soul for sale

Boot heels caught on the rail that ran along the base of the bar, Mal rocked back slightly on his stool. The sweetness of the rum and coke still coated his lower lip, swept away a brush of his tongue at a time, replenished with the next sip. No bloody straw for him. Olivia had learned that on his second trip here – third? Naw, second – each delivered in the dozen drinks he’d put away that night abandoned at the side of his glass. He weren’t gonna set sipping on it like a priss. All puckered lips and delicate little sips that would take hours to down what could’ve vanished in a single gulp.

He weren’t that sodding rough either. Once upon a time maybe but Marcel had plucked him from those desperate depths. Cleaned him up, set him on a new path that’d finally started paying off after more than a century of mucking about. Mal lifted the glass to his lips again, feeling that faint burn of satisfaction as he caught the eye of one of their experiments across the bar. It shone in the grin he shot the woman, fingers peeled off of that condensation dotted glass to salute her with two fingers. The redhead’s green eyes narrowed at him, scrutinised the slightly rough exterior. A handful of years in and she still had no clue what any of them had done to her.

Mal laughed low as she looked away, fingers dropping to tap on the bar. They all squirmed under his gaze after, his little sight-seeing trips to make sure they were being good little boys and girls triggering something inside of them when they spotted him. Maybe there was something to be said for the primitive bit of the mind after all.

The bartender drifted towards him, not the usual blonde, the one who owned the place. This one was younger, darker … male. Mal flashed him that guileless grin all the same as he plucked his glass up to shake it at him. ”I’ll have another, son, ta. Make it a double this time, ‘ey?” There was a pout of lips, a faint scowl. The last had supposedly been one too but it could’ve been apple juice or piss for all he could tell. Once you got beyond the taste it didn’t do much these days. A glass or six to dull the edge of hunger until he managed to get someone to head back to his motel with him. The appetiser before the main course.

The redhead maybe? Nope. She was already slipping off her stool, casting a glance over her shoulder before she intercepted a taller bloke coming out of the gents and guided him outside with a hand on his elbow. Maybe he’d have company for the night after all, just not what he’d envisioned.

Mal shook his head, the sigh already slipping out. They were in for a rude awakening if they thought they were gonna be able to lurk about outside for him. Or come back in, determined to poke at the sleeping bear.

He caught the scent of her before she was there at his elbow. All perky blonde cheerleader, big smile beaming as he propped his elbows against the bar and looked sideways at her. Hazel eyes squinted beneath beetled brows, his lips curving in a saccharine smile to echo hers. ”Wotcha love…” Young, probably too young for in here. Straightening up, Mal glanced behind the bar to see if Olivia was floating around back there. Not a sign. His brows hitched higher as she leaned in, his head tilting like a bird to study that pale column of neck as she leaned in to him. Oop, not too young for someone to have a taste of.

His smile brightened then, that guileless light they all shoulda known better than to trust in his expression. The Big Bad Wolf strapping on his halo as he fluttered those long lashes at Little Red Riding Hood. She was smiling sheepishly at him, withdrawing before he could bend his head and get a sniff of the blood still thudding beneath those tiny wounds. Mal made a faint sound of disappointment low in his throat, leaning in after her as he extended a hand to shake hers. ”Don’t ya worry, Krista. It’ll be our little secret.” He winked at her, straightening up as the bartender returned to set his drink down. ”Ta, son. Changed me mind though. How about we make it two?” There was another faint splutter of sound from him but Mal was already clucking his tongue, holding a finger up at him. ”Both for me, got me a thirst. She’ll have a coke as well, plenty of ice.” A little cover for what she was gonna be downing thanks to his generosity. They wouldn’t describe the price until later.

Twisting on the stool, he patted the one next to her, encouraging Krista to hop on up. Mal traced his tongue over his lower lip again, drawing it between human blunt teeth as he squinted at her. There was something vaguely familiar in that tumble of blonde hair and American Pie earnestness. ”Looks like someone got a little love bite there. You ‘urt yourself Krista?” Mal clucked his tongue, looking empathetic as he flicked a finger in the direction of her neck. A meal for someone, seconds for him, if the drink he’d ordered went down well enough that he wasn’t leaving Campbell’s alone tonight after all.

