SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-SmItTeN-aNd-BiTtEn-

Chapter 1 : Wicked Havoc.

He had everything. A perfect career, a perfect face, a perfect life – yes, Matthias Storm had everything a man could ever dream of. It paid sometimes to be one of the frontline models and most sought after bachelors in Manhattan, New York. And he'd once thought that working for Pedro Mortinez of Mortinez, Smithson and Cardin Modeling Agency was just going to help him get to college.

How stupid that notion once was. College ? He must have been out of his mind.

Working as a top model for Pedro had brought him more than just money. It gave him fame, glory, three Harleys and two Ferraris, a penthouse suite at the top of the Caldrex Complex ( a leading entertainment company that occasionally worked alongside Mortinez, Smithson and Cardin M. A. ) and a trove full of hot naked women.

And maybe that's where the trouble begins.

See, Matt had a teeny tiny problem. As charming and alluring and overly rich he might be, he had a nasty tendency of forgetting who he'd slept next to the night before. And accidentally calling someone by the name of his ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-girlfriend often turned out to be a really, really bad idea.

Well, who knew women could be such overly emotional creatures ?

And yet that still wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that he often got hysterical death threats, or on rare occasions – thrown out of his own apartment, or even bitch-slapped in the face.

But today…well, today was different. He was actually hit by a slab of pudding. And no, this wasn't the usual cool dessert treat that comprised of fruity extracts. This was a nightmarish glob of supposed Chocolate Royale, or as he preferred to call it – Tar Terror.

Another one of Jenny's disastrous baking projects on a sullen Sunday evening. Wait. Or was it Reni ?

"I hate you !" Jenny-Reni-whoever yelled before stalking out of the lavish suite, her hips swaying and her obsidian curls bouncing in contempt.

Well, there goes girlfriend number thirty three, Matt thought grudgingly, raking a hand through his hair. And I thought the blonde two weeks ago was overdramatic…

He began to sigh, only to choke when some of the foul concoction dribbled into his mouth by accident. God forbid, that woman should never cook. She might even burn water if she's capable of it.

Narrowly sidestepping the tiny inkblots of chocolaty cataclysm that marred his Norwegian sheep-wool carpet, he lumbered towards the front door and eased it shut, before heading back towards his bedroom.

Maybe Sebastian was right. He should have just skipped the whole grope-before-you-kiss thing and tried to learn her name for once. But what was the point in that ? As far as he was concerned, he never had any desire to procreate or tolerate anything with generous amounts of estrogen for the rest of his life.

The classic example of why he chose the more righteous path of single-hood had just walked out of the door. After a few days of having interesting tête-à-têtes with him, Jenny-Reni had started to make him some tea-in-bed treats ( all of which ended horribly and resulted in a massive case of indigestion – he will never view a blueberry muffin the same way again ) each time she came over for a quick screw, and had many a time try to get him to propose to her.

Psht. As if. Never in a million years would he trade his eligibility for a four night stand. And this didn't even cover the fact that she had facial hair. Ewk.

Matt slipped out of his jeans and tentatively reached out to touch the right side of his face. Damn. The…abomination was starting to harden. The last thing he needed right now was to have some shit-colored gunk that stank like rotten cabbages stuck to his cheek. Pedro would geld him for sure.

He was just about to head off towards the en suite bathroom down the hall before the phone rang. Uttering a low curse, he backpedaled and picked up the tiny cell phone from the nightstand, before jamming it to his ear and nearly knocking over a Ming vase.

"Hey, retard. What's cooking ? Steamy chicks on a hot plate ?"

