FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He sat amidst the snow, waiting silently. This was the worst part, waiting for the moment to come. The moment, although a crushing failure or triumphant victory, was brief and short lived. But the wait was a long buildup, sometimes without a payoff. He mulled over things as he sat still as a statue in the snow, scanning the dunes of white all around him, waiting for anything that moved amidst the trees and bushes.

Some days, he counted himself lucky that he lived so far away from people. But as of late, the idea crossed his mind that it wasn't. 80% that caught the plague had a 95.5% fatality rate in the span of only three days. 5% simply fought the virus off and remained normal. The other 15%, well, he didn't like thinking about them. He had read all the reports, and kept up to date on all the news while it lasted. It was an incredible thing to see. It was not the grand apocalypse of fire and brimstone that some believed, and it was not the destruction of man based on his own hand that so many feared, no, it was the quietest, quickest apocalypse and downfall of human kind no one had ever thought of.

And what always bugged him, was the fact that no one, nobody, not even the top scientists or even terrorist groups laid it as a claim as their handiwork, or could even identify where it came from. It was as if, some outside force had simply dropped this horrendous strain everywhere, all at once, on the human population. One day it appeared, and then the next few days after, thousands began dying. By the time officials and scientists could even make sense of what was happening, it was already too late. There weren't even any riots, or even end-of-the-world cults established. The plague spread so fast and killed so quickly, there wasn't even time to do anything.

That was all five years ago. And here he was now, off on his own. He knew there were survivors, all over the world. But he didn't believe in trying. Being in a group left a bigger footprint, made an easier target for the other 15% that survived the plague. Lucky enough for him, the internet and air waves stayed operating for at least a year or two after the crash. Communications between those that survived was established quickly, and through it all he was able to watch and learn from them. Some of the smarter, higher up people survived, and were able to provide good help and knowledge in this new world. The only theory circulating was that this wasn't a virus, a disease, or anything else, but something inside everybody, hidden away in their bodies, waiting to become active. But then, 2 years ago, the internet went dead. No more servers were operating, and nothing else could be said. Whatever it was, it didn't matter now.

So he took what he knew and learnt from others, and used it to his advantage. He knew they were nocturnal, and had a dangerous allergic reaction to sunlight, and even other forms of light. They had better senses than ordinary people, better eye sight, smell, hearing and all that. Bullets worked fine against them, except for the fact that they did not feel pain, so a lot of bullets were needed or a well-placed headshot worked. These weren't the vampires, or zombies of lore that some superstitious survivors claimed them to be. They were, simply humans, none the less heavily mutated and warped. They were hyper adaptive to climate, and as a result, changed to suit where they lived. One area of the world housed a different set of problems to deal with than others. They could eat all manner of things, but they primarily used blood. Blood contained something in it that they lacked from not getting sunlight. Sunlight played a bigger role for living things than most people tended to think about. But out of all the information he had collected and verified, one, true, unwavering fact could be said about them. They were still human, in some aspect, and in being so, had the dangerous, cunning mind of a human. Right away survivors learned that their counterparts were not simply animals.

Something emerged from the bushes, leading his attention away from his thoughts. This was the moment then. And so far it was shaping up nicely. The deer approached from the bushes, now entering the yard he was camped out in. It was relatively early in the winter, and so berries, now run rampant from neglect in this particular old yard, still offered some morsels to any who entered. The deer approached slowly, but eventually found itself nibbling away on the prized bushes. Pulling back so very carefully on the bowstring, he pulled tight until he could no more, lining up the arrow cautiously. One shot would be best. He wouldn't get a second one if he was off. Breathe in, and out. In, and out. He let the arrow fly.

He worked fast, taking as much as he could get his hands on, quickly wrapping the meat up in doubled up garbage bags, tying them tight and tossing that into another bag for good measure. The most important thing was to never, under any circumstances, underestimate them. If you thought they couldn't follow the trail of blood and meat for over 40 miles, you were wrong. He finished wrapping everything up, and stuffed a bunch of meat into his backpack, and carried the rest with him back to his truck, parked a ways out on the road. He turned back and gazed on the scene before him. It was so funny to think that around 7, maybe 8 years ago or so, he helped patch the roof on that house. And now it was abandoned, left to the wills of nature, and any other curious beings who wished to explore it.

