13. Demon

The night slunk into the Rocket's bones as he waited in the black silence behind the containment building. He hated going out on patrol, but especially on cold, dark nights like this.

Nights when a thousand dark things not of this world were lurking.

He shook his head and scolded himself. He had been on the Great Team, the Rocketto-Dan, for almost four years now; the second highest rank in the organization, he and his partner had been out in the dark many times before.

But something seemed out of kilter here; the air seemed heavy with near palpable tension and evil.

Bashou smiled.

He was the evil. Things should fear him, not the other way around.

But he was wrong.

Under cover of the moonless night, something more evil than the Rocket crept through the foliage like a shadow, making no sound whatsoever. Two hundred and fifty years of hunting had perfected his technique, and possessing the Dark Gifts had been a wonderful help.

The hunter closed in. He had had his eye on Bashou for a while, attracted to his fierce golden eyes and hair the color of the moon, had been attracted to the darkness in his soul and contempt for humanity he expressed.

Now the beautiful human was about to become even more evil.

He sent out a tendril of shadow and saw Bashou whirl around, senses alert, muscles tensed like a coil and ready for action at the slightest stimulus. Something is wrong here, Bashou thought, eyes narrowed and scanning the premises, and it's not me.

The demon struck.

Something darted at him from the thick copse of trees. Bashou raised his arms in surprise, and then felt something latch onto his throat. The thing grabbed his arms in powerful hands, nearly crushing the bones, and then pinned them to his sides with its arm. You are mine now, child, the demon whispered in his head.

Bashou tried to call out then, but the vampire bit into his flesh, sending an icy paralysis charging through his veins. Pain seared his mind, shattered his thoughts and his soul, crushed his senses. The Rocket's eyes widened. He knew the meaning of true fear and true evil. We are no more than an insolent, dark cloak hovering at the edge of perception, he realized. We are nothing compared to --

Compared to me, the vampire finished, drawing rich, thick, wet blood deeply from the Rocket's artery. Bashou's head rolled back as his body went limp, now supported only by the vampire's clutch, both around his arms and upon his throat.

He could feel every pint of blood that passed through his carotid and into the demon's mouth, each pull sending fresh fire soaring through his consciousness.

Oh my God, Bashou thought, panicking, all rational ideas ripped away with the paralysis. I'm going to die.

His mind was screaming and writhing in torture. He heard a drumbeat pound in his ears, slowing down with each passing second.

Bashou realized it was his heartbeat.

He screamed, but only in his head.

The vampire's evil, soft laughter filled the Rocket's ears as he passed into unconsciousness, only glad that the pain was over.

The vampire unhatched himself from Bashou, gazing upon his lovely countenance, now smooth and almost content. He smiled, put his hand up to his mouth, and slit his wrist with one sharp incisor.

Holding him almost like one would hold a suckling newborn, the vampire held the bleeding wound to the Rocket's lips, easing them open and letting the dark blood drip into his mouth.

For a few minutes, there was no response. Then, Bashou's eyelids fluttered and his tongue moved to lick the wound. A fierce hunger awoke in him and he grabbed the vampire's wrist and pulled the blood into his mouth, drinking it in like water after a week in the Sahara.

The vampire smiled and let him drink furiously for a few moments more, then pulled his wrist away. Bashou's body went limp again, and then his eyes opened and he squinted up at his sire.

"You," he whispered.