Matt let out another curse as he righted the vase. Of all the damned timing in the universe…

"Or maybe it's your ass on a boiler, birdbrain ," he threw back, edging towards the toilette. If he'd thought Sebastian was a stick up the ass at times, he was dead wrong. Maxim was a whole lot worse. Not only did the Russian male model develop an almost fatal habit of ribbing one of the most prominent and powerful faces in the industry, but he'd always had craptastic timing. And no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

As if that wasn't enough to make Matt throttle the little redneck ( although Maxim was anything short of 'little' – he was nearly six feet six and had muscles the size of watermelons stuffed with growth hormones ), he'd also developed an annoying habit of trying to imitate the casual American slang – one which clashed horribly with his deeply ingrained accent.

"Ouch. What did number two thousand and fifty eight hurl at you this time ? An extra large dildo ?"

"Try a pudding ," he replied blandly, before scrunching his face up. "And for the record, Jenny was number thirty something."

The Russian let out a low whistle. "Ahh…I thought her name was Reni ?"

"Shut up, Vlad."

"Chill, hothead. It's not like you can't get an easy lay anytime. Chicks everywhere would willingly drop dead for you if they could." There was a brief pause before Maxim added mischievously, "Or better yet, they would jump into your bed and ride you to the ground until there's nothing left."

Matt rolled his eyes at the double meaning behind his words. Shifting the phone to his left ear, he quickly twisted the faucet at the sink open and began to scrub his face.

"You're a deprived being, do you know that Maxim ? Have you ever tried to read Kama Sutra for once ? It offers loads of great advice for annoying cretins like you who have lost their sexual drive over the years."

"I'm not…deprived ," he countered, feigning a wounded tone. "I'm just bored out of my skull. Jazz left a trail of doggy drool all over my Nintendo collection earlier this afternoon and Myrna's doing extra shifts at the clinic so she won't be back until two tomorrow. And to set things straight, I don't need a stinking book to tell me how to bed a woman."

Matt snorted as he slowly began to claw off bits of the sticky chocolate glued to his chin. "Somehow I find that very hard to believe. Which properly proportioned male would call his coworker at-" he leaned back to peer at the clock hanging on the wall outside the toilet "-six thirty seven in the evening just to talk ? Save it my friend, you're decrepit and destitute."

"Hey !" Maxim snapped indignantly. "I'm not that old ! Twenty nine is the prime of one's life. And I would pretend I didn't hear you insult my mating habits-"

Matt choked and spluttered at that one. "Mating habits ?" he asked incredulously. "Jesus, how much Animal Planet did you watch these last few days ?"

"There's nothing else nice on TV ," the Russian said defensively. "They keep showing old reruns of Angel over and over again – who on earth wants to see a guy with fangs running around trying to stake other bad guys with a flag post ? Now there's a classic case of being alone to along. He's deprived, not me."

"Uh-huh." He paused, before uttering between coughs, "Denial, denial, denial…"

"Lay of the criticism, boy. I know where you sleep…" Matt just rolled his eyes at that damp threat. Yeah, right.

"And I know who rattles your cage, Macho Man…Or rather who holds your paycheck."

Maxim instantly began to curse in his native tongue and Matt grinned. It felt so good to pull a rank sometimes. They might work in the same agency and occasionally nail the same shoot, but everyone in the modeling industry knew who was Pedro's prized favorite. And it most certainly wasn't the brawny Russian.

"I hate you, dickhead."

Matt sighed. "I've been getting a lot of those lately." He turned the faucet off and peered at his reflection.

Dang, it looked like he had a hideous rash on his face. Screw castrating, Pedro was going to run him over with a steamroller if he showed up tomorrow looking like that.

"And I wonder why…." Mr. Grouch said sardonically.

"Tell you what ," he snapped, no longer in the mood to prolong this ludicrous conversation, "why don't you drop by the nearest library and check out a book called 'How to Occupy Yourself in One Thousand and One Ways' for dummies ? It'll be really productive."

Before Maxim could come up with another retort, he shut the phone off and tossed it into the empty porcelain bathtub next to the sink. A sharp pain lacerated his forehead and he groaned.

Great. Now he was stuck with the beginning of a bloody migraine.

