched their legs out. A pity about their hands and arms being tied. Their neck hurt. 

“You think that after me being your prisoner.. what… once? Will ever make you my equal?” 

The Hero glared and started to say something but the Villain cut them off with a laugh.

“You’re pathetic! If you think this…” they shrugged their arms, spread their knees. I”s enough to cow me…” 

The Hero snarled and slapped the Villain. And was met with another laugh. 

“AHAH! FINALLY!” They laughed again, gleefully. “You’re finally realizing the value of physical violence. Come on, do it again.” 

The Hero blinked at the Villain. 

“What?” 

“Oh please. Hit me. Hit me again, with all the strength you have.”

The Hero hesitated and the Villain kept talking. 

“Or are you too morally right? Too polite to-” 

The Villain grunted as the Hero punched them hard in the face. The Hero felt surprisingly better for it. 

“You talk too much,” the Hero said. 

Head still to the side, the Villain gave the Hero a side eye. 

“Yes, it’s because everyone else is a bore. Someone has to make up for-” 

The Hero hit them again, and this time the amusement faded from the Villain’s face. Blood trickled from their nose to their lips. 

They looked at the Hero, noted their heightened breathing, the barely restrained rage burning in their eyes. 

A soft chuckle escaped the Villain, and they spoke again in a slightly nasally voice. 

“Yes. You see? The power it gives you, having someone at your mercy.”

They straightened, and let their head fall back, a sensual smile playing shout their bloody lips. 

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”

“SHUT UP!” The Hero yelled. They shoved the Villain in the shoulders, sending them and the chair to the floor. The Villain grunted upon impact, but was relieved to find the ropes had untied in the fall. 

“But why?” The Villain said from the ground, awkwardly peering at the Hero. “Because you don’t like the truth of what I’m saying?” 

“No. Yes… Gah…” The Hero’s shoulders fell, their expression crumpling in confusion. 

“It’s alright my darling Hero.” The Villain wiggled their hands free of the knots. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“Oh, but I do. I understand you completely.”

“I’m nothing like you! The hero hissed, some of their fire returning. I’ll never be like you.” 

The Villain hummed.

“You say that now…” 

In  a flash they were on their feet, the rope in their hands. Before the Hero could react the Villain had the rope wrapped around their neck. They twisted, and the Hero gasped, clawing at the Villain’s hands. 

“But one day soon you’ll realize…” The Villain’s voice was silky as hey twisted the rope further. The Hero hacked and choked. “There are benefits of giving into your desires.” 

They leaned in and tenderly kissed the Hero’s cheek. 

“So you see,” they murmured. The Hero was nearly unconscious. “You just have to take what you want, when you want. And when you do that?” They peered into the Hero’s bloodshot eyes. “That is when you are truly free.” 

With that they released the rope and sauntered to the door. The Hero fell to their knees, chest and shoulders heaving as they sucked in breath after breath, tears and spit running down their face. 

“If you ever decide to pursue some more… illicit interests,” the Villain said, pausing in the doorway. “You know where to find me.”

And they were gone. 

As the Hero regained their breath, their throat aching, they thought about where it went wrong. They didn’t know. But the Villain’s words…

The Hero punched the floor, bloodying their knuckles.

The Villain had ended the fight with the upper hand.

Again.

Damn it.

Glaring at the door, the Hero made a vow to themselves. One day. One gods’ damn day, they would come out on top, no matter what.

Devotion

A Minion/Villain piece.

A little different from previous posts, this piece introduces a new, recurring character: The Minion. After all, what is a Villain without a Minion, or a Hero without a Sidekick?

“Where were you? The Villain’s voice was cold. 

Caught in the middle of removing their coat, the Minion looked up, finding their Mastress sitting in a chair by the bay windows. Dusk was falling, staining the sky plum and citrine as a curtain of depthless indigo descended over the world. 

“I was running errands,” they said, hanging their coat and scarf on the rack. “Some of the supplies were low, and I thought-“

“Come here,” the Villain interrupted, waving at them to approach. 

Obediently, the Minion came to stand at the Villain’s side.  

“Why did you not tell me?” The Villain’s tone sent a thrill of warning through the Minion’s chest.  

“You were busy,” they said truthfully, hands stuffed in their pockets. “When I got back with the supplies you were still locked in your office, so I met someone for dinner.”

“Who did you meet?”

The Minion hesitated, fearing to say too much. 

“A friend.” It was true, to a point, but they didn’t want the Villain involved in their personal life more than they already were. 

