Chapter 8

I believed that I had completely understood and accepted my new ... condition. Just drink a bit of blood every few days, keep out of the sun, and everything's peachy.

I was fooling myself.

The simple fact that I continued to act like a regular human being misled me. Deep down, I believed that I was still a man – just a different kind of one. I still liked to watch TV, read sci-fi and fantasy novels, I occasionally ate normal food and drink, I had a serious crush on a girl, I took public transportation, I worried about money, so on and so forth.

But, I really wasn't a part of humanity and human society anymore. I was an outsider now ... a predator camouflaged amongst the herd...

Outside of Ben's bar, I shook hands and bumped fists with the bikers, bidding them all thanks and goodbye.

I left them loitering there outside of the bar, leaning against their bikes. I have to admit, I liked them. Despite their appearances, they seemed like relatively nice guys. And it honestly seemed like they liked me. Sure, I might have thawed them slightly with my vampire mojo, and helping them teach those arrogant jocks a lesson helped, but we actually managed to become friends.

Well, "friendly", at least.

There were no cabs, bus stops, or subway stations around, so I just started walking toward Queen Street. I'd then turn east and keep going until I found a taxi. I'd just come into a financial bounty, so I certainly wasn't going to walk all the way back, even with my heightened speed and endurance. If I kept that up, sooner or later, somebody was going to notice.

"Hey pal." I heard a voice call out. Stopping and turning around, I saw a group approaching from a side street.

'Pal'? Who the hell says 'pal'?

The answer was the three preppy jocks from before. They'd apparently stuck around the vicinity of Ben's for some reason. I watched them curiously as they approached quickly, but calmly. In moments they were just a few feet away, their leader in front of me with his two friends on either side.

'They're boxing me in.' The realization came with anger, heavily seasoned with predatory anticipation.

"That there was a pretty damn lucky game of pool." The menace in his voice was only slightly masked by a thin veneer of fake friendliness. It crumbled away with his next words, "Maybe a bit too lucky. Maybe you were cheating us."

He was trying to act calm, but I could tell that he was excited and keyed up. He was looking forward to this. They all were.

I knew that this guy didn't care about how fair the game might have been, or not. He'd been counting on winning, not just money, but status and image. Bragging rights. He was an arrogant asshole, who honestly believed that he was the best in everything he did and if something actually did happen to go wrong, or he just happened to lose, well it must have been someone else's fault. In his deluded mind, he'd been cheated from his rightful victory and thereby embarrassed in front of his "posse". And if he didn't have a group of loyal clones following him around, following his commands, fulfilling his every self-centered whim, and more or less believing the sun rose and set in his ass, he'd have next to nothing.

So, like all bullies, he needed to beat the crap out of somebody in order to feel better about himself. Not to mention, to reestablish his position as alpha dog in his sad, little pack. Given the choice between picking a fight with a bunch of badass bikers, or one regular looking guy, the answer is pretty obvious.

Of course, I wasn't an average guy. They had no idea that they were poking a very vicious, bloodthirsty bear.

I suddenly realized that my right hand was grasping the handle of the kukri, holstered and hidden on my lower back. Though my instincts and reaction time were impressive, I admitted that planning on killing them outright was a bit of an overreaction. I managed to stop myself before I unsheathed the blade and swiped it across his exposed throat and calmly let my arms fall to my sides.

The morons hadn't even noticed just how close to death they had been.

"Listen man, the game was on the level and you know it. I don't want any trouble." I said, with my hands raised. I was giving him an out, but I doubted that he would take it.

"Take the loss like a man," I added, completely unable to keep the cocky smirk from my face.

OK, so I was goading him. Any ethical concerns that I might have about kicking their asses would go straight out the window if he attacked me first.

"You fucking cunt!" He spat out, murder in his eyes and spittle flying from between his clenched teeth.

Tsk, tsk. Poor impulse control. He really should do something about that.

"Come on. Be smart for once." That's it, twist the knife.

The punch was fast, I'll give him that, and given his size, it undoubtedly had some significant force behind it. On the other hand, he telegraphed the blow like a rank amateur.

I didn't even need heightened vampiric senses to see the haymaker coming.

I just leant back and let his fist sail past my nose. Fast as a shot, I then popped forward, took a short step, and drove my fist up under his ribs, right into his diaphragm. I held back at the last second – I didn't want to rupture any organs – but it was clearly enough. Air rushed out of his lungs and exploded out his mouth as the blow lifted him a few inches off the ground. He started to double over leaning against me, desperately gasping and trying to catch his breath, but before he could completely collapse to his knees, I shoved him towards his dumbfounded friend to my right. They hit each other hard and then fell to the ground in a tangled clump. I think that I heard their skulls banging together.

Now all that was left was contestant number three.

He was fast on the uptake, with good reflexes. Surprisingly fast. In a rush, he had already reached me, leaning forward and with arms outstretched, as I turned to face him. He was a big guy, a real bruiser, even compared to the other two tall, athletic specimens, so maybe he wanted to get in close and grapple. Even with my greater speed and reflexes, there wasn't much I could do to stop him from wrapping his oversized hands around my throat. He squeezed, effectively cutting off my air supply and the blood to my brain, and lifted me completely off my feet.

Let me tell you, the feeling and sound of the cartilage in your own windpipe creaking near the breaking point is disconcerting, to put it mildly. For a split second I felt a deep, instinctual panic.

It passed once I remembered that I don't have to breathe and that any damage would quickly heal.

