FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This story contains scenes of MxM homosexual acts. If you're not into MxM, gay, or furry, don't read. If you are under 18 (21 in some states) or your locality prohibits looking at subjects of a pornographic nature, don't read. Otherwise, please enjoy.

Characters and story by SpikeFoxx

[email protected]

_________________________

‘In the beginning of the Victorian Era, it was important to note that it was a start of an age of prosperity for England. Queen Victoria was poised to expand England's ventures, both domestic and abroad. The Empire would stretch far and wide.

But in the midst of such gains was a dark undercurrent of unease and fright within the populace. Despite the evolution of civilization, crime had been on the rise, particularly in the rural areas. The constabulary were investigating numerous strange and unnatural murders extending into the wooded areas surrounding the countryside. Much of the wealthy were deaf to what was happening, within their warm manors and castles, but the general peasants were disturbed. The constables were either unable, or unwilling, to go into the less populated hamlets and solve the crimes, merely taking reports. Scotland Yard was rumored to be coming to help with manpower, but never arrived.

Witnesses to the crimes said that the bodies were left in an ‘unholy manner,' killed in a way that even the most unconscionable man of God would be left in horror. The victims were exsanguinated, left almost literally as husks of their previous selves, and dumped nude in the forests. Females seemed to the favored amongst those taken, but males also would turn up on occasion. The popular theory among the commoners was that the killer, or killers, wanted those furs that would not fight back as much. No children or elderly have yet to be discovered.

Rumors abound of a cult, or pagans, hiding in the dark woods that surround the local hamlets and taking the serfs for their unholy, godless rituals. Satanic worship is, of course, also the primary focus for any strange happenstances that cannot be explained. But no runic marks or ritualistic use of the body is present. Metropolitan Police have dismissed such allegations out of hand, assuring all with attention to the matter that satanic cults would be rooted out if they were in existence.

In the back rooms and secret meetings, however, is another word being whispered on some lips; ‘vampyr,' the nosferatu, night walkers, The Unholy Ones. Vampirism had not been on written record since 1821, and was disqualified later on the basis that the offender was drinking blood as a fetish, not sustaining his life, or unlife. But once the idea is mentioned, it spreads through a community like a fire to dry kindling. In towns now, when the sun goes down, females herd their children inside and lock the door, and even males look over their shoulders if they must venture outside after dark. Far from the comfort of the large cities, these furs must survive on their own. The fear of a loved one coming back as some revenant is an even more creeping fear, but that the bodies are discovered intact later on has assuaged such fears for the moment.

To hunt a vampyr, one must be of great fortitude and a follower of God. Such souls are rare, but exist. At least to those that believe in the creatures of midnight that plague all children of the divine. In some of my earlier years, I had witnessed such things, but to speak of them publicly leads to rumors of insanity and godlessness. My only prayers now go out to finding a way to end this nightmare that grips our country. God save the Queen.'

----Excerpt from Lord Reginald Stanley's private journal, 1844

***

PROLOGUE

__________________

September 23rd, 1844

Near Rumsford, England

Victoria dumped her last remaining bit of laundry into the basket, taking it down from the clothesline in the backyard. It had been a pleasant Autumn day, potentially one of the last before the cooler winds would sweep over the countryside. The vixen looked over the nearby tree line, seeing the waning sun disappearing. Her mother had warned her to be in the house and firmly bar the door shut by sundown. Last week, in the closest town of Rumsford, three females and one male had gone missing. Their bodies had later turned up, downriver, one by one. They had been found naked, and, according to her mother's friend, looked as if someone had drained all the life from them.

Picking up the basket, she set it atop a nearby table, gathering up a couple more things to take into the house with her. Her husband, an apothecary, had gone to the larger hamlet of Reisgard to sell his medicines. The larger city was almost two days trip by horse, so he would not be returning any time soon. She had been taking the opportunity of an empty house to do some cleaning and finish the chores.

She sighed, wishing she'd had time to go visit her mother today. She had just visited the elder fox a couple before, but had wanted to go again. Her mother lived much closer to Rumsford, and was terrified of the murders. Victoria had offered to let her parent stay for a few days with her husband out of town, but her mother had declined. But now the sun was going down, and Victoria knew if she ventured down the road to her mother's house, she would never hear the end of it for going against the warning.

When she had gone to the small market yesterday, several of the more gossipy females had been more than happy to discuss what had been going on. While Victoria had never been one to engage in the idle gossip, especially when it concerned the lives of others, she had been unable to help herself in stopping for a moment to listen. Most everyone suggested a cult of some sort, living deep in the woods where not even the hunters dared venture, for fear of getting lost, or meeting some denizen of the forest. Most every place had the stock stories of even the bravest of males getting lost in the woods with no way to get home, or females falling victim to some grotesque creature with an appetite that could not be sated. But what was more disconcerting was what wasn't being said; a terror in their eyes that none of them gave voice to, but all were thinking. A supernatural fear of a creature that walks the night, and could no longer be called of this world.

To Victoria, such notions were nonsense. Merely tales told at bedtime to frighten small children, or by males to make themselves feel tough. The idea of creatures stalking the forest and preying on the blood of the living was just ridiculous.

But at the same time, Victoria found her paws moving just a hint faster as twilight approached, and looking over her shoulder from time to time. They had purchased this plot of land when they were married, intentionally finding one well away from the village. But now, that seemed like a stupid idea; far from the village meant far from safety, and help. The Metro Police had been by when the initial murders happened, but had done little besides take reports. They hadn't even bothered taking witness reports. And they had left no one behind as guards. One of the males in the village was an ‘honorary' constable, but aside from having a rifle he supplied himself, it was a title in name only.

Going into the house, she set the basket down, closing the door behind her. She took a heavy wooden beam off the floor and set in brackets across the door. Looking from the window, she could see the sun finally officially setting. She pressed a paw to the glass, feeling the cooler night air beginning to leech in against it. Her husband had bought the glass for the house shortly after they moved, which had not been cheap; he had been able to afford enough for two windows in the front and one in the back. But he had insisted a female should have a view at all times. While standing there, she flipped the lock latches shut on the windows as well.

She sat down in a chair next to their hearth, lighting a couple of candles and using a flint to start the fireplace. The living room was sparsely decorated, only a couple bits of furniture here and there, and a table in the middle. The chair she sat in had been her mother's, given to her when her father died. The chair had once been his, and her mother had wanted her to have it to remind her of him. Victoria strongly suspected it had also been too much to have the memoir of her departed husband around.

By the candlelight, she picked up a book she had traded for when she was in town. She hadn't even been sure of what it was about, and didn't care. She liked to read, her father having taught her when she was younger. Books out here were a rare commodity, and this one had been hand-written, even rarer. After a hard day of work, she couldn't imagine a better way to spend the evening than with a book by the fire.

When the first scream came, she wasn't even sure she had heard it. Setting her book down in her lap, she looked towards the window, at the cloying darkness that was now out there. The candles reflected in the window, flames dancing across the glass.

"Now I'm just getting jumpy," she whispered to herself, her own voice almost sounding strange to her. She shook her head and went back to her book. Turning the page, she jumped from her chair when another yell pierced the night air, much closer this time. Dropping her book, she grabbed a lantern by the front door and lit it with one of the candles. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door, stepping outside.

A new moon cast no light over the surrounding field. She could make out the dirt road at the edge of her property that led six miles down to Rumsford. Her light trailed off into inky blackness, especially when it approached the edge of the woods. Their house was about sixty feet from the edge of the tree line. Steadying herself, Victoria walked towards the trees, holding her lantern high to cast as much light as she could. A wind was starting to blow across the field, rustling the trees. She pulled her shawl tighter against herself as she came to the tree line, stopping. Beyond, she could hardly see anything. She also hadn't heard any more screaming. Looking over her shoulder back towards the house, she walked into the trees. Her paws crunched on dead leaves, and branches assailed her face. With only one paw free, she was moving them aside as best she could, but some still slapped and poked her.

"Hello?" she called, feeling conspicuous as she did so. If someone had been screaming and stopped now, that couldn't be good. But at the same time, what if they weren't being attacked, just hurt? "Hello!?" she called again.

Moving further into the woods, she followed the path she thought best, which was the way to the well house. Her husband had constructed it around a natural spring they had found. Whether it was technically theirs or not, she didn't know, but no one had ever come to contest it. Just barely able to make out the shallow path her husband had made, she picked her way along through the woods. The forest was deathly quiet, and that was almost the most disturbing of all; normally there would be crickets, frogs, owls, some sort of animals to make noise. But now there was nothing, like the forest was holding its breath.

In the middle of the forest was a small clearing, perhaps ten yards wide, with a small hut in the center, which was their spring house. Grass grew high around it, the two of them not really bothering to keep it tended. They also didn't want to attract too much attention to it by anyone passing by. She swept the lantern back and forth, looking around. The grass here had been trampled, and recently. Someone had come through here.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" she yelled out once again. There was no reply still. Either she had gone the wrong way, or whoever was there wasn't any longer. Victoria turned to walk back to the house when she heard a gentle noise. Turning around, she looked again, but still saw no one. But she heard the noise again; an almost imperceptible scraping noise. Most definitely coming from the spring house.

The tall grass rubbing at her, she walked to the doorway, gently lifting the latch and looking inside. It was dark, save for her lantern as she slowly opened the door. In the corner was the spring, a dark pool of still water with a trough connected to it, that was currently stoppered up. She opened the door all the way, and cried out.