Without warning The Villain surged to their feet and wrapped their hands around the Minion’s neck, driving them to their knees. The Minion didn’t resist, merely met the Villain’s gaze with something like resigned trust. 

“You are mine!” The Villain growled, squeezing just tight enough for the Minion’s eyes to widen in surprise. A moment later they released the Minion’s throat with a scoff, only to grip their cheeks instead, digging their nails in. “Do you understand?” They hissed. “Mine, and mine alone.” 

The Minion inhaled gently, relieved to have the Villains hands off their neck. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, nor would it be the last. Still, it was unsettling. 

“Say it.” The Villain’s voice was harsh, their expression difficult to read. 

The Minion blinked once, slowly, holding the Villain’s unwavering gaze. 

“I am yours.” They said softly, devoutly. 

“And?” The Villain dug their nails in harder. The Minion suppressed a wince. 

“Your wish is my command, Mastress.” 

A tense moment passed, neither so much as breathing. 

“Good.”

With a flourish the Villain released the Minion, leaving red crescent moons etched into the skin of their cheeks. 

Slowly, so as not to provoke them, the Minion rose to their feet, assuming a neutral stance. 

“Mastress?”

The Villain pressed their fingertips to the bridge of their nose, eyes closed.

“It’s been a long day,” the Villain sighed, as if carrying on a previous conversation. As if nothing untoward had happened. “I require a drink. You know which, I take it?” 

“Of course.” 

The Minion was about to leave when the Villain stopped them with a gentle touch on their shoulder. Pausing, the Minion turned, their chest a mere breath from the Villain’s. 

“I haven’t told you this enough, darling,” the Villain murmured. “But you… you are the reason…”

The Minion raised a hesitant brow when the Villain didn’t continue. 

“The reason?”

Forgoing an answer the Villain pressed their lips to the Minion’s, lingering just long enough to convey a vague sense of desperation. Grinning as they pulled back, the Villain savored the warring expressions on the Minion’s face; confusion, desire, fear, concern. 

“Why, you’re the reason I remain so fabulous, despite the Hero’s best efforts to make me otherwise.” 

The Minion nodded, a bemused smile on their mouth. 

“It’s my pleasure, Mastress,’ they said, their expression settling back into carefully practiced neutrality. “Shall I get your drink then?” 

The Villain waved their hand dismissively, the kiss already forgotten. 

“As you will, my dear.” 

Bowing slightly, the Minion departed. When they returned the Villain had resumed their seat by the window, staring out at the night-enshrouded cityscape below them. Without a word they set the drink on the table at the Villain’s elbow. 

“Do you require anything else, Mastress?” They asked. 

The Villain merely waved their fingers. But rather than cupping their chin again they took the Minion’s hand, staying their departure. 

“Stay here tonight,” they said. Their thumb traced idly over the Minion’s knuckles. “I want you ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mastress.” 

The Minion returned the pressure of the Villain’s grasp before slipping their fingers free. 

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll turn in, then.” 

Nodding idly, the Villain continued contemplating the view, knuckle pressed to their lips in thought. 

Taking the silence as a dismissal, the Minion headed for their bedroom, the door on the far side of the room. They stepped through and were about to close it when they paused. 

“Good night, Mastress,” the Minion said. 

“Good night, my darling. Sweet nightmares.” 

The Minion smiled and closed the door.  

Grey

A Hero/Villain Piece

In which a new, recurring side character is introduced: The Sidekick.

“So it comes to this,” the Villain sneered. Defiance flashed in their bruised eyes as they glared at the Hero from their knees. They took a deep breath, refusing to grimace as their ribs creaked. The Hero could hit hard when they wanted to. And if they were properly motivated. The Villain relished the satisfaction of a job well done, despite the pain. They had finally found the Hero’s weakness. At the cost of a few broken ribs and ruined coat, sure, but they knew how to plan for the future now. 

“Doesn’t it always?” The Hero asked. They looked impassively down at their nemesis. Blood covered the Villain’s face and stained their once impeccably white shirt. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt was smeared across their chest, and their pants were ripped at the knees, their boots scuffed beyond repair. The remains of their coat lay in tatters around them, the fabric little more than threads. 

“Well, yes. But I’m usually the one standing over you crowing my victory.”

The Hero ignored the Villain’s jape, and turned to look at the wall behind them.

“Are you alright?” They called.

“Y… yes!” Came the quavery reply. From around the corner appeared the Hero’s Sidekick. They were battered and shaky on their feet, but at least they were alive. 

