Proverbs - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Cat Smith
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 1

I'm applying for a license to thrill

Going out on the edge

Moving in for the kill

And there'll be Hell to pay someday

Put it all on the bill

'Cause they'll always be paying

And paying until

We're beyond expiration

With a license to thrill

The Original Sin, Taylor Dayne

Lightening flashed across the sky of midnight blue that hung like a heavy velvet curtain over the legendary skyscrapers of New York City. In the dark, empty streets of Brooklyn, a tall man in a brown leather duster and Levi's hurried across the street. A slightly anxious look settled on his handsome face. He knew how dangerous the streets were at this ungodly hour - Hell, he used to be one of the reasons why they were so dangerous. Glancing around him, he crossed the street. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising and he shuddered.

He told himself as images of ghosts and vampires crept into his thoughts. He jumped as a black cat jumped in front of him.

"Jesus! Stupid friggin' cat!" He yelled. The cat looked at him with crystal blue eyes and cleaned its paw. The man glared at the cat and controlled an urge to kick it. He chided himself for being so jumpy.

Not that I don' have a reason t' be jumpy, what with Onslaught, an' Joseph an' Seattle, A shudder ran up his spine at the thought of that place. But still...anyone'd think I'd seen a spook or somethin'. Any threats'll be from kids wit' knives, not ghosts. Been in New Orleans to long to believe in ghosts, no matter what de voodoo priestesses try ta tell me.

He quickened his pace and straightened his collar to hide his face somewhat in case someone saw his eyes, or, worse yet, recognised him. He started to wish he'd brought his Harley with him, when he stopped dead. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. His eyes warily scanned the street before him, and what of it he could see behind him without actually turning round. He started walking again, looking around and listening hard as he did so. He felt a slight gust of wind that he knew shouldn't be there, and he reflexively reached for two cards from his pocket. Before he could do anything with them, something moved frighteningly fast from behind him and grabbed his wrists and squeezed them so tightly that they went numb and he had to drop the cards. Whoever it was threw him roughly to the floor and turned him round so they could see him.

Mon dieu, was all he could think. A woman had her knees on his legs and chest so he couldn't move. She had on a long flowing black cape, who's hood covered her face with its deep, dark shadows, so that her no-doubt pretty visage - the X-Men's enemies were almost always attractive - became a deep dark pool of mystique. He could see a few locks of slightly wavy black hair that fell from the hood like snakes. Underneath the cloak he could just see what the woman was wearing. A skin-tight, blackish-purple corset made of something that was perhaps leather, perhaps... something else. Leather didn't usually squirm and flow about a persons body, as though it had a life of it's own and desperately wanted to control it. The man gulped.

His mouth was dry all of a sudden. She had long gloves and boots made out of the same eerie material as her corset. Perhaps most interesting of all-the 'leather wasn't of interesting, it was just plain scary- was her pallor. Her skin wasn't like any skin he'd ever seen. It was white. Not the peachy-cream of a Caucasian person, but pure white. The man hoped that was a good thing, but somehow he doubted it. She took her hands from his tight throat, which she had been stroking, and lifted it to her hood, which she lifted to show her face. She smiled, a cruel smile which showed her beautiful, straight white teeth and sharp fangs.

"Who de hell are you!?" He whispered, terrified. She looked down at him, mesmerising black eyes gazing down at him, purple-painted lips slightly apart in a half-pout. She was beautiful, but in the same way that a panther is. Dangerously, fatally beautiful.

"You don't recognise me, Remy LeBeau? How is this?" Her voice was like nothing he'd ever heard. Silky and smooth, bewitching and charming, and under it all, truly, terrifyingly evil.

He shrugged. He was really scared. He'd hated vampires since one of the street rats he hung with when he lived on the streets of New Orleans was found dead with two bite marks on his neck. The police had said it was just a sick hoax, but Remy didn't think so.

The vampire flashed the smile again. She liked her prey scared. It made the feeding all the better.

"If you don't know me, then I must introduce myself! I am Hadea. You still have not heard of me?" She said, holding his peculiar but attractive red-on-black eyes.

He shook his head. Hadea smiled. "I must fire my publicity agent."

Hadea leaned down to smell his neck. A smile danced over her lips. What a feeling. Powerful. Masculine. Scared. She wanted him, and not just his blood.

"I am a vampire. I especially like Externals, or, for that matter, any immortal. They are most exquisite, you'll have to try them some time."

"I know dis real tasty li'l morsel o' an External. Name o' Candra. I'll tell ya where she is if ya'll leave me alone." Not very nice, he knew, but he didn't really know where she was anyway.

"Hardly likely, my handsome Cajun friend. I know all about Candra and I hardly think she's worthy of my consumption."

Hadea's predatorily beautiful eyes reduced to slits as she looked closer at him, inspecting every inch of his body and face. The thorough examination ended with a wicked smile. "In fact... I believe we have met before."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you'll remember it. It was in New Orleans when you were a young boy, perhaps only six. Even then you were exceptionally beautiful and your blood spoke of the promise of your mutant powers. I took a little from you then, but I don't particularly like to feed on children, they have too much... innocence ... about them. Young adults are so much nicer. I think I'd like to have you now that your soul is more corrupted." Her mouth watered as her hands moved about his body.

He squirmed beneath her hands, and she smiled as her hand brushed his thigh, and he gasped. She chuckled, and bent down to kiss his neck. His scent filled her.

"Oh, God..." He said softly. She'd just said she was going to 'have' him. For dinner, he thought. He shuddered. She stroked his cheek softly, bent down so he could hear her whisper as soft as her caress:

"I will not kill you. I want you for my own." Remy felt her fangs dig into his neck, and warm, wet blood roll down his neck. He closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to come.