Closed RP Give and Take

This RP is currently closed.

There was a long moment of silence, of just the sound of breath, as Ethan looked at Todd. Todd was offering him an out, an exception. He was giving him a free pass. So why couldn’t he bring himself to stand up, to move, to take those sparks that he knew would calm his spinning mind, that would make the nausea finally settle? Still, he just felt shame. He turned his face away from Todd and looked up into the sky, his face growing sad.

This was… embarrassing. Nothing about this had gone as planned so far. Instead of getting up and chasing that high he knew waited for him, he stayed down, laying on the ground side by side with Todd. He shook his head and said, a smile on his lips, “No. No, I won’t do it. I don’t… want to. I feel more sick when I think about doing it. At least for tonight, I won’t be doing it. We should worry about you. I took more than enough to last me a week, maybe a week and a half if I’m smart about what I do.”

He waited a few more minutes, until he was sure the nausea was gone and his head had stopped spinning, and then he slowly sat up. He sighed softly and then looked over at Todd. He gave the younger man a smile and nodded at him. “Whatever you’re about to do, it’s not worse than me, Todd. You have to do this to live. It has to be this way for you. I could, and did in the past, survive solely off energy given to me by the people closest to me. I know there’s another way for me. I choose to do this instead.”

He pushed himself to his feet and stretched out his back, hearing it crack sharply. Then, he extended his hand to Todd, that same small smile on his face. “We should go inside. I was bringing you here for both of us to hunt. I know this guy’s security and it’s just him inside. If it helps, he’s running a trafficking ring out of Philly, I just haven’t been able to take care of him myself yet. I meant to come out here later this month before he leaves, but with you here, well. He’s scum, simple as. And the exact kind of guy you would eat.”​
 
Ethan wasn’t going to do it.

Something stirred in Todd’s chest as he recognized Ethan’s decision as a hard one. The nausea, the pain, even the shame and guilt, would all go away with another hit. The hunt would fix him. But he chose not to. He chose not to, because – not because of Todd. Maybe it looked like it was because of Todd, but if that was really the case, Todd’s permission would’ve been enough to release him from that obligation. No. He was doing this for himself, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

If anyone understood that, Todd did. And he knew no amount of explanation would show Ethan what was really happening.

He smiled warmly, and took Ethan’s hand. He let the other man pull him to his feet; his own resources were low enough that he’d need to conserve wherever he could. Between knowing his own weakness, and Ethan’s explanation, any hesitation he would’ve had faded from memory. He needed to do this, and he needed to do it here and now. They were past the point of no return.

“That does help,” he admitted, after a few seconds. Then he laughed a little, softly, with just enough humor to cover up whatever else was behind it. “He just sounds like bigger game than I’m used to. And I guess inside a house is safer than having to track somebody down in an alley right now.”

He rubbed his arms together, and swayed just a little to check his balance. He was okay enough to walk, but he was losing some of the feeling in the middle of his chest from the cold. He must be starting to go hypothermic. It’d been fading in over the last few days, but he was only really noticing now. The anger was completely gone, and now there was only the gentle pulse of hunger that ached with his heartbeat, and the knowledge that somewhere in the big house, there was live prey that deserved his teeth.

He smiled at Ethan again, and under his mask, his eyes shifted back to sharpened black. “Lead the way, Ethan. I’m right behind you.”
 
Ethan smiled at him and nodded. He could tell that Todd was on his last legs. The guy might not have wanted it to show, but there was something around the edges of his laughter, in the way he shifted on his feet. In the freezing touch of his hand, even through their mutual gloves. Todd needed to eat, and he needed to eat now. It was with that in mind that Ethan started walking back through the trees to the guardhouse.

The light was still on in the little room, which made it easier to find the ring of keys laying in the top drawer of the desk. Each key was clearly labeled, and as he flipped through them, he found the one he was looking for. “Back door, main key.”