On the floor, in front of her, their back to her, was a male, squatting down over some dark object. She couldn't see through the male, just could see that he had tattered rags on and smelled like a slaughterhouse. Moving a bit closer, she could see he had his muzzle to the throat of a body beneath him, and was suckling gently. She gasped when she realized he was drinking the blood from the body. Backing up gently, she bumped into the door, gasping. The male in front of him looked over his shoulder sharply. She could now see it was a raccoon, with blood smeared all around his muzzle. His eyes literally glowed red, full of malevolence and hatred. He stood, revealing the body on the ground. Victoria gasped loudly again when she saw the pool of blood, but more so that it was Mrs. Randall, a kindly white-tailed deer that lived down the road. The raccoon growled, almost hissing, the smell of his breath putrid to Victoria. Gagging, she turned and ran, dropping the lantern. She closed the door behind her even as she felt the male tugging on it from the other side. Turning and running, she ran into the woods, moving without heed. She also realized she was screaming, not even for help, just screaming. Behind her, she heard ragged breathing, heavy footfalls, and snapping branches as the raccoon came for her in desperate pursuit. She had been hoping to lose him when she first took off from the spring house, but had no such luck. She also realized, to her horror, she had ended up running away from the house, and deeper into the woods.

Her dress was becoming increasingly tangled in the branches of the leafless trees, slowing her down. She had long since abandoned her shawl, letting it drop off as she ran. For every step she took, it seemed he was getting closer. She wanted to close her eyes, but dared not. Coming to another natural clearing in the woods, she tried to gain ground, but didn't see the log half-buried in the soil. Her paw caught the edge of it, and she fell on his face, knocking the wind from her. Groaning, she rolled over and made out the formless, dark shape of her pursuer, now on top of her. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and knew she couldn't fight back. He stood over her, growling throatily, licking his lips. She felt saliva drip across her cheek, and she whimpered as he came closer, his fetid breath washing over her.

"So delicious," said the raccoon, in a guttural voice. "The last one was older, but you...you will be my feast." He traced a claw along her neck, stroking it almost lovingly. "I can feel it...your blood..." The raccoon leaned in closer with a rapacious grunt. Victoria closed her eyes and waited, not even able to yell out or fight back.

"Hold it right there," came a gruff voice. Victoria felt the raccoon withdraw from near her neck and look up. She opened her eyes and looked to her right, where the voice had come from. Standing next to the two of them was a male dressed entirely in black, from head to toe. Black button-up shirt with a black leather vest over it, ebony pants and boots, and a sable longcoat. He himself was a wolf the color of midnight, the only part of him not dark as pitch were his eyes, which burned yellow. He was holding a large revolver in one hand, down by his side. He also had a long, thin sword on his left hip she did not recognize.

The raccoon hissed. "Back off, she is mine!"

"I don't think so," murmured the wolf, raising his revolver and cocking the trigger. "Get off the female."

Growling, the raccoon got up and stood hunched over, like he was ready to strike.

"Young lady, get behind me," commanded the wolf, with a thick British, upper-class accent. "Quickly, please."

Victoria did not need to be told twice, scrambling to her feet and getting behind this stranger was willing to save her. The stranger did not take his eyes from the raccoon as she got behind him.

"I will kill you!" shouted the raccoon, lunging forward after what he still considered his meal. The wolf did not flinch, pulling the trigger and firing into the raccoon. The raccoon stumbled and looked surprised, as if he thought the bullet would merely be grazing him. He fell to his knees, clutching at his chest where the bullet had entered. The stranger walked up to the raccoon, pressed the end of the barrel to his forehead, and pulled the trigger. The raccoon's head bucked backward, and he fell dead on his back. The stranger returned the revolver to a holster on his right hip under his longcoat. He turned to Victoria, kneeling in front of her.

"Were you bitten?" he asked, lowly.

"Was...I...," breathed Victoria, feeling her neck. "No..."

"Good," the stranger said, standing. "I would suggest you return your home, and do not go outside. He wasn't the only one of his kind stalking these woods."

"Wait," called Victoria, standing. "Who...what was he? And who are you?"

"He was a vampire," explained the stranger casually. "And I hunt vampires." He looked over his shoulder. "You may go outside again in two days; then it will be over."

"But, I--" she began, but stopped when she realized he was gone. The wolf had melted into the forest, as if he were some apparition himself. Victoria looked down at the body of the raccoon, a look of shock stuck on his face, a giant hole between his eyes. Shivering, not from the cold, Victoria ran for the house, and did not stop until she was inside with the bar back across the door.

***

PART ONE

"When Sir Helsing uncovered the ‘vampyr,' not even he could fathom the terror, and insanity that would be unearthed by it. An affliction that could turn the faithful from God, and lead them to horrible acts against their fellow fur, is an idea too evil even for the Devil himself."

----'The History of the Vampyr,' by Sir Aldale, 1832

_______________

October 20th, 1844

Village of Issix

The carriage bounced along the dirt road between the dense crop of trees, dipping into the numerous potholes here and there. The horses neighed at the discomfort of the road, and the driver spurring them onward. Inside, beyond the drape of the velvet privacy curtains, was a single figure. Hunched in his seat, his sword braced between his legs, he parted the curtain just enough to look outside. Dusk was swiftly approaching, and if the letter he had received from the mayor of the town was any indication, the carriage driver would want to either get a room for the night or drive quickly out of the area.

A mountain rose up in front of them, not large by any means, but certainly dwarfing the town in front of them. Lanterns were already visible as the carriage came down the road, appearing one by one across the village, and wisps of smoke curling from the chimneys of some of the houses. Pulling to a stop, the carriage driver hopped from his seat, coming over and opening the door with a bow. The rider stepped down, securing his sword through a leather belt at his side. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a handful of gold pieces and handed them to the driver. Nodding with thanks, the driver took his payment and leaped back to his perch, retreating from the town as fast as he dared.

"You must be Sir McClintock," came a voice from the nearest building. An older skunk with a bit of glut about him stood in the doorway, coming down the cobblestone pathway. "I'm mayor Herbert Wesson, the one who sent for you."

The black wolf looked at the mayor impassively. "No one calls me by that name anymore. Rafe will do just fine."

The mayor smiled cheerily. "As you wish. Please, come inside." He gestured to the door of what Rafe surmised was the town hall. "It's awfully cold, even for October. Let's go inside."

Rafe followed the mayor inside without another word, watching as the skunk secured a large block across the door on the inside. He smiled nervously as he did so, dusting his paws off over-dramatically when he done, as if they never touched dirt and dust.

"My office is in the back," remarked the mayor. "I sleep upstairs; pretty much doubles as my home. There's also a conference room. That's where we've been doing the investigation." He described the whole thing as if he were trying to convince Rafe that they weren't a podunk, back-water town forgotten by the elite of society. Even the mayor's dress vest and slacks looked second-hand and worn.

"We're a little out of the way, I know," the mayor continued as they went down a candlelit hallway that ran next to a staircase. "I'm sure it's not what you're used to."

"Actually I do most of my work in places like this," muttered Rafe. "Smaller places seem to...attract them."

Wesson said nothing in reply as they came to the back room, which was a set of double-doors that the he opened, letting the two of them in. Within were two more males, a deer and a beagle, standing behind a long desk, which had a lumpy object on it under a blanket. Candlelight from wall sconces cast odd shadows, almost seeming to have sinister intent behind them.

"These are Franklin and Winthrop, the town undertaker and physician," introduced Wesson. Both males extended their hands, but Rafe made no move in return. The two of them awkwardly lowered their hands.

"Well," began Winthrop, the deer, "this is our latest victim, killed just last night." He pulled the top edge of the blanket back, revealing the face of a female. The fur of her neck was covered in crusted blood, around a clean, almost surgical-looking puncture wound. Rafe stepped nearer the corpse and bent over to examine it.

"Where was she found?" asked the wolf.

"Just outside of town, in the foothills," responded Franklin, the undertaker, pushing a set of spectacles back up on the bridge of his muzzle. "We found her nude, limbs spread wide around her, and she was lying on her back." He looked down at the body, and added softly, "Aside from the blood, we could hardly tell she was dead."

Herbert cleared his throat and interjected, "We felt we should send for help when these...incidents happened. When I sent the letter for your assistance, we were already up to four, three females and one male, and the townsfolk were getting nervous. Now we're up to six. No one will go out at night, and hardly anyone will go out during the day. Even the farmers in the nearby lands are letting their crops go to waste."

"Where are the other bodies?" asked Rafe, standing up straight.

The three males of the town looked at each other, before the mayor replied, "We buried them. Far away from town."

Rafe said nothing, just looking at him inexpressively.

"The townsfolk didn't want their loved ones who had been...desecrated so close to them," the mayor added hastily. "I couldn't very well make them all live with the knowledge that the bodies would be buried in the normal grave plots."

Still saying nothing, Rafe turned back to the body, moving the blanket and looking over the entire body. No signs of a struggle, no broken bones, no bleeding aside from the neck. Franklin was right; except the main wound, the body was pristine.

"Is it...what we feared?" asked Winthrop, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

Rafe replaced the blanket, including recovering the face. "Yes, it is a vampire."

None of the other three males replied, their terror and apprehension visible on their faces, the the tension they felt almost palpable. Rafe didn't blame them. Vampires were terrifying, and until it was stopped, they wouldn't have a moment's peace. He had seen entire towns get up and leave, taking only what could be carried on their backs and horses. But that wasn't a true answer; the vampire would merely move onto another township, and begin anew. Extermination was the only real solution.

