Chapter 7: Cat and Mouse

The earthy wind blew scents of native herbs and damp pine wafting through enlarged nostrils. Smells of various animal pheromones came out of their secluded habitats to search for food. Night had its own way of unveiling a creature's true temperament, letting inhibitions fly without guarding hidden secrets.

It was in this moment when Victor felt at his prime.

There held a flowing, carnal beauty to the wilderness. The lack of imprisonment society bestowed upon him slid off to allow room to roam around as free as nature intended.

Air cooled to its lowest temperatures, his skin prickling with the scent of a live kill approaching his vicinity. Dark spruce forest guarded him well in the shadows, even from the nocturnal creatures with the excellent night vision.

His crouch was low and agile, moving with a stealth to be envied by the best of the wild animals built for such a feat. Brittle twigs and moist leaves were moved over in a careful manner so as to not alert the prey.

In an open clearing surrounded by a thicket of dense, green shrubbery grazed a lonesome buck, antlers beginning to showcase his rising status into manhood. His build stood sleek yet strong, nimble yet sturdy as he attended to the damp meadow nestled before him. Every few minutes or so the deer paused in his meal, steeling itself from any mobility when a noise alerted him.

Self-control happened to be something that morphed into instinct for the feral, honed upon over the years with his acquaintance of the wild. One wrong sudden movement could send the target scattering off, interrupting the flow with which he used as a signal to strike.

Fifteen minutes passed. The roe headed in an unknown area towards a steep cliff holding a conglomerate of sharp rocks; the grass he munched on too delicious to take heed of where it led him. Should he try to escape, though Victor posed to deliver the final blow beforehand, the options of a wide space for departure closed in haste.

To the left held a piece of a mountain which provided an excellent dead end; the rock reaching well over thirty feet and stretching sixty feet horizontally. To the right a bevy of uneven stones scattered across the landscape, the gravel possessing jagged edges too high of a risk to hop over. He ran the chance of landing between the rubble, legs twisting in the tropes of running from the unfamiliar land. The back held death.

It was rare to see a young buck on its lonesome, passing through Victor's territory at that. Of course it spawned the time for the stag to leave the herd in its mature state, yet the group populated this region on the corners of his empire.

He kept his distance, giving the stag ten meters of space before moving. Hands and feet remained the only body parts to connect to the ground, weight distributed in equal sections; his form moved in stealth-like rhythm through the meadow. Victor stalked closer, hiding behind a tree three yards from his game. The roe ate in complete engrossment with the meal at hand to sense any lurking danger. Muscles coiled and tightened in the feral's hind legs, ready to pounce onto his prey and take it back to his loft.

An opening came for Victor to strike, darting high into the air to pounce on the deer. The mutant's intentions lied in cutting a deep gash in the stag's throat... if it hadn't been for the common nighthawk squawking to the cosmos. The hunter might have succeeded, the bird warning his neighbors to this deadly hazard traversing in the night.

The four-legged animal started up at the sound, seeing a black figure leaping out the shadows at him. Prior to reacting to the threat he felt sharp talons piercing into its thick mass of flesh. Panic settled into the venison, groaning out loud in protest, defiant to become a meal. The mutant retained his claws inside the buck, securing a solid grip after it twisted and turned every which way. He bucked his hind legs to throw off the predator. The antlers came at him next, the deer lowering his head to angle the bone-made material to pierce him.

A final glare traveled en route to the bird before gripping the left antler. The feral perceived a more powerful struggle blooming since its main origin of defense became compromised. He had to dismantle this frictional force before it grew stronger, denying the thought of the buck escaping and finding another source for food.

"You're a feisty little fucker, aren't you," Victor snarled.

The stag grunted and growled, sensing its predator skirmish in his pursuit to defeat him. Cries of despair morphed into a more determined huff now that his death didn't appear so imminent. Legs pushed into the ground to solidify his build, moving two of them at a time, holding its head high on offensive maneuvers.

More wages of endurance pressed onward, each being of similar tendencies of nature pushing and pulling to overpower the other, one never giving in to permit victory. The bird, despite its tiny mouth shrilled the night away, warning all to keep their distance.

Lest to say the noise wrung on the mutant's nerves, turning that energy onto the roe. His right arm slung over the buck's neck, securing a firm grip before grabbing the antlers with his left. He pulled each grasp in the opposite direction, the strain of the pull making the animal's grunts convert into screams of pain.

