Chapter 14: Passion’s Trap

The scent of feminine lust filled the SUV as Damien D’Angelo drove it through the streets of Chicago, the impending violence exciting Abigail and their women. Abigail sat beside him clad only in her red hair, thighs glistening, eyes dilated, cheeks pale, nipples hard. In her hand she cradled her 9mm automatic handgun with an extended clip.

They were all armed. Damien’s silver-plated machete hung from his belt, the blade thrust past his seat. He wore his blood-stained combat fatigues. The dried blood stiffened the fabric and formed a mosaic pattern of cracks from his movement. In the back, the wet sound of female masturbation echoed. Rosa moaned, the vampiress consumed by the impending slaughter.

Rosa lived for it.

Ahead, Faust Tower rose over the city. Though Faust was dead, and the fond memory of his torment and death hours ago was seared into Damien’s mind, the Tower still beat with his fester. Father Augustine had usurped the vampire.

And Father Augustine held Damien’s angel in his soul.

A possessive hatred burned inside Damien. He guttered with rage. Tonight, he would paint Faust’s Tower with his old friend’s blood. Tonight, the priest would die.

“They’re waiting for us,” moaned Abigail, her thighs writhing together. “Can you hear them? So many waiting.”

“Cops,” Damien growled, his attuned senses picking up the crackling of police radios. Through the darkness, spread out around Faust Tower, was a police cordon. Chicago PD, once controlled by the vampire now belonged to the priest.

“Yes,” Rosa moaned as her climax boiled through her. “Yes, yes, we’ll tear through the, Sire. We’ll carve a bloody path.”

Damien grinned and hit the accelerator. The police cordon rushed towards them. His keen senses picked out the cops rushing to take cover behind their cars, aiming their weapons. Unless they were outfitted with silver, Damien had nothing to fear.

The engine roared. The tachometer redlined. The accelerometer climbed higher and higher. 60 MPH, 70 MPH, 80 MPH. The blockade hurtled towards them. Damien’s held the accelerator to the floor.

90 MPH.

The cops opened fired.

Father Hyrum Augustine, the first nephilim to live in 3000 years, grunted as he buggered Joy. The blonde, young woman gasped and moaned in delight, her bowels clenching on the priest’s cock, her butt-cheeks jiggling with every thrust.

“Yes, yes, yes, Father,” gasped Joy, his slave, his woman, his whore, his warrior. “Fuck me. Ram that cock into my ass.”

“Yes,” he growled. “Satisfy my body with your sinful hole.”

Lusts burned in the priest. The stronger his body grew the more intense his lusts. All day as he waited for Damien’s attack, he had fucked. His office, formerly the weak Faust’s, lay strewn with semi-conscious women fucked into orgasmic insensibility. Their holes leaked the priest’s cum. He couldn’t stop fucking.

Even while Damien approached.

“Oh, yes, Father. Your cock. Oh, God, yes. Keep fucking me.”

Joy, enhanced by his unholy communion, could withstand the priest’s appetite. His cum smeared her naked body. It matted her blonde curls. Streaks of drying jizz flaked as she gasped and bucked, bent over the priest’s desk.

And the clench of her bowels were divine on the priest’s cock, building the pressure in his balls. His hands gripped her, strong. He grew younger with every passing minute, aging down from his late forties back to a man in his prime. His cossack fit tight about his deep chest while his cock barely fit in Joy’s hole.

The slut loved how his new girth he stretched her open.

The desk rocked. It had slid halfway across the office from his rutting, pushing up an expensive Ottoman rug now stained by the priest’s and his many whores’ fluids. Every part of the once elegant, sophisticated office was stained with the priest’s seed.

He had marked his territory.

“Cum in my body, Father! It’s why I exist. Every woman! Yours to fuck! Yours! Our wanton holes were created for you to dump your seed in, Father!”

Her words were Truth.

The priest slammed his cock into her and came. The jizz boiled out of his balls. The pleasure whipped through his soul. The feminine voice, the dark spirit he once believed was Holy, shuddered with him, reveling in the bliss. And, faintly, a third voice screamed and raged as her lusts flowed into the priest.

Invigorating him.

His hips did not stop thrusting. His cum boiled out of his balls but his dick was still hard. Cum oozed out around the priest’s dick, forced out by his thrusts. He savored the fresh scent of his cum and the moans of Joy as she came again.

The phone rang, the only object remaining on the desk.

Still fucking his slut, Father Augustine reached for the receiver. “Yes,” he grunted, his balls smacking into his slut.

“Damien approaches,” Lynette, the vampiress, purred. She had been Faust’s lover, but the vampiress was still female—still a whore. She had abandoned Faust for the satisfaction of a better cock. “He’s rushing the barricade.”

“Good,” the priest groaned and then the world outside erupted in gunshots.