Going in through the front, through that lit garden and driveway, well that was just asking for trouble. Kenton would see them coming from a mile away. So instead, they were going to sneak around the back and come in through there. This had been his own plan before he had decided to loop Todd in. He stepped out of the room and smiled at Todd, something sharp but not unfriendly.

“Kenton Nielson is a bastard. He contracts from my company, and I’ve had several of my employees report back to me of the things he made them witness that they were uncomfortable with. He got attached enough to Evan that he took him out to a shipyard and let him watch them unload a bunch of underage girls from a shipping container.” Ethan gestured for Todd to follow him as he started off toward the side of the garden, around the hedges.

“He came to me the next morning and gave me all the details. We’ve been picking off some of the lower members of the ring, but Kenton would make this thing fall apart. He’s where the money is coming from.”

As they walked, Ethan shrouded himself in the night once more, disappearing if it weren’t for, he was sure, his scent and his heartbeat. He wasn’t sure just how sensitive Todd’s senses were, but he was sure one or both told Todd exactly where he was. But then, he wasn’t trying to hide from Todd. He purposefully walked between Todd and the cameras, obscuring them both from view. Only the horns of his mask would appear on the feeds when they watched them back. But nowhere would all of Todd be visible.

He got them around to the back door, where he tapped out the proper key. He unlocked and opened the door to a dimly lit kitchen. It was clear that it hadn’t been used much as of recently, and beyond it’s entrance, there was barely any light. The place was turned down for the night. Ethan turned to Todd and gave him a sharp nod.

“Do you need me at all? I can go with you if you do. Otherwise, I should find the security room and handle the surveillance system for when we need to leave.”​
 
Todd followed Ethan, and listened to the list of Kenton Nielson’s crimes. It felt very strange, hitting a man in his own house. Todd had taken out powers-that-be before, but they were mostly people at Leo’s level. It was normally as far as he could get before he needed to skip town. Money – money drew too much attention, most of the time.

But, for some reason, he was willing to trust Ethan. Maybe it was just the fact they were already there, or maybe it was the moment about Sammy. Or maybe he was just too hungry to distrust his intentions at this point. He’d have to tell Ethan that this couldn’t be a regular occurrence. He’d go back to his regular hunting patterns after tonight. And he’d make sure he didn’t get this hungry again.

When was the last time he had been this hungry? Before the second time? After Arlo? He felt worse than he had when he’d snatched a meal when he first got to Pittsburgh, when Nat found him.

He shook that thought off. He needed to eat before he thought too hard about anything, and he needed to focus until he ate. He centered himself on the cold in his body and the words Ethan said, on Ethan’s scent and steps, soft as they were. On the weight of his own body, on the sway of his center, on the autumn air and the scratch of keys in a lock.

The situation was clear in his head, and he repeated in his head like a mantra, quick kill, in and out. He slipped in behind Obsidian, and listened to the silent house. He could probably find the man on his own, in the silence, but he wasn’t doing this on his own. He looked at Ethan, though his weight was already leaning toward the hall on the other side of the dim kitchen.

“Where can I find him? I’ll be fine once I get there. I’d… rather you don’t see. Just in case.”
 

Kenton was in his private theater. He had been in there for a few hours, watching the Saw series. It was his first time seeing it, and so far, he had been enjoying it. He found himself unbothered by what was supposed to be horror and was in reality just a series of torture flicks. He had been eating some of those seaweed chips that health nuts claimed could extend your lifespan or whatever bullshit they were on about. All Kenton knew was they tasted good enough to replace potato chips, which he was trying not to eat.

He paused the movie and stretched in his seat. It was nearly midnight, and he hadn’t heard from his guard Charles in a while. The guy wasn’t with his usual round of security members he had contracted from Stonewall, so he was still learning the ropes when it came to how often Kenton wanted communication. Given it was just a few minutes to midnight, it was almost time for the last check-in before he went to sleep. Then, in the morning, his usual Jacob would be back on, and he would be far less concerned.