At first he let the contest wage on, allowing the venison to experience the balance of power shift into his control. He toyed with the animal, releasing the twisting position to allow him a sense of freedom then repeating the action. He insisted on letting the deer know his dominance.

The incessant chirping from the avian watcher drove his concentration on edge. His jerky hand gestures twisted the roe's neck too hard, snapping the bones. In an instant the deer ceased its movement, sliding out of Victor's grasp to lie motionless on the floor.

"Oops, my bad," he huffed without a tact of emotion.

Night stilled its eccentric cacophony of ebullient noises, silence creeping within the land to strangle the functions the nocturnal dwellers created daily. Death came in the form of a statuesque build, strong arms, limber legs and a disposition not meant for the faint of heart.

A delicious coil simmered inside his being, filling up the holes with a much needed energy required to sustain his virility. Goosebumps prickled his skin, sensing an overwhelming response flood his senses, taking over his soul with a magnetic fire rising from his feet. A deafening roar burst from his mouth, quieting the forest from the notion of sound.

Oh, that was good. It's been too long since he mingled in his environment. Too many assignments he voyaged upon didn't give him the complete control he craved. He always had to capture, torture and collect, but never kill the intended target unless specified. Injuring the person in the job description took the edge off, but the lack of a whole kill compressed into this balloon ready to burst with rage.

Dread or remorse lacked the conviction he needed to express remorse to the people he harmed. In essence he cared less what happened to who, as long as his interests met his requirements then the world can burn alive. Just the aura of power over the weaker fodder gave him satisfaction better than any high.

The wilderness brought joy that sustained material objects didn't outlast. No one had to tell him the irrationality of taking a life. To wallow in the natural setting meant freedom; a break from the craziness society demanded he conform to. He left that universe behind to find his own interpretation of normality.

Until Ms. Potty Mouth brought up his past.

He had to admit it; she caught him off guard and good. It's been a while since he reminisced about the hard times with James. The freezing nights sleeping on Canadian soil; the food he sacrificed for himself just to keep his little brother's strength from disappearing. The miles they ran to escape the bounty hunters intent on ripping their heads off opened his eyes to the cruelty of the world. Those men displayed eager hatred to rid of any faults in a person regardless of their age. Needless to say he returned the favor tenfold back onto the earth, eliminating the mistakes known as humans.

Should he have killed kill the woman? Did he consider her unworthy to live? Well no, for the most part. She exhibited the traits of the living dead and the ability to recall memories by means of blood transfusion. Something of that caliber could prove useful for what whims he had in store, or she might have.

Shrugging off his musings he held fast to the stag's side, giving a slight heave upon hoisting it onto his shoulders. The nighthawk eyeballed from its position in the tree, silence befallen on the avian creature, following in surprise as the carcass carried off into the night. The roe's obsidian eyes stared as lifeless as an unlit candle, the glimmer faded into the depths of darkness.

S-s-S-s-S

"Ow wow a baby caribou. Bet he put up a fight, huh?"

This woman and her indifferent ways.

After twenty minutes of half-jogging the kill back home he went into his slaughter house beneath the garage. He sawed, gutted and chopped off parts of the animal and packaged them for future use, for himself. When he noticed minor specialty knives missing he traveled into his kitchen.

On his search for his cutting tools he happened a glance out the window, freezing in mid-stride at the sight set before him. Curious and guarded as ever, he made his way to the front porch, hearing her shout her earlier question to him. Cautious feet walked on his cobblestone driveway, hackles on edge at the nerve of her down-rightness.

"I guess it's my fault since you don't have much in your fridge, lazy hotel customs you know." She sat on the hood of her car, one leg propped on the grille, head held high in her hand, giving the notion to cradling her headache. She still kept his robe on, this time wrapped tight around her anatomy. It allowed him to see her face, hands and the lower part of her calves on to her feet.

Victor stared at her in silent rout, concealing his slight fascination of her ability to offer coherent speech after her head cracked open a few hours ago. Instead of the vibrant woman so adamant to fly around him with her womanly crafts, he saw a vulnerable sack of sad flesh.

She continued to boil his blood, nevertheless.