He checked his watch and the sun as he drove around town. Good, he was ahead of schedule. He could kill some time today. Maybe drive around town for a bit, make dummy trails with his truck off the highways. He was off today, caught in the past as he drove around town. Part of it looked like it was yesterday. The familiar faces came back to him. The good times, the bad times, the rainy days, and summer days. They were all gone now. He sighed, but out of some relief. Nearly all had been taken by the virus. But he knew, some had survived, maybe 10 or 12, out of 900 hundred people. Maybe 3 or 4 had stayed human. The rest, well...... He wouldn't kill them. Not that he could if he tried. It wasn't his business. He lived away from town, on one of the many smaller gravel roads that connected to the larger highways. That was his business almost 40 miles north of town, his home on his land, his continued survival.

He drove around Main Street, passing by the town hall, the various restaurants and small stores, all that used to be filled with the hustle and bustle of a small town life, now quiet, degrading away slowly. He rounded a few curves, and found himself down by the old school. The yard had no footprints, and a fine covering of snow over everything the kids used to play on. No shoveled pathways, cleared parking lots. Just nothing. He was about to pass on by, when a light flashed from inside one of the classroom windows. It flashed once, and then again. Was that Morse? Who the hell would be in the old school? He had power to the gas station in town, as well as to the shop which happened to be with the gas station. But he never did any work at the school.

Driving close to the school, he pulled up near the parking lot, stopping his truck and watching. Again, lights flashed. Parking it and stepping out, he unslung his shotgun. Couldn't be random. Had to be somebody. As he approached cautiously through the parking lot, he glanced at his watch. Still had time. As he got closer and closer to the entrance, old pictures of him being there when he was a kid came back to him. Running in after recess, putting his dirty outside shoes on the bootrack, and rushing back to class, hand in hand with his best friend. He hadn't seen her in years. They drifted apart after high school, but he felt that there was still always something there. What he would give to see her again.

Then he spotted something. Little specks of blood in the snow, alongside bootprints. They led all the way up to the doors and no doubt, inside. His shoulders sunk as he took one last look at the window where the flashes had come from. Of all the places to go. Could've picked anywhere, but whoever they were, picked the school. Close quarters with lots of places to be jumped from. He was almost considering turning around and leaving, when the distinct sound of two shots rang out. Grasping his shotgun with renewed vigor, he stepped towards the doors of the school. Somebody needed help. Even if they were foolish, he couldn't just walk away. Not after spending five years like this.

Grasping the handle of the school door, he pulled on it, letting stale dusty air out into the winter with him. Turning on the flashlight taped to his shotgun, he stepped in slowly. Just like recess. The bootracks were still folded down, even filled with inside shoes. Dusty, untouched in years. He spotted boot prints on the floor among the dust, leading further off into the school. The person went off to the science labs. Taking great care to make his way down the halls, he silently followed the trail through the dust. Passing various coloured lockers, still with locks on them that he once opened, packed full of school stuff, and letters stuffed in from his friend about how her class went. He shone his light carefully down the hall, and could make out the science lab down near the end of the hall. He could see the trail, and make out that the door was opened. But he spotted more. A ceiling panel lay on the tile floor amongst the dust, and from it came the prints of another. Not human.

As he made his way closer it was evident by the footprints that whoever came in here had turned around on their stalker, and either fired once or the creature had got them. Spatters of blood stained the walls and floor. The trail led to the science lab, where the person was forcefully hurled through the old door. Dimming the light, he edged around the corner silently, peeking into the old classroom. The dim light through the windows provided enough to see, and the scene he could make out was one that instantly sunk his heart.