"Can you...get rid of it?" asked Herbert. "We've got six furs dead. Any more, and we'll probably have villagers start leaving."

"Is there somewhere in town I can stay?" asked the wolf.

The mayor stared blankly at Rafe for a moment. "Um...yes, the inn is just down the road, run by Christine, since her husband died as one of the...victims."

Walking around the table, Rafe said to them, "I will begin my investigation tomorrow. Starting with the townsfolk."

"You seriously suspect someone in town of being the creature?" asked Winthrop, with surprise and disbelief in his voice.

"Right now, nothing will be ruled out without confirmation," replied Rafe. "I will start in the morning. I suggest you gentlemen make your ways home. You may dispose of the body however you see fit." With that, he was gone through the door, leaving the three males and the body to themselves. His boots thudded on the hardwood floor as he made his way back to the front door. Stepping into the night, his coat rustled gently as it was caught in the autumn night's breeze. The street lamps were still burning gently. They had just enough of them to light up the main street, which was really all there was to the town. Rafe also noticed that they put just enough oil in the lamps to burn for a few hours, so no one would have to come and put them out.

The inn wasn't hard to find, since it was one of the only major buildings on the dirt street. He came up the cobblestone walkway from the road, opening the door gently. The scent of fresh-baked bread drifted under his nostrils, smelling delicious. Quietly closing the door behind him, he looked around. Directly opposite the door was a wide counter, with various liqueurs and ales behind it. He surmised that the inn doubled as the local tavern. Steps off to the left of the counter went upstairs, he assumed to the rooms. The right side of the main room was occupied with tables and chairs, and beyond that, judging by the smell, was the kitchen. Moving closer to the counter, he could see paintings placed on the walls around the room, depicting various shots of the countryside of Issix. To Rafe, they were quite good.

"Like my work?" came a voice, with an Irish accent. Rafe looked to his right and saw a female lynx standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the woodwork of the doorframe. She had a white dress on, and her long hair tied back in a ponytail. "I thought I heard someone come in while I was making bread for tomorrow's breakfast."

"My name is Rafe," said the wolf, quietly. "You must be Christine. The mayor mentioned you ran this establishment."

"That's true," she replied with a nod, walking further into the main room. Using one of the already lit candles, she set a few more burning, illuminating the room. "I have taken over all the duties around here since my husband died."

"My condolences," he said, barely above a whisper.

She smiled sadly. "Thank you." Pulling one of the chairs out she sat down. "You must be the hunter everyone has been talking about."

Now was Rafe's turn to nod. "That I am."

"Don't talk much, either, do you?" she asked, with a genuine smile this time.

"No," was all he said in return.

"Do you drink?" she inquired, standing and walking behind the counter, taking a green glass bottle off the shelf. "Interest you in a glass of my late husband's homemade wine?"

Rafe shook his head. "I couldn't. You can't have a lot of it--"

She cut him off with the pop of the cork. "Too late, opened now." Setting two glasses on the countertop, she poured a bit into each one. He reached out and took his glass, swirling the red wine a bit in the glass before taking a sip. A wonderful bouquet of oak, vanilla, and cherries greeted him.

"Your husband made a wonderful wine," he said, taking another sip.

"I'm glad you enjoy it," she replied. "I'm sure my husband would have liked the compliment as well. We didn't get a lot of visitors, and most were just passing through, or roaming traders. Not many of the townsfolk enjoy a good glass of wine, either; most would rather just come in for the mead or ale."

Reaching under his jacket, he took out a handful of gold coins and set them on the counter. "This should cover a room for two nights, meals, and the glass of wine."

"The wine is on the house," Christine assured him.

"Then consider it a bonus," answered Rafe, finishing his glass. She picked up the bottle and refilled his, topping hers off again.

"I do just have one request," she murmured, drinking her wine. Rafe said nothing, waiting. "I want you to kill whatever murdered my husband."

The wolf remained silent for a moment. "That's why I came here." He could see that she was gazing at his revolver, that had come in view when he sat down and his coat had fallen away from his hip. Reaching down, he pulled his coat back over his weapon.

"It's all right," she said, quietly. "I wouldn't think you'd be using harsh language."

"No, I suppose not." He finished his wine again, savoring the last bit of flavor on his tongue. "Could I have my room key?"

"Of course," answered Christine, reaching under the counter and handing him a key. "Up the stairs on the left, room three. It's the biggest of them." As he stood up, she added, "Why don't you take the rest of the wine to your room with you?"

"It's your husband's...why don't you--"

She cut him off with, "I have several racks in the basement with more, and he had shown me how to make it. I may not be as good as he was yet, but someday." She half-smiled. "I plan to even put my own spirit into it."

With a slight bow at the waist, Rafe took the bottle and glass with him, climbing upstairs. Inserting the key in door at the top of the stairs, he stepped inside, noticing that there was already a lit candle on the desk. Apparently Christine really had been expecting him. There was a single bed against the wall under the window, which was currently open, and looked out over the dirt road of the town. Next to the bed was another table, with an oil lamp on it. He opted to just have the one candle on.

Standing by the window, he took his jacket off, setting over the end of the bed frame. He also took his revolver out of its holster, putting it on the bedside table within easy reach. Bracing his sword against the wall, Rafe stripped off his pants and shirt, leaving himself nude. By candlelight, his ebony fur seemed to have a golden hue to it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sighed deeply. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. He leaned over and blew out the candle. Outside light crept in through the window, growing darker by the moment as clouds moved in over the half-moon that was high in the September sky. By the time he had lay down on the bed, rain was gently pattering against the window and thunder was rumbling in the distance. To Rafe, it was comforting, like a familiar friend.

***

Early morning light streamed down the staircase from the window at the top. The silver tray rattled a bit from the plates and cups on it, and Christine's paws thumped ever so slightly on the wooden staircase. She had tied her shoulder-length hair up in a loose ponytail, and put on her best dress; the one her husband had brought back from a trip to London.

When she arrived at the top of the stairs, Christine knocked gently on the door of Rafe's room. There was a brief shuffling sound from within, the latch on the door being undone, and then the portal opening. The black wolf stood in the doorway, nude.

"Oh, I'm...sorry," she gasped, looking down. "I didn't realize..."

"It's all right," Rafe said, gently. "Breakfast?"

"Yes," she replied. "Um, toast, eggs, and tea."

The wolf reached out and took the tray. "Thank you. Please, come in."

Hesitantly, Christine followed him into the room. She gazed at his sinewy back, taught arms, and butt that looked like it was made of marble. He bent over and grabbed his pants, pulling them on and cinching up his belt. She smiled, relievedly, now that he was at least half-clothed. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, not at all," answered Rafe, sitting on the bed. "I usually get up with the sun." He sipped the tea she had brought him. "Honeysuckle," he observed.

"You know your wines and teas," she said, happily. She took the chair at the desk, sitting properly. "What are you going to do today?"

Eating his eggs, he answered, "Walk town a bit, question some of the furs here."

Christine furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Because sometimes what I'm looking for is hiding in plain sight," replied Rafe. "Is there anyone in town you rarely or never see in daylight?"

The lynx thought for a moment. "No, not really. A lot of them are farmers, one raises horses. Mr. Winthrop is the town physician, both for furs and the livestock; he's out all day. Mr. Franklin is the undertaker, but he also does odd jobs around town to make money in his off time."

Eating the last bit of toast with home-made apple jam on it, he inquired, "What about the females?"

"Same," answered Christine. "Doing chores all day; hanging the laundry, washing, tending to gardens, if they have any. Mr. Wayne's wife does seamstress work in town; repairing dresses and pants, sheets, anything, really. Also at the end of every month is the town quilting group, which takes place before sundown."

Rafe said nothing, getting up and going to the window, opening it. Autumn scents drifted into him; the smell of dry leaves, crisp air, and a dogwood tree somewhere nearby. "What can you tell me about the victims?"

"Why not ask Mr. Winthrop?" she asked in return.

"If I wanted to know about the physical aspects of the bodies, I would," he explained, turning back to her, picking up his tea and drinking. "What about them personally?"

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mrs. Margarette was first, about a month ago. She was the wife of the undertaker for the area. They found her...all tore up at the end of the stream, that feeds into the foothills." Christine was silent for a moment, before resuming. "Mr. Dankins found her."

"Where does he live?" asked Rafe.

"At the base of the foothills," she replied. "In a small shack, by himself. Grows his own food, comes into town for meat and medicine occasionally. No one ever really talks to him."

"And have you ever--?" started Rafe, but Christine cut him off.

"Yes, I've seen him during the day," she replied, with a sad smile.

He didn't say anything in reply, reaching down and pulling on a black shirt and black vest, securing a belt around his waist with his pistol holster on it. Picking up his large revolver off the desk, he double-checked it and placed it snug to its home.

"I've never seen a revolver quite like that," observed the lynx, looking closer at the weapon.

"Custom-made," replied Rafe, "by an outfitter in London." She could see it was made from a very bright material, that to her looked almost like silver. It also had a heavy barrel and longer hammer.

"Do you really use silver bullets?" asked Christine.

"No," replied Rafe, "that's a myth. Mine are actually made of gold."

"What about garlic, crosses, and the like?"

Rafe shook his head. "Crosses and religious artifacts are useless. Vampires can cross into graveyards, churches, anywhere they please. They don't need to be invited in. Garlic never seems to bother them either. For all accounts, they don't seem to be demons or hellspawn. No one is still really sure why they have the need to feed on other beings, or where they came from in the first place. But what I do know is they die like anyone else." Crossing the room, Rafe stopped at the door. "Thank you for breakfast."

