#serial killer reader

- you called yan! Assistant to the man's apartment, and he was shocked to see your bloody hand. He thought you were hurt, but it was actually his senior's blood. You gently placed two fluffy kittens on his hands while he's confused.

- you told yan! Assistant to leave and you'll deal with the mess, but he refuses. You dismember the corpse and burnt it on the mountain top. The rest of the bones are buried underneath.

- ever since that murder, you kept newspapers and killed novice neighbourhood killers, and stored the corpses in his art studio. You usually drain their blood and use the guts as the brush. Yan! Assistant is disgusted by it at first, but he's already used to it now.

- Your artworks sells a massive hit with rich men who thinks it's progressive art for some sort. Yan! Assistant has to keep a straight face knowing you used real blood before varnishing the art. He just hopes it wouldn't rot or someone would get suspicious.

- you, who finally got convicted when one of the killer's family found you when you just finished strangulating a neighbourhood pervert. You decided not to chase them, putting a final end of the murders.

- you used all your manipulation tactics to make sure yan! Assistant is not taken to custody just like you. You wished him better life, and told him to start choosing a better role model.

- yan! Assistant, who obviously wouldn't let this slide. This isn't supposed to happen. He's supposed to live a happy life with you. You two are supposed to be married. He cried his eyes dry clutching a ring box he planned to propose with.

- His hands trembled as he kissed the ring on his palm. He decided he'll help you out, no matter what. He's planning to pose as a guard in youe facility. It's just will he be able to pass and get assigned to where you're placed in?

- He'll do absolutely anything for you. He'll make sure you're okay because technically you're not looking for jailbreak. You just want to get this over with and continue your life. But Yan! Assistant would be there every step of the way. He'll make sure no one is tormenting you, though he's pretty sure no one would mess with a hero like you.

- yan! Assistant would wait no matter what. You're his everything, and he's your ultimate muse you're willing to let go so he can spread his wings and be free.

Glass.

Everywhere, glass.

Champagne glasses. Framed glass. Polished marble reflecting expensive shoes beneath warm amber light. Gold melted across the gallery walls in soft strokes, turning every face into something theatrical. Artificial.

Step. Step. Step.

Leather soles against marble.

Fizz.

Champagne bubbles collapsing quietly.

A woman laughed too loudly near the entrance. Sharp. Hollow. Like a fork scraping porcelain.

You stood still in the center of it all.

Watching agony.

The painting in front of you was ‘Saturn Devouring His Son’ by Francisco Goya. Violent blacks. Bruised browns. Wet reds. A god crouched in madness with blood slick on his fingers and horror bursting from his eyes. The body in his hands looked unfinished. Torn apart. Half-eaten.

Most people looked at the painting and saw cruelty.

You saw panic.

You tilted your head slightly.

Interesting.

The brushstrokes were frantic near the mouth. Goya must have painted those parts quickly. Maybe trembling. Maybe starving. The red was old-looking, almost brown at the edges, like dried blood beneath fingernails.

You wondered what Goya smelled while painting it.

Oil paint.

Sweat.

Rot.

Maybe himself.

The room around you dissolved softly at the edges.

You were sixteen again.

Rainwater gathering inside your shoes.

Which always bothered you.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The alley behind your childhood housing smelled like wet concrete and rusted pipes. There had been a man on the ground beside the dumpster. Not dead yet. His nose broken sideways. One eye swollen shut.

He had cried.

That was what stayed with you.

Not the blood or violence.

The sadness.

The terrible, animal sadness leaking out of him while he tried to crawl with shaking hands.

You remembered kneeling beside him and waiting for something inside yourself to react correctly.

Pity.

Guilt.

Fear.

Nothing came.

Only warmth.

Blissful.

Like a missing puzzle piece sliding perfectly into place somewhere deep inside your chest.

Click.

Completion.

You had spent your childhood watching other people experience emotions like spectators at church watched God. Reverently. Confused. Your mother crying over dead relatives. Children crying over broken toys. Girls your age crying in bathroom stalls over cruel words.

You copied their faces well enough.

Tilt your eyebrows.

Lower your voice.

Touch shoulders gently.

But it always felt translated. Distant.

Like reading grief from behind thick aquarium glass.

But agony.

Agony was understandable.

Agony made sense.

There was honesty in it. A person stripped completely open. No performance left. No social mask surviving pain.

You loved photographing mold for the same reason.

Decay never lied.