Now Jacob, he was a guard. That man was like a stone wall, which made Kenton chuckle. A stone wall. God, he was hilarious. Jacob had been the one he had taken when they had offloaded the girls from the Icarus on Brunot Island. He had stood by, stoic as ever, unblinking as they worked. The Black Scorpions had been doing well recently, despite the attacks from vigilantes that had lost him several trucks of women and a whole warehouse. His investment was making a good return.

That was why he could afford to hire Stonewall’s men. James Fielding priced his men according to their quality. They were the best security contracting business he knew of. You only really learned about them if you were specifically looking for them. They liked to remain low-key, and when you hired them, you had to sign a bunch of nondisclosure documents, which had been annoying, but Kenton would do whatever they wanted for the level of service they provided.

He looked at his phone screen and frowned. It was three minutes after midnight. He unlocked the screen and he started to scroll until he found the contact listing for the guardhouse phone. It rang and rang, but eventually clicked off. He sighed and stood from his chair. He would have to go out himself and check the security footage and see if the idiot had fallen asleep.​
 
“You should sit back down, Mr. Nielson.”

The voice from the top of the stairs was soft, but in the now-silent theater, it carried down. There was a slope to the words, almost tired or bored. The effect was only amplified by the figure in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. The dark room would hide the slant of Cryptid’s black eyes in the shadows of the grinning mask he wore.

He let the man see him, then pushed off the frame with his shoulder and unfolded his arms to close the door behind him. The lock clicked into place under the guidance of clawed fingers, and the mask turned back down to look at Kenton, tilted to the left like a dog listening for a squirrel in the underbrush.

“I think we should talk. I’ve got some questions for you.” He took a step down the stairs, rhythmic and even. “For example. Do you know who I am?”
 

A shiver ran through Kenton as he looked up at the figure that was speaking to him. How did this fucker get past Charles? Was the idiot asleep, or was he dead? Either way, he wasn’t getting paid after this. He was about to snap out some kind of retort, something about how he didn’t know who the fuck the guy was, but boy was he going to regret being there. His hand reached for his firearm, usually kept on his thigh holster, only to realize he had left it upstairs.

He looked down at his thigh and then back up, and his mouth curled into an ugly smile as he went to give a snarky response– until he processed the demon mask, the long black trench coat, and the claws that showed between his fingers, shining in the low light from the screen. Then, he froze like a deer in the headlights, looking at the man as started to move toward him.

It was the fucking Slasher. He’d heard rumors about the guy, rumors about him tearing up that warehouse. Rumors about the people that disappeared when they fucked with him. He hadn’t known Leo Vasquez personally, but they had run in similar enough circles that he knew when the guy had disappeared. When he had been added to the Slasher’s body count. He shook himself from his panic and cracked his neck, trying to assess the situation.

The moment an opportunity presented itself, he was going to have to make a run for the door. He could climb up to the bar’s platform if he jumped on the snack counter and ran from there. It wasn’t much of a jump, and he was still spry and relatively young. He could make it to that door, hopefully before the freak could catch up to him. Still, for now, he had to back away and get closer to the counter.

“Yeah. Yeah, I fucking know you. You’re the Slasher. You took out that warehouse earlier this month. What the fuck do you want?”​
 
Cryptid paused in his step on the stairs to take a slow, audible breath of the wave of fear when Kenton recognized him. The numb cold became a tingle, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from watering. Some kind of spice that was earthy and bitter; a touch of salt at the edges, not just from the sweat that had broken out across the man’s body.

He swallowed, then started to move again, the same slow, deliberate steps as he spoke again. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Mr. Nielson. I’ve taken out a lot of warehouses this month. Hard to keep track.”

His voice never lost the purr to it, the drawl, the tired (or bored) detachment. Like he wasn’t talking to a person that could think or have feelings beyond the acrid panic. Like he was talking to something less than a person, a deer or a rabbit that was cornered and unable to run.