Libido aside, he didn't know what to make of her just yet. An enemy to his thoughts maintained an obvious fact, but she said she viewed a person's past via plasma transfusion. Did that power extend to any memory or the ones most pressing on the victim's mind? Idly he wondered if she should prove useful on Stryker's team, on his orders.

Perhaps her powers can lend a hand to retaining information from unwilling or forgetful participants. After she absorbed their memories he'd spend the rest of his time pumping her with images that she could remember. Yes, she might make a nice addition to the bunch to keep him calm when shit went awry.

"I would've left from here, but I don't know where any trails are that my car can ride. Can you... point me in the right direction?"

This has to be the strangest dilemma she had ever encountered. Laughter threatened to spill over her lips yet the gravity of her predicament kept it lodged in her throat. She'd have to review that 'no holding grudges' policy because she looked like a complete idiot.

When he didn't move to make a respond Anaya rolled her eyes, readying to get into her car and ride around until she sought safety or ran out of gas. Approaching footsteps redirected her attention to him, noticing the way his profile read no available emotion. Her first idea foreshadowed a violent exchange, the man in question not satisfied that she didn't stay dead.

His long strides reached her, Anaya ready to fend him off no matter her current, weakened state. He grabbed her hand holding the keys, making a show to take them from her. She resisted, moving from him but grew concerned if he should striker her. His strength endured too much, tugging on the metal trinket until it wrenched from her grasp. The mutantess stumbled into him, immediately recoiling away prior to tripping into his build; refraining from eliciting another match with his demented perversion.

A twinge of a briny aroma rose to the surface, rolling off her in small waves after her keys fled her. Caution earned precedence through her body language in case of an uprising in violence. For a few seconds he marveled her physique, coming to appreciate how the moon's light enveloped her face in this angelic blue sheen; profound purple gaze penetrating into him. The vixen's hair embodied this violet radiance. Despite the mane's frazzled presentation it still showed lush and full, tempting him to come closer and pull on it.

This feisty minx deviated from his stagnant routine. Such a rarity to find a woman bouncing back from a cracked skull, especially given her biology. Fetching an enigma like her ordered to bring the big bucks in from the colonel, but money didn't garner an issue with him. He didn't know what to do with the amount he already obtained.

Without regard to his current occupation he wanted to probe her, in more ways than one.

With a cruel smirk he turned around and went into his house. A dark chuckle eased through his lips, tossing her keys up in the air to catch them on a lone finger. Ideas crept along to the methods of 'persuasion' he planned to influence her with. Which decisions will satisfy his curiosity and quell the animal rattling its cage for freedom? Oh well, he'd mull it over right after he tended to his food problem.

S-s-S-s-S

Anaya swallowed, unsure of what to say."That's not going to help me get out of here!"

Borderline stupidity is what her mind deliberated on for the past ten minutes. After he vanished somewhere behind the house her nervousness started to attack her insides, making her queasy about the beast she strayed so close to―while still in his territory.

She continued to argue she couldn't leave here either way she looked at it. Her dilemma lied to drive around until she found an exit, search for days on foot or, unbelievably, ask him for directions. As illogical the last idea sounded her choices lessened next to non-existent to get to safety. It seemed logical to lose her pride for the time being.

This is childish and pathetic. What do you call yourself doing?

Oh, she fooled herself. The fault lied solely on her, ignoring her wits to leave back in the alley and her issues escalated from there. Alternatives lied open to her departure and she neglected to take advantage of any of them. If her biological nature had been human, she'd have fought to the end to preserve her existence. However, did that nurture the reason she didn't perceive it as such a necessity to flee? She could inhabit torture and abuse and everything would be fine, eventually. Anaya wasn't immortal, yet a cranial tap can't kill her.

She limped over to his porch, taking a cautionary seat with a throbbing hurt ebbed behind her head. Her temporary comfort stopped when he came out the door, blood showering his shirtless torso, his hands seemed to bathe in the rose-red color.

His muscular arms connected to powerful torso, designed to deliver heavy blows or to hug a woman, if he decided not to violate her. Those shoulders were made to tackle the strongest of his opposition, able to carry their gruesome deaths on top of his anatomy to prove of his control. His abs showed thick and taut, conveying its indomitable nature to withstand any force. Her typical female reaction had her brain falling out her ass but held onto her logic, registering in the dazed, blood lust smoldering in his eyes.

"Come here," he crooned, a dark essence seeming to rise from his being.