Abigail thrust her body out the SUV’s passenger window. Her red hair whipped behind her as she aimed her automatic 9mm. She laughed in delight as the cops opened fire with handguns, shotguns, and AR-15 rifles. She aimed and opened fire as the bullets hissed by her.

Bullets slammed into the SUV. Sparks danced on the hood. The right tire burst. The car swerved for a moment, but Damien held it on course. The engine chugged, whined, then died in a burst of black smoke that rolled over the vehicle.

But it went to fast to be stopped—a battering ram hurtling at 100 MPH.

Mary threw herself out the back door. The vampiress streaked past the SUV, a blur crashing into the cops. Abigail marked Mary’s progress only by the blood spurting from severed necks as she slashed with a silver-plated knife. Flowing in Mary’s wake was Samantha, the vampiress Abigail sired. The young woman became mist, white, ethereal, drifting beside the vehicle.

Abigail fired her 9mm. Each pull of the trigger sent a burst of three or four rounds from the gun. It spat them out in a rapid tat-tat-tat. With her strength and reflexes, the bullets struck their targets. Cops fell dead, each bullet landing between their eyes.

Abigail squeezed her juicy thighs together, savoring the carnage.

The SUV was 100 feet away.

Abigail pulled the trigger, firing the last rounds and killing three more cops. Bullets struck her. They stung for a moment before her body healed. They were lead. Impure. Harmless. Her gaze caught one cop’s eyes as she tossed her gun away.

She mesmerized the with her gaze.

Kill.

The heartbeat before the SUV crashed into the lead cop car, the mesmerized cop turned, aimed his AR-15 at the cop beside him, and fired. He did not miss at five feet. Abigail shifted her gaze to find another cop to mesmerize.

The SUV hit the first cop car.

Metal crunched.

Glass shattered.

Cops screamed.

Rosa moaned in joy as the SUV sent the cop car flying. Damien lost control of the SUV. It tumbled. The world spun. The force threw Abigail from the vehicle. She crashed her back into the side of a patrol car, bounced off, and landed on her feet before an astonished cop scrambling for cover. He had brown eyes, a youthful face.

“Kill,” Abigail purred as she stared into his eyes. “Kill all your friends.”

The cop’s eyes went dull. He rose mechanically, turned his shotgun, and opened fire. Abigail laughed. Pandemonium swept through the cops guarding the front of Faust Tower. Samantha swept through the police as mist. Where she passed, men screamed. A crimson hue spread through her pearly fog. The SUV came to a crashing halt against the security gate of the building’s parking garage. The vehicle had half penetrated through the metal partition, sheering the metal links. The engine burned. The vehicle smoked.

The side door kicked off and Rosa burst out naked and weaponless. She crashed into a cop, her teeth sinking, her thighs wrapped tight about his waist. Rosa humped the man as she fed, blood spurting around her face and staining her body.

Abigail laughed as her mesmerized cop fell in a hail of his own side’s bullets. More struck her, annoying gnats. She strode through the panicked cops to her husband, mesmerizing every officer she passed, leaving chaos in her wake.

Men screamed in frightened panic.

Damien climbed out of the SUV and ripped down the broken partition, opening the way into the parking garage. “Let’s go,” he snarled, pulling Britney out of the SUV. The busty thrall held a combat shotgun in hand. Her mother followed her out and then Vickie, a wild gleam in her eye, blood dribbling from a cut on her arm.

“Aurora!” snarled Damien.

Abigail smiled. Always soft with his women.

Exhilaration spilled through Britney Lawson as she raised her combat shotgun and fired it at a cop. More were in the parking garage. They wore the combat armor of SWAT Officers. Did Father Augustine get every cop in the city to guard him?

Did he think that would stop my Master?

The cop stumbled back, his body armor taking the blow. He raised his submachine gun, a compact, black weapon. A spike of fear shot through Britney that made her feel so alive. Unlike the vampires, she could be killed by normal bullets.

Her mother, Donna, crashed into the swat officer. Donna’s blonde hair spilled about her as she sank her fangs into the cop’s neck. The scent of blood filled the air. Britney licked her lips as she pumped the action on the shotgun and pivoted, firing at another cop.

The cop fired back.

Britney fell to her knees out of instinct, screaming in wordless excitement. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her blonde hair rippled as a bullet knifed past her face. An inch and I would have died. Everything became more real as time slowed to her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, chilling her blood and sharpening her vision.

She pumped the action. A red shotgun shell tumbled through the air as she fired at the cop. Blood spurted from his legs. The buck shot tore through his black fatigues. The cop groaned and fell to the ground.

Britney sprinted forward, her bare feet slapping on the concrete. The cop struggled to get up, but his legs were mangled. She kicked his gun away, pushed him over onto his back, and aimed the shotgun right at his face.