Your photographs hung one room away.

Close-up shots so magnified they became almost abstract.

Veins of crimson fungus spreading through white walls, black spores blooming like bruises across fruit, soft velvet rot consuming peaches from the inside out. 

Critics called the collection intimate. 

And disgusting.

One woman earlier had described your work as “a meditation on decomposition and rebirth.”

You almost laughed in her face.

Laughed at the performance of her understanding.

Step.

A figure stopped beside you.

“Most people avoid that one.”

His voice entered softly. Cultured. Smooth enough to hide teeth beneath it.

You already knew the voice.

Hannibal, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, stood beside you with a champagne glass balanced elegantly between his fingers. The red pocket square in his suit looked almost wet beneath the gallery lights.

Reflection caught him strangely.

Fragments of his face shimmered across the black glass frame of the painting. Eyes. Mouth. Teeth.

A broken mirror version of a man.

You smiled faintly without looking away from the painting.

“Most people dislike the discomfort of seeing themselves in art.”

You finally looked at him.

Hannibal smiled politely, though something behind the expression changed slightly, almost invisible unless someone knew where to look. You did.

That was the problem.

You had known who Hannibal Lecter was long before tonight.

Baltimore psychiatrist. Esteemed host. Elegant conversationalist.

And beneath all that… 

Something else.

Something familiar.

?

You had spent months studying him the way some people studied wild animals before attempting to hunt them.

You knew what wines he preferred.

You knew he killed people.

Not legally.

But you knew.

Because monsters recognized mirrors instinctively.

“You’re the photographer,” Hannibal said after a moment.

Not a question.

Your gaze drifted toward the next room where your photographs sat beneath soft spotlights.

“Yes.”

“The mold.”

There was amusement hidden beneath the words.

You smiled slightly wider.

“The decay.” you corrected.

Hannibal hummed softly.

“Hm.”

His eyes lingered on the painting again.

“People usually photograph flowers when they wish to preserve beauty.”

“Yes,” you said quietly.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Clink.

Whisper.

Fizz.

A waiter passed carrying glasses of red wine that reflected like spilled blood across silver trays.

You looked at Hannibal’s hands.

Elegant hands.

Precise hands.

You imagined them severed neatly at the wrists.

Displayed on the silver tray that reflected red wine like spilled blood.

The thought settled warmly inside you.

Want.

The purest form of artistic curiosity.

Killing Hannibal Lecter would feel like finishing a masterpiece no one else was capable of touching.

You wondered suddenly what expression would finally appear on his face right before death.

Fear?

Relief?

Recognition?

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, studying you now with unnerving stillness as you stared at him so openly. 

“As fascinating as your photographs are,” he said softly, “I think what interests me more is why someone would devote themselves to capturing rot so intimately.”

There it was.

Investigation.

You looked back at the painting.

At Saturn’s wide animal eyes.

At the wet red painted around his mouth.

And smiled.

“Because,” you said quietly, “everything beautiful eventually learns how to decay.”

Hannibal laughed softly beside you.

Low.

Warm.

Red suited him.

You wondered whether arterial spray would too.

Fizz.

A bubble burst quietly inside your champagne.

Hannibal said something else beside you, smooth and intelligent and charming, but you barely heard it now. Your mind had already wandered somewhere warmer.

Somewhere underneath skin.

You imagined his death carefully.

Not rushed.

No.

That would be vulgar.

A man like Hannibal Lecter deserved precision. Attention. Reverence, even. You wanted to peel him apart layer by layer until you finally discovered what lived underneath all that elegance.

You wanted to see if monsters looked frightened when faced with themselves.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass.

And for the first time in weeks,

Maybe months,

You felt genuinely excited.

A small smile touched your mouth.

Killing Hannibal Lecter, you thought, would be tremendous fun.

─── ꒰ 🥀 ꒱ ───

hannibal nbc taglist . . .‧˚꒰🔦꒱༘‧ @ilovehorror-18 @kashimeowr @afw5 @andyinthemiddleofsixx

a/n: hey guys, you might wonder... jinx what IS this? I also wonder that myself.... I dont know ... I feel like I have lost all my sanity and this is what you get! Lord forbid a girl ever writes something....

I ran, I ran, I ran, I ran again. I don't know how they found me, but I was so close to escaping from everything I have done.

I have killed so many, so many. I couldn't even count them all. I enjoyed it ever since I killed my family.