"No." Her arms rested on the arm rests, ready to run if his sanity deteriorated further. "How 'bout you give me my keys?"

He smiled, showing his fangs at her refusal. "Your time for leaving is over. Should have done that long ago." He ceased his smirk. "Come here, now."

Indecision ate at her insides, questioning the many actions that diminished in rapid succession. If she answered his request he'd bring harm to her, and if she stayed rooted he'd automatically hurt her. Running didn't even formulate a question since his aura beckoned her to start a chase, to ignite a growing thirst eager to be quenched by her unwilling involvement.

"I'm screwed." Anaya meant it to come out as a whisper but it flowed from her lips.

"You're going to get screwed, but this falls on you, so yeah." There lied a condescending smirk gracing his mouth that irritated her, energizing her with the need to jump and scratch it off.

Victor advanced upon her, fists clenching and unclenching, small droplets of gore spotting the patio floor. She smelled the savory metallic essence her body craved, following the flow of his palms, her senses tuned into the sharp scent.

"Oh that's right-" he taunted, rubbing his hands together then lightly blowing the fragrance her way. He saw her nails grip the chair, breath hitching when the aroma infiltrated into her olfactory networks. Victor continued until he stopped in front of her, gloating at her weakness. "-little mock vampire can't be without her juice."

The feral ran his index finger along the side of her face, laughing at her futile effort to refrain from licking his fingers. He found it necessary to hold the same digit against her lips, watching her eyes close to concentrate. She turned her head away in defense.

"Why are you refusing a free offer?" he narrowed his eyes with a questioning glance, bending down to cradle her hips, the minx stilling her movements in her seated position. Her face retained the same simper to avoid his sample.

"You're making me look like a fool," she strained her words, letting him know his effects lacked the strength to working on her, Victor leaning to nuzzle her neck.

Creed's laugh ruptured as smothered growls by her throat, finding it entertaining at her fighting prowess no matter how absurd her predicament. "On the contrary my dear, you are the one who didn't try your chance at survival. You had over three days to make it to safety, so since you didn't, that means you wanted to stay, right? You looked an idiot from the get-go."

Faster than he delved into gnawing on her succulent column she dove into his first, sharp canines securing a grip on his jugular; the red river pouring smooth into her eager mouth. Her fingers grasped a firm hold on his shoulders, gaining leverage to steady herself, draining his life force away from him.

Get away you idiot, that's enough! Her mind chided her after she continued to drain him, the sweet liquid flowing too warm and juicy down her throat to release. Just a few more seconds she thought, then she'd be good to go to combat whatever tryst he retaliated against her with.

The opening when her fangs retreated from inside his flesh inhered the motion when he attacked her, pulling her build to the floor right on top of his. Quicker than she could level herself he flipped them over on the ground, clawing at the cottony fabric covering her front.

The familiar sensation of skin tearing from flesh tingled his core, wanting to feel more of the slick texture. He straddled himself across her torso, limiting her advancements, enjoying her defensive gestures. Her limbs made pitiful endeavors to punch him in the face, Victor smacking her flying appendages to knock her arm off balance. The vixen's next window of opportunity drove to scratching him, long and angry red marks marring his tanned physique.

"Ouch," he voiced out his injury in a charismatic way, barely exhibiting any concept of empathy, other than the knitting of eyebrows. "That hurts."

The scratching stopped, Amethyst hues seeing her red marks erasing from his epidermis, sealing from their place of impact all the way to where her fingertips indented his skin.

"You're like me," she whispered with a calm tone. She knew mutant abilities varied far and wide in terms of diversity, and she knew some traits required different levels of concentration to achieve their full power.

His regenerative skills allowed him to suffer sufficient injuries and heal from them, but similar to her or something else? Did it also let him age slower than the average human or did his competency share characteristics with Valerie? But his wounds sealed up so the notion ruled out; Valerie couldn't instantly regenerate from cuts.

The feral stared down at her a second longer, taking in her revelation before drawing his lips upwards. He recognized her anger dissipating, an inquisitive feeling brewing deep within her being to query about his history. He contained a guess she wanted to talk to distract him from having fun with her. For the most part conversing wouldn't be a problem... in another life.

Four claw marks tore the side of her cheek. Rivulets of crimson seeped out of the wounds, Anaya laying there stunned. She heard him licking his fingers, tasting her heated infuriation with a satisfied groan. "Oh we are alike frail-" he rocked his pelvis forward, Anaya commanding the scars to close. "-in that we're both mutants and that's where it ends."