Seeing them, the Villain laughed, a harsh, maniacal cackle that frayed the Hero’s nerves. They’d heard that laugh too many times, and it never boded well.

“Stay where you are,” the Hero barked as the Sidekick approached.

“But they’re-”

“DO WHAT I SAY!” The Hero’s voice took on a quality that surprised the Villain. The Hero sounded… Frightened? Furious? That was interesting.

With a look that mirrored the Villain’s sentiment, the Sidekick stopped just out of reach. They wrapped their arms around their torso, shielding the cuts and bruises the Villain knew were visible through their thin, ripped shirt. After all, the Villain had inflicted them personally. 

Silence filled the warehouse, the sounds of the night-enshrouded city reaching the trio as if through a fog. It was one of the Villain’s favorite locations in the city. Just central enough to run the risk of getting caught, but just far enough out of the way that it was unlikely for screaming to be heard.

“I’m surprised,” the Villain rasped, breaking the relative silence. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to kill me.” They coughed, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm on the ground, disgusted with their mortality.

“You changed the rules when you brought them into this,” the Hero said, jerking their head at their Sidekick. “It was supposed to be just you and me. No one else.”

“Oh my darling Hero, such naiveté. It was never just about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can you say it was only ever about us with an entire city out there?” If it didn’t hurt so much the Villain would have gestured to encompass the surrounding metropolis. As it was, they sat up a little straighter, staring the Hero in the eyes. “It’s always been about them.” The Villain nodded at the Sidekick, who flinched as if they’d been struck. “About how they perceive us. How we affect them.”

“It’s not. You’re wrong,” the Hero whispered, anger flickering in their eyes. The cuts on their knuckles cracked open as they clenched their hands; blood trickled down their fingers.

“Am I?” The Villain laughed again, coughed, and sagged back onto their heels, supporting themself with an arm braced on the ground. Monologging was difficult with broken ribs. “Tell me, my Hero. When has anyone from the city ever asked about you, personally?”

The Hero’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly. You see, it was never about us. It’s always been about our game, and what that game brings to news feeds and conversations. They don’t care about us. Hero, Villain. It makes no difference. We’re just actors to them, never mind that we live and walk among them. Even your lovely fragile Sidekick over there thinks so. Look at how they adore you, worship you, as if you’re nothing but an idol.”

“Then why did you bring them into this?” The Hero asked, eyes flicking to their Sidekick. They watched the exchange with rapt attention, proving the Villain’s point.

A satisfied smile crept across the Villain’s face.

“The game was growing stale. The masses’ attention was wavering. It was time to bring in a new player.”

Without warning, the Hero drew a gun from an inner pocket and leveled it at the Villains’ chest. Their carefully neutral visage cracked, their face filled with loathing.

The Villain’s eyes widened in fear for but a second before they schooled their own expression into unconcerned indifference. But the Hero saw the fear. Had they been looking anywhere but the Villain’s face, they would have missed it.

“Oh come on, really?” The Villain taunted. “Since when-“

“Since you made it personal.”

The Villain shrugged, the movement coming across as nervous rather than nonchalant. “It’s always been personal, my dear. Why do you think I chose you? Why I chose them?”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting. More interesting than other Heroes I’ve broken in the past. You’re resilient in a way that I admire. You remind me of me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

The Villain chuckled. “We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”

The Hero didn’t say anything, but kept the gun leveled at the Villain. The Sidekick looked from one to the other, trepidation and confusion etched on their young face. 

“Go on then, do it!” The Villain surged to their feet so the barrel of the gun was inches from their chest. “You don’t have what it takes, do you? To kill someone in cold blood? Not unless you’re defending yourself or someone you love.” The Villain spat, ’love’ sounding like it burned their tongue. 

An ugly sneer contorted the Hero’s face as they struggled to keep their hand from shaking. They swallowed, and the Sidekick pressed a hand to their mouth, their eyes riveted on the Hero. 

After tense moment the Hero lowered the gun, never breaking eye contact with the Villain. 

“I knew you couldn’t do-“ the Villain’s taunt morphed into an agonized scream as the Hero shot them in the leg, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse with deafening violence. The Villain fell back to their knees with another scream as their leg buckled.

“Oh my god!” The Sidekick yelled in horror.

The Hero glared down at the Villain. An unexpected, not wholly unwanted sense of pleasure bloomed through them as the as Villain writhed in pain at their feet for once. 

“You talk too much,” they said, failing to suppress an ironic smile.

