jooles34 | Walking With the Devil (Reply)

Title: Walking With the Devil
Fandom: Original
Rating: 15
Challenge: "If you are going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill (does not have to be taken literally) for

originalfic_las
Summary: They are full of life and they are hers for the taking
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 512
Disclaimer: All characters and situations in this story are property of me.
AN: This introduces a new character who I have already written some more of. In fact she is quickly developing her own universe and rather taking over my life. This is quite rushed little intro, but hopefully you'll see something you like.

The motorbike hummed into life, throbbing gently beneath her body as she sat astride it. It was a feeling Cara would never tire of; the raw energy and the promise of speed, a taste of what was to come. One black-booted heel kicked back the stand, and releasing the brake and twisting the throttle the bike gave a throaty roar before leaping forwards.

Cara couldn’t resist a smile at the sudden rush of power and speed. Her leather clad legs hugged the body of the machine and she leant forward to become one aerodynamic shape with the bike. She’d been riding for so long now that the two moved as one, taking bends and turns with practised ease. Working her way through the gears she sped through the city streets.

The thrill of speed still excited Cara, but she wondered how much better it would feel if the speed was mixed with fear. How it would feel to take each corner at this speed knowing that one misjudged second, one slight error, spot of oil on the road, unexpected piece of detritus and the bike would fly from under her, spilling her onto the road. A human body would fracture and break, leak blood onto the road, life so easily snuffed out. But that hadn’t been a concern of Cara’s for a long time. A part of her wished she could taste that fear again.

Another smile crossed her face as her mind wandered to what she would instead be tasting later in the night.

~*~*~*~*~

Cara felt the music pulse through her body, assuming the rhythm of a heartbeat she hasn’t felt in decades.

Bodies pressed up against her, dancing and writhing, being moved by the relentless beat of the drums and humming throb of the bass. Guitars cried, weeping along with the lyrics that proclaimed their difference while begging for inclusion.

The band were not her first choice; the latest emo rock thing. Cara had developed a love for music over the years, but her own tastes stopped just shy of this. To her music should be about celebration, anger, exorcism, darkness and passion; woe and teen angst didn’t fit into her world.

But tonight it served a higher purpose. The arena was heaving with pretty young things, many dressed in leather, like her, and all dressed in black. The smell of sweat and unfulfilled sexual excitement filled the air. It climbed all over Cara, coating her. It got inside her head and into her mouth; she savoured the taste.

She’d come here tonight for this. For these boys and girls. This music attracted them like moths to a strobing flame. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. So young yet thinking they are so old. So pliable, so willing, so very eager to please.

And so full of life. Full of blood and life and all just there for the taking. There were some who claimed that feasting on those so young was immoral, even for their species, but when you already walked hand in hand with the devil why give yourselves boundaries?