The bloody scratches disappeared, skin knitting as if nothing happened. Victor observed her rapid healing, seeing how quick her profile transformed into its once smooth display. Are her regenerative abilities on par with his, maybe even of a greater degree? However her restoration implied that her recovery coincided with her intake of the sanguine substance. If so, he needed to cut her open four more times until she fell back into equilibrium, since she swallowed the same amount when she suckled from him.

When he made another playful strike at her, her body disappeared from under him, eager to use the last of her reserves to vanish from his needy advances. Withal, in his line of work, he familiarized himself with the moves of a teleporter.

He wasn't sure if it prevailed in their DNA to moleculize their bodies right behind him. It occurred in a continuous fashion so simple to follow. Jon Wraith's moves are so damn predictable in his move set, and as he anticipated she formulated behind him with Victor there to greet her.

"Agh!" she screamed out, finding sharp nails and fingertips embedded into her after she reassembled her physique. Anaya's hands wrapped around his wrist, contending to dislodge his digits from within her stomach.

Anaya's intervention came to an abrupt halt when she felt his claws curl in her insides, like he aimed to grasp onto something in her interior if she tried anything funny. How did he get here so quick? More importantly, how did he assume she enjoined to land in this exact spot? Did his mutant faculties also extend to teleportation or he could just move fast?

The feral stepped backwards, hand still planted inside of her silhouette, a smile spread on his face. An upward motion of his fingertips made her keel into him, grunting in agony with the red liquid seeping into the fabric. His nose dived to the top of her head, deeply inhaling her hair's scent, marveling in her weakened state.

"Tell me something little psychic, why don't you dig in and tell me what's on my mind?"

"Go blow yourself!"

My, my. What a stubborn skull she held on her shoulders, but his remained even harder, connecting his rock solid forehead to her temple. She fell backwards with a semi-conscious disposition, cradling her head while her legs thumped on the ground.

If she forced her reckless moves the short burst of energy she stole away from him would deplete. She didn't assume her kidnapper wanted these vicious games to continue, opting to believe he inclined towards engaging in loose communication with her when he took her keys, again.

To what purpose did this chew-toy session serve to bring him? Is it just for his amusement? Did he harm her on the concept alone that she could take a hit? Or perhaps he truly enjoyed abusing the mutantess to appease his psychopathic tendencies? It made an obvious show that whatever he underwent with his half-brother played a heavy role in how he is as an adult. An asshole of an adult.

"See now, that wasn't nice," Creed walked closer to her, taking a forceful hold of her lush hair before pulling her to stand. The woman jerked off balance, leaning unwillingly into his chest.

"You should have told me my fortune, psychic. But you should have known what I wanted when I told you to come here."

Thin lips pressed against full ones, cradling an obstinate head steady as the kiss grew richer, on his part. Her pitched shouts came out muffled, teeth puncturing her labiums, drawing streams of crimson down both of their chins. The more she resisted the harder he clamped down on her.

It would be her fault if she tore her lips away from his hold, probably keeping a piece of the thick flesh wedged between his fangs. He could imagine her expression, a red water flowing free from the gap where her lips once resided. Just for kicks, to forever immortalize the priceless contortion her face allowed to show, he would swallow the bloodied meat to amuse himself in the future.

"Fuck!" Victor growled in shock, cradling his nether region after his deviant chew toy ran back into the house, allotting him with the sudden urge to continue their minor game. Hm, he had to come up with a punishment for her knee, always trying to find a method to mistreat his balls.

He made his way to his front door, opening it reveal a light-less room. His shadow stretched across the floor standing in the entryway. Gray eyes narrowed in concentration to single out the cat hiding in the dark.

"Here pussy, pussy, pussy," he called, raising his nose in the air to pin-point where her scent loitered the strongest. "I've got some warm milk for you. You don't want it to get cold, now?"

A floating mixture of blackberries and copper filtered in his nostrils, telling him her presence leaned inside the kitchen. With his sight roaming his surroundings he walked to the dining room, noting the meager red droplets on the floor made fresh by her stomach wounds. His feet stayed light and soundless, edging closer to the wall in preparation to counter her strike.