I can hear the police sirens. I fled the house after I killed that wealthy man. He thought he owned me. Well, not anymore. I ran into the woods without looking back, but I can still hear the police officers pursuing me.

I turned my head to see how far away I was when my foot got caught on a tree branch, causing me to stumble and fall down the hill.

I kept falling until I was struck on the head, and finally, I landed on the ground. I tried to move, ignoring the pain, and managed to sit up instead of lying down.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, my vision starting to fade as I began to black out. I saw a figure approaching me, but I couldn't make out the words they were saying.

I lost consciousness and woke up in what appeared to be an alleyway. I sat there for a moment, trying to gather my bearings. How did I end up here? Wasn't I still in the woods just moments ago before I lost consciousness?

I walked out of the alleyway and looked around, noticing that everything seemed strangely different. People were being kind to each other, and as I continued walking, I saw a hybrid creature—a woman with a lioness's tail and non-human ears. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of animal she was.

As I explored this strange place, I encountered a group of teenagers wearing uniforms and holding peculiar-looking pens. As I passed by, I witnessed something that completely shocked me—magic. One of the teenagers used their pen to lift up flags and hang them on the walls. It was something I had never seen before, right before my eyes.

My eyes widened in disbelief, but I kept walking. Eventually, I came across a TV playing nearby. I walked up to it and started watching, determined to find out what was going on and how all of this was happening in this place.

As I sat watching the TV, absorbed in the news report, a sense of disorientation washed over me. The lady on the screen welcomed viewers, and as I listened intently, trying to make sense of my surroundings, the reality of where and when I was began to sink in.

The news report detailed an investigation into an unknown murder carried out by the NRC task force. My curiosity piqued, I studied the photo of the team on the screen, feeling like an outsider in this unfamiliar world.

Just as I was about to move away from the TV, a peculiar cat caught my eye. Its tail seemed strange, and flames flickered from its ears. I couldn't help but notice the intensity of the cat's gaze fixed on the news report, but I dismissed it as a trick of the light.

Suddenly, to my disbelief, the cat began speaking to itself. Startled, I turned to face the cat, unable to comprehend what was happening before me. A talking cat? The cat caught my stare and confidently proclaimed, "You've got a problem from the greatest detective, Grim."

Struggling to process the surreal encounter, I watched in astonishment as the cat stood up on its hind legs. Doubts crept into my mind, questioning my sanity and the reality of the situation. Had I truly gone mad, or was this talking, standing cat a figment of my imagination?

I got a few weird looks as I made my way back to my home. But I glared at everyone who dared look at me too long. I wasn’t in the mood for any of this tonight. As I slipped through the door into my house, I quickly threw off my shoes and my coat. Nobody lived with me, but even then I wouldn’t care. I hated the feeling of wet clothes, so I stripped on my way to the bathroom. I’d clean up the mess later. I suppose that was one good thing, there would be no blood to clean up thanks to Marko.

I ran the water to my bath, throwing in some lavender bath salts and lighting some candles. I needed to decompress after the night. Soon I’d have to change my sleep schedule and get an actual job in town, but for now, the night was much kinder than the day. Hiding my sins from the other sinners. I sank deep into the bath, letting the sore from the day burn out of my flesh. The water was scalding but I didn't care, maybe I deserve it. The pain felt nice anyway. I closed my eyes as my head sank under the water, letting every thought leave my head. By the time I surfaced for air, all the stress had left me.

I just survived a vampire... an unadulterated parasitic manifestation of a walking plague. Only a few bruises littered my body as proof. Not many people could say they survived an occurrence such as this. And I'm sure that's something Marko relished in. Why wouldn't he, I would, I do. As Mrs Lovett once said, "Half the fun is to play the plan." and she would know better than anybody, she waited half her life on Benjamin Barker. A man who was dead before he even had a chance. But she got her Sweeney Todd in the end, even if it was her... end.

Maybe this was it, my hamartia. Flouncing around, playing at the feet of death, waiting for my own turn. Despite every sign telling me to stay the fuck away, I wanted to trespass. I wanted to sit on the edge of the cliff, wether I be pushed or pulled from the ledge. I wanted Marko.

I wasn't scared of him, not like I should be. He could rip out my throat before I could let out a breath. But my lungs didn't ache for air, how could they when I'd be slowly drowning them in water. He was literally inhuman, but somehow my humanity felt flimsier than his. There was no time for a redemption arch in my story. I'd made an imprint in too many lives, a silent predator plaguing the minds of those fortunate enough to have lived through my hurricane.

