[Draven's Crossing 1] Hidden Diversions (2 page)

Isy’s heart skipped a beat as worry fluttered around her stomach. “What the hell has he done now? If he’s trying to kill himself, I’ll kill him first and then bring him back and force a vacation on him.” The words came out before she could stop them or call them back or even phrase them better. So far, she’d hid her interest in Torger from her family pretty well.
Up ‘til now that was.

Hamilcar blinked. He shifted and said nothing. The black dragon pulled down the bottom part of his mask, exposing his full face. Sharp angles, high cheekbones and thin lips were revealed. Dark bags hung under his almond shaped eyes. “We think perhaps you should stop asking about the case. We’re asking all of the press to do so. He’s so frustrated, we think he may take hunting the serial killer too far and hurt himself. We’re asking for your silence and patience. Normally we wouldn’t ask such a thing but for now…” His words trailed off.

Isy got the gist; she didn’t need to say anything else. They weren’t asking them to put a lid on the story, just not pester Torger so much. She could do that but one question was on the tip of her tongue. “Why’d they send you?”

The crimson turned nearly black. “W-w-w-e
are
family,” he stammered out.

Isy chuckled. “Poor, Hamilcar, you were never good at communication. It’s okay. I promise to back off of Tor but is there anything to report? We’re getting pretty restless. The citizens are defying the killer by going out and living their lives. They’re not letting the bastard take away their freedom, and they’ll fight the Council if they have to keep the city alive.”

Hamilcar bowed his head. “We know and understand that, but unfortunately this killer is crafty. There’s nothing. Which is odd in and of
itself
.”

Isy understood that. “Yeah, tell me about it. Look, I have an interview to do. I’ll see you at the family dinner this weekend.”

Hamilcar didn’t even say goodbye, he just disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving behind a perfume laden with incense, sandalwood and ashes.

Isy sighed. “My family really does need to learn manners.”

* * * *

Pale pink walls gleamed with warmth like the fresh flush from a shy maid. The Easter egg yellow tiled floor shone happily, while the thin white lines of grout fairly glowed under the florescent overhead light. The faint scent of roses and a light metallic tinge of human blood mingled with a hint of ammonia floating on the air. Abbott hummed along with the opening strains of the Sleeping Beauty ballet as the hush of voices from the television kept him company. He stood back and admired his work. The puncture points were perfectly spaced and neat. It was important to be tidy. No mistakes must be made. He gave a careless glance at the picture pinned to a large refrigeration unit across from him and nodded. Just like the photo. “Such a beautiful man,” Abbott murmured as he stroked the man’s auburn colored hair.

A gentle heat rose in his body. Blood slipped into his groin and filled his cock. The shaft pressed against the formless, loose pants Abbott wore. The vague taste of mint and Irish crème rolled over his taste buds. Abbott sighed. He could still remember how eager the young man had been, and that had only added to Abbott’s hunger. He flexed his fingers as minute tremors shook through him. His gums began to ache as the muted pounding of hunger pinged in his belly. His stomach growled as he took a moment to admire the high cheekbones and collagen plumped lips. The deathly pallor of his now alabaster skin gave his hair a fiery tone that made it seem almost alive with red and blond highlights. Abbott looked over the naked form of the man. Carved perfection due to hours in the gym, his body was a useless temple.
An empty husk that no longer housed a soul.
From his carefully manicured nails to his pedicured toes, every bit of artifice cultivated for attraction was useless in his eternal slumber.

The man had attracted Abbott, had been so eager for what he’d offered him. “All you wanted was a paranormal experience. Something to take back home to your small town, tell all the folks how you got to drink with vampires and flirt with werewolves. Draven’s Crossing is richer for your coming, I assure you.” Abbott gave the young human male’s hair one last stroke. The night they’d spent together had been beyond any of Abbott’s expectations. He’d thought it would be a simple fuck and kill. But now regret filled him at having taken the life from this young man, whose name he hadn’t even gotten, so soon. With a sigh, Abbott adjusted his thickened penis. Every bit of his willpower was put into turning away from the silent
man
whose shining blue eyes had been like a beacon, beckoning him to take him and show him what life was all about. It took great effort when all he wanted was one last time with him.

The memories
came
flooding back, sensation sparked along his nerve endings flooding his body with warmth. So enthusiastic to learn everything that Abbott could give him.
From the spankings to the hardest kiss of pain.
And yet no marks would be visible, not even in death, Abbott had made sure of that. No, there was nothing left of that bright passion. With another heavy sigh, he turned away from the man on the slab; his erection had faded away. He picked up a bucket. A bit of blood sloshed over the side, marring the yellow with a splash of nearly black-red. Abbott clicked his tongue in distaste and snapped his fingers.

A young, blonde woman appeared instantly, her head bowed, obscuring her plain features. Abbott never liked to look upon any of his adopted children. There was always something wrong with them, something he couldn’t quite place about looking into the eyes of his prodigy, seeing the adoration and
appreciation there and yet feeling nothing in return
. He was only truly alive during the seduction and kill.

“Master?” her voice soft asked, almost a whisper but high enough to be heard over the music.

“Clean him and place him wherever you feel is necessary. I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away, the bucket’s bloody contents splashing against the sides as he walked towards his desk at the far end of the room. He sat down and placed the bucket near the small, white trash bin. With another snap of his fingers, pastel blue candles flared to life, the flames dancing happily before settling down to a quiet burn. Abbott picked up a remote and turned the volume up on the television. The nightly news was playing and soon Isadora Jones would be on to do her segment. Tonight she was supposed to be interviewing a politician.
Beneath her clever talent
, Abbott thought.