“I do prefer Cryptid to Slasher, not that it matters,” he continued in a nearly-distracted drone. “But if you know who I am, you should really know what I want. Information, answers. Maybe, if you give me the right name, you can live.”

That was a lie, but most people couldn’t hear lies, couldn’t smell them in sweat or catch the oddities in speech, especially when the tone of voice was so gently neutral. He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned with languid motions to start moving towards Kenton more directly. Stalking. Predatory. Hiding the tension under his skin, the expectation for the man to bolt and to start a chase, however brief.

“You really don’t have to end up like Leo.” A calculated risk, but drug and sex traffickers tended to fall into the same circles, and even Todd knew what had happened to Leo now. He tilted his head the other way, and let some of the hunger, just a little, bleed into the eerie calm of his voice. “Not quite as much meat on you, but I don’t think you’d be quite as tough as my last meal, so there’s a point in your favor.”

His eyes locked on the man’s face, and he waited to see if a man reduced to food would choose fight, flight, or freeze. It was always interesting, even outside the huntsong, to see what prey did when told exactly what it was. Humans especially hated being reminded they weren’t the apex, after all.
 

“Cryptid, Slasher, I don’t fucking care what you prefer you freak.” Kenton’s voice shook on the exhale, as he spoke words that were far more boisterous than he felt. His hands were clenched to stop their shaking, but he couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him again. “I’m not giving you sh… shit. Shit.”

He backed away until his back hit the countertop. There was something in his wide-eyed stare now, something feral and primal in its intensity. There were some emotions that you couldn’t shake, that would make deep roots inside you once they sank in. The fear that flooded through Kenton then was one of those emotions, and its roots spread deep inside him, filling him with a cold that chilled him straight to his bones, and an ache in his stomach that left it in knots.

The motherfucker ate people. That was what he was saying. And everything in Kenton said that he needed to get away, that he needed to find a way out. That he needed to do it now, and fast. He reached behind him and felt the counter, touched the glass top, and then he turned and he clambered on top of the glass. It wasn’t meant to support an entire person’s weight, and it creaked under his feet. He took one last look at the creep and started moving, his sock-covered feet slipping slightly.

He didn’t get far before he slipped entirely and fell. He threw his arms up in front of his face and he crashed through the glass, which shattered in large pieces around his body. Smaller fractured pieces were littered around him, and as he pushed his hands down to try and get back to his feet, he felt the glass embed itself in his hands. He didn’t care, though, and just tried to keep moving. He got his footing back under hi mand ran for the door.​
 
The dawning realization in Kenton’s eyes stirred Todd’s predator to a frenzy of excitement, but he kept his steps even and the hunt in check. He smelled it, felt it filling the room, the prey-fear. But he was closing the gap, and it’d only take a second to disable a leg and hit him in the face hard enough to knock him out.

He watched the awkward scramble onto the counter with a little amusement. Really, if he had some more time, he’d be more than happy to pull him back down and have a more intimate conversation. But he needed food more than he needed this info, and as the prey picked flight, he picked up his pace just enough to close the gap, reaching out for Kenton’s leg–

Right before he went down anyway, crashing through glass.

Cryptid stopped where he was, one part of his brain warning him to back away. Already, he smelled the blood where large shards of the bar had sliced open the prey’s first layer of skin. One foot drew back, the black eyes darting across Kenton’s body to watch the red bloom –

And then Kenton made his fatal mistake.

He chose flight.

The fear that leaked out of him only sweetened the metallic blood-scent that passed through his body like it had been injected into the predator’s own veins. He shuddered, feeling the cold disperse a little, feeling warmth fill his mind and saliva fill his mouth. The man, who a second ago had been food, had chosen this fate. He’d chosen to become prey.

His predator listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating off the stairs. The predator counted each step, letting his breath rise and fall in time with it. A smile curled his mouth, and he sighed deeply. Contentedly. Excitedly.

“I was right,” he called, all the softness gone from his voice, “you’re nowhere near as tough.”

