Title: Dinner Date
Fandom: Twilight - Wolf Pack
Pairing (for fanfiction): Bella/Paul
Rating: M - for graphic horror
Genre: Horror
Prompt: None
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Dinner Date was entered in Tricky Raven's 3rd annual Halloween Contest and won the Bloody Mary Award - Reader's Choice, HORROR. Enjoy!
Dinner Date
Bodies everywhere-short, tall, curvy, slim-bumping and grinding against each other in the crowded yuppie bar, pulsing with the lure of sex, but it's the thrill of the hunt. Tonight's catch features: tall, slim, athletic, elegant but sexy. Loosening his tie and rolling his shirt sleeves three times, he zeroes in on the prey who caught his attention the moment she walked through the door. His poise graceful, his steps calculated, he closes the distance between them. Mesmerized, her drink stops at her lips, her stare captured by the predator's trap.
With a smile, he takes the drink from her hand, his fingers whisper against hers in the slightest of touches. He loops his arm around her waist, fingers spread along her hip, and guides her to the dance floor. Pulling her close, molding her body to his, they move in a slow dance against the fast music. Her heart races, her scent rises, he bends to ghost his nose against the rapid pulse in her neck for a sniff. She shivers, exciting the animal beneath the surface. His purr vibrates through her body to raise small beads along her exposed flesh.
Slowly, he pulls back and spins her away from him. His arms loop around her midsection, he steps closer to cradle her ass with his thighs. Baring the caramel column of her neck, he nips at the tendon to feel her shudder in his arms-caught. Turning to palm his cheek, mischief gleams in her eyes, a devious smile plays upon his lips. Hand in hand they glide off the dance floor and towards the doorman to offer their tickets for their coats.
He helps her into her trench coat, he shrugs on his leather jacket, and with a hand on the small of her back they walk outside into the brisk night. A perfect gentleman, he opens her door to allow her slip into the expensive sports car-courtesy of the Cullens. Shutting the door, he rounds the car and catches her by surprise before her seatbelt is buckled. His soft smile is reassuring and earns one in return. Putting the car in gear, he tears down the highway on his way home.
Her aroma spikes with the power of the engine as he guns it. Bella will be proud of his find. Gazing over her specs once more, he turns to the road. Yes, his imprint, wife, mother of his cubs, will be exceptionally proud of him this night. A fickle creature his Bella is, taking him forever to find what his imprint needs. Man, woman, her specifications ever changing on a whim, but tonight she was specific, and he vowed to never disappoint.
Since the day he imprinted, he felt the change in her, in himself. The residual venom left in her hand from her near death experience, adapted, changing her tastes and ultimately changing him. When he caught her in the woods feasting on animals in secret, he didn't balk, he didn't cringe at the sight. Instead, he watched her rip into the flesh to drink the poor creature's life. Once she finished, the guilt twinkled in her ruby, brown eyes before he licked the blood from her chin and claimed her on the gory ground.
After a while, the hunger she harbored didn't placate with the animal supplements-she needed more. His wolf subsumed the hostility she exuded, driving him to satisfy the eternal connection they share. With one look into her tear stained eyes and the metallic taste of blood resting on his tongue, he knew what she desired-what she required-of him. Dressing to impress and promises to alleviate the pain, he kissed her mismatched lips before he left to hunt.
Pulling into the lengthy drive, the gasp from his passenger seat draws his attention to the present.
"It's like a fairy tale," she beams.
"Would you like a tour?" he asks while he turns off the ignition and prepares to leave the car.
"Yes." Her laugh is giddy, his smile is warm.
Paul steps from the car and waits with his hand out for the lady to follow. He links their fingers and steers her towards the front door. Pulling her in front of him, he leans to her ear. "Close your eyes," he whispers.
A nervous giggle escapes her red painted lips. "Okay."