An older man, lay slumped amongst the wreckage of the door he had flown through, a growing pool of crimson on the floor beside his head, his hand still clutched tight around the revolver near his head. He stood in the doorway, watching the scene, as two images blended together, one of the brightly lit classroom, full of kids he used to know, lab experiments being done, goggles put on, bottles of things, mixed together to make reactions. Those long rainy days in here, at the end of the day, watching the rain through all the windows, while the lab was brightly lit and always had some bustle of activity going on. Now faded and dusty, unused, and now intruded upon by him and this old traveler.

He stood in the doorway, but dared not go any further. With so much blood around, why was the old man's attempted killer not here? Unless, it already knew there were two people in here. He stood frozen in the doorway. What mistake did he make? He was quiet. He dimmed his lights. He even killed his truck early. Then he figured it out. He reeked of deer. Backing away from the door slowly, he brought his light back to full brightness, scanning the area slowly. He backpedaled away, watching the door. He couldn't cover all his blind spots, but if it got the jump on him, chances are he'd end up like the old traveler. He didn't know if he could kill himself though. It was clear that the old man fired one shot and either missed or did nothing, and seeing his imminent death, did himself a favor.

They were stronger than humans, and felt no pain, except only to various sources of light. But just because something was stronger didn't mean you couldn't find ways to beat it. It was their animalistic, primal power that was the issue. They didn't hesitate, and could kill or wound quickly. You had to find a way out faster than they could tear you to pieces. Listening as hard as he could for anything, he backpedaled down the hall slowly. He was in a strange place. There wasn't any fear, but an odd feeling of being back here. The yearning of being back in those days filled him with need. The school around felt like it could come back to life at any moment, and return with all the people it once held.

He was close now, back near the front of the school. He could see the light shining around the corner from the entrance. Picking up the pace a little, he moved through the dust filled hall when suddenly the silence was broken. He heard the clacking of claws on the tile floors. And it was close. Where was it coming from?! He turned both ways to the sight of nothing down both halls, but found his answer when one of the classroom doors next to him was splintered to pieces as the creature came flying through it towards him.

He was too slow to react, and the pale thing crashed over him and sent him and his shotgun flying away from one another. They toppled head over heels into the middle of the hall. Pain shot up one of his legs. He scrambled around, trying to reach for one of the flares on his coat, choking from having the wind knocked out of him. Feeling one of the small things, he grabbed and pulled, sparking light onto the creature as its face leered over his, fanged mouth open wide revealing its canines, and the glimmer of blood on them. The reaction was immediate, as it brought a pale arm up to cover its face, its skin blistering and blackening from the light as it retreated.

It backpedaled outside the range of the bright flare, slinking into the dim hallway, but continued to watch him from the shadows. Acting quickly, he shakily got up to his feet, falling over to his shotgun. He struggled to stand back up. His snow suit felt wet, and warm down by one of his legs. That didn't matter now. He needed to leave while he still had light. Tossing the flare behind him as he lit another, he hobbled out of the hall and into the entrance room, pushing past the boot racks and into the cold winter air, full of light and sunshine.

He fell over again, gasping for air and the pain in his leg. He recovered from being hit so hard, but the pain in his leg was persistent. Pulling his suit up just a bit, what he saw made his skin crawl, as the realization hit him. He had been bitten in the quick scuffle. The virus never left you, whether you recovered, died, or worse. You became a carrier, able to spread it to others through fluid exchange, or even close contact. They weren't even sure on that.

He hobbled back to his truck, tossing his gun into the backseat as he frantically searched through a small packsack of medical supplies. If he didn't patch things up at the very least, he'd die a little faster. The cold air stung as he poured peroxide over his bleeding leg, wiping the blood away and wrapping gauze around it tightly. That would have to do for now. Packing his things up, he started up his truck, and took the curves that would lead him back to Main Street, leaving town. The unreal reality that he would likely be dead in about three days' time hadn't sunk in yet.

