In retrospect it probably was sick and twisted, but in all fairness not too many things in his world were sane or pure. It made perfect sense to seek out the nearest sleazy bar with sleazy chicks and crappy booze once the fight was over. And it made even more sense to search for very particular brand of girl. Girl, not a woman. Younger than the red headed goddess he had slain. More pliant and less dangerous than the crazed entity that had played him like a violin until Jean had pushed through at the last possible moment. Pure. Untamed and untainted.

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He wasn’t completely sure of what he had expected when he had paid for the whole night. Certainly not getting the wind knocked out and waking couple of hours later with a pounding headache and strange feeling of… Numbness? Weightlessness? Weakness.

The girl was already gone, probably left as soon as she had gotten him cleaned up. He sat up from where he laid, surprisingly comfortable bed squeaking slightly. For some reason his mugger had seen it fit to cover him with a warm quilt before emptying his pockets. Rather thoughtful. She had left him in the possession of the keys to his motorcycle as well.

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Next night he found himself sitting at the same bar, his eyes scanning the crowd. He could smell the girl. Vanilla and peppermint, both scents artificial, masking something underneath, something he couldn’t quite grasp a hold of, no matter how hard he tried.

He wasn’t all that sure of why he purposefully sought her again; certainly he wasn’t after his money. He could always make some more, and the girl looked like she would need every penny she could scrounge up. Perhaps he was just curious.

Or plain horny, after the only thing he hadn’t gotten from her for the previous night.

Whatever the reason he felt his body respond to her proximity on a completely new level, growing heavy and weary as soon as she laid her hand on his shoulder. The whole world got suddenly awfully narrow. Tiny. As tiny as the amateur hooker wannabe that was whispering her promises in to his ear until he felt the need to nod, to agree anything and everything she proposed.

And again he woke up from a dingy motel room alone, fully clothed, warm blanket tucked protectively around him.

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Third night was no exception. Girl picked him up effortlessly; he paid for the room, and woke up few hours later. But this time there was a tall glass of orange juice on a nightstand next to the bed. He drank it greedily, feeling parched.

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At the fourth night he had adamantly decided to stay awake through the whole deal. As soon as he felt the scratchy cotton of the bead spread under his back his resolve crumbled like a house made of straw, and he woke up couple of hours later, seriously pissed off.

He had known her several days. He had paid for her to have sex.

He didn’t have the slightest idea of what her name was.

He didn’t have the slightest idea of what happened during the hours he spent unconscious, but he was dead on sure that he wasn’t getting everything he had paid for. Actually, he had inkling that he wasn’t getting anything at all. Only one winning was the girl.

He decided not to go looking for her anymore. From then and there, he wouldn’t step in to that bar. If he went, he wouldn’t be sitting at the same booth as before. If he sat there, he wasn’t going to drink. And if he happened to order some beer, he wouldn’t be expecting company. And if she came, he…

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…Woke up. Slowly. He wasn’t feeling too well. Not good at all. He was cold, shivering and covered in cold, sticky sweat. There was no blanket on him, nothing to cover his bare chest. When he turned his head expecting to see the now familiar tall glass of orange juice he nearly fainted from the effort. And there was no juice. But there was something else. A tissue, and on top of it something red and white.

He narrowed his eyes. Teeth. They were teeth. Two sharp canines, one of them slightly cracked, both carrying scratches and dents from some kind of a tool. Blood on their roots was still fresh. He sat up carefully and clutched the bed spread underneath him when world tilted alarmingly. Weak. So fucking weak.

Sudden commotion from the outside made him curious. He threw on his shirt that he found neatly folded from a chair next to the bed, then went to the door and pushed it open. Slowly. Quietly. What he saw on the dimly lit parking lot outside made him discard all caution and barrel out, enraged roar forming somewhere deep inside of him.

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The girl wasn’t faring too well. He knew Storm would most likely have his hide as soon as she learned that he had brought a stranger in to the house, but he was out of options. He was just about loosing his mind, trying to figure out what was the deal with the girl, and now the goddamned chick was about to die on him.