I walked passed the window, making my way into the walk-in closet. The house didn't come with one, but I built it into my room. It was just me in this house, who's to tell me I can't sleep in my living room? I had too many clothes, honestly, I didn't need most of them, but disguises were too much fun. Why be me when I could be anybody else. Marko seemed to like me as the Kanima, a shapeshifter. I should be whoever he wanted. I already killed for him, what more was there to lose? Vampires didn't feed on souls, not that mine was worth much.

I put on a simple slip dress, twirling in the mirror. I looked just like the ghost from Crimson Peak, haunting my own home. Once in the kitchen, I pulled out the bottle of belvedere I kept under the sink.

"What's one drink?" I said out loud.

The night crept in again sooner than I thought. The last rays of sun gleamed in through the curtain. The empty bottle of liquor next to me gave proof to last night's failures. An expensive mistake. I doubt a town like this even carried quality enough liquor to steal. I'd have to page my father back home, ask for a gift. He never could say no to his little girl. I had him wrapped around my finger, just like I did the rest of this world.

I pushed myself off my couch and made my way to the bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth. I got ready for the night, deciding on a look I saw fit. Deciding who the world would see me as this evening. I'd be polished, proper, a lady tonight.

I left the house once I was satisfied I'd covered up any evidence of last night's drinking. I made my way down the street, turning a few heads in the way unlike last night. I made my way down to the church at the end of the street. A habit I found myself in every now and again. But today was different, now I was on a mission. On my way to the confession box, I put on my best fake tears.

"I've done something bad father." I started.

"I'm sure that God will give you forgiveness if you repent my dear child."

"But what if I don't want to repent? What if I cant be forgiven?"

"All can be forgiven, for the right price." "And what price would that be Father? What would you have me pay for my sins."

He was a nunce, most priests were. They pretended to be all high and mighty when really they were worse than Lucifer himself. Preying on the vulnerable people who came in begging for forgiveness from their God. But he wasn't here, he wasn't calling the shots, he wasn't bending the innocent to his will. That was the work of the Priests themselves.

I knew his price, it's not like I haven't paid it before, but I didn't want forgiveness. What I wanted was favour. On my knees, I begged for mercy. Playing right into his hand, while he was truly playing into mine. I cleaned myself off, fixing my lipstick.

"Father, would it be alright if I borrowed a little holy water? I don't feel safe going home without it."

"Of course my Dear, you can come back anytime you want. If you ever need his forgiveness or guidance again."

I smiled at him, a sickly sweet smile that didn't reach my eyes. When he turned his back, I filled a small vial with the holy water.

"Thank you again."

"Will you be back for Sunday service?"

"I might."

I rolled my eyes as I left the building. men like him were disgusting. I couldn't even stand to think of how many other people he'd taken advantage of in that church. But he wouldn't be Santa Clara's problem much longer. I spotted some young boys, running around and playing with water gun's on the pier. It reminded me of the boys from back home, the kid I used to babysit. Before they were taken from me before I was taken from me. I wiped a small tear from the corner of my eye, not daring to let it ruin my makeup.

I walked over to the boys and caught one off guard as he ran into me.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry ma'am."

I chuckled lightly.

"Ma'am, you make me sound so old."

"Ignore my brother, he never watches where he's going, you think with those big eyes he'd be able to see." The other boy joked.

"Can it Edgar!" he huffed.

"Brothers? I can see the resemblance. "Tell me, where did you boys get those little water pistols?"

"We brought them from home," Edgar explained.

I finally let go of my hold on the other boy, once he was stable on his feet.

"What's something like that cost do you think?"

"You want a water gun?"

"Alan!" Edgar scolded.

"What? A lady cant play with toys? What if I gave you a fifty? Would you sell it to me then?"

"Fifty dollars!" Edgar exclaimed.

Alan shot a hand over his brother's mouth.

"Make it fifty each and you've got yourself a deal Lady." "You drive a hard bargain boys, fifty each, and I'll buy you better ones at the end of the week if I see you again. How's that sound?"

"Deal." Alan stuck out the hand his brother had previously licked, to shake mine.

I shook it anyway.

"Deal."

The boys handed me their water guns and ran off toward the boardwalk with their newfound cash. They were sweet, I'd buy them the whole damn toy store if they asked. Boy's like that needed to be protected, kept safe from the dangers of this world. From me.