“That’s no reason to shoot me!” The Villain groaned, holding their bleeding, mutilated thigh with a white knuckled grip. 

Chuckling, the Hero crouched down and took the Villain’s jaw between their fingers, pressing the barrel of the gun lightly against the Villain’s cheek. Their pleasure only grew to see genuine fear and doubt cross the Villain’s face. 

“Perhaps not,” the Hero said, their voice icy. “But kidnapping and torturing my Sidekick is.”

The Villain growled, and jerked their head away. The Hero let them, standing in a fluid movement. 

“You said the game was growing stale,” the Hero continued. “But you’re not the only one who can change the rules.”

With a turn the Villain reluctantly appreciated, the Hero strode away.

“Come on,” the Hero said as they neared their Sidekick, gently taking their arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But what about them?” The Sidekick asked, looking back at the Villain as they headed for the nearest door.

“Them?” The Hero looked over their shoulder, eyebrows raised.

The Villain snarled, lost their balance, and fell on their side with a grunt, blood oozing between their fingers to stain the concrete beneath them. “Don’t worry about them. Let’s go.”

The Hero and Sidekick were at the door when the Villain spoke up.

“Don’t leave me here, damn it!” They cried, desperation and pain tingeing their voice.

“You’ll be fine.” The Hero waved a dismissive hand, turning their back on their nemesis. “You always are, aren’t you? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t make a miraculous recovery.”

Without looking back the Hero guided their Sidekick outside, the Villain’s enraged, pained scream echoing after them. 

***

Fifteen minutes later the Villain staggered to their feet, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints in their wake.

Reaching the nearest wall, they sagged against it for support while they caught their breath. Their… everything fucking hurt, but their other injuries were pale trivialities compared to searing pain of the bullet wound.

With a grunt, the Villain pushed themself off the wall and kept going. As much as they wished they could call death and destruction down upon the city in petty vengeance, they knew that revenge was a dish best served cold and well prepared. 

Looking at the door through which the Hero had left, a satisfied chuckle shook itself from the Villain. 

During the Hero’s righteously indignant exit, they failed to remember their Sidekick. The Hero had been so determined to have the final word that they didn’t notice the youth glance back at the Villain, didn’t notice the look of reluctant, misplaced sympathy filling their eyes.

Oh, yes. The Villain thought. This time revenge is going to be sweeter than your cries of pain, my dear.

“You want to play that game, do you?” The Villain hissed, fear and pain replaced by furious determination.” They took another hobbling step forward and fell to their hands and knees with a strangled cry. Gritting their teeth, the Villain forced themselves to their feet, to take another step. A glint caught their eye, and the they reached down to retrieve a steel pipe. It was thin, if a little heavy. It would have to do for now. “Fine, we’ll play that game.” The Villain took an experimental step, using the pipe as a cane. They didn’t fall. “And before we’re finished, you’ll wish you had killed me when you had the chance.” 

Cravings

The restaurant was busy. Not busy enough for serving team to be frantic, but busy enough to maintain a constant hum of vague conversation and the clinking of cutlery on porcelain.

Valeria –the raven-haired woman in the little black dress and red heels at table thirty-four – was bored. She had only agreed to come on this thrice-cursed date because she was bored. Not that she’d admit it to anyone, but she missed the courting scene. Unfortunately courting had changed a great deal since the 1650’s.

As is the case with most solitary, long-lived people, she wished she’d cancelled and stayed home in her bathrobe to mope about the state of modern men with a box of popsicles, ketchup potato chips, and Spanish soap operas. Besides, going out only brought her closer to succumbing to her one, insatiable craving. She inhaled deeply; the smell of so much fresh blood, the pressure of so many pulses just out of reach, was maddening

She eyed her date – a man in his early thirties with thick brown curls named Calvin – and wondered what in the 9 circles of hell convinced her to say yes when he asked her out at a bar a week ago. Considering his relative attractiveness and decent grooming, she agreed, excited at the prospect of a man taking the initiative for the first time in months. She’d also just eaten and was in a rare gregarious state and acquiesced to his request for a ‘pleasant evening out’ willingly.

Presently, however, Cal was rambling about sashimi or caviar or something and Valeria was having a hard time paying attention. He had shaved before coming and cut himself on the corner of his jaw. The scab was still there, a dark red dot on his light brown skin. The only thing Valeria could think of was how his collar pressed into the skin of his neck. Oh, how she wanted to run her nails down his throat and back and…

Cal paused and took a drink of the 2010 Napa Merlot they’d split. The lull snapped her out of her daydream. She caught the movement of his hand and glass to his lips, and Valeria didn’t bother trying to not stare at Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.