Growling lowly in his throat and constantly muttering to himself about 'stupid-people-who-just-need-to-sleep-around-more-often', he yanked open the medicine cabinet above the sink, groping around the dusty shelves for some Tylenol or Advil.

Neither pill was available. Only their empty plastic containers remained as a sordid reminder of a once-upon-a-time stack of instant pain relief meds.

"Dammit ," he moaned, massaging his throbbing temples.

No pills meant no relief. And no women meant no alternative therapy. Which could only mean one thing.

"Shopping…" he groaned aloud – the ultimate nightmare of every man.

Ah, hell. How did he get into these situations again ?

Oh yeah. Too many cranky women and one irate Russian. Figures.

-X-

Barely twenty five minutes later, Matt had already donned one of his favorite sweaters to go with his new pair of Ferragamos and tan leather jacket. Temperatures had plummeted sometime during midday, and he was desperate to get his minute shopping done before it got too cold.

Getting out of the lobby was easy enough – it was trying to get into his car that proved to be a problem.

"Matthias, wait !"

He didn't turn around to see who had addressed him and broke off in a dead run. Girls everywhere squealed as he hurried past, most of them giggling and whipping out their camera phones to snap pictures of his sprint for freedom. This was one of the downsides of being caught in the sweltering 'hot' category of E-News – he was bound to have fans and stalkers – most of them rabid, drooling and socially defunct.

On a normal basis he would have his personal bodyguards – Tim and Perreau, to fend them off with a large stick or rather a nice, shiny Derringer, but Tim was on vacation in Cancun with his fiancée and Perreau was stuck at the vet's trying to get his parrot to cough up his sock.

Incidentally, do avians even consume organic cotton ? Because if they did…Eww.

Just as Matt wrenched open the door of his nearest custom-built Ferrari – the sleek red one with an extra large spoiler and ginormous horsepower that could accelerate to 120mph in just 3.8 seconds, he made the mistake of looking back.

Mein Gods. It was a frigging' mob !

Not wanting to drown in the sea of dysfunctional hopefuls who would gladly tie him to their bedpost for a month or two, he jumped in and revved the engine, zooming out of the parking lot. He seriously should have bought that crummy apartment near Madison Square Garden. It'll be a hell lot less conspicuous. And preferably rabid-fangirl free.

Keeping his eyes peeled for any suspicious bystanders ( namely hidden paparazzi ) as he wove in and out of traffic like a crazed lunatic, he kept his left hand on his forehead at all times, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of his skull being cleaved into two. He made it to the pharmacy downtown in record time. Cliffson Pharmaceuticals was a regular stop for people like him – they had a lovely 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy that went along great with those who wanted to be discreet.

And as much as he loved the attention, he coveted discretion.

Pausing briefly to make sure he wasn't being watched, he quickly pushed the glass door open and rushed into the store.

-X-

After purchasing enough Tylenol and aspirin to last him a century, Matt stumbled out of the drug laden store and hurried down the sidewalk. The wind had began to nip at his exposed skin, and he sure as hell didn't want to end up with more glaring red marks on his body.

Wrapping his jacket tighter around his waist in effort to ward off the icy blasts ( or better yet stop his lungs from freezing up completely ), he was just about to cross the deserted street to head towards his car when his ears picked up a small scream.

He frowned and paused. Now, this wasn't right. Who on earth would-?

Another louder scream sliced across his thoughts. Against his better judgment he took a small detour and wandered into a dank alley that was squeezed between two large office buildings. It was only after he had traipsed deep enough into the pitch black alleyway did he realize that this was most probably the stupidest idea ever.

People got mugged every time in backstreets like these. It was New York after all. So his best hunch was that there was some poor deluded soul who'd most probably scurried away after he or she had coughed up enough cash to satisfy the pillagers. And the said victim would most probably beg him for extra money if he'd actually developed a strong enough conscience and helped out.