I swapped the water in the guns for the holy water I'd taken from the church. I placed the water gun in the garter beneath my dress, concealing it from sight. It wouldn't be hard to find Marko, you could spot that hair and his jacket from a mile away. I watched from afar as he flirted with a pretty little brunette girl. Dinner, I assumed. She didn't seem to actually be his type. I watched as he lead her away before I focused on the boys he left in his wake.

First, there was blondie, he was tall, hair unkempt, fashion like a drunk uncle at a gay bar, it was a very interesting combination. He leaned against tall, dark and handsome, the boy who looked like nothing in the world could dare test his stoic nature. But of course, that was all fake, a way to protect himself, but from what. If he was like Marko, he was at the top of the food chain. Last, but hopefully not least, beach sue I'd be disappointed. We had the self-proclaimed leader. I could tell by the way he stood, defensively, waiting for someone to strike so he could assert dominance. A dark trench coat, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

I stepped forward, striking a match I kept in my pocket on my teeth, offering to light it for him. He snapped out of his watchful daze. Leaning into the flame to light the thing.

"Thanks." He huffed.

I locked eyes with him, putting out the flame on my tongue, before gracefully spitting the match into a nearby trash can.

"Hot!" I heard the wild blonde exclaim.

He held the cigarette out to me, and I wrapped my lips around it slowly. I took in a long drag, before turning to the brunette and letting out a puff of smoke in the shape of a heart.

I watched a smile appear on his lips before he took the cig back.

"That's some crazy get-up you've got there girly."

"Say's the guy dressed like a twenty-quid hooker. Not that I mind, it suits you." I jeered.

I saw his friend crack a small smile at that, dropping his serious facade.

"So, what's your name, or do I actually have to pay you?" I dangled a twenty in front of him.

He reached for it, but I pulled away warningly.

"Ah ah ah, name first."

"Paul."

"Paul," I repeated. "Good boy."

I tucked the twenty into the edge of his trousers. I turned back to the leader, who held out a fresh cig for me. I took it gratefully, lighting mine of the edge of his.

"And what about you Sugar?"

He rolled his eyes while he grinned.

"Who's asking."

"So thats how you want to play it?" I tsked. "Paulie, Dear, what's his name?"

"D-david." He stuttered out.

"And your friend?"

"Dwayne."

I hummed, smirking at David.

"I like him, what orphanage did you pick him up at?"

David scoffed, and Dwayne looked at me bewildered.

"What, a guy who dresses like that doesn't have a prominent father figure in his life. And with how obedient he's being, he definitely has mommy issues. isn't that right sweet boy?"

Paul nodded. not hearing a word of my insult. It was kinda cute.

"You must be Red," David concluded.

I didn't want to give away my confusion.

"And what if I am?"

"Then Marko was right about you kitten, you are dangerous."

My heart fluttered, and I cursed under my breath. Marko talked about me, he gave me a nickname? Red, I liked it. Simply, to the point, like my knives. Fuck! My knife was still in that ally, that damn bastard. That thing cost half a grand, my father gave it to me on my sixteenth.

"What do you say boys, should we bring her home?" David asked the other two.

Paul's answer was obvious, but Dwayne was hesitant. I Didn't blame him.

"What's the harm Handsome, I don't bite."

Paul laughed at my joke, clutching his side. Dwayne got on his bike, not saying another word before driving off. David looked between me and Paul, then at his bike.

"Decisions, decisions."

"Please?" Paul begged.

"Well, how could I so no to you. Look at him David, he's helpless."

I stomped out the rest of the Cigarette with my boot. David got on his bike before revving his engine. I climbed onto the back of Paul's bike and held on tight as we drove. I memorised the way here, as a safety precaution. A cave, of course, they lived in a cave. I took in the sight, smiling widely.

"What, our home not good enough for you Princess?" David asked.

I shook my head.

"It's perfect."

I took off my coat, exposing the outfit I had on underneath it. I dropped my coat on the back of Paul's bike. I took off my hat, unpinning my hair and letting it fall. I watched as the boys oggled me.

I held out my hand for David to take as he led me into the cave. I took in my surroundings, admiring their odd decore and the charging nature of their run-down abode. It suited them, all of them. But I couldn't help but imagine what influences Marko had on the place.

"How can you afford to dress like that?" Dwayne finally spoke up.