Christine smiled and nodded. "It was my pleasure. Be back at sunset, I'll have dinner ready."

Saying nothing else, he opened the door and disappeared silently. The only way Christine knew he had left was when she head the front door close, almost imperceptibly.

***

The overhead sun was obscured as he moved further into the tree line at the edge of town. Rafe looked around himself, noticing the beaten-down path of horses, cattle, and other furs get more indistinguishable and replaced with long grass and overgrown foliage. The mountain, part of the Pennines range, rose up out of the foothills in front of him. He walked through the grass scuffing against his calves, seeing a ramshackle shack set farther back along the trees. He didn't think whoever lived out there was the vampire, but he did want to discuss the first body.

Approaching the shack, he heard a gunshot ring out. Rafe dropped to one knee, pulling his revolver and cocking the hammer. "Who's there!?" he called out.

From around the corner of the shack came a badger holding a double rifle, holding it up at waist height. "Whoa are you!?" called back the badger, eyeing Rafe suspiciously.

The wolf got back on his feet, holding the revolver up. "I'm Rafe. The mayor hired me to root out your problem."

The badger slowly lowered the rifle, still looking at unease. "Well, come on over."

Walking slowly, still holding his weapon, Rafe came closer to the badger. "I was told you found the first body."

Nodding, the badger replied, "Yes, that's true." Rafe could now see the badger was older, around his forties. His hands twitched a bit, making the rifle rattle. Rafe surmised that was why he was still alive now.

"So you're Mr. Dankins," observed Rafe.

"Yes, that I am," answered Dankins. "My apologies, I don't get a lot of visitors out here. Plenty of thieves looking for free food, though, what with my garden out back."

Ignoring the apology, Rafe just pressed on. "Could we go somewhere to talk?"

Dankins nodded, turning and walking to the front door, Rafe following him. The badger opened the door, both of them ducking inside. The interior was all one room, with a couple tables, a small cooking area, fireplace, and bed. The badger set the rifle next to the front door, turning to Rafe. " ‘Fraid I don't have much of any place to sit."

"Standing is fine," replied Rafe, flatly. "I just want to know about the first body you found."

Dankins nodded, reaching for a pipe and bit of tobacco, lighting it up and puffing gently. "I found it when I went down to the stream to get water. It runs down through the hills here and around the town. Several of the farmers built their places specifically around it."

"And then?" prodded Rafe, not caring about the genesis of the outlying areas.

Dankins blew out a bit of smoke, continuing. "She was on the bank, nude, and aside from looking rather pale under her fur, she appeared as if she was asleep. I thought maybe she had wandered out and passed out. But when I approached her, and saw the blood, and couldn't awake her, it was more obvious."

"And then came the others," encouraged Rafe. The badger nodded. "All found out here in the foothills," continued the wolf.

"That's correct."

"Anyone odd or new come through in the last month?"

Dankins scratched his chin for a moment. "No, just the usual traveling merchants and the like. I purchased some cured beef from one of them."

Rafe was beginning to think that the badger was not the font of information he first thought. "So, you only found the body? Nothing else to add?"

Dankins shook his head. "I don't like to interact with the town. Not more than I have to anyway. Grow my own food, get water from the stream, stitch as many of my own clothes as I can. Really I only go to town for bigger items and meat."

Shaking his head, mostly at the waste of time, Rafe was turning to leave when something caught his eye. He leaned over and picked up a jewel-studded tankard, looking it over. "Where did this come from?"

Dankins fidgeted with his paws for a moment, looking away. "I found it."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

"It's not a crime to found something," retorted the badger. "It was...on the ground. Out in the woods."

The wolf sighed deeply, eyeing the badger. He didn't even need to say a word to know that Dankins was lying. Something this nice, and above all clean, would not be found in the dust and dirt. The badger wouldn't meet his gaze except fleetingly, and it wasn't much longer before he was ready to give in. "All right, I got it from someplace."

"No place in town," pointed out Rafe.

"No," confirmed Dankins. "From the manor. Out in the woods."

"What manor?" asked Rafe, setting the tankard down.

"The old one, that no one ever goes to," answered Dankins. "I went there one day, since everyone used to say a rich family used to live there. No one knows why they left. It's been pretty much abandoned for a long time."

"And no one else from town ever goes up there?" asked Rafe.

Dankins nodded. "The mayor may know more than I do about it. Not that he knows about much of anything."

The wolf replied with nothing else, opening the door and stepping back outside, leaving the smell of tobacco and dust behind him. The sun was already approaching its zenith, nearing noon. It had taken longer to get out here than he had expected. But now that he was on a lead, he needed to speak with the mayor, and get more information. But, first, he wanted to see where the bodies were.

"Mr. Dankins," he began, looking back inside the shack. "Could you show me exactly where the bodies were found?"

The badger nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. It's right near my well. Come with me." Closing the door behind them, the badger waked towards the treeline, away from the tilled and tended land around his dwelling. Dirt turned to thick grass, occluded on all sides by tall trees. As they walked along, Rafe heard the distinct sound of running water. Through a dense copse of maples, Dankins lead the wolf upon the creek. It flowed along at a decent pace, disappearing in a bend to the right as it headed towards the town.

"Meets up with the larger Green River a few miles down," remarked Dankins, watching as Rafe walked along the bank.

"This is where they were?" asked Rafe.

The badger nodded, squinting against the bright sunlight filtering down through the trees. "Aye. My well is right over there." Taking a few steps closer to the bank, Dankins removed a circular cover stone, approximately the size of a small dinner plate. Inside was clear water up to the brim. "Fed by the stream and an underground source. Even during a dry spell, there's water here."

"And no one else knows about it?" inquired Rafe, bending on one knee and examining the earth before him.

"No, sir," answered Dankins, sounding as if he were proud of himself for hording the source.

Pinching a bit of dirt between his fingers, and bringing it to his eyes, Rafe squinted, as if he were blinded by the loam pincered in his digits. "When was the last killing?"

"Two days ago, I believe," answered Winthrop. "That was the night it rained terribly."

"Did it rain every night there was a killing?" posed Rafe, looking at Dankins.

The badger's brows furrowed for a moment, thinking, puffing on his pipe. "Now that you mention it, yes. It's been particularly rainy lately, and kept the well quite high. I was coming out a lot, and was finding the bodies."

The black wolf frowned. This was a smart one then; moving on nights of a storm, when it would be darkest, and the rain would naturally wipe away all trace. He had never encountered such a level of intelligence. Deep down, it worried him. Across the stream, he could see more trees retreating further up the mountainside. Idly, he wondered where the manor that Dankins mentioned was.

"Mr. Rafe?" called Dankins.

The wolf looked up from his thoughts. "Yes?"

"It's about lunch," pointed out Dankins. "I'd like to get back home."

The wolf stood up, letting the loose dirt go. "Of course." He bowed slightly at the waist. "By your leave." With that, he turned and headed back towards town, leaving Dankins alone to just watch the wolf leave.

***

Herbert Wesson sat down in his dining room, taking his lunch of tea and, a rare treat for himself, fish. Preparing to eat, he was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Sighing, he set his fork down and went to the front door, opening it to the black clad visitor.

"Oh, hello," he said to the wolf. "Please come in."

Saying nothing, Rafe stepped past him and inside, standing in the lobby while Herbert closed the door behind them. "I was just about to have lunch, if you'd care to join me."

"Just tea would be fine," answered Rafe, walking into the dining area. "I actually only came to ask a few questions."

"Please, by all means," said Herbert, pouring Rafe a cup of tea and setting it in front of him. The two of them sat down at the table, which Rafe noticed was covered in an old, stained tablecloth, and what looked like inherited sterling silver tableware. There was a bay window that offered an excellent view of the fields not yet claimed by the expansion of the town. "What's on your mind?" asked the mayor.

"I had a word with the badger who lives on the edge of the foothills," started Rafe.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Dankins," commented the mayor. "He's one of the more...colorful members of the community, which is putting it mildly."

"He mentioned an old, abandoned manor in the mountains," continued Rafe, ignoring the mayor. "When was the last time anyone was up there?"

"Oh, it's been sometime," answered Herbert. "A landscaper from the local town came by to appraise the land it was on, and it was priced far beyond what anyone could afford, and certainly with the mansion on it as well."

"Where is it, exactly?" asked Rafe, sipping his tea, which he noticed was Earl Grey.

"Just at the top of he footpath," replied Herbert, finishing his fish in between sentences. "Not far at all, really. But no one goes up there." He shrugged. "Really no reason to."

"Had anyone been up there when the killings first started?"

The mayor thought for a moment, sipping his own tea. "Not that I know of. Again, there's no reason for anyone to be up there."

Rafe nodded. "How far would it be from where the first body was found?"

"Again, not far," Herbert said. "It's pretty much right at the top of the footpath."

"Thank you," began Rafe, standing. "This has been very helpful."

"Glad I could help," the mayor responded slowly, not sure how helpful he had really been. He stood with Rafe, walking the wolf to the door. "Anything else you need, please stop by."

"I will be sure to," replied Rafe. Stepping through the door, he heard the mayor close the door behind him. The wolf looked up to the sky, noticing the sun falling already. It wouldn't be long before dusk. Going up into the mountains now would not be wise. Already, the town was beginning to shut down. He could see several furs heading home, and one going around to the lamps in town and lighting them for the evening. With the advent of night coming, he decided to go back to the inn.