Matt shook his head. Better leave before they all come running – heck, they might bring in a hobo squad to live with him if they caught a glimpse of his place – or maybe even his face. Those damn publicists still haven't torn down his billboard posters for the Calvin Klein shoot six months ago. Anything with an eye or two would immediately recognize him and no doubt run after his cash.

He was just about to turn back when something slammed into his shoulder. One moment his feet were safely planted on the ground, the next he was soaring through the air like a lightweight paperback.

He collided heavily against a cluster of metal bins and the tiny packet of pills flew from his grasp. Muttering a low keyed oath as pain melded with the back of his skull and added a deeper throb to his already thumping migraine ( oh goody…), he struggled to get back to his feet.

Something large and furry rammed against his chest and he keeled backwards once more into the heap of haphazard bins.

"Could you stop that ?" he snapped, feeling more sore and irritated than ever.

Great. Now he had a lump the size of Mount Vesuvius on the back of his head, frostbite all over his knuckles and a hideous red mark on his cheek. Only God knows how Pedro was going to spare him now. Forget castrations and steamrollers – the man was most likely going to saw his limbs off first and stick his head on a pike.

"Heard that boys ? The worthless cattle asked us to stop beating the shit out of him ," a deep throaty voice spoke from the looming darkness.

Matt frowned as he struggled to make out the distorted silhouettes of three human figures heading towards him. Judging by their well-built statures and casual amble, he more or less ascertained that they were all males. As for whatever creature that had knocked him down earlier, it had already fled into the dark, leaving him alone in the sea of rubbish and the company of these strange men.

"Who the hell are you ?"

The tallest figure shook lightly and a soft chuckle answered his question.

"We are your executioners, pretty boy…Didn't your mother teach you not to wander around the alleys late at night ? Who knows…The big, bad wolf might just come and get you."

Matt staggered to his feet and pinned all three of them with an angry glare. "What am I ? Friggin' Red Riding Hood ?"

"Ooh, I like this one already, Damian ," the shortest guy on the left quipped excitedly. "Can we keep him as a pet ?"

The first figure spoke up again, his voice no longer deep but rich and full of authority. "We'll see first, Lex. If he has more balls in him than the usual weakling males of his species, then we'll keep him."

The figure addressed as Lex did a funny little skip and clasped his hands in glee. Matt instinctively backed up a step as both men began to crouch closer, but paused and stiffened when he realized someone else was missing. He swiveled just in time to catch one of the trio – the only unnamed one – sniffing his hair, the faint outline of a twisted smile playing across his lips.

"How did you move so fast ?" he asked confusedly, still unsure what he was supposed to make of this.

He wasn't exactly well-versed in martial arts, but he'd taken enough self-defense lessons in the past to handle himself in dirty situations. Throw in a couple of solid kicks he'd watched from old Bruce Lee movies and add in a pinch of street fighting, he was sure he could take these morons on.

After all, how hard could it be ?

"We always move fast, love…" the tallest one – Damian, whispered in his ear, only to disappear and cackle madly when Matt blindly swung his fist. He could barely make out his assailants in such dim lighting, let alone hone in to their positions.

The reality of that major disadvantage finally sunk in and was enough to send his heart beating into a frenzy. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he looked wildly around in the dark, unable to tell whether he was now truly alone or not.

"Looking for us, pet ?"

He spun wildly again and a round of raucous laughter pierced the air. No longer feeling confident that he was in his element, Matt tried to rush back into the open street.

Karate kicks and kick-boxing be damned. He wasn't going to get strung up in some weird cat and mouse game with a bunch of freaks. He had better things to do like….uh, like….well, he just had better things to do than this.

"Leaving so soon ?" a sharp tone hissed in his ear, right before he felt himself being thrown back once more.

Only this time, he was caught in the steely grasp of one of them. He instinctively thrashed and lashed, spitting curses all the way.