Tagged: KRISTA MAY * Word Count: 918

It weren’t exactly a wolf’s den but the metaphor felt apt enough as Little Red Riding had crept right up to him to ask him to break the rules for her. Once upon a time age wouldn’t have been an issue even in a place like this, even the nippers drank booze to avoid the toxic bite of the polluted water. Kids half her age half cut on the stuff down at the docks, considered almost all the way to adulthood by the harshness of the situation. God, she’d have been eaten alive down there, ending up in one of the brothels if she weren’t careful.

Now it was just into the wolf’s jaws.

Mal leaned in at her question, flashing human teeth, white and pretty decent despite those rough earlier years. What big ones you’ve got grandma. A pink flush rose in her cheeks at his reaction, sending that smell of blood blooming in the air like a flower’s perfume without her having a clue about it in her pretty little head. Winking one hazel eye Mal raised his hand and dashed off a salute so sloppy the Captain woulda hauled him up for a half dozen lashes. ”No problem, love,” he promised sweetly. Not for him at least. The bartender had that suspicious look squinting his features up as he came back but that same flashing smile was set on him, the request for a second sweet enough, with the cover of a plain coke dumped at the end just to have that gaping mouth slapping shut.

A glance at her as he scurried away showed disappointment in those wide eyes. Mal clucked his tongue, shaking his head lightly at her. Least it was decent enough cover for the bartender, selling the story with an innocence that was absolutely inescapable. At the pat of his hand on the stool next to him Krista was hopping up, her bag dropped at her feet. Those eyes were on him again, the smile back as she giggled at him. Those bells were tinkling in the back of his head again, not shutting up as he leaned in a little, his elbow sliding along the bar until it was in front of her, his face only inches from hers. ”Not for long, sweetheart. Mal.” He let his name roll off her lips. Who knew if it was even what his mother had dropped on him before she swanned back off to service the next sailor to walk through the doors. The circumstances of his birth had been lost before he’d even started forming lasting memories.

Memories were fickle things though, weren’t though? Hazel eyes studied the wounds on her neck, one thick finger flicking towards them. Two small scabs along the line of an artery. Someone who obviously didn’t give two figs about covering up their messes. Mal smiled, leaning in an extra inch to study it up close while she stared down into his lap. ”Don’t look like you ‘urt yourself, looks like someone ‘urt ya.” Or had a taste for themselves at least. Just like he would’ve done … was going to. Pushing sympathy into his expression, Mal tilted his head. ”You got one person that does, Krista.” A promise made with a wink as he met her eye.

Those guileless eyes had pulled him back in, had Mal squinting faintly as the bartender returned and set the pair of glasses down on the bar. Still something familiar, although he’d looked into probably thousands of pairs over the years, luring some in with a word of compulsion, turning on the charm with the others, all dimples and choir boy innocence. Woah. His hazel eyes flaring wide, Mal reached out to grip her glass gently. ”Alright, better slow it down there, Red. It ain’t so bad when you’re used to it, and you’re not downin’ ‘alf of it in one go.” He watched her gaze hit his glass, then rise up to his face, the giggle following. ”You’re welcome to it, love, now easy.” Mal let go of her glass slowly, nodding to her as he reached for his own. He could’ve chugged it all in a single gulp without as much as a buzz but she hadn’t spent more than a decade in her majesty’s navy and a couple hundred years a vampire afterwards.

The grimace on her face had him snorting. Mal kept his glass in his hand, taking a deep enough drought. The rum was smooth enough for him, barely tickling on the way down, for her it was that look of disgust again. Propping his elbow on the bar, Mal slid towards her an inch, dark brows furrowing. ”At Campbell’s? You were ‘ere and then after you had …” He flicked a finger towards her neck again and saw that slow pulse of red filling in around the bit of the wound she’d revealed as she’d picked the scab off.

Mal felt his mouth water, his throat working as he swallowed. The faint sweetness of rum lingering and that coppery tang of blood as though he were already drinking it down. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, remembering the way it had done so many nights past when he’d eased a meal out the door here, already clinging to him and giggling. ”Anythin’ seem familiar? That grump behind the bar, the drink? That looks like you got it bleedin’ again love. Let Dr. Blackthorne get a look at it.” Inching into her space, Mal set his glass aside and reached out, cupping the side of her neck gently. His thumb trailed over the side of her throat, the pad of it pressing to her pulse under that square jaw before it brushed the opened wound … and he stiffened. That sense of familiarity striking again like a lightning bolt. Had he?