Then, and only then, did he move in pursuit.
 

Kenton got to the door and struggled to open it. His hands shook and were covered in blood, which dripped down the nob and made it impossible to turn. No, no it was locked. He kicked himself as he flipped the lock and ripped the door open. There was no outside lock on the door, so he didn’t stop to try and close it. Instead, left it swinging open behind him as he ran, tripping once more over his own feet.

The shards of glass dug deeper into his palms and knees, and he couldn’t stop to remove them. He could hear the footsteps behind him, coming up the stairs of his personal theater. He forced himself to his feet and ran.

They were in the far right wing of the villa, and the closest door to escape through was the front door, which was four halls over. If this had been any other time, if he wasn’t dripping blood everywhere, he might have tried to hide instead of running. If this had been any other time, he might have tried to fight.

But this was not any of those times. This was a man threatening to eat him, and fuck all if he was letting that happen. He needed as much distance between himself and this man as possible. It was a good thing his form of exercise was running. He could run all the way out to the road and call for help there–

He had dropped his phone. He had dropped his fucking phone when he had fallen through the glass. Shit. Fuck! He would have to stop at the guardhouse and make the call there. No one came up this road at this time of night, so there was no way he could hope to be picked up or saved.

Kenton swallowed around his dry throat as he ran. He slid across the hardwood floor as he tried to take the first corner too fast. He crashed into the wall, hitting his head with an audible crack. He was dazed for a moment, trying to remember where and how and what. All he knew was his socks were in the way. He reached down and stripped them off in a dreamy way before he snapped back to reality.​
 
The predator kept a controlled distance from the prey, and was pleasantly surprised he didn’t have to hold himself back too much. This was a fast one, if clumsy. More like a rabbit with every step they took together. That didn’t make the predator any more a wolf; he hunted best on his own, even with the help of finding something that would open the floodgates that had been closed for so long.

He could’ve been quieter, of course, or could’ve hung back completely; the rabbit would have run either way. But the predator wanted the fear to wash over him, pushed out of his prey with every beat of his heart in the small pools of blood that left such a clear trail. He wanted to see how fast the prey could run, how far it could maintain this speed. As sharp as the cold was, he’d chase the rabbit all night if it meant learning its limits and wringing everything from its mind and heart before finally stripping its bones.

A crash came from ahead, and the predator let his eyes refocus on the hall. There’d been a crack, and he picked up his speed – the night would be ruined if the prey really killed itself by hitting its head too hard on a wall. His disappointment would only be outweighed by the hunger that he’d feel once exposed to fresh meat, he knew. As he slowed to a trot, and then a stop, he saw the limbs stir, saw the momentary daze in the prey’s face, and relaxed. He wasn’t dead. And he wouldn’t be caught in this lethargy for very long.

He waited for the man to reach over to try to fumble with his sock before he dropped to a squat at his feet. The eyes under the demon mask glittered, and between the plastic fangs, an impossibly tight human smile showed straight, flat teeth.

“Here, let me help. Can’t have you killing yourself before we’re done tonight, can we?”

Human, that voice. Upbeat and happy – a rare occasion of Todd sounding his age, unburdened by the weight of guilt and fear and worry. Without waiting for the words to actually process, he reached forward, and took both the man’s legs at the ankle. His fingers caught under the socks, and he tugged one free gently, without incident.

For the other, he flexed his hand, and the bagh nakh dug deep into the man’s ankle as he yanked the article of clothing away like a magician pulling a bloody kerchief out of a hat. Then, he pushed his mask off his face, and brought the sock to his nose. He inhaled the blood and sweat; scents that would nauseate any human being only riled up the monster inside the predator. He dropped the sock, and seemed to see the blood glistening on his fingers for the first time. He tilted his head, and then met Kenton’s eyes.

Then he put two bloody, gloved fingers in his mouth. His eyes closed in obvious relief and delight, and from the back of his throat, a purr that didn’t belong to human vocal cords started, with a soft, horribly joyful chuckle playing over it.

