disclaimer: X-Men is the property of Marvel Comics. I expect no monetary benefit from this work of fiction.

Dangerous Creatures
by Dizi

Three inch heels on short black snakeskin boots with wide cuffs over the ankles lead to fishnet stockings on long legs clipped to a garter at mid-thigh. A deep shade of wine, the edge of the leather miniskirt begins a few inches above the clips, depending upon my position. Creamy white skin shows above and below my belly button pierced with a silver hoop, a small silver ankh dangling from it. My upper body is barely covered by a corset style bustier matching the skirt, the lower portion around my ribs with sheer black panels. Small pieces of more leather cover only the very lower portions of my breasts, showing off a deep cleavage. Chest and shoulders are bare, inviting, except for a silver chain around my neck with a large stylized ankh. Long curly black hair is piled atop my head then cascades enticingly down my back, pulled away from a face with minimal makeup, only bright red lipstick and heavy black eyeliner to emphasize my luminescent green eyes.

I look exactly like what I am, a female on the prowl.

The men in this seedy bar have no idea what they might be in for, though I know they have some fantasies. Offers I have been given aplenty, but not from anyone that appeals to me. I'm looking for a special someone that can give me what I need. It doesn't have to be a man actually, a woman is fine. I consider myself equal opportunity. Picky, I might be, but I'm looking for someone special not a specific gender. Someone to add to my night a little... spice.

No need to actively look, my body and its pose are the lure, the bait. The right one will come to me. Just as they always have.

After hours of sitting here on this barstool waiting, I am almost ready to accept the next offer no matter who it may be. I have needs that are not being fulfilled.

Then, as though my decision is a signal, there he is.

He's taller than I am, with a worn brown leather trenchcoat covering most of his body, dark glasses over his eyes. Ginger hair is wild on his head. He has an aura of that something I've been looking for, something that I crave. Dangerous, sexual, hunger, power, he has it all and more. Mmmmmmm.

My admiration for him grows when he gets to the point quickly in a sexy French accent. An invitation to the cheap motel next door. Oh yes, this is exactly my kind of man. The corners of his lips quirk when I tell him I already have a room, pulling a key from between my breasts. He takes it from me, smiling seductively, as if he is the seducer not I.

His fingers playing on my bare shoulder, he leads the way. The cold outside does not bother me, only adding another notch to the sensual anticipation. Perhaps he thinks it does when I shiver because he puts one arm around me protectively, but it's not the chill night air. It's the hunger, the need.

When we get to the door, he kisses me. His mouth is firm, his tongue sensuous against mine. My hunger growing, I have to control myself not to take him right here. This small taste of him is so overwhelming. Three weeks was far too long of a wait, leaving me feeling insatiable.

Finally, we go inside. The room little more than just that. A stained bedspread on a full size bed against one wall, a decades old scarred table against another, and a cubicle with basic amenities for a bathroom. There is not even a carpet, only scuffed wood on the floor I'm standing in the middle of.

Leaning against the closed door, blocking the only exit which I am not interested in taking, he removes his glasses, revealing to me black eyes with red pupils. My heart quickens with the knowledge that he is a mutant. Exactly what I wanted, what I knew in the bar, but I am glad for the confirmation. He will satisfy me. For a while.

With a loose-limbed stride, he closes the short distance between us, one hand coming up to touch the curls falling from my head. This one is impatient, I can tell. So am I.

He starts to lower his head for another kiss. Stopping him by bringing the back of my left hand up to the side of his face, knuckles beside those glorious eyes, I pause, holding it there a moment before sliding it down in a slow caress. As my hand reaches his jaw, he turns suddenly to take my pinkie in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it.

I smile, showing my very white teeth, pleased he wants to make this so pleasant. He'll learn better in a moment. Not yet, not just yet, almost.

Fingernails, almost the exact shade of my lipstick, trace along his jawline, down the long column of his throat, to curl around and play with the short hairs at the base of his neck. My green eyes, which have probably begun to glow, meet his, hold his gaze. There is actually nothing special about my eyes, they are simply a pretty part of my alluring package. No, it's not my eyes he should be watching out for. It's those red nails.