***

True to her word, at sunset Rafe could smell the redolent scent of dinner drifting up the stairs to his nostrils. Setting down a book he had borrowed from the shelf in the room, he got off the bed and opened the door to head downstairs. He stood in the candlelit dining area, enjoying the scent.

"It'll be right out," came Christine's voice from the kitchen. He sat down, waiting for his host. Momentarily, she emerged with a plate for Rafe, full of meat and vegetables. As she set it down in front of him, he realized it had been awhile since he'd had a good meal. He hadn't had a chance to get to London lately, where most of the best cuisine was found. But this would rival any bistro in the city.

"I hope you like lamb," she said, returning into the kitchen and bringing back a plate for herself, sitting down across from him.

"I haven't had it in a bit," he replied, trying a forkful, and finding it absolutely delicious. Moist and flavorful, almost falling apart in his muzzle. "It's fantastic."

She smiled. "Glad you enjoy it. It's nice to have someone to cook for again."

Rafe nothing in reply, continuing to eat. Christine found her taciturn guest refreshing. Most males that came through were on their way somewhere else, and didn't have the best of manners.

"What do you know about the manor up in the mountains?" asked Rafe suddenly.

Christine did not immediately reply. "Hardly anyone goes up there. There's a rumor that it's haunted. Sometimes, when my husband was out hunting late at night, he said he saw lights in the windows, and heard noises coming from there. But he never went close enough to really see what was going on."

"Was he out the night he died?" asked Rafe.

The lynx set her fork down, looking down at her plate. "Not hunting. We had a fight that night, and he left for a few hours. I thought he would come back, but when the sunrise came, and he wasn't back, I and a few others went looking for him. We found him in the same place as the others; the base of the foothills, all his clothes missing."

Rafe nodded. "I think whatever is causing all of this is out in that manor. It's the only place near enough the town where someone could hide out, and sneak down into town and be back out during the night."

"Do you really think it could be a vampire?" asked Christine, quietly.

"Yes," replied Rafe. "There have been numerous documented cases of furs drinking blood as a fetish, but...there are also cases where the answer has not been of someone carrying out the act as a fetish, but as a way to sustain their life. And I believe this will be one of those cases."

The female lynx was quiet for a moment. "Why do you do this? Why dedicate your life to all this darkness?"

Rafe didn't respond for a moment, taking another bite of his meal. "I was to be married once," he started, setting his fork down. "A beautiful wolfess. We were engaged at her parents' manor in the country. We left to go back to the city, and left after dark. On he way, our carriage was attacked by a pack of vampires. A rarity, but it happens. They took my wife, and left me for dead." Christine didn't say anything, listening as Rafe went on. "For whatever reason, vampires like virgins. My fiancee and I had agreed to wait until our wedding night to consummate, and they could tell she was untouched. I managed to get away, how I don't really know. But she was killed, right there, her screams just echoing away from me."

"I'm so sorry," whispered Christine. "It seems we've both lost the one we love."

Rafe was silent for a moment, before murmuring, "It was another lifetime ago."

"What will you do?" asked Christine.

"Go to the manor during the day tomorrow," explained Rafe. "With luck, it will be immobile during the day."

" ‘It?' " asked Christine.

"The vampire," responded Rafe. "Whether he or she, it isn't of this world any longer. If it's asleep, then quickly taking its head will be an end to this."

"Do you want breakfast tomorrow?" she asked.

The wolf shook his head. "It would be best if I started off before dawn. Get there as the sun is coming up, when it will be at its most vulnerable."

"Well," she started, standing up. "our meal wouldn't be complete without apple pie then, now would it?"

Rafe just nodded his consent, waiting as she disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve it. He had done this dozens of times now, but somehow this one felt...different. The wolf shook it off, ignoring his misgivings. Waiting for the dessert, he knew everything would go smooth as always.

***

PART TWO

"The vampyr will lure unsuspecting females, and occasionally males if they are desperate, to them with seduction and trances. Gazing at a vampyr for too long will allow them to cast their dark deception over the innocent, and render them helpless, sometimes even willing, to the creature's actions and desires. So few have survived a vampyr's advance that details are not always clear. No one still knows why the vampyr prefers females to males, or virgins over all. Much of the intimate details of the night walkers are a mystery."

---'The Vampyr: Myth and Monster,' by Constance Sterling, 1841

_________________

It was still nearly dark outside, the sun just barely touching the horizon. Rafe pulled his jacket on over his clothes, double-checking his revolver and extra ammunition. Sighing, he opened the door and silently crept down the stairs. Like a phantom, he made no noise in the still-shadowy inn. But when he got to the bottom of the staircase, he was aware he was being watched.

"I thought you would at least like to take some almonds with you," said Christine, holding out a folded-up kerchief. It smelled delectable, and Rafe surmised she had gotten up earlier than he to bake them. "My husband always took them on long trips. Said they were the perfect thing."

Gently, he took them with a nod. "Thank you." With that, he moved to the door, making to exit.

"When will you be back?" asked the lynx.

Rafe could feel her eyes on him, waiting for an answer. "When it's done."

"What if you don't return?" she submitted, quietly, just above a whisper.

"I will," he answered, without hesitation. Before she could speak again, the wolf opened the door and disappeared like the shadow he resembled. Christine was left only with the crisp scent of the Autumn morning that the stranger had let in.

Outside, mist drifted across the main street in gentle curls. His boots crunched over dead leaves, and the light from the oil lamps was retreating as they ran out. As Rafe left the town behind, the sun was climbing higher over the hills in front of him. As far as he was concerned, the higher the sun, the better. No one knew why, but true vampires were weak to sunlight. It was an easy way to discern the actual creatures from fetishists.

As he entered the foothills, and went past Mr. Dankins shack, the mist was slowly evaporating as the heat increased, ever so slightly. It was going to be a true Autumn day, he could feel it already. Not that cold bothered him. His coat was usually more of a formality than necessity. The sunrise was a beautiful contrast to the work in front of him.

Reaching the stream, he walked across a few rocks just at the top of the waterline, which looked like the remains of a primitive dam, before the stream had expanded and risen higher. For the moment, it made a decent rudimentary bridge. On the other side, he was in another copse of trees, with a footpath cut through them. It went up higher into the mountainside, gently curving away from Rafe. Hiking up the dirt path, he noticed something odd; not one bird was singing in the morning. The forest was preternaturally. silent, almost as if it were waiting for something. Rafe did not feel fear anymore, but it was still disquieting to him.

Sunlight filtered down through the trees now, dappling the forest floor with shadows from the trees. The sound of the creek was retreating behind him now, just a faint babble in the distance. A gentle wind blew under the leaves, the fronds on the trees scraping against one another. The vibrant yellows and fire reds still clung to the branches, desperate to not be cast to the ground in the advent of winter.

As the footpath started into the more rocky portion of the mountain, Rafe could see a precipice overlooking where the village was. From the base of the hill, it was obscured by trees and foliage, but now he could see it fully. On the ledge of rock was the manor the mayor spoke of. Surrounded on sides by large boulders, and approximately one hundred yards back from the sheer edge of the precipice, Rafe wondered why anyone would build a dwelling in such a place. He also observed that, despite the mayor's assertions, someone was definitely in there; lazy wisps of smoke curled from one of the chimneys of the mansion.

Approaching the manor, he was impressed by the size. Three stories towered over him, and was also very wide. It was the sort of place that spoke of a nobleman. Stained-glass windows looked out from the front, depicting various battle scenes, a forest, and a moonlit lake. Many of the panes were missing, but it was intact enough to let Rafe be able to tell that, in its inception, it was a grand facade. But now, where grass was growing had become overgrown, and vines choked the walls. An old fountain, in the shape of a fish spewing water from its mouth, was covered in an age's worth of dirt and grime. Judging by the wear on the woodwork of the manor, the place itself was very old.

Standing before the front door, which had a large bronze door knocker in the shape of a lion's head, Rafe couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. He looked all about himself, but couldn't see anyone, nor shake the feeling. A tingle went up his spine; a feeling he was not intimate with at all. Reaching under his coat, he took his revolver from its resting place, and then gently pressed the door open.

Light spilled across a grand marble floored lobby. A staircase lead up from the lobby to a wooden balcony that disappeared to either side. Doors lined either side of the lobby, leading to places unknown. Cobwebs hung from a golden chandelier suspended over the floor. At a time, the marble had probably been so polished it would have reflected the chandelier like a mirror. But now, there was only more dust.

Closing the door behind himself, Rafe listened carefully. His ears were often the greatest way to track his quarry. But now, he heard nothing. All that greeted him was total silence. He stepped across the hall, streams of sunlight coming through the empty panes of glass catching lazy dust motes that Rafe was kicking up. Mounting the staircase, the wolf stealthily made his way upstairs, making hardly a sound. The marble didn't creak like a wooden staircase, making his attempts at silence much easier. At the top, it turned to wood, which made a slight creaking noise beneath his paws. To the right , the hallway ended at a door. On the left, the walkway ended in a right angle to the right which went out of sight. Regarding the door for a moment, he turned to the left, following the hall. Here, his boots thudded lightly, a carpet masking most of his sound. Rafe couldn't tell what color the carpet once was; red, maybe.

Around the corner, there were two more doors; one right near him, and another farther down. Beyond that, the hallway turned to the left this time. Having not picked up another clue where the creature may be, he opened the nearest door.

Inside was an office-like space; large cherry wood desk, papers spread over the top of it, an empty oil lamp, reference books ranging on everything from anatomy to zoology in a glass case, and mounted insects and flowers in display cases mounted on the wall. Unlike the rest of what Rafe had seen, the office looked like it had been tended somewhat recently; there was a much smaller film of dust over everything.