“Please,” begged the cop.

Britney fired. Her heart soared. I killed someone.

She stared at the ruin of his face for a moment, savoring the exhilaration of ending a life. She understood the vampires better. It was a drug. Power. Britney could not imagine a narcotic more potent than pulling a trigger and snuffing out a life.

“Don’t just stand there,” her mother shouted, dashing by, her naked tits covered in blood.

“Right, Mom,” Britney called and followed her mother through the parking garage.

Bullets cracked against support columns and pinged into parked cars. Glass shattered. Tires hissed as they deflated. Car alarms blared, flashing amber and red lights through the parking garage. More cops rushed from the right. Rosa fell into them, her body covered in blood.

So beautiful.

Donna jumped in front of her daughter. A cop’s submachine gun erupted. Donna shuddered, taking the bullets that would have hit Britney. They did not harm the vampiress. With a screech of maternal rage, Donna threw herself at the cop.

Why did Father Augustine have all these cop defend the building? He had to know they would be useless against vampires. They have no special weapons.

Britney furrowed her eyebrows. It didn’t make sense. The priest was a chaplain to vampire hunters—to Damien and Abigail. He knew how to fight the undead. He knew what weapons were effective and what would do nothing.

So why isn’t he using silver or white oak or holy water?

Unease settled into Britney. She cast her gaze about for her Master. A blur streaked across her vision, Mary racing at supernatural speed, gutting cops with her knife and leaving streaks of blood in her wake. The crimson mist of Samantha engulfed a squad of cops pouring out of a utility door. Their guns fired uselessly through her mist as they screamed and died. Abigail mesmerized more cops, turning them into her weapons.

And Damien strode at the far end, ripping car doors off their hinges with his telekinesis and hurtling them into cops, breaking their bodies. He was away from the other vampires, attacking a group of cops falling back.

Or leading him to a trap.

“Master!” Britney shouted and raced across the chaos.

Her bare feet slipped on blood slicking the smooth concrete. Bullets hissed past her. Her mother roared in her wake, attacking and protecting Britney. She ran through Samantha’s mist, caressed by the wet fog, leaving her body dripping in watery blood.

“Master!”

Damien turned to face her.

“It’s a trap!” Britney’s voice echoed.

As she shouted, the air rippled before Britney and a new vampiress appeared, black hair streaking about her face, a wild gleam in her eye. Britney gasped and tried to stop her flight before she crashed into the vampiress.

But Britney’s feet were slicked by blood. She slipped and fell forward. Britney impaled on the silver knife held by the vampiress. Pain shot through Britney. She stared down at the knife buried in her guts. The vampiress smiled and twisted the blade.

Agony flared.

Britney fell onto her back, clutching the gaping wound in her stomach. The vampiress licked the blood from her blade and vanished with a ripple.

Britney’s cry turned Damien around.

The air rippled before him. The tall, blond man who handed Faust over this morning stood before Damien. Abigail called him the German, one of Faust’s three massive thralls, hulking men enhanced by the vampire’s dark ichor like Damien enhanced Britney. Only she was a 110 lb. girl. The German easily weighed a hundred pounds more.

His fist cracked into Damien’s face. The vampire grunted in pain, the bone snapping in his jaw. He crashed into a sedan. The car alarm set off as he bounced off and hit the ground. Damien’s jawbone healed as he rose.

The air shifted to his right. The Texan, another of Faust’s thralls, fired a crossbow bolt at Damien. The vampire dived, the white oak scoring across his back. Fire and pain flared. Damien grunted, rolling across the floor and drawing his machete.

“You fucked my wife,” growled Damien as he glared at the men.

“Yep,” the Texan drawled as he reloaded his crossbow. “And she was mighty fine, too. Came real good on our cocks.”

“Ja, the way she squealed as we fucked her was special,” the German grinned as he rushed in, a silver gladius in hand. He lunged the short, stabbing blade at Damien’s gut.

Damien swiped his machete to the side, deflecting the blade and gaining his feet. He snarled, anger bubbling through him. He hacked with the machete, eager to find the German’s flesh and spill his blood.

“The impotent rage of the cuckold,” laughed the German as he parried with his gladius. “Too late to change the past. Won’t unfuck your wife.”

“But we can always do it again,” the Texan drawled, raising his crossbow.

Damien darted right, forcing the German between him and the Texan. “Faust thought the same thing,” growled Damien. “He thought he could fuck my wife and not pay the price.”

“So she is whore, huh?” the German laughed. “Death’s steep price for her cunt. Her pussy ain’t that good.”

“We filmed it,” the Texan added, moving, circling, trying to get a shot. Damien moved with him. He was faster than the Thralls, his body leaner. “You can watch it over and over. Savor your wife’s passion as real men fucked her.”