He cradled her against his chest, trying to ignore how cold and lifeless she felt, trying his best to sneak in undetected. Right now his main concern was the girl, he couldn’t afford to get stopped by angry and irrational Storm. The girl needed… She needed… He knew the girl needed something. It was right at the tip of his tongue, but somehow it seemed to slip from his reach every time he was about to grasp it.

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Safely in his room he laid the girl on to the bed, then shrugged off his torn and bloodied jacket. The strange preacher that had been maiming the girl had gotten few pretty accurate strikes in on him as well. But there was no harm done. Nothing permanent at least. Sharpened crucifix the preacher had used had merely scratched his skin. The girl was whole another issue. She was bleeding from her mouth and numerous stabbing wounds all around her torso. Majority of the wounds were focused on her chest and upper stomach.

He sat on the edge of the bed, intending to open her shirt to see the extent of her injuries when her eyes fluttered open. They zeroed instantly to his face, fear and plain hunger shining in their brown depths.
“I’m so sorry…” She lisped. He had the time to see the gaps behind her lips, two bleeding, gaping holes at her upper jaw, then she lunged forward, tearing open his shirt.

She managed to force him down on the floor, her face buried to the crook of his neck, blunt teeth gnawing and tearing, breaking the skin and muscle, aiming for the jugular. After a few seconds he could feel more efficient tools locking on to place, her sharp canines sliding easily in and keeping the wound on the side of his neck open as she ate.

It hurt. Hurt like a bitch, but he was strangely reluctant to pry her off. Like it was important to take care of her. Take care of her needs. So he cradled her against him, trying not to squirm, trying not to pull away from her as she kept devouring his life drop by drop.

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When she was finished he could only lay on the floor, every limb lax and heavy. He felt sick. Empty. Cold. His heart was doing overtime, trying to circulate the little blood that was still left in him.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl whispered, then hauled him up from the floor, nearly dropping him before she managed to jostle him on to the bed. She took a thick blanket from the foot end of the bed, spread it over him and tucked it firmly around him, then stopped and just stared at him for a moment.

“What’s your name?” He managed to croak.
“Marie. My name is Marie,” she said, then turned towards the window. It struck him that she was going to leave when she pushed the window open and climbed on to the windowsill.
“What? No OJ?” He rasped, but when he managed to turn to look she was already gone.

Next week kept him busy. Busy enough not to go out at night. Busy enough to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was still curious, but too exhausted to investigate Marie further. Then, one night, well past midnight a soft rap against the window woke him up.

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She looked famished, and stumbled heavily against him when he opened the window to let her in.
“Buffet is closed for tonight,” he grunted, throwing a long sleeved shirt quickly on. The girl stared at his throat longingly, then curled upon a soft armchair in the corner.

Minutes ticked by. He was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Every time she looked up from where she sat she clearly tried to avert her gaze, to look somewhere else entirely, but it took no time from her eyes to find him.

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“Why?” He asked.
“You didn’t die. I… I tried to be careful, but they always died. You didn’t.”
“I didn’t die for the first time, so you thought it would be okay to come for seconds?”
“You taste different. Metal. Too much of it…” She whispered. He snorted and unsheathed his claws, letting the silver of the moon to fall on them.
“Too much? I’d say there’s just about enough to get rid of you,” he said, stalking closer to the girl.
“I kind of doubt that…” Her voice came from behind him, cold breath tickling the side of his throat. The armchair was empty, and he could feel her hands at his waist, fingers smoothing over his shirt, her breasts rubbing against his back. Then she was lounging at the armchair again, staring at him, practically drooling. His claws slid back in agonizingly slowly.

“What the fuck do you want?” He asked.
“I don’t want to kill.”
“And I don’t want to start donating blood on daily basis. Find yourself a new donor.”
“I could… Make it worth your time…”
“I kind of doubt that.”

She was suddenly standing right in front of him, her breasts rubbing suggestively against him, her slender thighs wrapped around his powerful one, and she was nuzzling against him like a cat in heat.
“I still haven’t paid back what I owe you…” She purred, reaching higher and licking his earlobe. This close he could smell the death on her. Feel how cold and rigid her flesh was. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine.
“Of course this would be more… Enjoyable for you if you let me feed first. I assume making love to a corpse doesn’t rank too high on your list of pleasures…” He quirked his eyebrow.
“Making love? Jesus Christ… You’re a loony bitch. And how do I know you won’t just leave me with a fucking blankie and some OJ after you’re finished? I fucking paid you to have sex with me every time last week, and got nothing in return.”