His eyes reopened, and the ice blue in their color was tinged with new, excited warmth. He took the fingers out of his mouth, leaving red stains on his lips and the teeth that bared again in a grin.

Then, like a child telling a secret, he whispered, “That should keep things interesting for us, right? Now, Kenton… you should run.”
 
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The pain shook him right out of whatever was left of the daze. He screamed, a high and almost whining sound that he didn’t know he could make. Kenton looked up in horror as the man dipped his blood-soaked fingers into his mouth. God, fuck, no. That was too much. This was too much. His heart was pounding so hard as the face he was looking at shifted, and the previously black eyes were now the piercing blue of the monster before him. They fit him so much better than the eyes that had been black. These were the eyes of death.

Kenton hobbled to his feet and started running again, using the wall for balance as he limped through the hallways. He was still two more halls away from the front doors, and this monster was toying with him. Kenton was not fucking dying like this, like some animal trapped in it’s own burrow. The lion was digging into the earth for him and there was nowhere to go.

He rounded the next corner, still hugging the wall before he slipped on his own blood. This time, he landed smack face down on his nose, and he felt and heard the crack as it snapped. He managed to push himself to his knees, just enough that he could hold a hand to his nose. Blood flowed like wine from a bottle, like water off a cliff, and he panicked. The world was spinning and tilting and he couldn’t tell which way was up.

He heard footsteps behind him, approaching. Oh no. It was catching up to him, and just like a rabbit he got to his feet and continued to hop away. He was faster, he could keep ahead of it. He could outrun it, even with his torn-out ankle. For the rest of his life, no matter how long it was, he would remember those ice blue eyes boring into his soul. They would never leave him, and he would wake in fear every single night.​
 
He laughed. Not the haunting, dark laugh of Obsidian between the trees, but the pleasant laugh of a young man having fun. But this wasn’t a man – he didn’t even perceive himself as human. How could he? Would he ever run like this, bleeding and confused? No. He could play at it, pretend to be the same, employ predatory mimicry; but he wasn’t like them. He was as like them as a coyote was like a rabbit. A few passing similarities, but so far above the terrified, running thing that to compare them would be a disservice to their roles in the natural world.

He waited for his rabbit to round the corner before he surged back to his feet. Quiet, now; silence, uncertainty, those were his best tools to cultivate this perfect fear. He picked up speed enough that if the prey looked over its shoulder, it would see him there, but made no sound to alarm it.

Not until it fell, until its ankle caught in its own pool of blood, until its legs came out from underneath it. Then he let his weight be heard again, closing the gap, and forcing the prey to get up, up, up to its feet. He laughed again, softer now, and did nothing to reduce his speed or sound. He only closed the gap a little, then started to fall back again, to give the rabbit its share of false hope, to make it think it stood a fraction of a chance against the predator designed to tear it apart.
 
For just a moment, it got too close. It got too close and Kenton felt his heart catch in his throat. Then he started to run again and the monster fell back. He wasn’t sure whether it was playing with him or if it was actually that much slower than him. There was so much adrenaline pumping through his body right then that it could have been the latter. All he knew was it was no longer on his heels, although he could hear it close behind now, where it had been silent before. The silence, he had decided, was far worse than the sound of boots behind him. The silence left him at the mercy of guessing where the monster was.

He rounded the last corner and nearly cried in relief. He had managed to make it all the way to the entrance of the villa, but the door was still just as far away as the entire run through the hall had been. But he could make it. He was sure he could make it. He was still faster, still able to keep ahead of it. God, let the door be unlocked. Let the front door have been the door that it had come in through. He wasn’t sure if he could make it out before the monster caught him if the door was locked.

Now, as he ran, there were no walls to lean on. He was slower like this, unable to sprint his way there, not with the torn Achilles tendon. But he could still run, and despite the pain and the impaired foot, he managed to keep the leg up under him almost all the way to the door. That was, until he reached the staircase.