The fire crackled nicely in his small cabin, as he sat, sunk into his comfy couch, with a bowl of warm soup. The sun would be going down any time now, but his fire would be worn out by then, and his place kept warm and comfortable over the long night. He lived far away from anybody, but he still needed to play it safe. Lights out or covered well, lockdown the windows and brace the door. Guns and backup light sources at the ready.

He set the empty soup bowl down by the table in front of the couch, with his leg propped up on it. He stared at the wound, which was wrapped up tightly, the stain of blood faintly showing through. He let his head down into his hands. 3, or 4 days at the maximum. If he was an odd case, 6 or 7. It'd start like a normal cold at first, fever, weakness, tiredness. As it spread through his system, his body would begin to slow down. At day 3 or 4, he'd reach what was known as the tipping point. Almost total shutdown, or slowdown as they called it. Everything inside you slowed to such a point that even to a trained professional you could be mistaken for dead.

Those that survived the tipping point, would simply wake up a day later, feeling better and renewed, as if they had never had it. It was only after about a week you would know if you were still human. Then mutations would begin. But, if he was the normal case, then he would reach the tipping point, and simply remain there, practically comatose, until he died of starvation or other causes. He wiped his eyes at the thought. 95.5% chance that he'd be dead in two more days. All this, gone, and over. All his work, precautions, challenges and hurdles, done for. Even now, he could feel it. He had a fever, and was beginning to feel off. He leaned back on the couch, and simply stayed there, curled up and crying himself to sleep.

Sleep did not bring the comfort it normally did, the relaxation from all that surrounded him, burdened him. Scenes flashed by, the school, the empty playground, the sound of activity from someone other than himself, after so long, and then, when he found someone, they were taken from him, a pool of crimson spilling from their head onto the dusty floor of a familiar place, one of comfort, joy. The leering face of the one that played a part in it, the fanged mouth, gaping wide with his own blood on its lips. Its small flattened nose with flared nostrils, and those bright yellow eyes, the only other noticeable feature among its pale white skin, watching him, laughing at him. He was uncomfortable in his sleep, aware of the tossing and turning, how unbearably hot it was. And then, he woke up.

On his second day, he felt so terrible that all he could do was walk outside briefly. He walked down the path through the trees, to the little clearing in the bushes, for mom and dad. Relief and pain flooded him, as he was thankful that he never had to kill them or take care of them in such a state. They both died of cancer some years back, first dad, and then mom. If they were here now, what would they say to him? What would they do? He sat at their grave for what felt like hours. If any of his friends were here, or his one, longtime friend from school where here, what would they say, or do? He was alone, left to this by himself.

Later on he wrote a note, something to let others know if they ever found this place. He didn't hide the tear marks with a new piece of paper. And then, night came. He stayed up late, made the best tasting meal he could with what he had, ate too much, kept his fire going all night long, and watched his favorite movies until he fell asleep. That same face returned to him now, causing discomfort. More details became apparent, its silvery white eyebrows, upturned in a familiar expression of glee. It's elongated, pointed ears standing out amongst its silvery white hair. Something was off about it. Something in his head didn't recognize it, but kept on nagging that its face wasn't right.

And then, on day three, he woke up. Mixed emotions passed through him as he sluggishly climbed out of bed, aware that it was late in the afternoon. His last day, and he slept late. He was unsteady on his feet, tired, and hot. Everything in him told him to sleep. But he knew if he did, he wouldn't wake up again. But he realized something. He wasn't done yet. He still had one last thing to do. If he was going to die, then the one responsible was going to go with him too.

The trip to town was the longest he'd ever gone on. Once or twice he almost found himself in the ditch. He was in no shape to dig himself out. He left his house behind, to anyone that found it. All his notes on things, the setup he had going there, and the setup he had going in town. He said goodbye to his parents before leaving, and then that was it. When he finally entered his old home town and took the winding curved roads to his old school, the sun was on the verge of going down, and fresh snow was falling on everything.

