So . . . I've restarted and revamped my SPF novel and . . . yeah.
The Supernatural Protection Force
SPF Case 01
By: Jennifer L. Barnes
Prologue
New York, New York
2003
Footsteps rushed with uttermost silence across damp pavement, each step pressing even closer. Towers of steel and glass blurred into stout buildings made of brick and mortar as the path became narrower and winding. One wrong step would end everything as two figures passed amongst uncaring vagrants of every shape and size.
Cold hands brushing against burning, trembling skin. A flash of pink cotton with a tiny white satin ribbon. Sobs growing higher and higher. The quivering length of white skin along a sleek thigh. A small voice was begging it to stop. Invading fingers. Pain. More screams as a long tongue laved at pure crimson. A sharp sting turning to blinding pleasure before building to darkness before fading to nothing at all.
The image was branded in perfect clarity in his mind along with hundreds of others he would wash away. Save for this one. This one gave him purpose and clarity; a chance to channel the red invading his vision and the heat threatening to consume him whole. So he ran to hunt the hunter.
He would slay the monster, but he had no illusions of heroism. The sheer need of it bubbled thickly along pulsating veins to motivate each step. Everything passed through his tunneling vision with crystal clarity from the salty musk of a prostitute finishing a client, a hot dog stand over cooking its wares to sting nostrils, the flickering white of a dress shirt, and the pale limbs moving ahead of him. The silver cross bounced against his chest with each step as he reached with his left hand and drew its chain over his head. Long fingers curved over the familiar piece of silver as it started to warm against his skin as his quarry’s direction shifted.
Lips quirked up as the monster made its mistake as he sharply turned back between two brick buildings. He ran half way into the alley before reaching the fire escape on the right hand building. Muscles hunched before propelling their owner upwards onto the heavy metal rungs of the ladder before lean limbs quickly clambered up. Within moments air rushed around him as he reached the roof. He ran to ledge to see the pale figure stopping short below between three buildings locking his escape.
There was no thought, he just leapt over the side to meet the ground rushing towards him. The cross was tightly held in his left hand as he impacted flesh upon flesh, living amongst the dead. Crimson eyes looked upward in surprised as clawed hands reached out for him, but the hand with the cross went down hard. The sound and scent of burning flesh filled his ears and his nose as he pressed his faith down.
“You little fuck!” screamed the tall figure with pale skin through a fanged mouth. Teeth gritted, he kept his hold on his cross as he pressed it against the thing’s face. Smoke rose from blackening skin as glowing eyes glared. An inhuman snarl sounded from that mouth with its sharp fangs while a clawed hand slammed into the side of his head.
Pain blossomed and his ears rang, sending him reeling to the side. The cross slid down to quietly clang against the ground before the first blow was followed by a second. This time he dodged the quickly thrown swipe. His throat was raw, but he was barely breathing hard and he shook off the ringing in his ears. “Vampire,” he said in a low voice as his eyes narrowed.
“What’s with this homeless Van Helsing shit?” the vampire said as his eyes flickered over him.
He glared, balled his fist and drove it directly into the vampire’s midsection. Crimson eyes widened in surprise as his fist met him dead on with enough force to stagger him back. Knuckles throbbed , but the pain was a welcome thing as another step forward was taken to throw another punch. He swung with his right hand but it was caught in a vice like grip before pressure was applied to it.
Pain shot through his arm in heavy explosions as bones ground and crunched against one and another. He gasped as the heat spread through him. Canines throbbed in response in his mouth and he gasped as his vision sharpened. Strength surged through his muscles as a growl left his lips before thrusting his knee right between the vampire’s legs. Eyes narrowed, that dripping mouth twisted into an interesting O of surprise as the hard knee met soft tissue before crumbling to the ground. Hands cradled the wounded area as he brought up his leg to have his foot meet the vampire’s face.
Blood erupted from the impact and the coldly sweet copper smell filled his nostrils. His canines were throbbing even harder in his mouth as his heart raced like a drum. Blood rushed through his head as he bent down to retrieve his cross. The metal felt reassuring in his hand only before agony erupted through him as the ground went rushing up to meet him.
Air was knocked out of his lungs as pain vibrated through his body, clutching his ribs and throat as he gasped on the ground. A heavy foot pressed against his aching chest before its twin pressed against his wrist, forcing his hand and the cross into it against the rough pavement. A heavy cough shook him as he struggled to force air through his nose and mouth.