Closing the door, he continued along to the next door. As his hand touched the door, he realized he was hearing music. The gentle hum a violin greeted his ears from just beyond the door. He paused for a moment, reaching up with his thumb and cocking the hammer of his revolver. As he did, the music stopped. Slowly, he opened the door, greeted with gentle candlelight. The door opened onto a balcony that around the upper part of the room, which extended over both floors. The room itself was a giant library; floor to ceiling books, with a couple chairs, a glockenspiel, and fireplace down below. A fire currently burned in the pit.

Moving around the upper level, he came to a metal staircase, circular in design, that led down to the sitting area. Mounting the stairs, Rafe made his way downstairs, his paws banging on the metal rather loudly.

When he reached the lower floor, the first thing that struck him was the lack of windows. All the light was coming from torches on the wall, and a couple oil lamps. This room was also spotless; the glockenspiel had been polished, the bookshelves were polished, the carpeting beneath him looked brand new. This room was clearly cared for.

On top of the piano was a violin, presumably the one he was hearing before he came into the room. Looking around a bit more, his eyes lay across a coat of arms above the fireplace, with two swords crossed behind it. The design on the shield itself was of a lion, in what appeared to be mid-roar. More books adorned the sides of the room, but he didn't see a way out. Whoever was in here, it was as if they just disappeared. He tried to get a scent on the direction of where they went, but it was to no avail.

Turning, he was ready to go back upstairs when he came face to face with a pair of intense blue yes. Reflexively, Rafe jumped back as far as he could, and raised his revolver. "Hold it right there," he commanded.

The stranger, a younger white wolf, said and did nothing in return, just watching. "Buongiorno. I haven't had a visitor in some time," said the white wolf, with a deep voice, infused with a gentle Italian accent.

"Who are you?" demanded Rafe, still keeping the revolver raised.

"Mi spiace! I am Angelo Leone, this is my manor," replied the white wolf, seeming nonplussed by the weapon held on him. "I apologize for the mess, I have been trying to clean for years, but it's such a big place, and there is only myself."

Rafe frowned. "The mayor told me this place was deserted."

"I'm afraid he is mistaken," replied Angelo. "Non importa. It is just good to have company."

Still not lowering his weapon, Rafe pressed, "Did you know nothing of the murders taking place lately?"

Angelo nodded. "Yes, I would know of them. I'm afraid I am the one committing them."

The black wolf's eyes narrowed. "Then I have to kill you."

The white wolf tilted his head slightly. "Perche?" Rafe did not reply. "Forgive my manners. I have had so long to learn english, and have failed to completely. Why?"

"Because you're an abomination," replied Rafe. "You kill others to further your own life."

Angelo still seemed unfazed. "Would you kill a male who slays a bovine for his dinner? No, you would not. I am to do what I must."

"We aren't cattle," replied Rafe.

Angelo bowed his head slightly. "That was a bad analogy, my apologies. I merely meant that one should not be held accountable for what is necessary to survive. I have not killed a lot; just what was necessary."

With that, Rafe no longer waited. He squeezed off two rounds, the sound almost deafening in the small space. When the smoke cleared, Angelo was still standing, only now slightly more to the right. Rafe couldn't believe his eyes.

"I had no intention of harming you," started Angelo, "but I do have a certain standard for guests in my house."

Growling, Rafe fired his last four rounds. The other wolf was a blur of white, moving ever closer to Rafe with every shot the black wolf took. When Rafe's revolver was out of ammunition, Angelo was right in front of him. The white wolf reached out and, with surprising strength, wrenched the gun from Rafe's hands. Going for his katana, Angelo again moved with lightning speed and disarmed Rafe, the sword clattering to the floor. Nudging Rafe with the flat of his palm, Angelo shoved Rafe against the bookcase, tomes falling from their perch and showering over the hunter. Before he could react, Angelo was on top of him again, and holding Rafe by the muzzle. The black wolf couldn't resist from looking into Angelo's eyes.

"Go to sleep," whispered Angelo. "Go to sleep, and when you awaken, we still speak again."

Fighting it as hard as he could, Rafe felt him inexorably slipping into an inky blackness that claimed him from the inside. Before losing consciousness, he could hear, "You will be fun."

***

His ears flicked a bit as a slight breeze caressed his body. Cracking his eyes slightly, he could see he was in an immaculate bed, a four-poster style one, made of deep, rich mahogany. The bed beneath him felt like it was stuffed with goose down, and the fabric of the sheets was so soft. He realized he was lying above the blanket, and had been stripped down to nothing but his pants. Looking to his left, he saw a pair of double doors, opened onto a balcony overlooking the hills where he came from. Clearly he had been out for a few hours, as he could tell it was night; the moon was rising into the night sky. The walls of the room were wallpapers with a floral pattern, and decorated with shelves displaying various curiosities and knick-knacks. A few candles burned on the side table, and in a few wall sconces.

"Sleep well?" came a voice from across the room.

Rafe looked up sharply, and saw Angelo standing in the doorway with a silver tray with tea and a couple of pastries on it, wearing a white cotton shirt and tan pants. Try as he may, Rafe found he could not move, or even sit up. He was in his enemy's lair, and utterly paralyzed.

"Don't strain yourself," assured Angelo, "I'll let you up for tea, if you'll behave like a gentleman."

Rafe glared from the bed, but stopped resisting for the moment.

"That's better," said Angelo. As he set the tray down, Rafe suddenly felt as if his arms had become lighter. Sitting up, the black wolf still could not move his legs. Angelo poured him a cup of tea and held it out for Rafe. The hunter made no move to take it, Angelo merely patiently holding it out for his guest. After a moment of silence, Rafe grudgingly took the proffered cup, getting scent of something he was not familiar with. He took a sip, and found it slightly bitter.

"What's in this?" asked Rafe.

Taking a sip from his own cup, Angelo responded, "A bit of nightshade."

Rafe stopped drinking and looked over the top of the cup. "Poison?"

"Oh, Lord, no!" responded Angelo, as if the mere idea were an insult. "Enough for flavor, and maybe some of the more interesting side effects of the flower. Not that it will bother or affect myself, mind you."

Frowning, Rafe set his cup on the side table, leaving the rest of the tea.

"Perhaps later," observed Angelo. "Scone?"

"No," answered Rafe, flatly.

Shrugging, the white wolf left everything else on the tray. "Obviously they do me no good. They taste just fine, but doesn't quite sustain me."

"Why can't I move?" asked Rafe, finally.

Finishing his tea and pouring a bit more, Angelo replied, "I thought it best if you were immobilized while we got to know each other. Given your history, I didn't think a male such as yourself would willingly sit and talk."

"You know nothing about me," snarled Rafe.

"I got to know you a bit while you slept," Angelo informed him. "That you travel, far from home, to hunt my kind. That your fiancee was killed by vampires, and you hold a very dark place in your heart for the ones responsible."

"Monster," muttered Rafe.

"No, Mr. McClintock," started Angelo, standing, "you are the monster. Killing those who wish only to make our lives, our existence, with the way we are. Some call it a curse, others a blessing. It is merely life for me."

"And death for others," growled Rafe. "Taking the life of others to further your own selfish, unnatural desires."

Walking around the edge of the bed, Angelo bent in close to Rafe. The black wolf could feel the other's breath against him. "You know nothing of my desires," whispered Angelo. "I am like nothing you have encountered before."

"You're like all the rest," retorted Rafe.

"On the contrary," stated Angelo, standing back up and walking across the room, his back to Rafe. "I am an original. One of the originals, anyway." He looked over his shoulder to the wolf on the bed. "I have been alive for a very long time. My family was originally a regal line from Italy. I was born in 1321, growing up in the Renaissance. I lived in a mansion, was tended to by servants, and wanted for nothing. In the height of one of the most enlightened moments in time, I was unto a king in my own right. My thirst for knowledge, for experience, was absolute. It was during my need for this experience that took me to a group known as the Rose Brotherhood. Mostly a group of high-society males that liked to drink absinthe from animal skulls and believe themselves to be gods in their hallucinations. But one male, he was different. He didn't engage in the trivial actions and banter of everyone else. In his eyes was the true spark of knowledge and power. Not tangible power that could be held, like gold or a sword, but power of the mind and spirit."

Rafe said nothing as Angelo went on.

"He told me he came from a place of mountains to the north," continued the white wolf. "A place I had never heard of or been to. And he said he was willing to share his power with me, if I so chose. At the age of nineteen, I agreed to it. The night I asked him, we went to his manor and there, he transformed me. One bite, one little bite, was all it took to change my life. I stayed there that night, and we explored so many things. He taught me of the ways of our people, and how to hunt, how to stay hidden. After that, he was gone, his house deserted, and no one in the Brotherhood knew where he went.

"Not long after, the thirst, the need set in. I was clumsy at first, of course. But soon, I was taking to the night and getting what I needed. I tried to sate myself on cows, birds, everything I could, but nothing ever came close to another like what I used to be. I slept all day, realizing the sun was anathema to me now. My parents became suspicious, but assumed it was the whimsical larkings of an adolescent. But I could not hide it forever. When ten years went by and I looked like I had not aged a day, well, parties became concerned. Of course no one looked to the occult to explain it, this was an age of the enlightened. But when no discernable cause for my ‘issue' became apparent, fear was the overwhelming emotion that gripped the town. I knew it was a matter of time before I was found, so taking what I could, I fled to the north, where I stayed for a long time. I would pass myself off as the ‘son' of the previous owner of the house I was in, or a distant relative. But that, too, soon wasn't working anymore. Around 1730, I came here, to England, and had this mansion built. I thought that living far away from everyone would be best, venturing down only when I needed to feed. I can go quite long without it, actually, after a few sustained feeds. Eventually, it fell into disrepair, except the rooms I use regularly."