When he stepped out of his truck, he fell to his knees in the snow, coughing up blood. That wasn't a good sign. His body was resisting, hard, to no avail. His ankle hurt now, more than he was aware of it before. Grabbing his shotgun and flares, along with a flare gun, he limped through the parking lot to the school. As he approached, he fired a shell from his gun into the windows, the echoes traveling through the almost empty town, as the sun went down. He fired once more into the door of the school for emphasis, reloading before he stepped in.

Limping past the entrance into the hall, he pulled out his flare gun, firing it down the hall. If he didn't get its attention before, he had it now. The light from the flare died down at the end of the hall, and he readied his shotgun, preparing for the moment. Breathe in, and out. Of all the moments he'd had, this one was important to him. He wouldn't miss his shot. The wait went on for an eternity, before the form of the creature revealed itself in the dark halls, its outline distinct amongst the quiet school. It stayed far at the end of the hall, watching him as he shone his flashlight close, but not enough to burn it. No, he was going to let it come.

Ripping the flashlight from his gun, he turned it off and tossed it down the hall towards the creature. There was a frightening stillness, as the creature did nothing, but began advancing slowly. He didn't wait, and limped forward. Grasping the shotgun as tight as he could, he fired, missing the first shot. He cursed himself. He tried to steady his aim, his shaking hands, as the creature slowly advanced towards him. Why wasn't it charging him? He yelled at it, screaming with what energy he could muster, before firing into it again. His shot missed, for the most part, but caught it in one of its legs, as it stumbled briefly but now finally began charging at him.

As he reloaded the creature closed the gap and lashed out with one of its powerful arms, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him back onto the floor. When he landed the one shell he managed to put into his shotgun was fired, at almost point blank, into its shoulder. The creature hobbled back from the force, grasping its shoulder, its clawed hand smearing its blood from the wound as it looked down into its bloodied hand. He struggled to get up, one more time, but failed, falling forward onto the floor. He was so tired now. Dimly aware of what was going on, he simply laid there, waiting for whatever came. He was finished. And he had lost.

But, rather than pounce on him now that he was down, nothing happened. He could hear the clicking of clawed feet on the tile floors as it got closer to him, but was taken by surprise when he was rolled over onto his back. He could see the outline of the creature in the dark, but couldn't make out anything. But he remembered its face. He would bet it had the same sneer on like it did before. Clawed hands roamed over his coat, as it pulled away the flares he brought with him. That was it then. He was done for sure.

Light suddenly flooded the hallway, as the creature tossed a flare down the hall. It strayed near the edges of the light, revealing its face to him from the darkness. It was far away enough that it did not blister from the light, and it was now, that something clicked in his head. He looked into its eyes, the deep yellow eyes, filled with the primal aspect of a predator, but behind them, the mind of a human, the person they once were.

Her face was slim, and well-shaped, even for the thing she had been changed into. Her nose was a simple almost flattened bridge with two holes for nostrils. Her white eyebrows were up, as she watched him. Long, white ears pointed out from the white hair that adorned her head, which had grown in short tufts. Her face, something was wrong. He didn't understand. He coughed out, half asleep, so tired now, that he didn't understand. What did she want? She didn't make any sense to him.

She pushed closer into the light now, baring her sharpened fangs as it began to irritate her pale white skin. A large patch of fuzzy white fur had grown around her neck and shoulders, ending down in a pointed tip on her chest. Her clothes had long since become indistinguishable from what they once were, now only tatters. But she held up her hand, into the light, revealing something more permanent. A tattoo.

Memories flashed into his hazy mind, of graduation. His friend, had gotten a tattoo on the underside of her wrist in some foreign language that was irrelevant to him now. She made him get one too. It was supposed to remind them of the good old days wherever they went. He pulled down his sleeve slowly, crying as he held it up to her in the light of the flare. The mark on his was the same as it was on hers. He could vaguely make out the expression on her face, as she looked at the mark on his wrist, the ends of her lips curled upwards into a smile, revealing the points of her sharpened fangs.

