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The vampire hunter was very difficult to find.
The Corinthian had been intrigued by that, though he must admit he’d been more than a little frustrated too, unused to chasing such elusive prey. It wasn’t a common problem for a vampire to have—certainly not with hunters, the profession by definition never the sort well-suited to hiding—prey usually tracked as soon as the scent was caught and the scent of a vampire killer was caught easily. It was the caveat of a successful kill, the danger that persisted even if a hunter had to run from a fight gone south, because a scent was always left no matter what the outcome was.
It was often passed around. Information to be sold, exchanged; bartered for because there were very few stupid enough to prey on vampires, knowledge shared because they’d track all those that dared to fight them down.
They’d eradicate all who tried to destroy them.
Yet this particular hunter had no scent at all.
That had been causing quite the stir, the Corinthian was far from the only vampire interested after all, rumours spreading like wildfire. A series of attacks triggering a near frenzied state of fear, held back only by uncertainty, lurking just under the surface, so close to bubbling up. Gossip running rife about the nameless, faceless, killer who’d already destroyed more than a dozen vampires without leaving so much as a drop of his own blood behind. The hunter with no scent, identification so far impossible. Those unlucky enough to run into him didn’t survive long enough to talk about it. Even the Corinthian had first spotted him by accident, the start of a pattern because every sighting since had been the same, that first encounter the closest he’d yet come to seeing his hunters face.
It wasn’t a pattern he’d been willing to share, even if the Corinthian wasn’t a lone predator by nature he’d have kept it secret, because the rest of his kin were fools.
There was only one real reason the Corinthian had survived his near encounters.
He’d had patience enough to wait.
The Corinthian was smart enough to follow. He remembered that first night, remembered being in exactly the right place at the exactly right time and watching, curious as a figure in black ripped the head off one of the oldest vampires he’d ever known. An execution silhouetted in moonlight, a dance made only for the dark. The Corinthian had never seen a kill made with such grace. There’d been no sign of strain, only the sound of bones crunching, flesh ripping, all to the backdrop of a heartbeat slow and bored, so unusually steady it couldn’t have belonged to a human. The strength couldn’t either; the hands may have been covered by gloves but the fingers were undeniably slender, a tantalising hint of pale skin revealed by where the sleeves ended at thin wrists.
Then the hunter had spoken and the Corinthian had been certain he’d been caught.
“Thieves.” The insult said softly as he dropped the severed head in disgust, quiet but not quiet enough to escape the Corinthian’s ears. “Defilers.”
It was a surprise to hear him. The voice revealed to be deep, still decadent even in anger, a lulling thing like an earthquakes purring rumble. You’d listen obediently to a rebuke, tremble, shiver, only to act up again, rile him up even further just to hear more of that voice. It had been distraction enough that the Corinthian nearly forgot where he was, to be honest that could have been his end, if the insult had been for the Corinthian he’d have wasted any time he had to try and escape. Yet when that slender figure only tipped his head up to bask in the moonlight it became clear his presence was as of yet unnoticed. Defilers?
It was a clue.
So this vendetta was personal?
Interesting how that could be when he’d killed every one of his victims so easily. Interesting how it would be when no one seemed to know anything about him. Revealing because it meant there were those that were pretending not to know him. What could be the secret here, the Corinthian had wondered, a question he still didn’t have the answer to.
No risk in the temptation to ask.
While the Corinthian had been thinking it through the hunter had disappeared.
There’d been no fear hampering his decision to track him down. The mystery was compelling enough but what the Corinthian really wanted to know was how he’d taste. The next sightings had been guesses—getting warmer, getting closer—the attempts at pinpointing location starting out as trial and error. It was difficult without a scent, but all one really had to do was follow the bodies, follow them close enough to begin to spot a pattern that might tease at who the next victims might be. There were times he was too late, but the Corinthian found he’d quickly become better at making predictions.
Good enough that this time he’d struck gold.
There were the dead here too.
But they weren’t yet how his prey preferred them—torn to shreds and left to dust—this the home of several ancient vampires, a clan the Corinthian had dealt with before. They were dangerous enough he’d always watched his step. Yet there was no trepidation in the smug saunter of the figure that had gotten past their walls.
The hunter had not even cared to hide his approach.
Which meant at long last the Corinthian had gotten a good look at his face, sharp cheekbones, tempting pink lips, admiring at his leisure as his hunter tore through the vampires that tried to fight him. Slaughtering the ones that tried to run just as easily.
The Corinthian was reminded of how effortlessly he’d ripped off an elders head.
Once again he wondered what this creature was, an unknown variable, tall and thin, a lean frame that belied the unnatural strength. A slender beauty like the delicate chain of a necklace; cold interlocking links that glittered in the light, bare metal so raw and yet it would be ludicrous to call bland. A white gold, the pale skin missing the pallor of one who was dead, lit by sunlight like freshly fallen snow. The eyes a startling blue, a surprise to look into because the Corinthian had never seen a similar shade, this one instance of it the only. Almost skylike, a suggestion of silver he couldn't quite see the source of. The wild hair the only thing that was dark, that and the clothes, tailored to be easy to move in, but it seemed this creature had some vanity.