Damien feinted to the right, swinging the machete wildly, the stroke of an angry husband. The German grinned, his gladius lunging at Damien’s unprotected side. The vampire twisted his torso as he balanced on one foot and shifted the swing of his machete.

A human would have fallen, overbalanced, his footing bad.

The gladius lunged past Damien’s side, missing by half-an-inch. His machete screamed through the air and struck the German’s neck, cutting through muscled flesh and striking the spine. The machete, designed to chop and propelled by a vampire’s strength, cracked through the vertebrate. Blood fountained as the German’s head spun through the air.

Then his heavy bulk crashed to the ground.

The Texan stood ready, his weapon aimed right at Damien’s chest.

Rosa darted in. She crashed into the Texan’s side, knocking his arm to the right. The crossbow bolt went wide, embedding into a car tire. Air hissed behind Damien as the Texan grappled with Rosa. The vampiress hissed and snarled, her fingers raking the huge thrall’s flesh, leaving bloody scratches behind while her fangs sought his neck.

“Fangwhore,” snarled the Texan as he through Rosa off of him.

The vampiress screamed and landed at Damien’s feet. Somehow, the Texan drew a white oak bolt and slammed it into Rosa’s stomach. The vampiress trembled on the ground, paralyzed by the wood burning her insides.

“Going to paralyze your wife and fuck her again,” bellowed the Texan as he cranked back his crossbow. “She’ll squeal on my cock over and over while that tight cunt massages my dick.”

Rage seized Damien. He roared and threw himself forward. The Texan didn’t flinch. He dropped the crossbow and his right hand darted beneath the suit jacket. It came out with a silver throwing knife. He flicked it.

Damien screamed in pain as it buried into his chest. The silver attacked his body. Pain flared. Damien stumbled and fell to his knees. Agony suffused his body. His undead heart labored as the poisonous silver reached for it.

“Yep,” the Texan grinned and planted a foot on Damien’s shoulder. The Texan pushed. Damien fell on his back. “Gonna fuck all your fangwhores. They’re gonna love my big cock.”

Damien laughed.

“What?” the Texan asked, drawing a thick, silver blade from beneath his jacket. The big man bent over, planting his knee on Damien’s shoulder. The knife, the edge serrated for cutting, lowered to Damien’s throat.

“They wouldn’t feel your small dick.”

The Texan smiled. “Well, I guess you’ll never know. You’ll be down in hell.”

Damien’s telekinesis seized the silver throwing knife embedded in his chest. He wrenched it out, turned the blade, and slammed it into the Texan’s throat. Arterial red sprayed. The big man reached at his throat, gaping as he brushed the blade embedded in him. He pulled the knife out.

A crimson fountain spurted.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he spilled over. “Shouldn’t have ... done that.”

Damien heaved the corpse off of him, licking his lips, savoring the Texan’s blood. He had one more thrall to kill for fucking his wife.

The world rippled around Abigail. The vampiress froze in a crouch. Trickles of cop’s blood ran down her body. Silence descended on the parking garage. All the gunshots and screams, the car alarms and crackling fires, ended.

A stillness gripped the garage.

Her eyes flicked about. The cops, the vampiresses, and Damien all vanished. Her ears pricked, straining for any sound. She inhaled, searching for any scents. Only her excitement and the blood dripping from her body caught her nose.

She furrowed her eyebrows. She caught another scent. Feminine. Not Samantha, Rosa, Mary, Donna, Britney, or Vickie.

Abigail spun, following the scent. Her heart beat faster as she crept through the parking garage. The female scent grew stronger as she moved towards the elevators. Abigail moved like a hunter. Stealth, cunning, patience. She wove through the bullet-ridden cars, peering through splintered windows or around fenders, trying to find the source.

Black hair. Dark business suit. Nylon-clad thighs. A woman stood before the elevator. Professionally dressed. One of the office workers? No. Any normal human would be screaming right now.

A vampiress. One of Faust’s serving the priest?

Abigail crept closer. She stilled her breathing. It wasn’t necessary. She slowed her heartbeat. Silent steps. A ghost moving closer. Abigail’s guts squirmed. Nothing was right about this. Something had happened to her.

Illusion. I’m caught in a vampire’s illusion. Hers. Why? Separate me from the others. Isolate and kill me.

A stab of excitement shot through the vampiress. A challenge lay before her.

“Now, Abigail, skulking? What happened to the bold girl that brazenly walked into the liquor store and bought us all our first wine coolers.

Abigail froze. She knew that voice. “Lynette?”

Abigail rose and took a good look at the woman at the elevator. She was young, eighteen, beautiful. She looked the same as Abigail remembered. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abigail had said to Lynette. Tell me how your date with Vincent goes.