A deep, crushing sadness flooded him. Why now? Why, after all this time? Of all the god damn possibilities, why was it this? He held his hands up to his face, out of sadness? Shame? He didn't know. The weight of everything came crashing down around him, at this last, final thing. He curled up and began sobbing uncontrollably, as the light of the flare down the hallway began to dim. He prayed, to god, to his parents, to anybody, that whatever his friend did, it was quick. He covered his head with his arms. He didn't want to see it, the last images of his life, his friend, warped and twisted beyond humanity. The last of the light died, covering him in darkness. He inhaled sharply as it passed over him, like a cold blanket.

The clicking of claws could be heard on the tile floors as she started moving. He covered his ears. No, he wasn't here right now! A hand grasped his shaking shoulders, causing him to recoil. He knew she was right there, right next to him in the dark, but couldn't see anything, didn't want to. He was pushed on, forcefully rolled onto his back. He tried keeping curled, but had his legs pulled on until he stretched out. In his weakening state, he couldn't put up a fight. Weight was put down on him as the creature stepped over him, resting over top of him.

He felt the warmth of her breath as she passed over his face, the sound of stale cold air as she smelled him. There was a pause, as he felt a hand pass over the bangs of his hair, brushing it out of his face. An uncomfortable pause was had, as his breathing was heavy, panicked, along with the strong, rhythmic breathing of the creature on top of him. Two hands slid down his cheeks, their long claw-like nails brushing against his skin. He felt a warmth, as something pressed against his forehead, her own. He felt the warm breath on his face, which startlingly felt good, to his cold body. Lips pressed against his slowly and gently. A familiar feeling, just like the first time it happened. He felt the tips of her elongated fangs against his lower lip press uncomfortably, drawing just the slightest amount of blood.

A calm slipped over him, as he was lost on that starry night. He went out for a walk one night, in town before he drove back home. His friend came with him. They talked, about whatever came up. Then the subject came up about the end of the year. She would be off somewhere, trying to get into a university. He'd stay here, tend to his home, and keep his job. Their talk led elsewhere. He couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her, like he always had. Then it happened. The very same lips pressed against his, the same feeling, want, the need to it. And then, they parted.

He lay there in the dark hallway, with her over top of him. His panicked breathing now vanished, leaving him to feel the tiredness that crept over him. He felt cold now, as his body slowed down, un-able to continue producing enough warmth. A warm hand was pressed over his forehead, and then the weight was removed from him as she left. The clicking of her claws grew dim in the night as she left him. He was too weak now to do anything. He laid there in silence, slowly falling deeper into sleep.

Minutes, maybe even hours passed by, as to him things seemed agonizingly slow. And then the scuffle of something being dragged along on the floor followed by the clicking of clawed feet on the floor returned. He was vaguely aware that something was over top of him. She had returned, and was now laying on top of him. Things felt warm, as he slid his hand across the floor, until he found fabric. A blanket.

Things stayed still for some time, as she remained on top of him, keeping the blanket pressed tightly over him. He could feel warmth returning. And then, as he was beginning to feel comfortable, he felt the blanket pulled off momentarily as she moved. The cold air was replaced with her as she brought the blanket over herself and him. A hand was pressed against his forehead again. It traveled down from there, over to his chest. A portion of his warm winter coat was pulled open, as she placed a hand against his chest, right over his heart. He was suddenly aware of how slow it was beating.

He was warm now, under the blanket, kept warm in his suit along with the additional aid of her own body. But he was still falling deeper and deeper into the slowdown. And he knew, that she knew it too. He was sure, without a doubt in his mind that she wouldn't harm him, not intentionally, at least. That brief moment, her lips against his, had shown him everything. She was exactly like him. Alone, lost in memories. And against her primal self, she was trying to keep him alive.

Her hand was pressed squarely against his chest as he felt her warm breath across his face again, as she kissed him. That same surge, that feeling of happiness traveled over him. And although he wasn't aware of it, she felt the spike in his heart beat. A great primal scream broke their calm silence, and in a flash she had clambered out from under the blanket, sprinting down the hall. It must have been the shots he fired before going in here. He didn't know he'd end up like this. And now something else from the town came to see now that the sun was down.