He liked the chase she gave him, ignorant in filling his thirsting desire for the thrill of a hunt. When he let the average frail gain a chance to escape, he drifted into his predatory mindset―to search, to stalk, to kill. It became a one-sided game where the rising urges to conquer his prey left him pining for more. None of the women he captured upheld the stamina to keep him entertained. This Anaya might have what it takes to fulfill his becoming need.

With a salacious leer on his face he quickly advanced around the corner, eyes adjusting to the woman-less area her scent originated. There could be two other places she fled to; the kitchen behind the counter and the basement.

In the midst of taking another inhalation a sharp slice cut into his ankle, deep enough to make him lean against the wall. That provided a nifty little trick up her sleeve. Even more of a surprising venture endured her ability to hide so suddenly.

The credit he gave her diminished thereafter; she charged at him after her immediate sneak attack. Instead she should've stayed hidden in the dark, implementing buried cuts across his tendons to limit his advancements upon her.

Nice gimmick, albeit a moronic effort. Chuckling to himself, he decided to humor her useless onslaught while the cut sealed. Though minimally incapacitated, he knew she wouldn't be able to cause harm on his person.

Anaya charged him, a chef's knife aimed at the ready to pierce him in the neck. She figured hiding in the opaque setting ordained to give her the advantage to confuse him. She thought in quick action to scamper under the table, after securing a random knife in her grasp. It will break up his sight when he came in her direction. To her amazement, he didn't detect her presence so close to where she hid, prompting her to aim at the tendon in his anklebone.

Take that you bastard! Her mind reveled in the triumph of his flinching, jerking as if bitten by a snake. Fueled by her small victory she assumed it crucial to continue to strike the main ligaments and arteries while he rested in a stunned state. Too bad her intention to stun him in his neck went away when he caught her wrist.

"And here I believed that you were actually smart for a change."

Her irrational reaction overrode the dismay on her face, switching the knife to her left hand at another try to stab him. Anaya grunted in aggravation when he held her other wrist, planning ahead of her ideas.

Her skin grew hot with the inability to hurt him, teeth gnashing together with her frustration lashing out, bringing her knee up to jolt him there. He seized her leg in between his lower thighs, giving her a complimentary laugh, the scene reminded him of their 'date' in the alley.

"That's great," he crooned with his eyebrows raised, acting impressed with her ability to execute defensive tactics. He continued, "You got any more tricks hiding in you?"

With her wrists captured in each of his hands and one of her legs practically useless, she had little else to try and kill him with; the knife slipping out of her hand. Rearing her lips back she bared her choppers, lunging forward with enough speed to catch him unprepared, biting into his cheek as a thin cut oozed a trail of red. Her initial reaction of his retaliation included him snapping her bones. Instead the idiot laughed, dark chortles rising heavy within his chest to spill out his mouth.

"Bitch, do you plan on chewing me to death?" he held off on breaking into a fit of boisterous giggles at her failed plans. Since her weapon dropped to the floor her threat level went from a tame house cat to a rambunctious kitten.

Taken aback by his smug demeanor she increased her efforts to dodge his hold, fangs elongating to pierce him any and everywhere she could touch. Unfortunately he took this like a game, Victor licking and biting her in retaliation to the spot she intended to nick him.

A time or two he caught her lower lip, holding it between his teeth to suckle on it. She twisted and wriggled in his grasp, shouting venomous words the longer he delivered long licks and nips to her face and neck. Her pride urged her to continue to fight against him, irritated at how he got off on excessive violence and sex.

Growing tired of the 'foreplay' he forced upon her he grabbed both of her flailing arms in one hand, letting the robe to fall open. He didn't let go of her leg, knowing her to keep on with her pitiful kicks. In her plight to detach herself he detected a familiar hormonal twang rising from her scent, inhaling the succulent musk.

"Get off me you asshole!" she shouted, inhales coming in shorter spurts after her efforts to do anything harmful lacked results. Slitted, purple irises looked upon his expression, beholding an intense gaze, accompanied by a ghost of a smile upon grasping her. The longer she stared at him the more her defensive maneuvers decreased, her body pent-up with hard tension. Perhaps she presumed he came to cognitive wisdom, realizing she did not want this however weak her reason.

The simple sounds of crickets chirping and her labored breath reached her ears. The noise diminished as the mutants stood there, Anaya unsure of what to do next. Their scuffle should have made her reach for her keys jangling in his pocket.