A blessing that he did.
A blessing because the Corinthian got to enjoy the results.
Like all vampire hunters he dressed practically, but unlike others the garments were obviously richly made as well as so well fitting. The boots softly soled, trousers tucked in and clinging to the curve of toned calves, cradling the joint of his knee, long legs perfectly displayed. Sure there was a coat partly in the way but it would soon be set aside.
The Corinthian still knew better than to announce himself.
Not when he’d just seen this gorgeous creature kill several very old, very powerful vampires without so much as a hair falling out of place.
There was no anger at that, the Corinthian wasn’t the type to mourn his brethren, hadn’t followed his hunter here to stage a rescue. Even if the thought wasn’t ridiculous he’d been tracking without much success for far too long to even be tempted by it. It had paid off, his quarry had acted according to predictions, and though the Corinthian still didn’t know how his scent had been muted, hidden, he could sense the hole it left. Even now there was no trace in the air.
He couldn’t even hear the breath passing his lips, no exhale rippling the stillness of the air.
The Corinthian could hear his heartbeat though, that steady, slow beat, a beacon and a taunt because it was a warning not a weakness. One that the vampires of this clan had failed to heed. The result a slaughter in one of the grand foyers, the Corinthian followed as his hunter stalked after a fleeing vampire, listened as he tore them to pieces in the intimate safety of a bedroom. He knew better than to hover too close; heard the creaking of a window latch, a mocking laugh, a sickening crunch and a scream. The vampire being torn to shreds was in front of the window, feet scrabbling on the ground, its arm had just landed beside it with a thump. A leg swiftly followed. A loud death giving away positioning; the hunters back would be to him, should be to him, and that meant he might have a few seconds.
It was luck that allowed the Corinthian to catch him by surprise.
A lot of skill as well, a bit of preternatural strength—surging forwards while his hunter dropped the vampires head—a moment later and he had his prey in his grasp. That lean body squirming as the Corinthian shoved him up against a wall.
No time could be wasted.
He had to move fast.
As soon as the Corinthian had his hunter pinned he tangled a hand in soft dark hair, yanked his head to the side, bared the long line of his throat and buried his teeth in his neck. The skin felt like ice but broke just like a humans; no resistance as the Corinthian's canines sank deep, piercing the carotid artery, immediately latching on as blood filled his mouth. The heart still so steady as it pumped in invitation, a gift offered that he drank in greedy acceptance. It was not the languid end to a careful hunt—usually the Corinthian did this with a lot more elegance—but there was no room for that here without also allowing an unacceptable risk.
This chance had needed to be taken as soon as an opening was found.
Oh his blood was delicious.
As good as this creature looked his blood tasted better. It was the single finest thing he’d ever tasted. It made him feel his own heart beating, a heart hundreds of years dead now fluttering like it had a pulse. It made him feel small.
It tasted like dreams.
The truth of what this hunter was encoded here, a language of light the Corinthian didn’t know how to read, what he could eat but not decode. What he could stand in but not burn under; it was no memory of sunlight, the truth of it and oh no wonder there was moonlight in his skin because the sun was in his blood. So warm, gushing into his mouth, thick and hot as he gulped it down. A tragedy he was fixing—taking all this heat before it could be lost, never reaching this gorgeous creatures creamy skin.
There was power here.
So much so that it burned, drowned out all else he might taste, all clues that he might glean, a pain thudding in time with the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. It imbued the Corinthian with a surge of strength that helped him hold this squirming body still—far past how strong he was naturally, far past what he knew was his limit—this strange being in many ways pinning himself down. His own power used to do it.
That was a delightful thought.
Though it seemed it wasn’t shared. His victim jerking in his grip, so feisty even as he didn’t make a single sound as the Corinthian fed, fighting furiously to try and throw him off. Struggles he gleefully ignored; fingers flexing in silk soft hair, not really to pull, just to touch, to revel in the sensation of it against his skin. Slim hands were trapped between their bodies, now shoving at the Corinthian’s torso, only succeeding in pressing against him in a wonderfully sinuous undulation. Oh how he wanted his hunter to do that again, to add a bit a desperation to it, to let out a sound of pleasure as his back arched. A vampires bite usually felt sublime—the Corinthian would know, his own turning had been quite the thrill—but as he fed the expected moan didn’t come, the expected shuddering gasp didn’t either.
It seemed the sublime was left to him.
Finally the Corinthian had a taste to match to this creature.
Ooh he could hear him now; chest rising and falling—so he did breathe after all—steady like the heartbeat, but perhaps unsteady for how it wasn’t so silent anymore. A panting breath could be this rhythmic, could be so soft beside his ear, like the whisper of a kiss.
Like the shudder of one.
He moaned, greedily sucking at his hunters neck, daring to do more than keep him pinned now he was certain he couldn’t run. The Corinthian trailed a possessive hand down the torso, then around, drawing their bodies closer together so he could map across the small of his back. A blind grope but a profitable one, fingers kneading into tense muscles on their way around the narrow waist. The Corinthian wanted to touch it all; slipping low to skim over his ass as his hand withdrew, no sudden conversion to modesty in the adjustment of position, cupping a jutting hipbone instead and kicking the legs apart.