"Who says I can? You don't know that I bought this outfit."

"So you stole it then," David concluded.

"Yes, but not from a store."

"Then-" Paul started.

"Use your brain cutie, who has fancy clothes, but doesn't need them anymore."

Paul scratched his head, thinking as hard as he could. But Dwayne stepped in to cover for him.

"A corpse."

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner, folks! A corpse, my mother's specifically."

"Pushing a false narrative that you're more disaster than you appear."

"Actually I'm not. You assumed it meant I killed someone, I never said I did. But you also assumed that because she was my mother, I didn't kill her."

"You killed your own mother?"

"She had a ten million dollar life insurance policy hanging over her head, with a little persuasion, the sword of Damocles fell."

"The sword of what now?" Paul asked.

"Not a reader I see. Besides, my father sked me to, couldn't get his hands dirty, why not tarnish his offsprings. I'm better at it than hin anyways." I ranted.

That's when I heard rustling at the opening of the cave. Marko was back.

"Why did you guys tell me you were going-"

I moved onto Paul's lap, smiling up at Marko innocently. I wrapped my arms around Paul's neck and nuzzled my face into the side of it. I knew it would draw Marko closer, he seemed the territorial type. I dropped one hand to the water gun on my thigh slowly lifting it until I pointed it right at Marko's face. He raised a brow at me.

"You dropped me in the fucking water." I hissed.

"What do you're gonna get me with a squirt gun, oh no." He chuckled.

I changed my aim, shooting at the exposed flesh of his ankle, hearing a satisfying his as it hit the skin. He gasped, sucking in a breath. I moved my aim back to his head. I heard David shuffle from his wheelchair, but I paid no mind.

"I killed for you, and you'd dropped me, 50 feet, plummeting through the air. With no care to ask if I could even swim."

I saw genuine remorse in his eyes. Not what I was expecting. God, why did he have to be so cute on top of this? That made torturing him all the more impossible of a task. Paul attempted to push me off him, but I dug my fingernails into the skin of his neck, pushing the water gun to his temple.

"I have more than just holy water on me Loverboy, I'd keep my hands to myself if I were you," I ordered.

"There's four of us, one of you." David reminded me.

"Never stopped me before. You boys really think you're the first vampires I've come upon? Je suis allé en enfer, votre peuple ne me fait pas peur."

I looked back at Dwayne, flashing him my own fangs. My eyes turned black. He sat back down.

"What do you want?" Marko finally asked.

"It's simple. An apology."

"Really, all this over-"

I hissed at David to shut him up.

"Another word from you out of turn, and I'll rip pretty boy here to shreds."

He held his hands up in surrender.

"And, you owe me."

"Deal."

"Wait, you're not even going to ask first? Bold moe bloodsucker."

"I don't know what you are, but I won't let you hurt my family because of my mistake."

I shifted on Paul's lap, lightning my hold on his neck. I placed my gun hanging on my heat.

"Oh, how cute. Your sense of loyalty is commendable. And I must admit, kinda turning me on. So, tell me you're sorry, and that you won't betray me again, and I'll keep those little vampire hunters I met down at the pier, out of your hair."

"You know about the Frog brothers?" Paul asked, voice trembling ever so slightly.

I felt bad, genuinely.

"Of course, I do my little pet, I know a lot of things. Like your favourite type of food, I can bring yous some, any time you want. Just ask and you won't even have to leave this cave to go hunting."

"I'm confused, do you want to kill us or help us?" David asked, annoyance in his tone.

I growled, slamming him up against the wall.

"What did I say about talking out of turn?" I slipped a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it with my mind, and pushing it onto his wrist.

He shut his mouth.

"Good boy. Now Makro, it's jsut three little words. One for each of your brothers here. I... Am... Sorry."

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

"What was that?" "I am sorry for dropping you in the water, and I promise not to betray you again."

I smiled, letting go of David, and allowing the lit cig to fall to the floor. I tucked the gun back into my garter, taking my time to cover up the extra exposed skin. Despite being sacred, Paul's eyes were still glued to me.

"What are you?"

"A succubus my dear, I sold my soul to the Devil. Well, Daddy did that part for me."

"A sex demon?" Dwayne asked for clarification.

"In a sense, yes, but I'm not the average succubus, I come from a family of hunters, and my abilities never left when I died. This means my instinct to kill you all arent going to be easy to fight. But I like you, little vamps. You amuse me, specifically those two." I motioned to the two blondes don't he couch.