Rafe still remained silent.

"You still think of me as some monster," observed Angelo.

"Yes," replied Rafe.

Angelo sighed. "I really do wish you could see it from my perspective. I am here, alone, never having met another like myself. So many of them are so feral, and uncultured."

"Why females so much?" asked Rafe.

Angelo paused for a moment. "You know, I don't know. It becomes like an instinct, I suppose. Maybe because virgin females are less tainted, maybe they taste better. I do know I occasionally take males for..." He paused for a moment and looked at Rafe again. "...pleasure."

Rafe felt uncomfortable as Angelo eyed him for a moment, much the way a deer feels when looking into the eyes of a mountain lion. For the first time ever, Rafe felt like the prey.

"Come here for a moment," commanded Angelo. As he did, Rafe felt his legs free to move again. Gingerly, he swung them over the bed.

"How did you keep me there?" demanded Rafe. "And how did you know of my past?"

Angelo simply closed his eyes and shrugged. "Non lo so. I can touch someone and see into their thoughts and memories. If I so choose, I can make someone do things, control them."

Rafe stepped closer, slowly. "And that's what you did to me." Angelo nodded. Rafe was puzzled. He had heard of vampires being able to hypnotize their prey, but never that they could be controlled to such a degree. He came closer to the vampire, wary of might happen next. When he was within a couple feet of Angelo, he stopped, just standing there. Night air came in through the open doors, stirring around him, feeling fantastic against his exposed fur.

"In my language, we have a word, ‘destino.' I believe in english, it translates to ‘destiny.' Do you believe in destiny, Mr. McClintock?" asked Angelo.

Rafe stared at the vampire for a moment. "In the sense we are all moving to something that is beyond our control."

Angelo smiled gently and took a step towards Rafe, narrowing the gap between them. "As do I." He appraised Rafe's lithe, sinewy, muscular body for a moment. "As do I," he repeated, almost as if to himself. "I had a male here a few weeks ago, but he proved to be...disappointing."

"That was the husband of a female in town," growled Rafe.

Angelo spread his hands out. "A tragedy to be sure, but not one I can change anymore."

"I can," snarled Rafe, lunging forward. In one fluid motion, Angelo grabbed the black wolf by the throat. Struggling against the vice-like grip, Rafe could only make gurgling noises, and gasp out, "Just do it. Get it over with."

"Oh, my dear sir, we're only beginning," replied Angelo, using his free paw to take Rafe by the muzzle and force him to look right into Angelo's eyes. "Just let go. Embrace our oneness."

Almost immediately, he felt his mind begin to get hazy, like before when he was blacking out. But this was different. He wasn't getting sleepy, or blacking out. It was like his mind was disengaging from his body, like he was looking at himself from the outside and unable to think about what to do for himself anymore. Trying to lift his own arm was becoming a chore, and eventually he just felt like giving up.

"Will you calm down now?" asked Angelo, when he saw the black wolf's eyes begin to gloss over.

"Yes, master," was Rafe's reply, in a quiet voice.

Angelo gave a full smile. "Excellent." One of the perks of a vampire was being able to control others with merely look, that the suggestion over another could be done with so little effort. The last male that came around had been boring, but this wolf seemed to be something special.

Letting go of Rafe's neck, Angelo let the black wolf drop back to the floor. With no indication of pain or discomfort, Rafe just stood there, awaiting an order. Stroking his chin in contemplation, Angelo ordered, "Take off your pants."

Doing as directed, Rafe undid his belt and button, and deftly pulled his pants down over his hips, thighs, and down to his ankles. Stepping out of his pants, he was there nude now, his body revealed for Angelo to see. The black wolf had a nice plump sheath and beautiful testes hanging down between his legs. He was in pristine condition, with a fantastic body. Rafe made no move to cover himself, his arms hanging freely at his sides. Angelo was still just drinking in the wonderful male before him.

"Now," began Angelo, "come undress me."

"Yes," was Rafe's only reply, as he came over and lifted Angelo's shirt over the white wolf's head, letting it fall to floor after taking it off. Shirtless, Angelo also was a prime specimen of maleness. Chiseled chest, defined abs, strong arms, and generally fit figure. His strong bloodline and vampiric traits combined in an impressive display of strength. As Rafe took off his new master's pants, Angelo's own sheath and pouch came into view, still not aroused for the moment. They stood there, naked, with each other, like two adonises.

Angelo ran his paw through Rafe's headfur, then over the back of the black wolf's neck, across his chest, and down his stomach, ending at Rafe's crotch. Cradling Rafe's balls in his paw, he rubbed the orbs gently around. Rafe's breathing intensified, and his heart began to beat faster.

"Like that?" asked Angelo, continuing his diligent rubbing.

"Yes," whispered Rafe.

"You can touch master as well," murmured Angelo. As he said it, Rafe reached over with his own paw and felt around Angelo's groin, landing on the white wolf's sac and caressing it. Angelo had not been touched by a male in such a way in a long time. Most of the males he brought here were never good enough to embrace this sort of thing. He remembered back to the first time he engaged in such acts, the night he was turned, and his life had changed forever. His own master had been so gentle, and kind, and that was how he had always endeavored to treat his guests when he so chose to engage them this way. But his master had been very stern that night about one thing; not everyone could be turned to a vampire. To do that increased the chance of the ‘feral' vampires, the ones that fed without regard to themselves or the ‘comune,' the ones that did not share their ways. It was to be a life of solitude. But he liked the closeness he felt at times like this, even if it was temporary.

In the midst of their mutual touching, Angelo felt a stirring in his sheath, as his own maleness began to stiffen. Rafe, too, he could feel under his touch, was getting a bit erect inside his furred confinement.

Angelo leaned into Rafe's ears, and whispered, "Do you want to pleasure master?"

"Of course," replied Rafe.

"Then you may," encouraged Angelo.

Letting go of Angelo's sac, Rafe descended lower while Angelo remained standing. Looking down at his pet, the white wolf could just see the top of Rafe's head come to stop in front of Angelo's sheath. The ivory sleeve before Rafe quivered with anticipation and the stimulation it had already received. Angelo was partially erect, but still contained inside his sheath. Rafe leaned forward, and gently worked his tongue inside Angelo's sheath slit, running his tongue over Angelo's cockhead even when it was sitting inside its cover. Letting Rafe do what he wanted, Angelo just enjoyed the sensation, scritching Rafe behind the ears. It always amazed him that, when someone was under his control, they could still act to an extent within the order Angelo gave them. The white wolf had made no indication of licking him or anything like that, Rafe was doing that part on his own. And Rafe's own emerging jet-black cock from his sheath was also of his own arousal, not Angelo's suggestions.

"That's a good boy," whispered Angelo, rewarded his pet with his cock, emerging slowly, almost achingly so, from his sheath directly into Rafe's muzzle. The black wolf received it hungrily into his maw, feeling the slick texture of Angelo's pink cock against his tongue, and liking the sensation. Rafe greedily suckled on Angelo's penis, bobbing his head slightly while he did it, putting his paws on Angelo's hips for balance while he blew his master.

"Mmm...what is it you want?" murmured Angelo through his pleasure.

"Master's cock," replied Rafe, almost as a plaintive whine, briefly taking his muzzle from Angelo's shaft before returning it back to his warm recess. The white wolf admired the vigor with which Rafe sucked him off, his slave's tongue finding every inch of Angelo's seven-inch maleness. His knot was still buried within himself, but he knew with Rafe's zeal, that it wouldn't be for long. Angelo wanted so badly to just grab Rafe by the sides of the head and hump his muzzle, but at the same time wanted to be serviced by the wolf on his knees. Growling deep in his throat, he was content to just feel himself inside the black wolf.

On his knees, Rafe closed his eyes and just enjoyed feeling Angelo's wide shaft inside his muzzle, so warm, even amidst his own heat. He couldn't even remember why he had come here in the first place, only that now he just wanted to serve his master. He felt his own cock was stiff now, his eight inches protruding from his groin between his thighs. But he wasn't concerned with his own pleasure, only Angelo's. At the moment, his main concern was feeling the white wolf's cock spurt and throb inside his muzzle. He was already enjoying the steady beat of Angelo's pulse through his shaft.

As Rafe kept suckling against Angelo's cock, the white wolf felt his knot coming lose from its prison. He gazed down, enjoying watching himself emerge. Angelo had always been fascinated with his own sex, and sexuality. His own great, throbbing knot made him even more excited, especially with the idea that Rafe might be able to take it all into his muzzle.

"Wait," breathed Angelo. Rafe did ask instructed, leaning back on his heels while Angelo went to the wall and reached up onto one of the shelves, taking a silver ring down. Working it down his shaft, he delicately squeezed his knot through it, letting it come to rest at the base of his penis. The cockring engorged his already-sizable maleness, his girth expanding a bit, and making his penis more sensitive. Stepping back over to Rafe, he shoved his now-expanded cock against the black lupine's nose. "Proceed."

All too happily, Rafe swallowed Angelo's shaft back into his muzzle, right up to the knot, feeling the cool metal of the ring and Angelo's soft fur against his nose. Angelo's knot plugged his muzzle up effectively, having to open the side of his muzzle up to let himself breath. But he still loved the exquisite feeling of his master's cock in his maw.