The staircase was shallow and small, but too far to jump and make it with his ankle like this. He had to take the steps, one at a time. But just like before, the blood around his ankle spilled across his bare foot, and he fell. He slid down the staircase, banging his tailbone against the steps and knocking the wind out of himself. He lay there at the bottom of the stairs, wheezing as he tried to breathe in. His chest had collapsed in and refused to be filled again, like a popped balloon.​
 
The bootsteps stopped when the prey slipped. He waited, listened, and heard the body shift. It was alive. Good, good. He could breathe again, and when he did, the fear and blood filled his lungs and spread out across his body. He swallowed again, unable to resist. He promised his hunger that they’d have their fill of food, but God, it had been so long since he’d let loose like this. He’d enjoy this while it lasted, however long he could drag it out.

“Keeeeen-toooon~”

The voice was a soft sing-song hum, and it was followed by the near-silent rustle of clothes as the predator placed his feet to avoid making noise as he got the running start he needed. He leapt before reaching the top of the stairs that led down to the door, and twisted in midair so that he’d land in a crouch at face-level with the prey. He never lost the boyish smile or the twinkle in his eyes as he gave the rabbit time to recognize him through the miasma of fear.

“You’re not trying to run out on me, are you? We’re not finished in here yet!”

He didn’t give the prey time to react before he grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, so close that it would smell its own blood on his breath.

“Let’s raise the stakes, hmm?” He licked his lips, the barest flick of a pink tongue claiming the last of red on his mouth. He pulled the helpless animal close enough that he could whisper against its ear, so close he could hear its pulse racing against his words. “Next time you let me catch you, I take a bite. I’d do it now, but I need time to decide where I want to start.”

Then he let go, and rocked back on his heels again, grinning like he’d just proposed a wonderful game. And to himself, he had. It was a game he was destined to win, after all. He knew that, the prey knew that. But that changed nothing. That didn’t change that the prey would think now it had a chance, a fraction of a hopeless chance. And that was half the fun.
 
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The monster grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and for a moment, all he could see were those piercing blue eyes looking into his soul. Its pupils were dilated to wide disks, and they traced over his face. He watched the creature lick its lips as it proposed a horrible option. He almost wanted to just give in, to go slack and beg for the mercy of death. But Kenton was a fighter, and he wasn’t going to let this thing kill him without a fight.

He could hide. He knew this villa better than anyone. There were places to hide, and ways to get away from this being. He knew in his heart that this creature wasn’t human, and it wasn’t a metahuman either. This was a demon, sent from Hell to make him pay for his sins. That’s what this was. Hell on earth.

With that thought in his mind, Kenton crawled away, up the stairs, and pushed himself to his feet. He had to survive this. He had to survive and he had to get away. He wouldn’t be caught again, not again. He wouldn’t survive being caught again. So he started to run, his heart pounding in his ears until it was all he could hear, and the world around him continued to spin. It wasn’t deterring him from running, though, and he kept on moving.

The left wing of the house had an exit, and a large sliding window in the bedroom. He could make it to that. He had to make it to that. With slippery feet he started to run, back up the long entranceway and to the left hall, rounding the corner and losing sight of the demon. He hobbled down the long hallway, his hands on the wall to keep balance again. He was starting to shake, the adrenaline leaving him weak. His body couldn’t take much more of this, of the stress, of the pain, of the running.

But he had to keep going. He had to. He couldn’t stop, because stopping meant certain death, and a one-way ticket straight to Hell. His sins outweighed his belief in a forgiving God. Of course, with the girls, there was no forgiveness. He had known, but the money was too good. He should have said no, should have refused when the Scorpions had approached him, when damn Gregory had asked him to back him.

Now, he was no better than meat.​
 
The predator watched as the mangled bit of meat dragged itself back up the stairs and forced itself again to run.