Tagged: KRISTA MAY * Word Count: 978

It’d only be spat with an edge before he’d been taken on board on the ship, not with much of a sweeter edge afterwards. He’d been a drained on the madams, an extra mouth to feed, always under foot, a distraction for the women working for them and a nuisance for those doing business in the rickety houses in the rat run of streets around the docks. A bark of it on painted lips, a sneered edge to it when he’d got old enough to start asking questions. Not an ounce of affection, all edge. Not her though.

Mal watched as her unpainted lips formed his name, seeming to role it around as though she were figuring out the taste of it on her tongue. Another pang of that familiarity, an edge to it he was sure he’d heard somewhere before. Trapped in the thousands of voices that burbled like water against the hull of his mental ship, eventually drifting away in his wake, committed to the depths, never to rise again. Usually. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head with a snort. ”I ain’t a Malcolm,” he promised on a snort. ”Just Mal, that’s it.” All they’d bothered to spit at him, more than one of the women telling him it was what the sailors would split out as an explanation for their voyages when they staggered in … Mal. Bad.

He sucked in a breath before he started to play the good guy. The friendly ear, the brawny shoulder to lean on, like he’d remember any of it tomorrow morning. Waking up in the bed alone, his meal of the night before sent off with a pat on their freshly emptied head. Someone looked like they’d already made a meal of her, half cleaning up the mess they’d left behind. A poor bloody job of it if they didn’t want someone screaming vampire the minute they caught a look at her neck that was. Mal saw her eyes jump to his and made a sympathetic sound. His hand nudging closer to her, knuckles nearly grazing her arm in emphasis. ”Absolutely. You don’t seem a liar to me, Krista. Seems to me there ain’t a lot of trust goin’ on, ‘s a shame.” Although it was a blessing in disguise for whoever had left her with those marks. When he fed later he’d handle it, just a little smear of his blood on her lips to erase all signs he’d ever taken a nibble.

At the rate she was going at her drink it would take much to get her there anyway. Amusement tried to roll through him as she necked the rum and coke, immediately making it apparent it was a gut punch too much. Krista smiled her way through it anyway, lashes fluttering as she offered up her gratitude. Mal practically demonstrated how to get it down, sipping at his own and inducing her to do the same before he tried to work the story out of her. Inching in, he watched her fingers work at the scabs at her neck as she began to explain them, the scent of blood blossoming brighter, just enough to have him letting out a slow sigh of longing. Just a little taste before the main event, there’d barely be a hint of the rum yet. Politely he flicked eyes up to hers as she hummed, leaning in. ”That’s a start then, ain’t it Krista? Maybe he was in ‘ere the last time.” It would’ve explained the way he’d looked at her, like he’d known a thousand percent that she weren’t old enough to be drinking.

It had been their little secret though, the bloke behind the bar not needing to have a clue, Krista either. Mal made a humming sound of his own, the blunt fingertip tracing the line of her artery as a slow grin emerged. That hum cut off at the gently settle of her hands on his knees, one dark brow winging as she pulled them back, like his pants were on fire and she was getting used to that heat. A frog in a biology class, getting used to the water that’d boil it. ”So someone else having a bevvy but not you. Ain’t many around here that prefer it to the usual suspects.” Except for him. Her fingers were squeezing now, just a little grip while she started to breathe slow and deep, her voice squeaking out then.

Why did they never believe him? Mal slid his other hand back, fingers working under the edge of his shirt to tug the worn leather wallet out of his hip pocket, flipping it open to show the hospital ID. He never hesitated to do it, none of them remembered in the end. ”Phlebotomist if you wanna get fancy ‘bout it. Blood doc. Usually gettin’ it outta people, not worryin’ ‘bout stopping it.” A vial for the lab, another for him, O Neg shooters right there in the exam room. Shoving his wallet back, Mal reached out for a napkin, letting her see it before he pressed it up against those little wounds. ”They don’t look too deep now but they mighta managed to nick something in there. You want me to take a proper look at it for ya, Krista? I might even have some fresh band aids out in the car. Head and neck wounds always bleed like the dickens.” When you sank your fangs deep there was nothing to impede that jet of blood. A satiation nothing else got close to these days. The brush of honey gold hair against his hands as he’d anchored them, the muscle firm against his mouth before he … oh bloody hell. Hazel eyes flicked up to meet her eyes, his breath coming short. Ooops.