What the hell. She was on a date, for Darkness’s sake.

Wrapping a curl of raven-black hair around a finger, mischief glinting in her red-brown eyes, Valeria ran the toe of her stiletto up his leg as he took another sip.

Cal jerked back, spilling wine over his chin and down his neck, barely missing his cerulean-blue tie. Valeria’s tongue flicked absently over her dark red lips, eying the way the Merlot dribbled towards his too-white collar. A little blood on that collar would certainly take his sex appeal to another level.

“Oh! Damn me.” Calvin laughed. Valeria’s heart lurched at the nervousness in his laugh, the way his shoulders tensed. “I can’t be trusted to wear white without getting something on it.”

Forget sex appeal. All this hunk of man flesh was good for was eating. And she was denied even that pleasure by the presence of nosy strangers who would call the cops or do something equally stupid, and she wasn’t in a mood for violence… She was just hungry. She couldn’t help that she had special dietary needs.

Wiping the wine from his chin with a grey napkin, Cal shattered the illusion of a bloody throat. Valeria sat back, arms folded over her stomach, and pouted, running her tongue over the teeth that were slowly sinking back into her gums.

“Have you been here before?” he asked, folding his hands under his chin in another attempt to start a conversation.

“Yeah. Once.” She tapped absently on the tabletop with a sharp, onyx nail. They’d ordered twenty minutes ago, and there was no sign of their skinny waiter and she was getting bored. Well… more bored.

“How was it?” he asked, missing her hint that she wasn’t interested in talking. “When you mentioned you liked nice places, I figured I’d try here since I haven’t been here myself. Does it live up to the reviews?”

She hummed noncommittally, shrugged an exposed shoulder. After a beat, during which Cal rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat twice, he smiled awkwardly and asked her if she knew anything about potato farming. Valeria said no, she didn’t, and had to resist banging her head on the table when Calvin started talking again. It seemed like he was afraid that something interesting would happen if he was quiet for too long.

A moment later something interesting did happen. Valeria sensed something off.  It wasn’t much, hardly more than an increased heart rate. Cal’s heart was beating fast, yes, but that was to be expected. She’s worn this dress for exactly that reason. This was something else. Something with a desperation that made her want to bare her fangs and start ripping throats out.

Turning, aware of how her breasts pressed against the fabric of her dress, Valeria scanned the restaurant. It took her a moment to locate the source, the ambient ebb and flow of blood obscuring the panic, but she soon found the source.

A young woman, maybe 23, was sitting with her arms folded defensively over her chest, glaring at her date. The man wasn’t getting the message and kept reaching across the table for her. Valeria couldn’t hear what he was saying but judging by the girl’s posture and the growing aggression of the man it wasn’t good. As she watched the man, a typical god’s-gift-to-humanity type, grabbed the girl’s wrist, jerking her hand towards him, nails digging into the soft underside of her forearm. The neighboring diners were beginning to notice, yet none of them moved to intervene. Even the waiters skirted around the table, afraid of interrupting something.

Valeria’s eyes narrowed. With a fluid motion she stood, hand resting on her wine glass.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” she said, cutting Cal off. “I have some… business to attend to.”

He closed his mouth and sat back in his chair, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a sigh.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m boring you. It’s just been so long since…”

 Valeria didn’t hear the rest of his apology as she made her way towards the confrontation, glass in hand. As she approached, she heard the boorish man growling at the girl as she tried to pry his fingers from around her wrist:

“Stop being such a coy little bitch, won’t you? I asked you out because…”

In three more strides Valeria was looming over him, a dangerous smile on her face. He broke off and sneered up at her. The girl’s look of desperate hope was enough of a plea for Valeria.

“What do you want?” the man asked loudly, his voice carrying through the circle of silence that had surrounded their table. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of som…”

He never got to finish. The instant his attention was off the girl Valeria splashed the entire glass of wine on his face and chest, making sure to soak as much of his designer shirt as possible.

“What the fuck, lady!? What sort of psycho bitch are you?”

The people surrounding them gaped. Two waiters stopped and looked at each other, eyes wide.

Valeria bared her teeth in a not-so-pleasant smile.

“You have a little something…” she pointed to the general area of his chest, the red wine soaking into the white fabric. The sight nearly sent her over the edge then and there. She shuddered, quelling her rising bloodlust.