This time, he waited until it turned the first corner. This time, he started at a walking pace, ears tuned to the silent house to follow the uneven footsteps. This time, he built speed slowly, coming to a jog, then a trot, and then, finally, a full-tilt run. Only when he reached that run did his boots make a sound. Only when he was close enough that the prey would have no question about the closeness. Only when the prey could hear him start to close in.

He mulled over in his mind, lazily, almost, where he would start on Kenton Nielson. The hand, perhaps. His favorite part of the human body, with its delicate bones. There was also the shoulder – or a lunge for the clavicle. That tended to get a rise, because most humans jumped to the conclusion that he was going for their throat, that death was there. That was an option to keep in mind.

He’d just have to wait and see, he decided, rounding another bend and finally catching sight of his dinner. Wherever his instincts told him to go, he’d follow, and maybe he’d even surprise himself.

He hoped he’d be able to pull another scream out along the way. Several more, if he could help it. That’d make all of this worth it.
 
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The feet were closing in. He could hear it, just behind him. It was getting closer, oh god, it was getting closer. He couldn’t move any faster than this. The adrenaline was leaving him too shaky to move past this threshold. The pain was starting to become crippling, as though every step tore more of what was already torn in his ankle. He could feel the pain sweeping through him, radiating from his ankle and from his lower back and from his lungs that still hurt from winding himself.

Kenton was done for. He knew it. He knew there was no way he could escape this demon. Not now, not ever. Even if he managed to escape the house, this beast, monster, devil, creature would follow him to the ends of the earth, teasing him with slow violence. Small pieces at first, he imagined. Pieces just big enough to cause pain and renew the adrenaline in his body. Then bigger ones, and bigger ones, until he had nothing left to give.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw it running toward him, full tilt. Its face looked almost serene, with a confident smile and eyes that were carefree. It looked happy. It looked like it didn’t have a care in the fucking world. It didn’t even look like it found this speed of running an exertion.

It was terrifying.

He turned the final corner into the bedroom and slammed the open door shut behind him, flipping the deadbolt, as if that would stop it. He knew, he knew in every fiber of his being, that it wouldn’t stop that monster. But it might give him just enough time to try something.

Kenton ran to the backdoor, and he unlatched the lock and slid the door open. Then, instead of running outside and into the grass, he turned back into the room and ran straight to the closet door. He quietly, as quietly as he could, slid it open and ducked inside, closing it just to behind him. He buried himself amidst the clothes and the shoes and the coats and he waited, praying to a God he had always believed in, begging for some kind of forgiveness or reprieve.​
 
The predator heard his human prey think, for once. A lock clicked into place behind it. Cryptid listened with his ear tilted up to catch the sound of bare feet on hardwood heading toward the back door. The door opened, and then, much more quietly, the footsteps found their way back inside. Something creaked ever so slightly, and then the room was silent.

He reached out, and rattled the doorknob. He knew it was locked. He’d heard it. But the prey didn’t know what he was, what exactly he could do. He then took a step back, and in a practiced kick learned from Sammy – cinnamon-sweet Sammy – he brought his heel down on the lock, shattering that part of the door with a loud and clear series of cracks. He breathed in deeply as the useless wood swung inward, and then made sure his boots clicked against the ground with each slow step toward the back.

He knew, of course, where the prey had gone. There was a red trail, and even if there wasn’t, its shallow, silent breathing filled the empty space around them. But the prey finally understood the rules of the game, and he would at least reward that with a show of confusion.

The footsteps passed the threshold, falling silent as he bent the grass outside without a sound. He waited two breaths, then turned and moved back in with perfect quiet, the padded step of a big cat watching a deer. He followed the red footprints without disturbing them, until he was so close he could hear the animal’s heart again.

He didn’t open the door, however. Instead he spoke, very quietly, as if they were hiding together.

“You know, Kenton… it’s usually the monster inside the closet.” He leaned in against the doorframe, took a deep breath, and hmmed on the exhale, his voice hitching in an elated giggle. “But really. What’re you gonna do now?”
 
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