Walter + Leon | 44. âŠout of lust.
In his long existence, Walter had believed to have seen it all. Humans, in the long run, were no more unpredictable than beasts to be tamed, their anger, their hatred, their sorrow, they were all toys in Walter's hands, and he had learned by heart the right words to shape them like clay. If they didn't make the funniest noises when in the throes of despair, he would have already grown bored of them.
Leon Belmont did not merely surprise him. He was the first human in a handful of centuries that had done the impossible: he impressed Walter.
(He refused to dignify the surge of emotion that overcame him at the blow that shattered his precious Ebony Stone.)
Oh, Walter had not fought with such gusto since immemorial times! The whip that he lashed with the strength of a demon did not dent his armor, but stung as if crosses were being nailed inside his flesh! The human was quick on his feet, focused, and his blood sang the most melodious of melodies, that of pure, undistilled, deadly fury.
The blood of the maiden Walter had bitten rushed through his body in delight. He liked this one. He would have to thank the knight's friend for proposing him such a treat.
But, naturally, Walter was no young creature of the night: no, he was the night, and he would take for himself whatever he deserved and coveted. The knight was still a lowly human being, and as such, fallible and destined to become prey.
The knight could not protect himself against Walter's Demonic Disaster. The sight of his true form was enough to paralyze him for a second: more than enough for Walter to lunge and grab him by the throat, enough for him to feel the blood pumping underneath his fingertips.
"Keep struggling, brave knight! Perhaps, if you are lucky, my little finger will slip off!" Walter laughed at his efforts. The kicks to his stomach were as light as caresses, but he had to commend the human for his foolhardiness. "Your woman was much of the same, thrashing around and screaming, powerless but oh so brave... I wonder," he brought him closer to his mouth, his lips brushing against his ear, "if you taste and feel as delicious as she did."
He waited. How he enjoyed that split second when his words soaked in, and the men realized what he had done to their former maidens.
Limbs frozen in place. Eyes wide. Heart hammering so strongly, it drowned every other sound. And, most importantly, mouth agape.
"No... you...!"
Walter cared not for any stale insult the knight might hurl at him; hence, he took his fill.
He did taste as delicious as his woman. The knight's mouth was coated in blood from their battle: the pungent taste of holy only invigorated Walter, as he subdued the stubborn human still punching him and pulling his hair. His God may have given the strength to overcome the challenges Walter put in his way, but in the end, he had fallen into his hands, and thus, he was his to do as he pleased.
The promise he made to himself boiled warmly below his belly. He graciously allowed the man to breathe.
"You know, it would be a waste to kill you. With your delicate features and amusing skills, you could make for a fine doll." He trailed his lips down his jaw, on his throat, ripe to be opened as the rest of his body: his shivers only fanned the excitement pumping in his chest. "You have been victorious against my most formidable lieutenants: therefore, I will reward you handsomely. I shall keep at my side for as long as I wish it--"
And then fire engulfed him.
Walter shouted, in surprise and pain, white-hot pain blinding him, consuming his flesh; he stumbled backwards, dimly aware that he was vulnerable - no, he had been bested by a toy!
The Belmont stood there, trembling, but with a vial of holy water clutched in hand. Without a word, but his teeth snarled at him, he lifted that cursed whip once more.
Well. Walter will make sure to break him, before playing with him.