"You said I owed you a favour."

"Right. I need you to kill someone for me."

"You seem to be quite capable of doing that yourself." David scoffed.

I sighed.

"Yes, but you see, the person I want dead is a priest, a child of God, I can't touch him. Well physically I can, but I can't lift a finger to kill him, they have certain protections."

"So you can touch hoky water, and go into a church to get it, but you cant kill a priest?"

"I don't make the rules Dwayne, I just follow them. If I hurt him, it will hurt me. Besides I check him earlier, he keeps several crucifixes on his body, unlike the holy water, those can actually hurt me."

I moved my fingers to lower the neckline of my dress, reviling the cross-shaped scar, that burned into my skin.

"Used to wear one before that night my father made me kill my mother, sealing my fate. The pain I felt upon waking, was far worse than death. Hellfire burns, but God's promises burn brighter and hotter. Why do you think he cursed your kind to be scorned by the sun? Something I can fix, by the way."

"You can fix us?"

It was sad, Marko sounded almost desperate.

"It won't be pretty, nor will it be easy. But there is a spell for nearly everything. Of course, I'll need enough energy to perform said charm, I hear vampire souls are quite powerful, and tasty."

"So let me get this straight, you a demon, need our help killing a priest, and you can make us walk in the sunlight, but we have to give you are souls."

"It's not as bad as it sounds David. I know you find me attractive. Why do you think humans call organisms small deaths? You kill my priest, I sleep with you all, giving me enough energy to finish what I have to get done in this town, I perform the spell, you can cause chaos any hour of the day, Santa Clara suffers. I don't see how you could refuse really?"

"If you're really a demon, why did you let me overpower you in that ally?" Marko asked.

"Because you're hot, and I like you, idiot. besides, I couldn't reveal myself right away. That would make me sloppy at my job. It was far more fun to watch you be sacred of me for a bit." I smirked at him. "Also, I don't know what you mean by if I am a demon, I've got fangs sharper than yours I was able to overpower several of you, I'm faster than all of you, and I lit a cigarette with my mind. Don't know what humans you've met Love, but I don't know any that can do all that."

"Red's got a point."

That godforsaken nickname again. It even sounded cute coming from Paul's mouth. I didn't know if I wanted to slit his throat or shove my tongue down it. The two parts of the damaged and raked-over soul were fighting each other.

"So Marko, what do you say, is Preist on the Menu tonight?"

French: "I've been to hell, your kind don't scare me."

You tiptoe your way towards the silhouette in your living room, raising your knife and preparing to plunge it down into their back. Suddenly, your arm is being grabbed and the room spins as you get flipped over onto your back. Snarling, you shove the knife towards the person only for them to easily snatch it from your grip with a snicker.

"Really? You're really going to stab me??"

You blink owlishly at him. "I mean, I'm not as proficient at stabbing people, but I think I do pretty good."

"Mmm, and yet, you're on the floor under me..." You can practically hear the smirk in is voice.

"Wait, who the hell are you and why are you in my house??"

"What, you haven't heard of me? My names Murdock, best you don't forget it. As for what I'm doing here, would you believe me if I told you that I'm laying low??"

You gently shove yourself out from under Murdock and stand up. "No, no I would not. I don't think killing someone in their own home is the way you go about 'laying low'." You grab your knife from the killer, and you wander back to the basement to turn the power back on. "By the way, you're awfully far north. Something happen??"

You didn't take Murdock to be someone who was talkative, but apparently the mans liked to chat. He followed you from the living room to the basement, not making any comment on the dead body when the lights got turned on. He did, however, make an offhand comment on how well you covered everything in plastic before going back into chatting about his latest escapade. You had heard about it from a friend who also happened to be an acquaintance of his, so you could tell when he added embellishments to his story. You mostly tuned him out as you worked on cleaning up, offering occasional hums of agreement and even a comment sometimes.

"Can you help me with this real quick? There's a hole in the wall over there that I plan on moving the washer and dryer in front of when I'm done patching it up."

"Really? Your gonna leave a trail??"

You shrug in response. "Running from the cops is half the fun. Besides, if all goes according to plan, I'll be halfway around the world by the time they find him."

Murdock simply offers you a hum of acknowledgement as you both grab both ends of the plastic and shove it into the wall on the far end of the room. You stand and turn to him, squinting your eyes slightly when you realize he's standing a bit closer than before.