He licked the side of her face in joyous content, leaning to her ear to revel in her discreet secret.

"You smell a bit... horny," he whispered in a husky voice, rubbing his nose along the length of her neck. He pressed harder into her bare front, letting his hardness be known to her. "Go with the flow, remember?"

"I said no," she shook a little.

"The hard way it will be, then."

Her struggle resumed, albeit much more brittle now by trying to kick him in his knee with her free leg. A solid punch connected to the area where his fingers punctured her insides, catching her off guard, bending her over the dining table. Anaya lifted off the wooden foundation but found herself incapacitated, Victor slamming her head to cease her movements.

Those pain-filled hisses she exhaled drove straight to his prick, urging him to see what other sounds authorized to come out of her plush mouth. "Isn't this better-" he gloated, lips leading a light trail to her back, stopping every few inches to nip a slight bite to her skin, "-just lying calm and relaxed while I fuck you?"

He kicked her legs open, unzipping and pulling down his pants just enough to let his sex escape the jean confines. Her pheromones blossomed stronger from her widened limbs, enabling a broad smile to accompany the excitement waiting to invade her tight, warm cavern. Defiant to the end she remained to stay, but he roamed in a confident disposition that her body will bow to his ministrations.

If only the beating of metal wings veering closer to his place of residence hadn't distracted him.

Looking through the kitchen window he eyeballed a dimmed light peeking over the high trees, casting eerie shadows blanketing the forest. Disbelief simmered in his being then boiled over into anger; his extra-curricular activity endured another interruption.

The blood which engorged his length flowed towards his brain, in the beginning formations of receiving a migraine of immense proportions. What the fuck did Stryker want that the other dicks can't do? The delusional vixen must have heard the whirlwind blades slicing the sky coming near the house, murmuring her words in query.

"Friends of yours?" she sputtered out, in the mixture of finding her fire and passing out.

"More like cordial adversaries," he growled, tucking himself back in before he confronted his boss. If he fucked her right there he'd only take the edge off, abandoning his satisfaction and yearning a more powerful release. Stryker better have a valid reason to interrupt him when his Korean lap dog or that wack job Wade should suffice enough.

Speaking furthermore on interruptions, what can he do with his subtly horny mutant? She didn't seem keen on leaving without him telling her the way out, and her energy drove away from her. Notwithstanding, Victor stocked up on fresh venison so a possibility lingered that she might borrow packages of the meat when she left this place. A high doubt pressed on she wouldn't go with him of her own will on another assignment.

"If I'm not back to continue your massage in one minute, make yourself decent, somehow."

He walked outside with a deep grudge settled on his nerves, still shirtless with red-stained hands. The helicopter landed, streaming the breezy forest air swirling the essence of pine and cedar around his build.

A metal door opened, revealing that moronic mercenary with a mouth, followed by the colonel. The two approached the feral, standing unamused at their incessant presence.

"Evening Victor," Stryker said, undergoing a mild observance of the automobile as he passed it; the classic beauty shining bright in the nightly rays. He peeked inside the American original as he spoke, "We weren't able to contact you so we had to come up here and check on your well-being."

The feral mutant didn't want to be bothered while at home; thus the reason he took off his radio.

"You know I really hate having my pizza time cut short just to chase the house cat; it's not fun at all man." Wade groaned, looking scraggy and unkempt in baggy cargo pants and a sleeveless red shirt; katanas missing from their designated spot. Stryker wore a black three-piece suit with a silver trench coat and matching gloves.

"Well, I'm alive now, so don't worry anymore and leave." Victor turned to go back into his house.

"You see there, I told you the kitty lounged in his favorite spot... way in the middle of no damn where." The mercenary glanced around in cautious inspection, taking in the citizen-less area surrounded by various trees and rocky cliffs. He always knew Victor and his brother dabbled in the 'nature boy' life from the start, but this isolation is a tad extreme. "Can I return to my pizza, now?"

"That's good you're safe Victor-" the chief said, migrating to his soldier, reaching in his pocket to hold a picture of the mutant caught in Uruguay. "-but if you answered a while back I wouldn't have to appoint you to this emergency assignment."

There it is. That was his intention from the beginning. Lately Stryker wouldn't put his trust into his other soldiers, what with the increased missions given to him. Along with the decreased personal time in-between.

