Pathetic. Humans and their certainty that they were the top of the food chain… The very idea made him laugh. Motherfuckers needed to check under their beds more often. The boogeyman got a day pass from hell and fun would be had, no matter the cost.
The sweet burn of whiskey did little to cheer Aksel up. Thus far all his plans fell through. He came to the surface, took on this ridiculous human facade, and got not a damn thing done for his “master plan”. Getting his dick wet didn’t count. That was all for fun. The blood he let during as good a meal as a t-bone steak. His stomach growled. He needed to hunt again soon.
“But not yet,” he told himself. Business first.
Taking a left outside of the bar he’d commandeered as his home, Aksel strolled down a few blocks. He checked the gutters, looking for the address he’d been given. Twenty-forty-one… twenty-forty-three… twenty-forty-five. Bingo. Papers littered the unkempt yard. Through a busted-up fence a Rottweiler let him know how unwelcome his kind were. Animals, always trying to warn the humans and yet incapable of telling what they knew to be true. He grinned at the barking mutt. It bared its teeth. A nice “screw you” in canine speak.
“Hey asshole, you window shopping or want to buy?” The thug in the doorway slid a hand to the small of his back. Yeah because shoving a .9mm in the elastic band of ones boxers is a good idea. Didn’t he know he’d shoot his brown-eye out that way?
Aksel rolled his eyes. Heavy boots thudded up the rotting wooden stairs leading up to a porch he knew his muscular human form would fall through. His power flexed subtly to change his weight without changing forms. What a waste of energy.
A child’s shriek from inside the run-down meth lab-slash-house set the demon’s teeth on edge. Children were one thing he could not stomach. Literally. Something in their body chemistry before puberty made him ill. A lesson he learned the hard way after hunting a hunting incident in 1780. He’d followed a whore home after her last john left and thought he hit the jackpot with a two for one deal. No such luck. The Creator must have been laughing his ass off after that one.
The thug leaned back inside and shouted, “Shut your brat up.”
“Choke on a dick, Philipe!” The woman’s reply made Aksel grin.
“What’s your problem?”
“Not a damn thing.” He pulled out a wad of cash he’d liberated from the thug’s friend the night before and peeled off a couple hundred bucks.
“Hang tight.” The human hefted his baggy pants up by the crotch and disappeared into the house.
Minutes passed. Aksel tapped his boot against rotting wood. A roach scurried out between the boards, over the toe of his boot, and into the house. The thing was as big as a Chihuahua.
A couple more minutes ticked past. So did the last ounce of patience in the demon’s veins, if he even really possessed any—that fact posed as the subject of debate for many. Lucifer, the cocksucker, convinced everyone that he couldn’t even wait two seconds to shake his dick dry. He’d teach him, this plan was two thousand years in the making.
“You get eaten by that cockroach?” he called in through the open door. Only the shriek of the child answered.
Aksel stepped into the house. It reeked of cat piss, stale cigarette smoke, and drugs. Meth leaves a sickening almost sweet scent in the air when mixed with sweat. It made his gut churn.
The child cried again. Someone shushed it. Shuffling from the back left of the house drew him in. A woman sat on a mattress down on dirty brown carpet. The baby—maybe eight months post being brought into this hell—fisted the woman’s soiled sweat pants and sucked on the hem.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know. He was hella excited and went to the garage.” She looked Aksel over. He could almost hear the crackhead math in her head.
“I’m not going to be your new dealer, cunt.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” She threw an empty beer bottle at him. It missed and shattered against the wall. Fragments of glass stuck in his black wool jacket.
Through the open window a car sputtered to life. Aksel shot the bitch a look. His human mask slipped a little, giving her a peek of the demon underneath. She gasped and snatched up the baby. Yeah, like he’d risk indigestion to eat the brat. It’d probably die the next time she went on a bender anyways.
The world shifted to shades of grey. Aksel shed physical form, disappearing right in front of the tweaker chick. He shot across space until he stood in front of the open garage door. Little shit thought he could sneak out the alley without being seen.
Remaining invisible, he propped his hip against the trunk of the beat up Nissan. No matter how much gas the thug gave the car, it wouldn’t budge.
The idiot killed the engine and crawled out from behind the wheel. He paused, hitched up his ridiculously sagging jeans, and crept around to the back of the car. Muttering in Spanish about the POS rust bucket, he leaned down to check out one of the tires. Aksel assumed a mostly human physical form. Claws made it easier to do what he wanted than a knife.
“Where’s the shit, Philippe? I know you aren’t running to your abuela’s house to get it for me.”
“The fuck?” The thug jerked at the sound of the demon’s voice. Soft flesh met the wheel well of the car and tore a quarter-sized hole in his shaved scalp. Blood poured down his face. He spit some out of his mouth.
Aksel’s heart kicked in his chest. “Just give me what I paid for, you idiot.”
“Fuck yourself, cabrón. I’m sold out.” Philippe yanked a red handkerchief out of his ass pocket and pressed it against the hole in his head.
“Then give me my money back.” The blood made it damn hard to toy with the human.
“Go screw your momma. I ain’t giving you shit.”
Sneering, Aksel reached in his coat pocket. A flex of his power brought forth the item he wanted from the cache of crap he kept that actually meant two shits to him. He held out a lower jaw, complete with jagged demon’s teeth, out for the other male to see.
“Afraid she’s had one skullfuck too many. How about I go bang your mother?” A grin spread across his lips as he pocketed his mother’s remains. “Never mind. I had her last week. Pussy as loose as a Thanksgiving turkey and not nearly as good tasting.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Oh please try.”
The demon held out his arms, giving the thug the first shot. Predictable down to his core, the moron reached for the gun tucked in the waist of his pants. Gun cocked sideways, he pulled off two shots. Both bullets ripped through Aksel’s torso. The second nicked a lung. He wheezed out a laugh, coughed, wiped the deep red blood off his chin, and grinned.
Philippe dropped the gun and ran. Before his damn pants could trip him, Aksel wrapped an arm around his throat. Even through the thick wool coat, he felt the man’s flittering pulse. It called to him and he’d done enough playing for one day.
“When I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck your whore so hard her twat splits in half. Don’t. Screw. With. A. Demon.”
He cut off another round of fuck-you’s by squeezing harder. Purple-red colored the guy’s bronze skin. But choking him out wasn’t the goal. Aksel flexed his free hand. His tongue snaked out, raking over the raw wound in Philippe’s scalp. The blood tasted rotten. Stupid fuck used what he sold. No wonder he couldn’t afford a better place despite the traffic in and out of his busted-ass door.
Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about the roaches any more.
Claws met flesh with a meaty squish. Raw power punched them through Philippe’s ribs. Aksel twisted his hand in through the man’s back. Sharpened talons severed the crap holding the heart in place. He pulled it free with a pop. The skin on his hand and arm soaked up the blood. Energy zinged through his veins, along with a good dose of meth. It’d kick out of his system in half an hour.
Just enough time to grab the shit and make a mess of the broad inside. Nice.
To be continued…