"Take it all," murmured Angelo, breathing deeply, feeling his knot strain against the cockring he had put on, begging for release. "Good boy."

Whimpering in delight, Rafe increased his pace, sliding the underside of Angelo's shaft along his wet tongue and suckling against the white wolf's pulsating knot. Rafe was enjoying that hard throb against his tongue, and knowing how close Angelo was. Everything else had been pushed from his mind, leaving only Angelo's penis.

"Good...boy," susurrated Angelo, feeling a surge from his testes all the way up through his cock and through his head. His shaft flexed, and he felt his heart beat hard in his chest. Pleasure shot through his body like a bolt. Pressing a paw against the back of Rafe's head, he pressed his pet's head and muzzle forward hard against his crotch, flexing his ass and pushing his cock out as much as he could. Deep-throating the black wolf, his cock twitched and pulsed, and released his seed across the back of Rafe's throat. Murring, Angelo unloaded his semen into his new pet and lover, while Rafe greedily sucked it down, enjoying his gift. The flavor, tangy and salty, was better than he had hoped for. The white wolf's orgasm just continued on, Rafe swallowing it all. After a few seconds, it subsided, with Angelo racked with deep breaths, removing his paw from Rafe's head so the lupine could slide Angelo's cock out of his muzzle. He stayed on his knees, licking his lips clean of Angelo's seed.

"That was excellent, pet," murmured Angelo.

"Thank you, sir," whispered Rafe, looking up as his master with obvious pleasure at making his new owner happy.

Taking one of Rafe's paws, Angelo stood the black wolf back up. "There's something else I want from you, pet."

"Anything, my master," agreed Rafe.

Angelo blushed despite himself. "I want you to come to the bed and mount me."

Rafe nodded. "Of course."

Holding Rafe by the paw still, he guided his pet towards the bed. Since he could remember, he had possessed a submissive streak. He always reflected on the irony of dominating someone only to have them top him. But he loved the feeling of being filled, of having someone inside him. Angelo enjoyed having his pets paw him or suck him off, but being topped was what he enjoyed most.

Getting on the bed, Angelo stayed on all fours, looking over his shoulder while pulling his tail up. "Come," he ordered Rafe. Crawling up behind his master, his erection pointing straight out from his body, Rafe just stared at Angelo's perfect, round ass, and his pink pucker in the middle of all the white. The black wolf just wanted to plunge his ebony penis in there, because it was what his master wanted him to do.

"Go ahead," urged Angelo. "Please." Rafe got behind Angelo on his knees, pressing the tip of his cock against the white wolf's rear end, gently humping a little. "I want you inside me," whispered Angelo.

"Yes, my master," replied Rafe, pushing his penis against Angelo's anus, slowly sinking inside. Angelo gasped out at the initial penetration, as he was spread apart by Rafe's wide shaft, which he was willing to gamble was even larger than his own. He felt Rafe's own warmness mingle with his own, both of them coalescing into one sexual being. The black wolf continued to press himself on further, his eight inches disappearing into Angelo's silken insides. To Rafe, it was so smooth, and tight, the epitome of satisfaction. He could feel Angelo's insides cloying around him, teasing him, making his descent inside of the white wolf exquisite.

When Rafe hilted himself, Angelo murred under his breath, delighted to have the bigger lupine inside him. He could feel his pet's pelvis pressed to his ass, telling him that Rafe was indeed all inside him, save the top Angelo could feel throbbing inside Rafe's sheath against his cheeks. Rapidly, Rafe began to withdraw himself, getting three-quarters out of Angelo before thrusting back into his master, the sensation of the white wolf wrapping back around him almost too much to bear. Wrapping his paws around Angelo's hips, he started to thrust in earnest, hearing his master's soft whimpers beneath him. He was delighted his master was enjoying his humping, and it only exhorted him on. Rafe's own breath was coming in ragged gasps now, while Angelo's moaned.

Remembering he still had his cockring on, Angelo's own erection was back again, the cockring not letting his not slip back inside himself. Being pounded in the ass by Rafe, it felt fantastic to have his knot stopped against the metallic object. Each thrust from Rafe sent a wave of pleasure back down his cock, while his slit leaked his spent ejaculate and fresh precum from his pet being so deep inside him.

While Angelo was lost inside his own pleasure, Rafe was building his own, pumping his penis back and forth, in and out, swells of delight building in him and subsiding, only to be renewed with his next push back to Angelo's interior. Growling deep in his throat, Rafe kept breeding his master, pushing so hard against Angelo that the white wolf collapsed forward onto his stomach, Rafe right on top of him, still inside Angelo. Rafe pushed himself up onto his knees, bracing his paws on either side of Angelo on the bed, supporting himself above his master while he resumed his plunges inside and out. Angelo cried out as Rafe resumed, more in pleasure than pain, his knot aching against the ring, but was only enhancing everything he was feeling.

As Rafe was humping his master, he felt his knot come free of his sheath, the bulbous base coming out in its full glory. He kept thrusting into his master, not tying yet. Angelo could feel the other canine's knot against his rear, and mumbled, "Tie your master."

Saying no words, Rafe did as instructed, thrusting against his master one last time and driving his knot inside. Angelo howled as he was tied, the ultimate feeling of fulfillment enveloping him, making all else seem secondary. His pet growled as he sank all the way inside, tying completely. When he was locked inside his master, he orgasmed, harder than he could ever remember having done it before. His warm seed spurt from his tip, covering Angelo's insides. As Rafe came inside him, Angelo also felt his own penis spasm between his stomach and the bed, simultaneous to his pet's explosiveness within him. He gasped out, hearing Rafe continue to growl lowly as their orgasms subsided together. As they both lay there spent, the only sounds were their own breathing, and a gentle chorus of crickets outside.

"Thank you," whispered Angelo.

"For what, master?" asked Rafe, almost puzzled.

"Just...for being here," answered Angelo. It was funny he had manipulated the male that came here to kill him into having sex with him, and that his kind had murdered this male's wife, and set him on this path. Destiny, as he had asked Rafe of earlier, was indeed a strange, twisted road. He didn't know what was at the end of his road, but also realized it didn't matter. His journey had already been longer than most.

Giving Rafe a moment to settle down, they disengaged, Angelo finally taking his cockring off and letting his own penis withdraw back inside, dripping with his fluids, and Rafe's own semen dripping from his ass. He realized that the candles around them were burning low, some of them extinguishing all together, the light of the moon coming in through the doors.

Getting up on his knees, he turned around to face Rafe, seeing the wolf silhouetted in silver moonlight from outside. He was so serene, so passive for a male with such malice in his heart over the death of a loved one. But now, it was time for Angelo do what he must.

"Rafe, I'm going to feed on you now," started Angelo. "It will be painless, I assure you."

Rafe nodded. "As you wish, master."

Bowing his head, Angelo approached the black wolf, leaning against him so they both fell back against the mattress, Angelo on top of his pet, now his lover, and soon his prey. He could still smell their entwined musk around them, and feel the last bit of Rafe's arousal against his thigh. Before he could stop himself, he clamped his muzzle around Rafe's neck, sinking his fangs deep into the flesh there, feeling the black wolf's warm, life-giving fluid flow into his neck. He drank, feeding himself as the moon rose higher, and the Autumn night silently went on.

***

Standing on the balcony outside the bedroom, Angelo looked down over the trees, across to the town, which seemed very far away. He could see lanterns coming on now that twilight had faded and night had claimed the land. Angelo had not fed in some time now, leaving the village to resume its normal functions and routine. He had slaked his thirst for now, being able to go a surprisingly long while between his feasts, especially if he were slumbering in between.

The curtain stirred behind him, and the black figure appeared there, nude, looking at the moon. "What a lovely night."

"Yes, it is," agreed Angelo, making room for his mate on the balcony. Rafe stood next to him, Angelo putting his arm around Rafe.

At the last moment, he had decided to turn Rafe, rather than killing him through feeding. Rafe had been the first male he had felt connected with beyond the sex. The first he could have seen spending a lifetime, or several lifetimes with. And in the couple weeks since their night together, he had found it to be a good choice. Angelo had released most of his control over Rafe, though the wolf was still his. He had blocked Rafe's memories of his fiancee, previous life, and how he came to be here. His only pause had been if Rafe was going to have feelings for Angelo, or their relationship would be from the residual hold Angelo kept on the black lupine, he wasn't sure. In the end, he decided it didn't matter. There was someone here to share the night with, that was mostly willingly sharing their body with him. With someone like Rafe, he could live a thousand years and be happy.

Nuzzling against Rafe, Angelo rubbed his wolf's belly, while Rafe smiled and nuzzled back. Rafe wasn't sure how he got here with this male, but he was happy he did. When he tried to remember anything from before, it was like his brain was in a haze, and he just gave up. It probably wasn't worth remembering. He knew he wasn't always a vampire, that his mate had made him this way. In a way, though, he was happy for it. His life would be extended far beyond that of mortals, and in return, he would only need feed on occasion to perpetuate his life. Angelo had been teaching him in the ways of the vampire, preparing him for his first hunt. Rafe would need to feed soon, before the two of them could settle down and enjoy each other. Tomorrow, probably, would be his first trip down near the town.

"Ready for tomorrow?" asked Angelo.

"Yes," replied Rafe, turning to look at the white wolf. "I think I am."

Angelo smiled a bit. "Why don't we go back inside and...unwind?"

Picking his mate up in his arms, Rafe walked back towards the bedroom. "It's like you read my mind."

FIN