Pitchblack & Ultraviolet
Prologue I
Riddick
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The experts say that, in cryo-sleep, most of your brain shuts down. All but the primal side. The primitive side. The animal side. No wonder I'm still awake.
I can smell all of the other passengers, the stink of humans kept in close confines, even through the metal and the fiberglass of the ship and its contents. They're all in cryo-sleep, slumbering like lambs. It almost brings out the wolf in me, the predator. But I can smell one woman especially. Why? Because she doesn't clutter up and mask her sweet, feminine scent with perfumes and colognes like most women. I can smell her, smell her humanity, her femaleness, like citrus and cinnamon. But I also smell something beneath the common human scent. It is an inhuman smell, an animal smell. A primitive smell. And I can tell it's her, not a foreign smell. There's something different about her, the violet-eyed angel girl chained to the side of the blue-eyed devil.
I breathe her in deep, catching and holding her natural perfume in my lungs. When you've been around as many women as I have, you start to appreciate the little things. Little things like their scent. Their natural scent.
But that's not all I like about her.
I love the soft, lavender color of her eyes, and how they grow dark when she's afraid, or angry. I have to wonder, would they darken like that if she were, say, aroused? The animal, the beast in me, which is always in the mood for a fuck - or a violent murder - says it really wants to find out. But I doubt a good little girl like Angel Yasmine Johns wants to fuck with a murderer and con artist, a prison-labeled sociopath, like me.
But that's not what you want to know, is it? You want to know what a man like me sees in a prim, proper young thing like her. Angel Johns, the sister of my enemy, the burning flame of animalistic desire that flares in my sick, twisted dreams of her and her hot, tight little body. What did I see in Angel?
The truth is, as far as human beings go, Angel's a pretty decent person. She's a good listener, when I feel like talking, though that isn't very often. And when she hears one of my horror stories of the Slam, she doesn't get sick or scared like most of those pussy fuckers. She gets angry. Angry that they'd do something like that to another human being. Angel's an idealist, sometimes.
She's loyal to her brother, the blue-eyed devil, but only out of necessity, not true affection - at least, I doubt it, since he uses her as a fuck-doll when he can't get a decent whore - and she looks out for me the best she can. She doesn't let him do whatever the fuck he wants to me, and from the horror stories I've heard her relive in her nightmares, he's done worse shit than I have. Especially to her. Incest isn't really Angel's thing. But she doesn't leave him, because she won't leave me. So she bottles up her rage - ice cold, combustible hatred under pressure, waiting to blow, and she only lets it out when it's time to kick some ass.
Now that I think about it, Angel would make a pretty good killer, if she ever found the necessity to kill someone. She can get very, very, very cold when she needs to be. Kinda like a softer version of me, only with hair. Hahahaha.
Physically, Angel's a tight piece of ass. She keeps her blond hair shoulder-length, but ties it up when it gets too inconvenient. It's the only stupid thing about her - long hair can put you at a disadvantage in a fight. Hence why I keep my head shaved. She's got eyes that sometimes flicker with madness, but it's the contained kind that everyone who's been fucked with too many times holds inside them. She's hot, with a lot of lean muscle to pack a pretty fuck-hard punch that can break a man's jaw, or a swift, high kick that can bust a man's balls and leave him screaming in agony. I'd seen her do it before, too. Once, she'd given a roundhouse kick to a man's head so hard and fast she'd broken his neck.
Which had pretty much been the point, actually.
She's beautiful, both in the normal sense and the dark, twisted sense that, to me, isn't so twisted. She has a frightening grace, and a sixth sense that's kept her, me, and her hard ass brother out of trouble. She can fight just as well as I can, and when she fights, it is a lovely thing to see. It makes my blood run hot to see her kick ass. I love that about her.
I love a lot about Angel Johns, the violet-eyed angel, the girl that, as a child, had worshipped me, practically; the sister of my enemy, the blue-eyed devil, who loved me and loathed him. Yeah, I love a lot about her. And I kind of like her. She's decent, for someone who isn't me, for someone who hangs with Merks. But, I don't love her, and if I have to, I'll kill her in a heartbeat. And, thankfully for her, she knows it. But, we made a deal, and as a decent person, she won't go back on that.
Suddenly, the scents drifting on the air change. There's still Angel's sweet, slightly arousing scent, that pheromone mist that wafts off of her gorgeous body, spice and citrus, filling the air, filling my nostrils and sending lightning bolts of desire through my body. But now her scent is marred by something. An emotional undercurrent, it roils around her in a dark miasma, sending alarm bells ringing in my head.
Wait... she's afraid.
But to be afraid, she has to be awake. You don't dream in cryo-sleep, so she has to be awake. Why is she awake?
Then, thinking, I realize it doesn't really matter why she's awake. What matters is that she's awake, and afraid. It's not an ephemeral fear, terror at some nightmare. I can tell, because her eyes are darting around wildly, trying to locate the source of her dread. It doesn't matter why she'd managed to wrench herself out of the thrall of cryogenic stasis. It doesn't matter if any of the others have woken up, either.
What matters right now is this: why is Angel afraid?
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Author's Note: So, I went back and revamped all my chapters. Added some stuff, changed a couple things. But I did have to add the new chapter format to everything, so... yeah. For you new readers, welcome to the show. After this fic, there's going to be a while before I can write any sequels because I haven't seen the animated film Dark Fury, so I don't know what happens. Once I do, I can get started on the sequel if my readers so desire, so no worries. Lots of love! Reviews are nice. Thanks much.
- LA Knight
PS – For the record, I own nothing copyrighted by anyone who isn't me. Decipher that, and I'll give you a cookie. Maybe. Or an apple – they're better for you. Lol.