My lips part in an unspoken invitation.

His head again lowers.

Just as our mouths touch, I release from under one fingernail a tiny thin tooth-like needle, similar to a snake's retractable fangs. Extending it to the tip of my nail, I run it along the crease of his neck, releasing a bit of venom. Unnoticed, it pricks him, injecting the venom into his bloodsteam to go directly to his brain. It's just enough to incapacitate, though if I wanted to I could give enough to kill.

But I don't want him to die before I feed.

It does not take long for his knees to become weak, for him to lean heavily against me, a few seconds at most. His fingers fumble for a pocket of the coat, but slide away when I push him so he falls onto the bed.

He is mine.

Straddling his chest, I climb on top of him, both my hands moving frantically over his chest and shoulders. They shake as I cup his face, massaging his jaws until his mouth opens, preparing him for me. I'm so hungry, I cannot stop my entire body from shaking.

At last he's ready. Leaning down, I fit my mouth over his, sealing our lips together as I begin sucking.

Not sexually, I don't actually like sex. I sometimes will use it to make my prey more complacent but it's only a means to an end. No, I'm drawing HIM into me, absorbing him. All he is, was, will ever be. Would ever have been, that is. His lifeforce, his energy, is the food I crave. The power inside him filling me. All else was window dressing, this is what I wanted, was waiting not so patiently for.

A normal human would die, also a weak mutant. He might too. Or he could be strong enough to live after I'm done with him. Either way, he will never be the same. If he lives, he will be an empty husk, knowing nothing, perhaps powerless or again perhaps not. Childlike, he will need to learn all but the basics of life. Luckily for him, he will never be a decent feed again.

I often feel it is kinder for them to die. Frequently, I inject them again to be sure of it. In my own way, I can be merciful.

Taking my time, I drink him down until I can hold no more. At least an hour has passed when I move off him, his lovely eyes half-closed, staring at the ceiling. I shower and change, putting my bait clothes in a duffle bag and my hair in a bun. I'm still pretty, but in jeans and a tshirt, I no longer look like the femme fatale I did before.

Going around the room, I remove all traces of my presence. As I do, I can't help thinking how this place has changed over the forty years since I was here last. Long ago, this was the 'nice' part of town. Never would I have hunted here then.

Predator, I am. Fool, I am not.

For centuries I have been hunting in places like this one. My body the lure, bait, and trap all in one, bringing me both men and women to feed my need. Mutants having become a delicacy which last longer.

Before I leave, I look back at my prey laying still on the bed. Though I don't usually do so, I find myself wondering about him. Did he have a love? Did he betray someone by coming to me? Did he have a home, a family? Is he someone's father, brother, son? Or a lone misfit looking for companionship?

Whatever he was, he's not anymore. I don't regret his fate. A lioness does not regret bringing down the gazelle. I did not stalk him. I didn't force him to come with me. All I did was present the bait. It was up to him, my prey, to take it.

I don't know if he is alive or dead, and I don't care. A person should be careful who they pick up in a bar. It could be a dangerous creature like me.

Of course, they never do. In all my centuries, they never have. I'll do the same thing in a new town, another bar, in a few weeks when I am hungry again.

Everyone has to eat.

Hesitating, I close the door, stepping into the hall. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to make sure of his death, to give him the mercy I have others. Perhaps he will be one of the lucky ones to find a new life. Perhaps not.

As I walk down the street, to the better part of the city, I forget his face and enjoy the sensation of being full as anyone does after a good meal.

note: This story could be taken further, but I don't expect to do so at this time. It intentionally leaves open questions. I'm sure you can think of many. Someday I might pick it up and find out what happens next but right now it is exactly what it is. I'm very happy with it and hope you like it too. In a bit of a morbid way. Please tell me what you think. Responses will let me know if I want to keep it in mind for a larger project in the future.

Thanks for reading,
Dizi