Demons And Angels
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Disclaimer: The Lost Boys, sadly, do not belong to me. No money is being made with this.
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1. Man of the Hour
There he was, the man of the hour, a guy like a bull, at least two-hundred pounds of juicy flesh, heading towards his pick-up truck.
He never got there, for David, who had been lurking at the parking area near the Boardwalk for almost an hour now, took to the air, then swept down upon him and lifted him up, one arm around his torso, the other around his neck, the screams of terror muffled to helpless grunts behind his gloved hand. He flew them down to the beach, let the guy drop, and was upon him again before he had time to stumble to his feet.
David was good at calming his victims down – if he wanted to. Sometimes though, he just needed the thrill of their fear and the flush of the carnage. When he was in that mood, he usually looked for some big, beefy guy he could literally tear apart.
The guy was strong, but he was no match for David. The vampire grabbed the bear of a man as if he were a mere child. His victim gave a surprised grunt as upon trying to fight its way up it was first flung to the ground with enough force to make its ribs crack, then yanked up and pressed against David's chest so hard that it could barely breathe.
David bit into the muscular neck full force, but it wasn't enough. He drew back and bit down again, ripping at the man's throat, and tore, and bathed in blood till the demon in him was satisfied and sank back into the shadows once more. By then, his victim was long dead.
David calmly gathered up the parts. It took him three flights until he had disposed of everything in the black waves. Afterwards, he turned the sand till no more traces of blood could be seen. Finally, he stripped and washed in the salty water.
There was a reason why David always wore black. On black, you didn't see the bloodstains.
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