Tagged: KRISTA MAY * Word Count: 967

If nothing else had done it, the giggle probably would’ve done. Innocent, bright, like a little bird’s chirp and just as alluring. Making her laugh that way until he snuffed it out, thick fingers closing around that chirpiness, squeezing, biting, until it had all started to drain out of her. Not always the way but when it came there was always that extra thrill. The attraction trilling in the air like that laughter, luring him in like the idiot kids to the Pied Piper. Only in his case the song weren’t played on some flute, it hummed in their veins instead. In hers. That rhythmic whoosh he believed he could hear all the louder with that band aid peeled away, revealing those neat little holes beneath. Red rimmed channels straight back into the artery and dinner. The route there easy with just enough sympathy to have that lower lip of hers pooching out.

Hands on her settled her in the end, stopped her jumping off of her seat and bolting away from him as he’d traced those damning lines, clucking out his sympathy all the time. Quiet voice a lure, the accent, he knew, working for him as it always did. A good old boy, couldn’t possibly be any harm. Only he was, all of his kind were. A quiet sigh slipping out of him as he tapped his finger lightly between those wounds, her throat working as he did it, muscles in that slender column of her neck contracting in a way he felt through his fingertip.

Still nervous? Oh no love.

Mal reached for his ID, aiming to steady enough to have her trusting him in that doe eyed way, all blinking guilelessness and absolute surrender. Authority and something comforting to the title for most. He grinned as she ooohed at the sight of it, brows creeping up her forehead as he shoved his wallet back. A light press of the napkin against his throat and he was making a little sound of his own. ”Practice, love. Same as anything else. Think I just about fainted the first time I saw it outta the flesh, so t’speak. Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of with it. Better now than in the old days, they’d let it outta you by the pint then for your own good. Still don’t ‘urt some to lose a bit every now and then.” Not so any of them missed it, not unless you took more than just a bit and he was too old and too good a boy to go dropping them all over the town, half drained and no good for a second go around if a vampire got himself in the mood for a second bite.

Careful was what you had to be and he hadn’t been the last time around. Even as realisation was dawning on a head that’d obviously been empty the last time Mal was inwardly sighing. The giggle, those big brown eyes. Another night here and a meal he’d sent away in a mess after he’d sprawled, satiated and obviously sloppy.

God, she was just as biddable this time. All flushed cheeks that spoke of the blood pooling warm beneath the skin with embarrassment. A tempting bloom that had his throat going dry, even though he knew he had to have a little restraint this time before she was back here again with another story of blank spots with that brand of his fangs in her throat. ”Dim,” Mal supplied, letting his hand fall to his glass. A steadying gulp that drained the remaining half of it before he was swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. ”Bit public for an exam too, eh?” Especially of the sort he’d been planning to do with his fangs in her throat. Closed doors were better for them but sometimes a hungry man made do with a dark corner and a few warm words in an ear that’d stop a chirpy little bird from singing the place down.

She went willing, slipping down off of the stool and grabbing her backpack before he was down off of his own, watching her skitter away from him. Nerves definitely still there, although she was ballsy enough to be leading him out into the dark. A study in contradictions this one. Mal followed, letting her have that short distance as that hunger bubbled back. Close enough to catch her stopping short at the little knot of people by the front door. No obvious sign of any trouble but enough to set her nerves jangling and leave that voice that rolled back at him croaking. He spread his arm out, like he was shielding him from them. ”Out back love,” he agreed, giving a quick nod. Mal glanced back over his shoulder as she slipped towards the side door, clutching that bag, and the vulnerability of those wounds in her throat.

He caught her again at the door, slipping out behind her and breathing out a sigh of relief as the door slapped shut behind them and they were left in the screen of the alleyway. Brick walls at Krista’s back, his shoulders bracketing her in front. His lips spread into a grin as he shook his head. ”Out on the street, you ain’t gonna need it for a minute though, Krista, love. Gimme a look here … just a little one …” His eyes were already starting to crawl with that darkness inside, veins cobwebbing the skin beneath his eyes as his fangs emerged. ”Don’t be scared,” he ordered, sweeping her hair back with one hand as he bit straight into the marks he’d left before. A little taste, then he would get her back to his place. Patch up his mess, make one again. As long as he liked tonight as long as when he let her toddle out this time it was without the vamp stamp of fang-marks on the neck that was now warm and pliant beneath his lips.