Her palm clasped over his throbbing crotch and squeezed gently.
“So… It’s a good fuck you’re after, is it?” She whispered almost coyly. His eyes narrowed.
“It sure feels like you could use some… Tension relief therapy…” She purred, keeping the steady pressure, rubbing his cock through the denim of his suddenly all too tight jeans.
“But what is it that you want? What do you like? Why did you seek me out in the first place?” She asked, her questions more rhetorical as wicked gleam settled in to her eyes and her lips turned to a knowing smirk.
“You like it rough, don’t you?” She said increasing the pressure and the pace she massaged him. When he felt the need to move his hips, to respond, he snarled and shoved her away from him. She landed on to the bed on her back, her victorious giggle ringing in the air.
“Oh, please, mister… Don’t hurt me,” she crooned mockingly. That pleading, yet scornful moan made his resolve snap.

He grasped her from the front of her shirt and backed her against the wall, her back and head colliding with a sharp thud.
“I won’t hurt you. Much,” he grunted, tearing open her pants and shoving his free hand down, spreading her thighs, his fingers seeking her cleft that he found cold, but already slick and wet. She laughed when he yanked off what was left of her jeans and unbuttoned his own. She laughed when he forced his way between her thighs and entered with one quick thrust.

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She was enjoying it, eyes closed and her head thrown backwards, smooth column of her pale white throat bared trustingly. When he picked up the pace, dead on sure he would break her soon she just wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned little further from the wall, granting him a better access and leverage. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy. He pulled out, them rammed back in, through her anus this time. Her eyes snapped open and her head fell forward, her lips pulling back to reveal impressive set of ivory fangs on her upper jaw.
“My, my… You do like it rough…” She hissed, more amused than worried though he knew from the increasing scent of blood that he must have been hurting her.
“But as fun as this has been… There’s proper time for everything… And I’m hungry now!” She growled, grasping his hair and yanking his head backwards, her lips pressing over his jugular.

Her teeth piercing his flesh and his blood rushing forward to quench her hunger triggered him. He came with a sudden, almost painful flash of brightness, sinking slowly on his knees on to the floor, pulling the girl with him, shivering and convulsing as his body emptied in to her.

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He lay on the bed, weak but sated, warm quilt tucked around him, a glass of water on the nightstand waiting for the moment his hands stopped shaking.
“I told you that I’d make it worth your time…” He heard her whisper, then she was gone.

He didn’t bother to strip off his uniform, just stumbled in to his room after bidding good night for equally exhausted Storm. Leather hung on him on scorched tatters, exposing mangled flesh and slowly healing lacerations all over him. He was ready to keel over and sleep comatose for the coming week.

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“Not tonight, you sick bitch. Maybe tomorrow,” he grunted when he saw that his guest ad already arrived and was sitting on the armchair, her feet crossed Indian style and her multicolored hair twisted to a loose bun on top of her head. He’d need everything, every drop of the precious liquid still running in his veins for himself.

To his surprise she didn’t argue. Didn’t try to haggle, but nodded instead and stood from the chair gracefully, stretching slowly before approaching him.

“You look a bit torn up,” she drawled, her fingers ghosting over the remains of his uniform, cooling his exposed, inflamed flesh with her touch.
“Can’t have you sick. You must get better,” she said with steely resolve in her voice and pushed him gently on to the bed, then started to peel off the black leather from him.

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She cleaned him meticulously, licked off blood and grime, obviously savoring the rusty taste of it on her tongue, purring audibly and stopping only to lick her lips every now and then. When her cold tongue reached his throat he grasped the front of her shirt and hauled her upwards, his trembling biceps only barely keeping her away from his hurt flesh.

“I told you. Not tonight…” He let his claws out, just enough to score her skin, but it was enough. When he let her go she scooted away from his neck, trailing backwards the path of her tongue over his chest and stomach, lingering a while over his nipples and navel until darting lower.