Unfortunately, that minute hesitation was enough of an opening for the gorilla. He actually swung me around by the throat, slamming me up against a nearby parked SUV, rocking it slightly on its wheels. Hard metal smashed my back brutally, just under my shoulder blades. My head whipped back, smacking onto the car's roof, leaving me temporarily seeing stars.

I'm sure that it would have looked awesome, if I had seen it happen to anybody else. But, as it happened to me, it just hurt like hell.

My attacker continued to choke and growl at me, red faced and spittle flying. He was probably mad that I wasn't flailing around enough, nor gurgling for mercy.

Instead, I grabbed onto his forearms and squeezed, rapidly increasing the pressure. Before I snapped his radius and ulna, I bent and lifted both legs up high and kicked him square in the face. Cartilage broke, blood gushed and splattered, and he let me go, staggering several steps back. I landed nimbly on my feet, fully recovered, save for the pain in my neck.

To my surprise, he didn't fall. He was clearly one tough bastard. Or maybe the sensations of the blow hadn't yet reached his minuscule brain. Either way, the fight wasn't over yet.

In fact, as he wiped at the bloody mess that had been his nose, it seemed like he was gearing up to charge me again.

I let him.

This time, just as he reached arms length, I quickly crouched and bent over, almost faster than the human eye can follow, let alone react to. Once I felt his body settle over me, I grab onto his belt and stood up with all of my strength. Using my leverage on his mass and momentum, I sent the jock sailing up, over the car he had slammed me up against, and into the middle of the empty road in an uncontrolled flip. After an impressive amount of air time, he simply crumpled onto the blacktop.

Physics can be a stone cold bitch.

Taking in the scene around me, I could tell that all of the jocks were down for the count and alive, if not completely well. There were a lot of semi-conscious moans and gasps of pain though.

"Well, that sure was anticlimactic." I muttered.

"Damn."

I spun and put myself on guard for an attack. It wasn't necessary - it was Walter and his friends.

"We were about to leave when we spotted these assholes rounding the corner, tailing you." Pinch volunteered as the group approached. They all had weapons out (a couple of knives, a pair of brass knuckles, and what seemed to be a small blackjack), but at ease at their sides. "We decided to follow 'em to give you some backup."

"You obviously didn't need it." Walter interjected. Was that disappointment?

"Three against one. Real bad ass, brother." Bear said slowly with real admiration that only barely showed on his face.

"Thanks," I answered, with an honestly embarrassed smile.

I thought to fake panting and to hold my side a bit as if I was worn-out and injured. Add some real humanity to the performance.

"You OK?" Preacher asked.

"Yeah. I just need to walk it off."

Walter motioned me aside as the others checked on the injured jocks. Making sure that they'd live and convincing them that filing a police report would be a real bad idea.

"Listen Des, you can obviously handle yourself pretty well. You didn't even need to pull out that big blade of yours." He'd noticed. Well, nobody said anything about it, or even looked at me sideways, so I wasn't going to stress it. I just smiled and shrugged.

"And you need some cash, right?" I had mentioned that I was recently unemployed earlier in the evening, so I just nodded.

"I have a cousin. He has a number of ... business interests, you might call them. One of them is fighters. You see, there's an underground, bare-knuckle fight club in the city."

I raised an eyebrow and said, completely deadpan, "You're not supposed to talk about fight club, Walter."

He rolled his eyes, but kept on talking, "I used to fight a couple of years ago. A lot of money's floating around, if you're up to taking some damage and dishing it out." He shrugged. "Even if you lose, as long as you put up a good enough fight, you get paid some."

I had to admit, I was seriously intrigued. The new "me" obviously enjoyed fighting and was pretty damn good at it. Not causing pain, per se, but testing myself against others, proving my strength and skill. Establishing my superiority and dominance over my challengers. Making sure everyone knows not to fuck with me, and to show me my due respect. It felt like something old and powerful, from deep within my brain, which had been awakened or revitalized by my change – a remnant from my ancient, sword wielding, fur wearing ancestors. Or maybe it was even older than that, something firmly rooted in my primitive lizard brain.

Deep down inside, it just felt ... right. What I was meant for.

And if I could make some good money on the side, all the better.

"Sure. I'd like to give it a shot. Give me your cousin's number."

After making sure that the assholes would live, despite some serious pain and injuries, not to mention keep their mouths firmly shut about just what had happened to them, Walter and the others were kind enough to offer me a ride home. Unfortunately, I had to "ride bitch", as they so eloquently put it.

I took the ribbing with good grace, taking it as a sign I was more or less accepted.

It was still a few hours until sunrise when I entered my apartment. I could hear John asleep in his room. Karlie wasn't with him, I was happy to note. She was apparently following my instructions and staying away, hopefully to think about how she felt about me, free of any vampiric mental influence.

I couldn't help but wonder when, or even if, she would call ... would she decide to stay with John, or choose to explore a relationship with me ... how I would react to her rejection ... could I resist the temptation of simply taking her, compelling her to leave him and be mine? After how she had reacted as we made out and I fed on her, I knew that it would only be too easy. Actually, I was pretty sure that, with a varying amount of effort, I could make just about any woman I came across enthralled with me, to one extent or another. Damn, would that be nice...

I shook off that whole line of thinking as I entered my room. That was one hell of a slippery slope, and my life was complex enough, at the moment. I didn't need the added hassles and ethical complications of an enthralled harem.