Tagged: KRISTA MAY * Word Count: 1001

This might’ve been the big ol’ modern world but people still fell into two camps, the suspicious and the gullible. Half you’d struggle to fool, the others …

Oh Krista.

The girl’s name would’ve left his lips on a sigh of disappointment but he wasn’t, not really. The girl’s gullibility had fed him and gotten her back to his room once, it’d make it a repeat trip now. Well, at least a stroll out to the alley. She was nervous, he could hear it in that quick tattoo in her throat but there were enough guts beneath it that Mal was sure he wasn’t gonna find himself chasing her down. If she did it wouldn’t be for long, Little Blonde Riding Hood here wouldn’t even get to the end of the alleyway before he was on her, but it was easier if she didn’t in the first place.

No making a scene. The Doc had been clear in his orders when they’d come here, like they were everywhere else they went. The work was secret, eyes on them would only mean another move, experiments left behind to flounder or to fail entirely, something far darker and more malignant than blood streaming out of them. Things had already shifted sideways here, that book getting out adding another thrill, another edge of danger to it all.

Was she feeling it? Mal’s smile had that ‘reassuring doctor’ edge to it, his eyes that could go cold as flint at the drop of a hat warm. Still, Krista’s brows furrowed, that faint little line creasing between them as she focused on him. Good girl. The words only shivered in his head as she listened to his orders. No fear, no scream torn from that slender throat. His own fingers flexed in her hair, the other finding her hip to hold her still as she clutched at him. Hot fingers on his cool skin. ”Ssssh,” he hissed against her skin. The order soft, not enforced with compulsion this time.

It was just as he remembered, the taste of her more than anything bringing back images of his motel room, her quiet sounds then, that eagerness that had dimmer, just as it was now. Sweet. Blood unsullied by a world that would’ve ground her down eventually anyway. Innocence always added a little something.

Mal shook his head lightly as she whimpered. His brow furrowed then, the hand in her hair sliding down to the back of her neck to squeeze lightly. He drew back, just far enough to retract his fangs from her skin and make a low sound. Something akin to ‘you sure?’ The blood welled then though and he was making a low sound, tracing it from her skin with the tip of his tongue before he was back at her throat with an increased hunger. Not too vigorous. Going too hard just left you a mess to clear up later, blood staining skin and clothes to be noticed, compulsion pressed to wipe it from the minds of the nosy.

Slowly that taste changed, something in the thud of that heartbeat shifting molasses slow. Not being scared didn’t always mean they’d feel something else. Most just ended up statue still in his hands, unwilling participants forced to just give in. This one … oh, hello. Mal allowed himself to be dragged in, a low moan rumbling against his skin as he craned his head down lower, the angle changing subtly. If anybody looked out now it wasn’t gonna be Dracula on their minds.

Her hands slid up to find his hair, like a woman interested in more than just being an evening snack. This was how he’d gotten himself in trouble that first time. Calm it down, son. But he wasn’t, as the blood began to slow subtly he was withdrawing his fangs, cleaning around those wounds with lips and tongue. Mal didn’t step back, he just continued to skim his lips over her neck, down to where the pulse beat just as hard in the hollow of her throat. One knee slipped between legs, bracing the two of them against the wall for a moment. ”I don’t think you even woulda been scared without me sayin’ a thing, Krista, would ya?” A hummed question as his fingers slid around to trace lightly at the edges of the wounds he’d refreshed. ”You’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep tellin’ me like me things like that. Just makes us wanna show we’re better than just … not so bad.” And he was better than that, which was part of the shame in having to carve chunks of what happened from their brains.

Lifting his head just enough for the light to slither between two of them, highlighting her in gold and him in something darker, an echo of the blood that still stained her mouth. ”They gonna believe you about this, Krista? Hold on love.” He guessed they’d found out. If she went blabbing all his fun in Mystic Falls would come to a stop but … maybe it was time to start skirting that line, ease the boredom. Risk a slap on the knuckles for the first time in forever. He stooped, the hand that had been on her hip slipping under her rump. Lifting, pressing her back before with a grin that would’ve had even the madams in Portsmouth crossing themselves, Mal pressed those bloodied lips to hers.

Tagged: KRISTA MAY * Word Count: 907