-

The man gave a sinister chuckle as the human male flailed madly in his arms. Oh, he was a gorgeous specimen this one. And a sense of pride and sexual prowess bled from every single pore of his weak, breakable body, alleviating his already heightened senses. He could feel the human's blood boil with wrath and fear – a classic combination that often played wicked havoc on the tongue of his kind.

Terror – the sweetest fragrance of all…

"Let me go, you son of a bitch !" the little slab of meat yelled angrily, refusing to surrender.

Royce almost laughed at that one. Little did the meal-to-be know how close he had hit home with that remark. They were all sons of bitches and bastards…

"Hurry and get on with it, Royce. I'm hungry ," the youngest of their pack – Lex, complained, strutting closer.

He tutted at the pup's impatience. It paid to play with their food once in a while. Slowly willing his grimy nails to lengthen and curve downwards into claws, he ran one of his fingers across the smooth length of the human's jaw.

"Toying with prey is an art, little brother. Raising their blood pressure only increases the thrill of the kill." He smiled as the man in his grasp stiffened and stared at him with rage and horror. No doubt the little treat could see the inhuman silver glow that now emanated from his eyes. "Oh, and it adds a certain flavor to the meat, if you will."

Before Lex could respond, Damian materialized swiftly next to him, eyeing the man trapped in his arms. As leader of their currently dwindled pack, he normally took the first bite out of every meal, but Royce had coaxed him long enough last night to have his way just for today.

What he didn't expect was the older man to bend so willingly to his wishes. As a second, he held a higher rank over whelps like Lex, but he was still below their Alpha's feet. If he'd known it was so easy to manipulate Damian, he would have done it a very long time ago…

"I don't think we should feast on this one, Royce. He might have potential ," Damian stated softly, placing an arm on his shoulder. Typical. That decrepit old codger would always put a damper on fun things. Talk about a serious mood killer.

"Or he might be seriously pissed off and start calling the cops on you weirdo cultists ," came the biting riposte from the human. Temporarily forgetting his annoyance towards their leader, Royce snarled and shook the man roughly whilst his other two comrades just laughed.

"We're not cultists, sweet boy. We're more unique and superior than a bunch of deluded humans who slaughter farm animals on the beachside ," Damian chided, his tone mocking. The human fumed in his grasp, but there was no mistaking the sudden fear that lighted his eyes.

-

Matt suddenly wasn't so sure about what to think. He had just been lobbed twice in the air, slammed into a wall that would most certainly leave a nasty bruise on his head, manhandled by a creepy bunch of psychos who looked like they wanted to eat him, and lost his new migraine-curing pills.

Damn, he was freaked out. But most of all, he was seriously pissed off.

Did they know who he was ? Or better yet, did they know which viper pit they were trifling through ? He could get them thrown into jail on the spot. And he most certainly wasn't a child. He was a full-grown man who happened to be one of the youngest sky-rocketing millionaires in the social industry.

Sticking a hand through his cookie jar was asking for death. Literally. And now he was caught in the middle of a wayward discussion of who should take a chunk out of him first. Of all the Godforsaken things that could happen on a holy Sunday, he just had to be stuck with a bunch of cannibals.

Of course he did catch a flash of claws and glowing eyes from the man holding him ( Royce, was it ? ), but his mind had rebuked the insane idea of demons and vampires immediately. After all, Halloween was just a week from now; it seemed fitting that there would be some loons parading around in their get-up a little too early.

He breathed in and out in effort to calm himself. It's okay – I'm just going to crack them a deal, tell them I won't haul the cops on their sorry asses, toss them a bar of soap and a loofa, and then get my butt to the nearest hospital. Or better yet – the small clinic downtown. The nurses there had better legs.

Mustering his courage and reining in his anger, he met Damian's gaze levelly. "Tell you what – why don't you guys let me off and I head back home, forget that you threw me into a friggin' wall and save you the trouble of going in and out of court for assault charges for the next couple of years ?"