The hunter only struggled even harder.
Another moment where he needed to act fast. The Corinthian drove a knee between the newly spread legs, hand moving down again, moving from a hip to reach between the splayed thighs already trying to close.
Shh, beautiful thing, don’t fight me.
It was too late for struggling, the Corinthian had gotten exactly what he wanted, victoriously grinding down with the palm of his hand. The heart rate continued to beat so steadily, but the fight only grew more vicious. The Corinthian yanked harder on his captives hair—delighted at the furious gasp this finally inspired, the outrage so potent at being touched this intimately—sucking harder at his neck to encourage surrender. It didn’t seem to soothe, so he pressed harder at his clothed cock, wanted to see if he could get flesh to stir, if there was still blood enough for that. He thought for sure there must be. Usually the struggles grew weaker at this point, humans going as limp as new-born kittens and whining just as weakly, but whatever this delicious creature was proved itself far stronger than that.
More fun to play with too.
There was a bed here the Corinthian could move to, a soft place to pin his hunter down, spread him out across it and strip these finely fitting clothes. He could find what got those pretty lips to moan. It wasn’t hard to imagine it; head thrown back, gasping, parted lips and heaving breaths, lost to ecstasy while the Corinthian fed and fed.
What a perfect prize he’d found.
It really was a feeding like no other, like nothing he’d ever find again, and that unsavoury realisation made him slow down quite abruptly. The truth of it cut through his delight. It made the Corinthian pause because he wanted to have it again. He wanted to keep this lovely powerful thing all to himself so he could sip at him slowly, devour him carefully, enjoy him like a vintage he’d ensure he never ran out of.
Yet the Corinthian’s pause gave his quarry the opportunity to shove him back.
The hunter did so immediately; furious, eyes blazing as they darkened from pale blue to black, abandoning one sky for another, becoming night like it was his to own. The world spun, resettled, a hand around the Corinthian’s throat to pin him to the same wall he’d just trapped his hunter against.
An enraged creature loomed.
Such beauty in this twist of wrath.
“I allow you to live even after catching you following me and still you dare?”
Well that confirmed that.
It was more of that lovely deep voice, the angry flavour so good he only wanted more, would wind him up and up. Find the undiluted taste. The Corinthian choked, couldn’t actually reply, getting up close and personal with the feeling of helplessness as fingers clenched so tight they were close to ripping his head clean off. It wasn’t anywhere near a bad position to be in, not when he still had that body pressed tightly against his, that neck still within his sights for all it wasn’t within his reach. It was bleeding sluggishly, the wounds already closing, dark red staining pure white skin nonetheless. Red rivers trailing to his shirt, pooling in the fabric, a shame so much of that delicious blood was going to waste.
The Corinthian wanted to lick it from his skin.
He couldn’t even try. No leeway here to even squirm, the stolen strength from all that blood no longer enough. What a way to go, so close to what he craved and yet so far, the high of stolen blood still soaring. His tongue lapped at his own lips for the remainder, a motion his victim caught as attention immediately shifted to the Corinthian’s mouth.
It made him even more enraged.
“Vampires.” The beautiful not-a-man hissed. “I’ll burn you all from this earth I’ll—”
He paused.
A sudden change, an extreme one, abrupt when considering the rage he’d just unleashed because now it was as if the Corinthian wasn’t even there. Daylight returned; black fading from the eyes, a arrival of that exquisite blue, glimmering with a hint of something silver. What was it? The attention flitting away before the Corinthian could puzzle it out, a frown appearing to worry at those fine features, a displeased crease above sharp cheekbones. It drew the lips together too, begged to be kissed away, a plea the Corinthian was more than happy to answer. This shifting focus to whatever had caught him so complete that the grip around the Corinthian’s throat loosened by a margin.
It was the same mistake he’d just made.
Yet it wasn’t the same opportunity. It wasn’t even close to that because before the Corinthian could take advantage of it the beautiful creature was gone.
He disappeared faster than his vampiric senses could follow. There weren’t many things he knew of that could do that—actually that was being generous, there weren’t any things he knew of—and that meant the Corinthian needed to find a way to fill the gaps in his knowledge. He was left coughing, air he didn’t even need rough on his abused throat, a few moments of his prey's touch rendering him delicate enough to need an extra second to heal.
There was no trail left to allow him to give chase.
The Corinthian still scented the air despite knowing it wouldn’t help. It would not deter him. There was no scent, no trace, no trail to follow to reclaim his treasure and yet the Corinthian had already proven he could successfully predict his location. There were others on his speculated list, other vampires he knew his hunter might be after, a hit list being worked through though he didn’t know what they had done. He didn’t know what secrets they may have learned.
It hadn’t seemed to help defend them.
Perhaps this time he’d go to them before his hunter did. Set a trap, use his targets as bait, as distractions, refine what he’d done here until the Corinthian had what he wanted in his grasp. Learn a weakness, learn what he could do to really catch him by surprise, learn what a creature this strong might be vulnerable to.
What was he?
The Corinthian knew he’d find out before they met again.