Author Note: The dark and disturbing fic continues. This chapter most likely spells the end of this story, but may not… depends. The only thing I would like to point out is this; Max is by no means a vampire, or anything close. There is one trait in common, and it is slightly different anyway. Just thought I'd clear that up.
The Release The Blood Angel
… Yet, there is a fire that burns behind the eyes of these few DNA cocktails of Manticore and it is bright with a thirst. A thirst that only the blood of man will slake.
She moved with steady purpose towards the humming computers, and what she knew to be contained within that very room. Her painfully scratchy eyes dilated, assisting her vision through the blackened apartment, even though everything was slightly blurred now in a faint red haze.
Max rounded the corner to his study, and stood in the doorway surveying the room and all that was in it for a few very satisfied and pleased moments. It was empty.
Thank God, the man does sleep, she thought, as she sat in his chair and wiggled the computer into action by way of its mouse. Just as she was about to type in the password she saw a little note stuck on the side of the main screen.
"Tell Bling and Max new passwords"
Obviously Logan, in his secure efficiency, had changed all the passwords again and was yet to tell her.
Frustrated she smacked in a few strings of characters and numbers, but to no avail. Discouraged she hit the keyboard rather hard and swung around in the chair, trying to decide what to do now.
Her intent originally had been to use Logan's Informant Net to locate a real bad egg of society, which despite all the humanities in the world, really should just be removed from the population. It sickened her more than she could comprehend that she was going to use the Informant Net as a menu to remove the terrible hunger that stung at her every nerve. If it was just the pain she could have handled it easily, but she knew it was warping her mind as well, and she also knew that if she didn't let it out in a semi-controlled fashion, she would end up hurting someone close to her. Sure it was selfish, but some people didn't deserve to live as much as others did.
Sitting there in a hopeless murk, Max noticed the filing cabinet.
Might as well try the old fashioned way, she thought dryly, standing on shaky legs and breaking open the locked cabinet with a swift yank. She knew she should be quieter, but her anxious body forbade any actions to be carried out in its usual silken manner, settling instead for uncontrolled jerky movements.
Swinging back around in the chair, she dumped the collection of files onto the table, and began leafing through them. The hunt had started.
Logan had had a reasonably miserable night, what with his favourite cat burglar not answering his insistent paging, or dropping in unrepentantly after a meal. Over the time he had known Max, he had become very attached indeed. To spend every free moment he could spare with her was his secret goal, which was usually fairly successful, seeing as he had all the good food.
He could see their relationship going from strength to strength as Max spent more and more sleepless nights occupying his guestroom – even though (by the use of hidden cameras set up throughout the apartment) he discovered that a lot of those hours were spent sitting in the chair in the corner of his room, watching him sleep. Or simply, more often during the day he would find her hanging around at his place. Even though she said she did it for a fancy breakfast and a decent shower or because she was in the area and wanted to kick back for a bit, he knew she was doing it partly because he wanted her to and partly because she actually wanted to. These facts alone would often send delightful shivers through his body. No matter what sullen and depressed mood he was in, thinking about Max for several minutes always shifted him right up there to cloud nine, and for that he had to thank her or at least his shiny Bast statue.
All sorts of ridiculous notions of proclaiming his love to her often flitted through his head in the wee hours of the morning, when the brain is so delightfully pliable that anything is possible, even reciprocation.
A smile wore his lips as he fell asleep, for tonight's pleasant wandering of the psyche saw him and his unspoken angel curled together in snuggled warmth that shunned the evenings terrific storm.
A loud noise woke him with a start. He concentrated against the pounding rain to determine if there was something there, or if he had merely ideated it. Several seconds passed and his heart began to return to it's normal pace, as he assured himself there was no danger and the sound was only a phantom of his unconscious imagination. Suddenly another loud clatter, which sounded distinctly like the bending of metal, snatched his attention and doubled the rate of his heart. There was someone in his study, and that someone seemed to be tearing it apart.
Leaving no time for proper attire, Logan slipped into his wheelchair and slowly rolled in the direction of his study. In all his contingency plans for emergency situations, none of them saw him in any other room of the apartment than his study. Due to this fact, the only gun he owned was in the same drawer it had always been in, which happened to be the room the intruder currently occupied.
Logan couldn't believe the amount of sound emitted from his tires as the tread whirred against the polished wooden floor, and even though he knew that the sound would not be heard in his study over the slight hum of computer fans, it was still disconcerting. Approaching the room, he was surprised not to see any traces of light, not even from a small torch.
Max's reading was interrupted by a muffled ruffling noise. She paused slightly and when she heard nothing more, put it down to her tormented brain and the ferocious weather that hammered the side of the building relentlessly. Suddenly an all too familiar sound met her ears, as a dark dread grabbed painfully hard in her chest. All she could hear now was the genetically amplified sound of the gentle whir Logan's tires made against the hardwood, and the ever increasing pounding of her heart.
Max froze in her seat, not breathing, not blinking. The only activities her body were capable of were listening to the sound Logan's wheels made, drawing him closer to her, and the erratic thumping object in her chest, which threatened to break through her ribcage at any moment. Maybe if she was still enough he would just go back to bed, leave her be, and not endanger his life by confronting her. She didn't want to see him, not when she was like this because she wasn't sure if she could contain the burning desire within her.
The light flicked on, filling the room with a pasty white light, blinding Max instantly, and splitting her heart in two. This wasn't good at all, not for Logan.
'Max, what are you doing? Is everything okay?' he asked, at first surprised to see literally the girl of his dreams, and then shifting to concern as to why she would be in his study dripping wet in the middle of the morning. She didn't say anything to him or move at all, instead just remained hunched over what looked like some files, taking deep controlled breaths.
Her brain was alive with activity, two sides struggling in competition for the control of her body. The animal in her was aching to attack the living, beating heart she could hear behind her, but her mind was still controlling the situation, even if by the feeblest of threads. Logan said something that she didn't hear or understand, and with the sound of his voice the lust began to shoot adrenalin and endorphins through her body, creating waves of highs and pleasure.
No! I am not going to. It's Logan, I love him.
Had Max not been fighting the curse pulsing through her system, the frankness of her confession would have shocked her deeply.
'Logan, go back to bed. I don't want to hurt you,' Max pleaded desperately, her body screaming to attack.
'Max, what's going on?' Logan asked, concern deeply etched in his voice as he rolled closer to her.
'I said go to bed. Get out of here. NOW!' she shouted, hitting his desk with clenched fist causing many objects to fly in various directions then clatter noisily on the floor. Logan stared at a pen that was spinning on the ground in front of him. Shocked didn't even begin to describe how he felt.
'Okay, just get me if you need some help,' Logan said cautiously, turning and beginning to roll out of the room.
Max breathed a heavy sigh of relief, feeling the warm blood invading her mouth from her bitten tongue as she watched the red fluid seep from beneath her fingernails that were driving into the palms of her hands.
'Oww,' Logan's cry of pain accompanied a rattling sound. It appeared he wasn't aware of the open filing cabinet, which had collected him in the neck.
Max's eyes darted around to observe the source of pain and noise, and found Logan sitting there, hand rubbing the side of his throat. As is anyone's natural reaction when they hurt themselves, Logan brought his hand around to his face, to determine if he was bleeding. A second after he noticed the blood, Max's senses, which were only tuned for one thing; smelt, saw and practically felt the beautifully enticing glistening red liquid that covered his fingertips.
She lunged.
The soundproof apartment and the deafening roar of the storm outside quickly muted the blood-curdling scream that rent the air.