She felt almost warm when her lips wrapped around his cock. She licked and sucked the head, her tongue teasing the weeping slit. When she cupped his balls he grasped her hair and thrust deeper. At first she struggled, but he kept going until her throat relaxed, fucking her mouth slower, but just as forcefully as he fucked her otherwise.

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She swallowed, her throat constricting around him, her fingers kneading his balls none too gently. He could feel her nose buried against his pubic hair, and ground his hips against her face, nearly blind from the need to take her, mark her, have her and fuck her until she pleaded for mercy.

Of course that would never happen. Neither of them was built that way. Mercy, receiving or giving it wasn’t ingrained in to their system. But it was a nice illusion, and she could pretend rather convincingly when she felt like it. Now it looked like that kind of reprieve wasn’t in the program of the night. Betrayal was.

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He felt it, her sharp canines piercing the sensitive flesh at the base of his cock. Familiar cloud of grey weakness spreading over him. His hips still working, his hands locked in to her hair and his cock pounding her throat while she harvested her reward, suction growing every passing second until it was impossible to hold back any longer.

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She rose slowly, licking the mixture of semen and blood from her lips, her eyes half hooded, dreamy look on her face.
“That was almost better than before… We should do this more often…” She whispered, crawling over until she was straddling his chest, her face lowered and her hair fallen from the bun covering their faces like a velvet curtain.
“I fucking told you…” He growled, trying weakly to throw her off from him. She swatted his hands away easily, leaning even lower and kissing him hard, letting him taste his own taste and nibbling his lips surprisingly gently, her hunger now sated.
“I wasn’t too rough now… Was I?” She purred, her tongue sliding over his earlobe, dipping in and probing deeper. He turned his head disgusted and she giggled.
“Is my little fuzzy-wuzzy Wolverine angry?” She cooed. He kept his gaze locked firmly to a wall on his left, small muscle at the side of his jaw ticking.
“Did I hurt my big boy?” She taunted, grasping his face between her palms, forcing him to look at her.

She was completely serious now. There was no cocky smirk on her face. No mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“I’d say we’re even now,” she said. She felt scorching hot against his now cooled, clammy skin. It was impossible to resist the urge. He grasped her with his shivering hands, pulling her firmer against him and buried his face to the crook of her neck, seeking warmth. She snorted and sat up, scooting off from him.
“We both know very well why I’m here. Don’t go confusing this to something this isn’t,” she said. He curled on his side, trying to reach for the blanket. It fell from his numb fingers on to the floor, out of reach.

He closed his eyes and felt the inevitable twirling fall towards darkness to start. Tired. So fucking tired and heavy. He could feel the metallic coating of his bones, almost suffocating, and cold embrace of it. It was an effort to breathe. His heart was skipping beats in its haste. He could still smell and taste the rusty tang of his own blood, nauseating coating over his tongue and teeth. Nauseating, and strangely alluring.

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When he felt the blanket landing over him and her hand sliding over his forehead, smoothing back his tangled hair he grasped her wrist. Brought it to his lips and bit hard. It wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but her appalled and horrified look as she fled from him made him feel so much better.

It took several weeks from her to visit him again.

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He was lying on his bed, window wide open to air out the room, sweat drying slowly on his skin. He wasn’t even trying to sleep, the scent of musk and perfume in the air too strong for that. Thank God the hooker had left as soon as she had gotten her money.

“Was she any good?” Question came from the windowsill.
“I don’t know… At least hell of a lot cheaper than you.”