In the distance he heard more primal growls, almost yells, distinctly animal but with a frightening human aspect to them. There was more to be heard as what sounded like a fight ensued outside the school, for a few minutes, and then silence. In the darkness, he heard the creak of doors as something stepped inside the school. The sound of clawed feet could be heard again on the floors as something approached him in the dark. His heart jumped again, as he dimly tried to look around in the dark hallways.

There was a heart stopping moment as something collapsed over top of him, having gotten that close to him in silence, but a wave of relief as lips pressed against his again, as she brought herself under the blankets with him once more. It didn't take long for him to notice warm spots on his clothing, and, using whatever strength he had, he felt around himself, and slowly onto her. She was covered in gashes, deep ones from the feel of it, and to his dismay he came across the shoulder where he had caught her with part of a blast from his gun. She was still wounded this whole time and was now bleeding badly over top of him.

His hazy mind thought of what could be done. There was nothing he could do himself, and now, at the end of the road, he couldn't bear to see her hurt, dying because of him, protecting him in the process. But then he remembered something, from what seemed like a million years ago. Part of what made them so dangerous was their natural healing. They healed faster than humans in their prime, and, blood intake from prey caused a reaction in their bodies, accelerating things even further, allowing them to recover very quickly after more dangerous encounters with prey.

He didn't know if she had killed the other outside, or just driven it off. And that only left one option. He'd do it. He was practically a dead man anyway. Better it be her than what tried to get in here earlier. He spoke, in hushed breaths, trying to convey his point. It was so hard, trying to get his words out. He was slurring everything, slowly, painfully. But he knew she was smart. She would understand him. And sure enough, she brought one of her hands up to his cheeks, as he got the last part out, being a dead man.

She picked up one of his hands, running her claws along the veins and main arteries for emphasis. He spoke again, weakly. Whatever she wanted was best. Chances were she needed it more than he would in a few hours' time. She leaned down, kissing him again, holding the embrace as long as she could manage. Through the haze of things, he could feel her run her claws down his shirt, pulling it apart. She pressed herself against him, as he felt her breasts against him and the warmth of her body, along with the various gashes she had suffered. She had apparently undone part of his pants too, exposing more of him to her warmth.

Were he fully aware and well right now, he would have been embarrassed. But there wasn't anything he could do now anyway. But he was so happy, to know that she cared for him, and in some form, was alive. And she wanted to make whatever time he had left good. She grasped one of his arms, holding it with both hands. She kissed him one last time, before he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He couldn't feel much, but enough to know that she was grinding her hips against his as she sunk her extremely sharp fangs into his arm.

Time didn't flow right as he sat in his decaying state. Things seemed so out of place to him. She still had his arm, but was actively bouncing on top of him, bouncing on his member apparently. Every now and then she would change position, leaning down against him, the warm fuzz like fur of hers rubbing against his chest, her breasts squishing ever so nicely against him, while she ground herself up against him, trying to make him feel good in any way possible.

He felt woozy now, on top of everything, but found that at some point, she had let go of his arm. He felt something tied over from where the pain was coming from, a wrapping of some kind, to stop the bleeding. She rested on top of him now, and was still intent on making him feel good, grinding her hips against him. She suddenly kissed him, a primal growl escaping her soft lips, still warm from blood, as her fangs gently broke the skin on his lips. He felt something warm against his hips, as she stopped, simply laying over top of him.

Things began to fade away, as he began losing awareness of things around him. He tried to speak, he didn't know if what came out was coherent or not, but he had to try. He loved her. He'd always loved her, no matter what happened now. He wanted to be with her again, to see her face. He wanted to live through this. He would, live through this. The world began to fade away, but the last thing he felt, was her lips still against his, and knew she was watching him, with her beautiful eyes, changed and warped, but still with the beautiful person she was behind them.

Of all the moments in his life he'd ever had, this one was the most important. He remembered what he used to do when he hunted, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Breathe in, and out....... In........and...........out......In..........and............