A small spot of heat started in his belly as a searing pain returned to his gums. His fingers itched to touch her smooth, brown face. To memorize each streak of pink and find out why she’d gone with that hair style. Isadora Jones, the only other thing to make him feel anything other than apathy. He wanted to connect to that vibrant life force that blazed from her being. Her aura was a swirl of pinks, blues, yellows, golds, and silvers with bits of red and orange along with the faintest threads of black. It fascinated him that someone could be made of such lightness and yet
have
the barest hint of darkness.

There had been nights when, bathed in sweat, hand on his cock, he pumped himself off as he thought of all the ways he wanted to fuck her and then kill her. A shudder rippled through him as pangs of pain filled his stomach. Bursts of searing heat filled his mouth as his gums bled and yet no fangs ruptured forth. Blood filled his mouth. Disgust welled up within him at his loss of control. He reached past the bucket of blood and picked up the trashcan, spitting into it and watching the bright pink spittle slip down the sides of the once pristine white plastic.
Nothing ever stays
untainted
,
he thought as he put back the receptacle and turned his mind to more pleasant things.

With his mind’s eye, he thought of the last time he had seen Isadora in person, draped in a seductive, deep V neck dress in a shade of the deepest magenta. The plush curves of her breasts and the low back that showed the barest hint of the top of her ass had almost caused him to lose control in public. Well worth it if he’d succeeded in luring her away from Torger. Disgust churned in his gut at the thought of that overbearing, Viking of a werewolf who had lingered far too close to Isadora for
Abbott’s liking
.
One day I’ll lure him in and kill him too and then Isadora will truly be mine. No protector, no one to save her. She’ll be my masterpiece.
With that thought, he turned toward his next task. The pain had subsided to a gentle tick in his blood as he focused on the only other thing that truly mattered to him: Isadora Jones.

Instead of watching the newscast he picked up a thick, silver calligraphy pen, pulled a sheet of stationary towards him and began to write a missive he’d been thinking of for a long time.

Dearest Isadora,

I am not going to bore you with words of praise that you’ve undoubtedly already heard a thousand times over. Instead, I must say that being part of the newscast is beneath your immeasurable talents. But that is beside the point. Tonight I created another offering, another gift, to you, my love. Something to show you how special I think you are and how wonderful you make Draven’s
Crossing
with your presence. Those news stories that they make you do aren’t making use of your talents, as I’ve expressed before. To that end I’ve given you the unique honor of being able to cover an event that has shown how keen your instinct is and how stupid and ignorant the police of this town are. I hope you’ll find my present to your liking. I selected him especially for you. You said once in an interview that you had an affinity for men with auburn hair.

When I saw this man at the bar I knew he’d be a perfect tribute for you. You would like him, although I doubt he’d hold your interest for very long. He is rather artificial but attractive, so I won’t hold his collagen plumped lips and his gym honed body against him. I hope you’ll find him to your liking. I hope you’ll enjoy reporting the details of his life. You’ve paid so much attention to detail, making my little offerings to you seem alive and important. I appreciate that more than you know.

Until next time my love, yours,

The Ripper (I couldn’t resist using such a signature as I’m sure you’ll appreciate the humor in it.)

Abbott folded the letter and slipped it into a thick envelope, addressing it this time with a simple ball point pen and block letters to disguise his handwriting and then set it aside to be put in the mail. Isadora Jones’ segment started, and he turned up the volume. Settling back in his chair he reached for the bottle of wine he’d put out beforehand to allow it to breathe and poured himself a glass. Savoring the tangy undercurrents and smoky undertones with a hint of spice, he relished sipping Isadora Jones’ favorite wine from her personal vineyard and made
himself
comfortable to enjoy his favorite journalist’s latest offerings.

* * * *

Exuberance filled Ariel as she lugged the body to Lon Avenue and Lugosi Boulevard. She placed the dead man in front of a movie theater that was having a werewolf and vampire movie marathon. It was due to let out any moment. A sense of satisfaction hummed through her body at carrying out Abbott’s instructions. It was the first time he had given her such a huge task and she didn’t want to fail him.
Never
wanted to fail him.
Ever.
He’d been working so hard to find a cure for himself.
So many nights in the lab, alone
.
She shook her head. It made her heart ache that he couldn’t trust her to help him. It was something that his creator instilled in him long ago: trust no one. That was before he’d abandoned him, like an unwanted child, leaving him in his current condition. Red hot anger burned in her stomach. Her heart ached as she thought of her poor master being so cruelly set aside. She shook her head to dislodge those thoughts. If the master didn’t want to dwell on it neither would she, even if she still felt angry about it. With a breath she looked down at the pale, unmoving body of her master’s latest interest. He had been beautiful when alive and in death he was sublime.

It hurt that Abbott hadn’t asked her to join them. They’d sounded so beautiful during the night when the master had brought him back to the mansion. She had only been able to imagine what it would have been like to be pleasured by them both. A ripple of heat slid down her spine. Her pussy filled with cream as she thought of finally, finally getting to fuck Abbott. It had been so long since he’d even given her a look of hunger or interest. He’d spent most of his time in his lab during the night and during the day he would be at the shop. She also didn’t understand his interest in Isadora Jones. Revulsion filled her as she remembered finding the photo albums filled with pictures and articles of, and by, the woman. Isadora Jones was crass, slutty and completely inappropriate. Ariel scowled. Voices floated toward her, jostling her out of her reverie.