Alien, glowing eyes narrowed at him as the vampire said, “A fucking half breed.”
He bent forward to lock eyes with him. The smell of bubble gum and hand sanitizer clung to him as one hand hooked under his left canine. It ached and pulsed in response, growing even longer before the vampire tugged on it. A scream left his lips unbidden as searing pain filled his mouth and caused him to twitch. “Looks like you’re close to going Rogue too,” the vampire said in a low voice.
He met the vampire’s eyes and coughed, “Fuck you.”
“I like little girls, not little boys,” the vampire said with a smile that pressed his fangs into his lips. He tilted his head and said, “Rumor has it that I have to kill you quick to make sure you stay dead. Strangling and snapping your neck aren’t sure things, and I can’t drain you. . . You’ve put me in quite the predicament, dhampire.”
The dhampire thrashed in the grip of his mortal enemy as his eyes roamed around for anything. He tried to push himself up, but the feet pinning him down held him with ease. “Fuck you!” he yelled before growling and baring his own fangs.
“Such language,” a low, throaty, lyrical woman’s voice said from the alley entrance.
The vampire stilled, his eyes going wide as he looked ahead. The voice with the lilting accent said, “Coulter.”
The vampire, Coulter, hissed, “I’ll kill him if you take a step closer, bitch.”
Despite being pressed into the ground, he arched up to tilt his head to look behind him. At his angle the world was pitched head over feet, but the image of the tall woman with blond hair and a black leather coat that swept around her was easy enough to see. His body stilled as his senses started to scream at him as he realized he was the only person alive in this alley. He began to buck and struggle as the blond reached to her hip to pull out some crazily huge revolver and calmly point it at Coulter.
A slim finger squeezed on the trigger and then a loud bang filled the alley as fire erupted from the barrel. He jerked as he felt cold gore spray him in the face as Coulter’s neck erupted into a fine spray. There was a heavy, wet thud as the head hit the pavement, but instead of a pressing weight of a dead body, he was only coated with a fine spray of ash.
Eyes wide he sprang to his feet as the blond slid her weapon to a side holster before she stepped closer. He held up his cross and said, “Stay the fuck back.”
“You know what really bloody pisses me off?” the blond said before flashing him a smile.
He only glared at her as she continued to move towards him. Now that he was right side up he could make her out better. The shirt and jeans she was wearing hung loose on her slim frame, blond hair was braided down to her waist, and he met large eyes that were neither blue nor violet. Her nose turned up slightly and her lower lip was plumper than the top, giving her a pouting look.
And she only looked a handful of years older than him.
A steel toed boot poked ashes and blood on the ground as she hissed, “Sodding pedophile.”
He scowled and she looked up at him before tilting her head. “Poppet, you can put the cross away,” she said with a shake of her head.
He glared and replied, “I’m a fucking dhampire.”
“Yes, one who has no idea what the bloody hell they’re doing and nearly getting themselves killed,” she said with a shake of her head.
His eyes narrowed even more as he asked, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Lovely vocabulary that you have there, poppet. What do you do, gargle in a gutter and then slip your tongue to a toilet seat?” she said with a chuckle.
He frowned at her, but he kept his cross in front of her. “And you’re a Christian. Well, at least your items are faith are rather common this day and age,” she said with a sigh.
He thrust the cross towards her, but she caught his wrist with her right hand and his elbow with his left. Then she wrenched her hands apart to twist his arm using the momentum to hold it against his back. Lavender, leather, and oranges filled his nostrils as she was pressing his arm against his back. The joints and bones protested as they sent tiny shots of pain through his arm, but he could tell they were in no danger of being broke.
However a subtle twist of her hand would shatter my arm, he thought.
He swallowed as she held him with ease, and he was aware of her slim body pressed against his and her braid brushing his shoulder. His heart raced as need spiked through him as he turned his head to meet her indigo eyes. “My name’s Forest. Now are you going to be a good lad or am I going to have to take you back to my place like this?”
“Why don’t you fucking kill me?” he asked as he continued to meet her eyes.
Forest shrugged and said, “Because you’ve done nothing wrong but being a moron and no one’s done a lick of anything to set you on any path.”
“So why you?” he asked with a frown.
Despite holding his arm with her hands she shrugged, grinned and said, “I have this compulsion where I always have to do the right thing, save the day and all of that. So, do you have a name, poppet?”
“Frost. Quinn Frost,” he said as she let him go.
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Originally Posted by Bird of Hermes