He opens the door and nudges her inside. Slipping her coat off her shoulders, he hangs it on the rack by the door along with his own. The scraping of metal echoes through the house, shaking the woman with a chill. Adrenaline courses through her veins quickening her heart. Fear impregnates the excitement and a shiver slips down her spine.
With a click of her heels, Bella appears and inhales deep the perfumed air. Her eyelids flutter over crimson orbs and an adoring smile touches her lips. Paul's predatory gleam matches the hungry glint in Bella's gaze.
"What the fuck?!" the woman exclaims, turning back and forth between the pair, breaking their spell.
"You're just in time for dinner," he replies with a dangerous smile.
Panicked, she runs, looking for an escape but finding herself trapped by four people. The victim's heartbeat reverberates through the room. Shortly afterwards, a spike of anxiety blasts through the enclosed space and puts everyone on edge. Paul catapults the obstacles, cornering her. Taking her down despite her fight, the cubs hand their father the ropes while their mother jumps with childish delight.
"I'll set the table," Bella says with a clap before she turns on her heel and drifts from the room.
"Please, please, please. Don't do this," she wails. Her eyes lighting with hope she says, "I have money. Lots and lots of money. Please, I'll pay you if you just let me go."
Satisfied with his rope work, Paul looks up to the tap on his shoulder. "Here, Poppa," Cynthia says and hands him a roll of duct tape.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he says, kissing her temple and accepting the tape.
Tearing a piece off, he corks the screams from the lady who refuses to meet defeat. "Can't have you scaring the children," he whispers in her ear.
He hauls her over his shoulder-mouth salivating at the thick thigh resting on his cheek-and carries her into the dining room to the guest of honor place setting. Her enormous eyes fixate on the sharp carving knife and reinvigorates her muted struggles. Bella's smile lifts to her eyes while she lights the candles in the middle of the table. Chairs scrape against the wooden floor as his cubs take their seats. Passing him the knife, Bella lets her fingers linger before she lets go of it.
"Son?" Paul turns to the boy who favors his mother. "Come here," he beckons.
Bryant stands from the table and places his napkin over his plate. "Yes, Poppa?"
With infinite patience, Paul places the first two fingers of the boy's small hand on the pulse in the neck. "Feel."
"It's racing," the boy beams.
Chuckling, Paul hands his son the knife. "Do the honors?"
The bouncy child barely calms himself before placing the razor sharp edge against the soft skin of the helpless woman. "Your mother likes fresh blood, so you have to put enough pressure on the knife to cut through the muscle and tendons, making sure to slice right over the jugular," Paul explains with a demonstration across the throat.
"Yes, sir."
Father and son pause with curiosity while Bella catches a toppling water glass the victim kicks. She anchors the errant leg to the table with a steak knife. Paul cocks a brow at Bella's shrug. "It moved," she says with an innocent smile and tucks her fists under her chin.
Smirking, Paul swipes Bella's stemless wine glass from in front of her plate to hold beneath the blade. Cradling his son's hand in his own, Paul guides the youngster's movement over the delicate neck. A hissing sound, escaping air, and the eyes slowly lose their focus as Paul fills his wife's glass. Bella sips to the gurgling noise of the dying with glee.
"Type O, my favorite," she moans around another taste.
"Poppa," Bryant's curious laden voice halts Paul before he gives instruction on how to disembowel the game. "Will you teach me to hunt?" Wide, brown eyes pierce him with the sincerity of a child.
Lupine eyes seek the ruby stare of his mate and with a curt nod in his direction, he turns to his son with animalistic grin. "Sure, pup."
Eager to return his son's gleaming smile, they turn back to the task at hand. Bryant takes his seat, tucking his napkin in the collar of his shirt, and waits for his portion. Serving his wife the heart, he dishes the kidneys onto the empty plates of his children and severs a meaty chunk of thigh for himself. He pops the top on his ice cold brew, tapping his bottle to Bella's wine glass and to each of his kids' milk glasses.
"Let's eat." The clatter of flatware on china precludes further conversation.