"Or better yet – why don't we keep you here a little longer and dine right now ?" Royce intervened smoothly before parting his lips – just at the same time a flash of light spilled into the alleyway and illuminated everything within its touch.

"Wh-?"

Before Matt had enough time to process his words or rather sort out the grueling image of Royce's teeth sharpening into pointed fangs, the man had plunged the aforementioned canines straight into his neck. He bucked and thrashed instinctively, yelling all the way. And yet Royce's vice-like grip never wavered an inch.

But that was until a soft whoosh whizzed past his ear and the….the thing holding him let out a curse.

"Bloody Hunters ," Damian snarled somewhere from behind. Royce immediately dropped him and retreated into the shadows, hissing and spitting like some sort of rabid animal.

Barely able to register the scorching pain that clasped around his severely bleeding neck, Matt groaned and rolled to the left just as something flew above his body. A large animal of some sort rammed straight into one of the three men, and judging by the high pitched squawk of alarm, it was most probably Lex.

He managed to angle his head long enough to get a good look at the fray. Three astonishingly beautiful men appeared to be fighting off a rather large cat who was dodging each and every one of their swipes with exquisite grace. Which was certainly saying something because the trio were moving at an incredibly fast pace – somewhat giving the impression that they were dancing rather than sparring.

Matt tried to shake his head to clear his thoughts, but only succeeded in sending another wave of crippling pain down his neck. He coughed and spluttered, clenching his fists as warm liquid began to soak the front of his tan Dolce and Gabbana sweater.

Shit. He was bleeding. He was bleeding a lot.

And his vision was dimming even though the area was now flooded with ample amount of light. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that he was going to pass out from blood loss, or even worse….die.

He tried to keep himself awake by concentrating on the battle brewing a few feet away from him. The cat was now gone, and in its place stood a curvaceous woman with rich auburn curls that bounced each time she moved.

He frowned. A woman ? Since when had that happened ?

Yup, he was already losing it. He looked away for a moment to pin down the source of the light. And he regretted it when he spotted a large orb licked by blue flames hovering in the mouth of the alleyway.

Dementia…the first sign of madness…

-

Claret chuckled as one of the Ferals took a clumsy swipe at her side. She lithely danced away, laughing all the while.

"Don't taunt us, Huntress ," hissed the one on the far left, crouching into a slightly feline position.

Ferals. They were the silent killers of mankind. The fearsome creatures that were a medley of all the horrors of the world. Their relentless yearning for blood and destruction were the main reason why Slayers and Hunters from both sides were called in to curb the menace.

All though she must say, she had yet to meet the vampire slayer that was dispatched for this task…

"What's the matter, sweetling ? Too afraid to finish us off ?"

She looked back at the tallest male that had taunted her. Like the other two, he was exceptionally gorgeous with long dark hair that was pulled back from his narrow, angular face into a small ponytail.

"Or maybe I'm just messing around with you until you squeal like little piggies for mercy ," she jeered in return, nimbly leaping up a fire escape when the shortest one dived for her. He growled angrily at her, his eyes glowing brighter with rage.

"Come down here, stupid cat !"

She shrugged and flipped open a serrated butterfly knife from her coat. "As you wish ," she muttered slyly as she somersaulted and landed gracefully right behind him, a small smirk stretched across her face.

He pivoted around to face her just in time as she plunged the gilded blade into his chest.

"Say adios, sleazeball."

His eyes widened as he choked and began to decay. Claret wrinkled her nose. She never liked the stench of dying Ferals, and after three consecutive centuries of exterminating them she was still convinced that she could never get used to it.

"No !"

She swiveled just in time to watch one of them – the last one with wild eyes and curly red hair leap towards her, shifting forms from a man into a wolf in a heartbeat. Reacting quickly, she shifted out of the way and threw some of the Chinese throwing stars she had kept hidden under her sleeve in case of an emergency, hitting the wolf squarely in the right eye. It yelped but managed to surprisingly dodge the last two stars.

