Notes: This is my first Blade fic, so be kind. I just watched Blade again and decided I had to write a fic about Deacon Frost. He's just so bloody cocky. :) I love him. Enjoy and please review.
* * * *
Deacon Frost stared her down in the crowded nightclub, letting his eyes bore into her back, needing to exert some form of power over her even before he had met her. It was a habit he had developed over the years, his exertion of power to let a woman know he owned her even before they had spoken. He had been told by many victims that his eyes were electrical, that sometimes they found it impossible to look away. It was the eyes that always reduced them to simpering waifs without a mind of their own. That was why he always killed them.
The woman moved fluidly through the crowd - mostly vampires, mostly his followers - without a single glance at any of them. She didn't seem to notice the strangled moans coming from corners of his nightclub as women were murdered, slaughtered in the throes of passion. She was intent on only one thing and Deacon turned his head to watch her advance quickly on a young man standing near the bar. With an angry snarl, he shot off the couch and moved quickly to intercept the woman.
She stopped near the young man and ordered a drink, then began to toy with her long, dark hair. Deacon stopped a few steps away and turned his back on the woman, not wanting her to see him following her so closely. He listened carefully, hearing the sound of her drink being set down on the counter. He turned slightly to watch her from the corner of her eye. She was playfully trying to make eye contact with the guy down the bar and failing miserably.
Deacon smiled slightly. It wasn't because she wasn't attractive, Deacon didn't follow ugly women around clubs. It was because the young man at the bar was staring forlornly into his drink and for all the world, looked like he wanted nothing more than to be alone. She was attractive, Deacon had seen her the moment she had walked in the door, alone and dressed to kill. Her black pants sat low on her hips and the red shirt showed off a hard stomach and well toned arms. She was there that night because she wanted to get laid and she would get her wish. But it wouldn't be granted by the man at the bar.
When she failed in catching the young man's eye, she moved closer and leaned against the bar, throwing her hair over her shoulders. Deacon felt a stirring in his chest as he watched her, her sad blue eyes trying desperately not to look quite so lonely. She was failing at that as well.
The young man still didn't notice her, or pretended not to if he did. With a sigh of frustration, she slammed a fist down on the bar, grabbed her drink and walked away. The man looked up, startled that she had hit the bar, then returned morosely to his drink.
"Stupid man," Deacon hissed, gliding by on his way to catch up with the young woman.
She neared the door and angrily grabbed her jacket from the coat check at the front of the nightclub. As her arm swung forward to grab the door, Deacon was there, his cold fingers closing on her arm.
She was startled, a tiny gasp escaped her lips as she stepped back. Deacon smiled gently and led her away from the door. She followed him, partially because she was still surprised and partially because he intrigued her. Unlike his other victims, she broke their eye contact only moments after it was made. Deacon allowed another smile to cross his lips before he spoke.
"He was blind," he murmured. "He didn't see what was right in front of him." One of his hands came up and brushed her hair away from her face. "I see," he told her.
A frown crossed her pretty features. "Cocky, aren't you?" She asked.
Deacon had to laugh at this. Cocky; what an understatement.
"What's your name, love?" He asked.
She raised her chin and stared at him defiantly. "Who's asking?"
* * * *
To be continued . . . (soon)
* * * *
Deacon Frost stared her down in the crowded nightclub, letting his eyes bore into her back, needing to exert some form of power over her even before he had met her. It was a habit he had developed over the years, his exertion of power to let a woman know he owned her even before they had spoken. He had been told by many victims that his eyes were electrical, that sometimes they found it impossible to look away. It was the eyes that always reduced them to simpering waifs without a mind of their own. That was why he always killed them.
The woman moved fluidly through the crowd - mostly vampires, mostly his followers - without a single glance at any of them. She didn't seem to notice the strangled moans coming from corners of his nightclub as women were murdered, slaughtered in the throes of passion. She was intent on only one thing and Deacon turned his head to watch her advance quickly on a young man standing near the bar. With an angry snarl, he shot off the couch and moved quickly to intercept the woman.
She stopped near the young man and ordered a drink, then began to toy with her long, dark hair. Deacon stopped a few steps away and turned his back on the woman, not wanting her to see him following her so closely. He listened carefully, hearing the sound of her drink being set down on the counter. He turned slightly to watch her from the corner of her eye. She was playfully trying to make eye contact with the guy down the bar and failing miserably.
Deacon smiled slightly. It wasn't because she wasn't attractive, Deacon didn't follow ugly women around clubs. It was because the young man at the bar was staring forlornly into his drink and for all the world, looked like he wanted nothing more than to be alone. She was attractive, Deacon had seen her the moment she had walked in the door, alone and dressed to kill. Her black pants sat low on her hips and the red shirt showed off a hard stomach and well toned arms. She was there that night because she wanted to get laid and she would get her wish. But it wouldn't be granted by the man at the bar.
When she failed in catching the young man's eye, she moved closer and leaned against the bar, throwing her hair over her shoulders. Deacon felt a stirring in his chest as he watched her, her sad blue eyes trying desperately not to look quite so lonely. She was failing at that as well.
The young man still didn't notice her, or pretended not to if he did. With a sigh of frustration, she slammed a fist down on the bar, grabbed her drink and walked away. The man looked up, startled that she had hit the bar, then returned morosely to his drink.
"Stupid man," Deacon hissed, gliding by on his way to catch up with the young woman.
She neared the door and angrily grabbed her jacket from the coat check at the front of the nightclub. As her arm swung forward to grab the door, Deacon was there, his cold fingers closing on her arm.
She was startled, a tiny gasp escaped her lips as she stepped back. Deacon smiled gently and led her away from the door. She followed him, partially because she was still surprised and partially because he intrigued her. Unlike his other victims, she broke their eye contact only moments after it was made. Deacon allowed another smile to cross his lips before he spoke.
"He was blind," he murmured. "He didn't see what was right in front of him." One of his hands came up and brushed her hair away from her face. "I see," he told her.
A frown crossed her pretty features. "Cocky, aren't you?" She asked.
Deacon had to laugh at this. Cocky; what an understatement.
"What's your name, love?" He asked.
She raised her chin and stared at him defiantly. "Who's asking?"
* * * *
To be continued . . . (soon)