‘Vampyr Violence’ for Chad

Chapter ONE: The stage by: bloodmoon15

The stage was quiet; most of the dancers had already sauntered out hours ago. She hated dancers; with their tightly pulled hair and anorexic bodies. It made her sick. Why would anyone want to starve themselves? she thought to herself.

Standing silently in the sound box on the balcony, she had watched those starving girls jump and spin in tune to their master: a cruel woman with an evil grin and cold eyes. She would yell and put-down every one of those girls, and she wondered, as she watched them, why would you want to deal with that kind of abuse?

She exited the box to step onto the balcony over-looking the stage. Without any of its occupants the auditorium looked like a graveyard; full of sweat and anticipation. Chad better get here soon, I’m getting tired of waiting. She stepped onto the railing lining the balcony and balanced herself there.

Short, blond hair was styled around her face to fan out like feathers in the back, perfectly framing her golden eyes. She modeled a hawk, and everyone who had met her would know that this suited her personality flawlessly. She wore a maroon tank-top that hugged her thin body nicely, matching the dark red stripes that continually crossed her Raven style black pants. Cassandra Luciero wasn’t a very impressive figure, but under her clothes there were many secrets.

Daggers sheathed on her wrists and forearms might have scared off her pray, but she always tried her best to seem innocent. She always hid her fangs with magick she had stolen from her last victim. Witches were so easy to kill. She learned to also hide the magick in the gold stone she wore on a chocker around her neck.

If the fangs would scare off her dinner, imagine what her hidden wings would cause them to feel. If it weren’t for the short, leather jacket she wore everyone would be able to see the hawk’s wings folded snuggly against her shoulder blades.

She was getting very bored.

Using their mind link she contacted her brother, and her rival Chad Luciero, a message: Where the fuck are you? I’m waiting. Did you chicken out? She smiled to herself, knowing that calling him a chicken would make him furious. Ever since they were kids he was always the first to get angry…and the first to throw a punch.

The lights went out in a crash and she jumped from the railing onto a raised dais below. She stared at the surrounding darkness. “Took you long enough,” she taunted. A stir of air behind her was an all-telling sign that he had finally appeared there. She ducked, landing in a crouch on the floor, and felt his arm swing through the air where her head had been just a second before. “Getting slow are we?” she continued.

She turned around and saw his blurry outline in the dark. “Why do you always want to fight in the dark Charles?” Even though she could barely see him she noticed the wince on his face when she used his old name. “What can I say? I like it better in the dark.” She had missed his voice. Over the years he had perfected his voice, especially when it came to using it to lure his pray to him. It was deep, smooth and dark. “Oh pretty please with sugar on top can we put the lights on? I’m so afraid of the dark.” She was laughing now.

This was the way she loved to challenge him: when they were acting childish and dramatic. Cassandra heard the smile in his voice, “Of course baby sister.”

Another stir of air told her that Chad was no longer in front of her, and a second later the lights were coming on; popping light in various places one by one. She saw him standing on the stage with a smile on his face. It had been so long since she had seen him that she immediately started cataloging his appearance. His dark hair had grown longer over the years and almost hung to his shoulders. It was strange because she always remembered him getting it cut every month.

His blue eyes were visible even from this distance, the color heightened because of the blue silk shirt under his coat. It was leather and long enough to sweep the floor when he walked. The only think it seemed they had in common was the Raven style pants they both wore. He had a cross dangling from his left ear.

That coat could conceal more weapons than mine; I wonder if he has figured out how to steal magick yet. He smiled at her, flashing his white fangs. “It’s been a while,” he purred in that deep voice. “That hasn’t been my fault Chad. I seem to recall you being the one to ignore my messages. Why all of a sudden did you feel the need to fight me? You know I’m always up for a good tumble, but a girl has to wonder.”

Cassandra jumped off the dais onto one of the lighted isles that led to the stage, walking slowly towards him. “Just wanted to see where we both stood.” He held out a hand to help her onto the raised stage, and she took it. “Well, I came, and you’re late, so…anytime you’re ready.” She shrugged out of her jacket and let her wings stretch, she hadn’t been able to use them in a while, and hoped they were still in perfect using order. She flung the coat into the chairs of the audience and rolled her shoulders, evidence that this wasn’t just a fight for play.

The rules for their fights were always the same: winner gets to keep one of the loser’s weapons, and they always used their best. What was the point of fighting if you weren’t going to be noble about it?

He also shrugged out of his coat, and threw it on top of hers. He had a whip attached to his belt, and two daggers; one on his arm and one in his boot, and he knew how to use them, she had the scars to prove it.

They circled each other for a moment, smiling the whole time. These fights were never life or death, but they were always fun. Cassandra charged first, using her wings to propel her forward and then go over his head in a flurry of speed. He turned as she landed behind him and caught her wrist, avoiding the knife in her hand. “I’m the one getting slow, huh?” he laughed. His hand became claw-like and fur covered his arm, his nails growing and cutting into her wrist. The smell of fresh blood excited them both, and the real fight began.