With a snort and mumbled profanities, the man stood and stormed off for the restroom. The girl sat absolutely still, staring after him with round, glossy eyes. Like a rabbit before the…

No… Not her. Valeria though, shaking her head to banish the thought. She rested a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. The poor thing was quivering uncontrollably.

“You deserve better than him, sweetheart,” Valeria said bluntly, glaring after the man.

The girl blinked up at her. Then her face broke into a wide grin.

“Thank you! You don’t know… oh thank you!” she gushed, standing and gathering her things. She stuffed the entire basket of breadsticks into her purse and downed the rst of her drink in a massive gulp. “He wouldn’t leave me alone and I felt like if…”

“If you said yes, he’d eventually leave you alone. I know.”

“Yeah. But… thank you again…” the girl gave Valeria a brief hug before scurrying away. Then she turned, her doll face contorted in thought.

“But what about the tab? I don’t have enough-”

“Don’t worry, pet. It’ll be taken care of.”

Valeria’s smile was genuine this time.

With another shaky grin, the girl vanished out the doors, her scarf dragging behind her. Valeria ignored the questioning, judgmental gazes of the restaurant’s patrons as she returned to her table, not a hair out of place.

Calvin gaped are her as she poured the rest of the bottle of Merlot into her glass

“What… why… why did you do that?”

She gave him with a pointed look and drank half of the wine before answering.

“Some men are assholes and deserve their own given back to them.”

“I just… that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do,” Cal said, staring at her with awe. Taken off guard by his compliment, Valeria took another sip of her wine. She was spared from saying anything else by the arrival of their meal.

“Fettuccini e Vongole in la Salsa Bianca for the gentleman,” the pretty waitress said, placing a plate of perfectly steamed clams and pasta before the Calvin. “And La Bistecca Fiorentina, extra rare, for the lady.” She gave Valeria an appreciative nod before bustling off.

Cal began eating immediately, though his gaze was fixed on Valeria, a new appreciation shining in his brown eyes. Valeria poked at her steak. The plate was covered in warm blood, pepper floating on the surface. The meat itself was brown on the outside and hot all the way through, the middle a dark red, perfectly rare. She sighed: just a little too done for her taste.

Alright. Who was she kidding? Her steak was a lot too done. Raw would have been preferable, but she knew all she’d have received were skeptical eyebrows, a promise to ‘see what we can do,’ and a steak cooked beyond palatability.

How she missed the days when the word vampire struck terror into the hearts of mortals. How any fool who dared wander into her lands was up for grabs, and fresh blood was as common as blackened gum smears on the sidewalks were today.

She finished her wine. At least that was still more or less the same.

One day. One day she was going to treat herself.

But not today. The humans were enjoying themselves too much for her to ruin their evening with a blood bath. They were so sensitive these days.

Oh well. A partially rare steak would have to do for now.

And maybe… Valeria looked at Cal, considering him in a new light. It wasn’t common for a man to commend her brashness and fuck all attitude. Perhaps chivalry wasn’t dead after all.

She grinned at him and took a bite of her stake, fighting the shudder as the burned meat stuck in her throat. Cal returned the grin before flipping oil on his shirt.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned. He dabbed at the spot, succeeding only in making it worse. Valeria laughed at his sheepish expression, mind wandering back to a dark corner.

Just maybe the night would have a happy ending after all.

Ghost 1

The beginning of something that may or may not continue. Title pending.

The sun shone incongruously. Had Laila been in charge, it would rain all day every day, but particularly today. There was something offensive about the way the light played on the spring leaves, of how the birds warbled and sang in the trees. 

Laila huffed and went back to tying her herb bundles. She ignored the weight of the pale eyes she knew were watching her. They were always watching her. Had been watching her since that night, 9 months ago, when she’d failed the one thing she’d sworn to do: heal and preserve.

Jonash had been an old friend of hers, shared childhood memories binding them more tightly than blood. As with all people they had drifted as they’d gotten older, but never far enough away to truly forget about each other. She was accepted to the University of Science in the city, and he had joined the city watch.

Then the war came. She left for the battle fields as a healer, he a soldier. They had been in the same regiment, and spent many hours in each other’s company when they were able. When the war ended, Laila returned to the city and established a healer’s den with her commission and repute as a savior of many. Jonash remained with the watch for a month before wanderlust got the better of him, and he departed the city to become a member of the Ranger’s Guild. 

Months, then years passed, and still they kept in touch.

Until his replies had grown shorter and distant. Until he’d stopped replying all together.

Laila, accepting his absence with a stoic heart, was content with the fact that he had finally met someone else and moved on. 