"Time to put you out of your misery, mutt ," she breathed, extending one of her retractable swords.

It growled at her and scampered before she could take a swing.

"Hey, get your furry ass back here ! I'm not through with you yet !"

She hated it when her targets ran instead of fighting. And she most especially hated it when…one of them hadn't exactly run away and was hurling a metal rod straight at her face !

Claret cursed and tried to shift out of the way, but the thin rail managed to graze her left shoulder regardless. Shaking with anger, she felt her own teeth lengthen and her vision improve as her eyes took on a haunting green glow.

"This isn't over ," the leader stated huskily, right before he shifted into a panther and bounded away after his injured comrade.

Gritting her teeth, she clenched and unclenched her fists as she willed herself to calm down.

Stupid conniving bastards, she thought angrily. Not only did she fail to expire all three of her targets, but she couldn't even throw a freaking star right. Something told her that she was going to get greased by Phoenix for this.

She glanced back at the smoldering remains of the first Feral she'd killed earlier. I guess one is still better than nothing…

Claret sighed heavily and began to stow away her weapons when she spotted something pale and motionless lying a few feet away. Frowning deeply as a sense of forbidding settled in the pit of her stomach, she began to walk towards it, only to gasp when she realized it was a hand.

She looked up and down the decapitated corpse, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her as she noted the chalky skin and well-manicured nails. The poor thing must have been the vampire slayer that was sent earlier to 'cleanse' this region. Only problem was that judging by the rate of decay, she was most probably no more than a month old in her making.

What were those idiots thinking ?

She gave an exasperated sigh, ready to kick up a storm in the Head Council for this audacity. No one sends younglings out to hunt rogue Ferals – no one. It was rule numbre uno.

But just as she was contemplating numerous ways to barbeque the council members, her Seeker floated in front of her, dancing up and down excitedly.

"I'm not in the mood, Firefly. Sod off and gimme a minute."

The gigantic ball of flame circled around her and fizzled. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"I'm seriously not going to play Hide and Seek with a ball of fiery gas. I told you that a million times already this past two millennia ," she said, annoyed. It hovered in front of her face a few seconds, right before streaking down the alleyway and dancing over a heap of something that looked like clothing.

Claret threw her hands up in the air. "Why do I even bother ?" she muttered to herself, before following the orb.

She opened her mouth to tell her Seeker off when she noticed that the lump below her feet was stirring and…moaning.

"Oh, Christ ," she aspirated, before adding a whole string of colorful expletives. She gently rolled the man over, inhaling deeply when the sweet scent of his blood infiltrated her nose.

Shackling the beast inside of her that bayed for his flesh and blood, she ran her fingers up and down his chest, relishing in the sturdy outlines of his washboard abdominals under the thin fabric of his sweater. He had the most astounding gray eyes that reminded her of a swirling thunderstorm, and the most silkiest white blonde hair that she'd ever seen in all her years of existence. His features were sharp and spectacularly crafted, his lips luscious and pink as it begged any daring woman to kiss it…

Snap out of it, she told herself, irritated at her instinctual desire to take a bite out of him and strap him to her bed back at home. You so do not want to go there.

The last time she'd trusted a man with a key to her heart, he'd brutally ripped it out of her chest and stomped upon it, laughing all the while as she cowered in sorrow and humiliation. Centuries spent killing rogues and miscreants had helped her shadow the pain, but never really sealed up the cracks. The last thing she needed right now was to hand that same key over to someone else – only this time, if he'd chosen to go down the same path as Jared did, she was sure her heart couldn't take another shattering.

Dragging herself out of her reverie, she pulled back and observed the human's face once more. She swore loudly as his eyes began to sport silver streaks.

Aw, shit. He was Infected. Even worse – he was Infected…by a Feral.

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