"That assignment's gonna have to wait, I already got another job." This job is much more entertaining at the moment, he added as an afterthought. Granted he could please himself with the supple flesh of any woman, but the stamina levels of the average female wouldn't sustain his fulfillment. After all the kidnapping and fetching ordered of him, he needed a fucking break.

"Oh?" The old man feigned a surprise expression, hands positioned behind his back, turning to face the helicopter. "Is that so, Victor? Tell me, does this current employer hold the same worth after the object you fancy after? Do they possess the same resources to succeed to verifying your wishes?"

"Do one of those wishes include a running sink or gloves so he can keep playing with his bucket of paint! Jeez, look at his hands," Wade said exasperated, lips pulled downwards upon seeing Victor's bathed-in-blood appearance. Did he butcher a poor animal or is he in the midst of torturing one? The old man pivoted and scanned his stained palms, raising a questioning eyebrow at the display.

Well this is splendid. Why didn't Stryker think it suitable to let his favorite errand boy receive any proper rest? Even more unnerving provided the smug tone in which the colonel spoke to him. No mortal alive dared to utter words in a tone as brash as Stryker claimed.

In true habit, instinct directed to gouge his eyes. Followed up by ripping out his throat, to snatch out his tongue then shove it down his bloodied, open column. For years his natural reaction called to return the dark pitches of voice onto the antagonist with physical demonstrations.

Unfortunately he had to curb his desires to acquire the substance from the old man, verified to make him a potent killing machine. The prospect of the indestructible metal alloy they found in Africa promised convincing properties ordained to increase his physical body to enjoy the work he did indefinitely. To achieve this goal his social skills made him lower his resistant level to a tame tiger. A tiger waiting on the impending opportunity to break free from his cage to bite off the hand that fed him.

Underneath the colonel's façade lied a bleak, sniveling coward without his power. Living as a pathetic clown with nothing to cling to except his inept morals and ideals. If the very people he hired turned against him, he'd be nothing above scum. But prior to Victor freeing himself from Stryker's exasperating hold, he needed to play the part of the docile wild cat until the chance to attack came.

"Get on with it," he hissed out, nails digging into his palm to quell the infuriating weight inside his core.

"Mission briefing will commence once we leave-"

"Then I can go back home now? There's a marathon of Thundercats and I have to see it. I can't let the Lion-O down. Hey Vic, can I-"

"Fuck you," he answered in a growl, returning to his house, leaving the two men to wallow in their thoughts.

"Why can't I watch your TV until you're finished? It's not like you're here most of the time anyway..."

"Get back to the chopper, Wade."

He scoffed. "I need an answer from him. He didn't answer yes or no yet."

"Well then, perhaps you will find a suitable result when his fist answers your question." The boss voiced out with traces of amusement, eyes set in a frosted glare to silence the merc.

Wade huffed at his command, moaning his disappointment of his enforced leave to scuttle across the world for... well he didn't know why. Mission briefings stayed behind closed lips and the unfairness of it all tired him more often than not. When he found some alone time, he had to be whisked away into the heavenly body to chop this up and kidnap that thing.

He didn't mind the jobs, they entertained him, at times, but not when interrupted from his cartoons. Dark curses muttered under cold breath, stomping back to the metal bird, complaining about old men and their misunderstanding of the youth.

The veteran ignored the mercenary, giving his full attention to Victor and his need to take a vacation. Usually he'd be content to receive an assignment but the last few missions the colonel noticed his unwarranted hesitation.

Did someone else contact the feral for a job? Otherwise what might be the reason for him to nearly cancel these opportunities? He gave consideration to the suggestion that Victor could be bought off if anyone should request his services. Perhaps he should give the feral mutant a reminder or two about who offered him another chance at life. He should implement cautionary examples of what will happen should he ever double-cross him.

Deciding to wait in the helicopter he stopped in mid-stride, hearing the distinct cry of a female and then a dull thud. A thought flashed across his mind as to the validity of denied appearances from the mutant. Is it possible that Victor's odd behavior came from his secret indulges in the affairs of a woman?


A/N:It's been a minute since I've updated, but these chapters take a while to edit, especially since it feels like I'm writing them from scratch. Hopefully it won't be another year until I update, but I'll be working on more chapters in the meantime!

P.S. Cleaned up adverbs and corrected grammar.