And then he appeared on her doorstep in the middle night, bleeding and with an expression that frightened her. He swore at her in a language she didn’t know before falling at her feet, pale with blood loss and pain. She’d done everything she knew to do, even resorting to using what little magic she possessed. 

It wasn’t enough. 

After four hours of her trying desperately to save her friend, she held his head when he died. She closed his light blue eyes, unnerved by the hatred and fear she saw there. As she took her hands away something cold ran up her arms and through her body, leaving her feeling clammy and unclean. When she turned she came face to face with Jonash’s ghost. She screamed once before noticing that he was yelling and gesticulating at her. But he made no noise. He charged her, hands outstretched to strangle her, but they, and then the rest of his incorporeal body, passed through her entirely, leaving her retching on the floor. For some reason his spirit had remained, unable to leave the plain of the living. The ghost tried to leave and made it as far as the front doorstep before being pulled back as if on a string. He tried the window with the same results. 

Laila tried everything she could to communicate and free Jonash, but it was all in vain. The priests had never heard of such a condition, the scientists wanted to study him, and the mages’ spells and incantations only hurt Jonash, much to their irritation. Magic always succeeded when science failed. Or so they had believed. 

And so 9 months had passed. Jonash was invisible to all but Laila and those gifted with the Sight. And as he was unable to influence the world around him in any way, all he could do was stand around and watch Laila. 

“If you’re done staring at my ass, maybe you could stand in the door and deter people from coming in?” Laila said. She had too much to get done today to be interrupted with petty calls about impotence and spots. 

She was met with what she called a sulky silence, and threw a rueful smile over her shoulder at the ghost. Jonash looked up from examining his fingernails and drifted to the door, rolling his eyes. Though Laila struggled with the fact that she had failed to save her friend, she was glad that his ghost wasn’t covered in blood and gore. He looked as she assumed he had before receiving the injuries.

No sooner had he taken up his post at the door did someone gasp with surprise at walking through a ghost. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m closed today!” Laila called.

“How the hell can a healer be closed?” Came the disgruntled response. 

“Unless you or a loved one is bleeding profusely, has a broken bone, or is dying, please come back tomorrow.”

The voice on the other side of the door muttered something. Jonash stepped back through the door to shrug, expression as confused as Laila’s was annoyed. 

“If you let me in, I can help you!”

Laila rolled her eyes heavenward and prayed for strength. 

“When I want an assistant, I will post a listing at the University,” she said, thinking the person at the door was a hopeful student. 

“No, not with that. But I could help you if you nee… No! I can help you with the other thing!”

Laila paused, glancing at Jonash. The ghost shrugged again and leaned against the wall. At some point he’d regained enough solidity to control what he fell through. 

“May as well see what the child has to say?” He mouthed.

Laila stuck her tongue out at him. 

“What do you mean, ‘the other thing’?” She asked.

The voice on the other side of the door dropped to a murmur. The speaker was clearly pressed up agains the lock: “I can’t speak of it out here, but I think I have a solution to your… mutual problem.”

A glimmer of hope sprang up in Laila’s chest. 

“Fine. But make sure no one sees you come in.”

She went to the door and unlocked it. She and Jonash watched, bemused, as a youth slipped through the door with a furtive look that befit a noisy thief. 

“Thank you,” he said, brushing himself off. He looked around a moment before his gaze snagged on Jonash. The ghost flashed a nasty smile at the lad, who blanched and turned away quickly. 

“You can see him?” Laila asked, surprised. The lad didn’t look like a seer, let alone a mage or a priest. 

“Of course I can,” the lad said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Yes, you said that. But how? And why?”

The lad sketched a bow, sweeping the floor with his hat. 

“Clearly I have some explaining to do.” 

Jonash mouthed “Clearly,” and reached out and punched the lad in the back, his hand appearing in his stomach folded in a rude gesture.

“If you could refrain from messing with my internal organs, I thank you,” The lad said, suppressing a shudder. Laila just raised her brows in invitation for him to continue. “To answer your questions, my lady,” he said, readjusting his hat. “I am Arthur Marín, and I believe I have a solution to your ghostly prob-”

“You said that before. But I don’t understand how you can s-“ 

“-lem. And I can see your Jonash because I am a necromancer.”

Sacrifice

A hero/villain piece

The night is cold, the sky a black, star-spattered canvas. The remains of a crescent moon hang low, obscured by a line of skeletal trees; their branches dance in a breeze. 