She giggled softly. He could hear her landing from the window, her feet whispering over the floorboards.
“I bet she was… But was she worth your money?” Seductive whisper tickled the hairs on the side of his face, then moist and surprisingly warm tongue slid over his earlobe. He could smell fresh blood in her breath.
“You’re leeching off from somebody else now? I’m shocked…” He grunted, trying his best to sound scornful, genuinely baffled over the sharp pang of jealousy that sliced through him.
“You’re my only regular, you should know,” she said, climbing on top of him and leaning to kiss him. Now he could identify the scent on her. The hooker that had left only half an hour ago.
“Well, well… Who would have thought? You’re jealous,” he smirked. She bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then licked the droplets from his jaw.
“Jealous? Me? Hardly… Just looking after you. And your money. Why waste it to the likes of her when you can have me?”
“Well, let’s see… After I fuck with a normal broad I don’t have to spend next day and a half in bed recovering?”
“Mmm… Fair point. But perhaps if you’d let me come to you more often, I wouldn’t be forced to drain you dry. Just small sips every now and then, nothing that you couldn’t afford to share…”
“I kind of doubt that. But who am I to argue? You haven’t needed my permission before, why the fuck start now?”
“It’s not polite to come to dinner uninvited,” She said, her lips turning to a small pout.
“Besides, you’re starting to sound like you don’t like me that much anymore…” She whined and nuzzled his chest. His hand landed on top of her head and his fingers started combing her silky hair almost automatically.
“Cut the crap, kid. Why did you come?” He asked.

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After a long silence she sighed.
“I came to see if you were alright. You acted a bit… strange last time I saw you.”
“That’s rich, coming from you. Strange?” He snorted. She pushed herself higher, her palms spread over his pectorals.
“It’s not good for you. My blood. It could make you sick. Very sick,” she distressed her words by jabbing his chest with her index finger.
“And why do you care? I’m just your next meal!”
“Exactly. A good farmer takes care of the cattle. Where would I be if you died because of some foolish stunt?”
“Out there, leeching off from somebody else.”
“But I prefer you. Your blood is much thicker. It’s… It’s like syrup. Rich. Sweet.”

Her eyes darted between his face and his jugular, her tongue darting to moisten her lips. Her finger trailed the throbbing vein at the side of his throat, down over his collarbone until it disappeared.
“And your skin, it’s so smooth… Little salty, just the right way to balance the flavor of your blood…” She leaned lower and followed the path of her finger with her tongue, climbing higher until she reached his earlobe and suckled it lightly. His reaction was instant, he bucked his hips underneath her, his hands clasping over her hips, his palms and fingers wide enough to cup and cover her buttocks as well and knead them gently.

“Careful, don’t want my ears pierced…” He hissed when he felt the slight scrape of a fang over his skin. She giggled huskily and ground her hips against him slowly, squeezing his cock between his stomach and her denim-clad crotch. She moved slower, nibbling his jugular. He grasped a firm hold from her hair, yanking her backwards, his eyes narrowing.
“Still hungry?” He asked. She licked her lips, rolling her eyes.
“I’m always hungry for you… But I can play nice. I promise not to bite…” She whispered, her eyes still firmly locked to his throat.
“Right… I’m not that stupid…” He hissed, stood up and flipped them over, tearing off her jeans and entering from behind, holding her tightly against him, one hand clasped over her throat, the other sliding lower, finding her moist curls and the erect bud of her clitoris.

She really didn’t need any extra stimulation, but somehow it felt now wrong to simply plow through her like she was nothing. She was squirming and whimpering, her cold sheath caressing his cock, their combined juices running down their thighs.

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He could smell the copperish scent of blood, not his. It was her own, saturated with the scent of decay and death. She was biting at her own wrist, her eyes tightly shut, loud keening noise emanating from somewhere deep inside of her. It dawned on him that they had been going at it for several hours and neither of them had found the release yet. He pulled out of her and wrenched her violently around, pushing her on her back to the bed and forcing her thighs open. Getting her wrist from between her tightly locked jaws proved to be a bit trickier, but finally he made it, his cock practically screaming to be let back in to her. His balls were about to burst from the sheer pressure.

“You want this?” He rasped with hoarse voice, offering his wrist to her. When she opened her eyes and grasped his wrist he suddenly knew that now they were doing something right. And when she sunk her teeth deeply in his flesh he slammed his cock back in to her, they both gasping, screaming and tearing in to each other from the sheer force of their release.

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“Wait…” He huffed exhausted. She turned to look from where she stood, next to the windowsill.
“Are you coming tomorrow?” He asked, trying to concentrate, to see her past the dizzying and swirling haze that had fallen over his field of vision. She let out a satisfied giggle.
“I guess I’ll be coming if you’ll have me…” She whispered, blowing a kiss to his direction and climbing out from the window.