stl: dope, 'you spin me round'
To him, life was a series of conquests.
Those that were easy left him feeling hollow; as if the passion that perpetually surged through him had suddenly been purged far too soon. They came with the territory, however, and over time he had grown used to the idea though he still loathed the knowledge with everything he had. He was an almighty being, dominant over his victims and was more than willing to flex that power. The easier his prey, the more prone to bouts of rage he became in pursuit of a worthy adversary.
Or one that would simply tremble under his touch.
The slight brunette in his sight held the distinct possibility of being 'fun.' Perhaps she would scream. Perhaps she would beg for mercy. I am not a merciful god, he would sneer before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck-- not unlike the give of watermelon in his greedy mouth in the summers from when he was a child, when he was alive. Her pace quickened; he could taste the intoxicating fear and panic on the warm evening breeze and it made his mouth water with anticipation. His stride matched hers, measure for measure, as she stepped into a side street overrun with vermin and restaurant discards.
Poor kitten, you haven't a clue, have you?
Abruptly, she stopped, bracing herself for an assault. All traces of the girl's anxiety fled. The air was now thick with quite another emotion altogether-- defiance. She was willing to play hard to get? The thought amused him, bringing a smile to his lips and a devious twinkle to his eye. Oh, he was more than eager to play along if this is what she truly wanted. He could draw it out for days, if she wished. He stood at the gaping mouth of the alley, waiting.
He watched, almost for curiosity's sake alone, as she slowly turned her head, staring at him through a veil of chestnut. If she had been more than human, more like the god he was, it would have posed as a threatening gesture but weak as she was in her very fragile state, he was in no danger. In fact, it sent a rush through him-- her insolence coursed his veins not unlike the purest heroin, flooding his brain.
Oh how he would savor this.
Before she had a chance to react, to turn on him with flailing limbs and useless, clenched fists, he was behind her, one hand holding her head steady and mouth shut, the other holding her against his body in an iron grip. A spark of fear fluttered in the night and dispersed before he could fully enjoy it. He tightened his grasp, both on her jaw and her hip, willing her to struggle. When she refused to cooperate, he flung her against the wall, taking great delight in the sickening crack of her skull as it connected with the rust-red brick. Her eyes still held no trace of distress. A snarl ripped from his throat as he approached her; he was bordering on an absolute loss of control. Where he thought he had had a worthwhile thrill was now turning into a grade-A, bonafide tantrum in the making.
"They'll come for you."
Four simple words tipped him over the precipice and into insanity. Raging, he clawed at her, bit into the taut muscle of her neck. How dare she? She was supposed to be quivering with apprehension! She was supposed to be pleading with him, endlessly questioning why! Why! WHY! He dropped her mutilated body to the filthy ground, disgusted with his inability to control his temper.
Maybe he should see a therapist about these mood swings of his...