The Hero shivers, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Though he’s surrounded by sleeping friends, his chest is tight with loneliness. The fire burns low, but as the party departs at dawn, there is little need to stoke it. They will be gone before the sun breaches the horizon. They should be on the trail now. The Monster that plagues the region doesn’t sleep, so why should they? The fact that any of them are able to sleep at all is a wonder to the Hero. Every one of them had seen what the Monster is capable of. It is why they’re here, in the middle of a frozen wilderness. Someone had to put a stop to the Monster’s rampage. Someone had to be worthy of the songs of old.

Sighing, the Hero looks at the faces of their companions, the weight of his decision suffocating him.

A barn owl screeches, the sound harsh and desolate in the dark forest. The Hero jumps, and one of his companions mumbles and rolls over. Under normal circumstances the sound would comfort him. It’s a sound of his home and childhood. But tonight it reminds him of the promise he made upon setting out on this venture. Tonight it fills him with dread.

A log shifts in the fire, casting a soft glow on his love’s face. Of all the company, he is going to miss them the most. 

A rustle comes from behind, a branch breaks. The Hero knows it’s time. Standing quietly so as not to disturb his companions, he walks into the darkness. 

The Monster is there, waiting for him. Four eyes glow yellow, its upper body and long, double-jointed arms covered in blood; claws and fangs shine like obsidian. 

“Little human comes to me,” the Monster rasps. Its eyes flick over the Hero’s body, searching for something. “Without claw or fang. Foolish little human.” The Monster takes a step forward, surprised when the Hero holds his ground. Too much is at stake for cowardice. 

“Aye, I come,” the Hero murmurs.

“A Monster wonders why.”

“To bargain.”

The Monster throws its head back and laughs, chitinous gurgling sound that sets the Hero’s knees shaking.

“Little human is foolish to think a Monster will bargain.” It sits back on its haunches. “But a Monster is curious. A Monster has never had little bargain human. A Monster will listen.”

“If I give myself to you, you must swear to leave the people in peace.” The Hero’s voice is strong, despite his terror. “If you leave, I will come with you and protect you from others.”

“If  a Monster doesn’t?” The Monster hums, amused. “If a Monster eats little bargain human?”

“Then my death wish will be the destruction of you and your ilk.”

Wary of the Hero’s confidence, the Monster considers.

“A Monster agrees with little bargain human. But a Monster has condition.”

“What?”

A gleam comes into the Monster’s eyes.

“A Monster gets to eat part of little bargain human!”

The Monster lunges at the Hero and pins him to the ground, talons piercing his shoulders. Saliva drips from its fangs as it lowers its mouth to the Hero’s stomach.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT!” The Hero’s voice is shrill enough that the Monster stops and glares at him.

“Why? A Monster is hungry. Little bargain human prevents a Monst–“

“I can help break your curse!”

Silence stretches between the Monster and the Hero. The Hero strains to hear if anyone in his camp has woken up, but he hears nothing over the pounding of his heart. 

“A Monster says nothing about a curse.” Its expression becomes confused and, dare the Hero think it, hopeful.

“Little bargain human knows stories.” The Hero says. “Little bargain human knows secrets.”

The Monster sits up, retracting its talons from the Hero’s shoulders. The Hero winces, but doesn’t cry out. 

“If…” The Monster begins, voice husky. “If a Monster takes little bargain human, little bargain human helps a Monster?”

“Yes,” the Hero breathes. 

“A Monster has to ask why little bargain human will help a Monster?”

The Hero fights the lump in his throat for a moment, unable to speak. 

“Because even Monsters deserve a chance at redemption.”

The Monster studies the Hero, something like sadness creasing its face. After a moment it shakes itself, lips curling back over its fangs. 

“Fine.  A Monster will not eat little bargain human tonight. If little bargain human lies about curse, a Monster eats?”

“Fair enough.”

“Fair… enough…” The Monster replies, pleased with itself for being so agreeable. Suddenly it sits up, sniffing the air. “A Monster must take little bargain human. Yellow eye comes, and little bargain human’s humans come.”

The Monster lifts the Hero with ease, carrying him before its chest.  The absurdity of the situation hits the Hero like a fist. He can barely keep from screaming as spindle legs devour the distance to the hills. 

“Monsters aren’t the only ones that crave forgiveness,” he reminds himself bitterly. Glancing around the Monster’s side he imagines his companions waking up, realizing he’s gone. He can’t avoid thinking about pain his love will feel.

Guilt drowning his fear, the Hero whispers an apology to his companions and prays that he is not mistaken.