Hunted Pleasures Chapter One

Blurb:

Phoebe Washington has been looking forward to her four day vacation in Brazil for a very long time. What makes it even better is that her sister, Emma, came along too. But when they end up in a Bungalow Jungle Lodging in the middle of the Amazon and not at the beach front resort she had originally planned on in Rio, Phoebe’s vacation quickly turns into a mosquito net over hammock nightmare. The only thing that seems to be looking up for her is the fact that their bungalow neighbors have hot Brazilian butts. At least there’s something to look at. 

Valarian hunter Casimiro is far from human but close to home. The Brazilian Amazon was his birth place and to keep it safe he will do just about anything. Even play tourist for a bit. But keeping is eye on the job seems to be trouble when a beautiful American tourist shows up at the Bungalow Lodging. Her silky mocha hair and lush lips send chills down his body but to allow himself to indulge in such prime fruit would only invite his exposure. The last thing he needs is another scene like that in his life, especially with the rise of Demen Valarians venturing out of their caves to hunt.

Chapter one

 

The Amazon rainforest

 

Casimiro crouched on the large flat rock overlooking a wide range of forest ahead, two stories up, his weight balanced evenly on the high ledge. Above him, moonlight seeped heavy ribbons of silver and shadows of blue through the skyscraping canopy, a constant flickering glow, as the wind quietly whispered through the trees. It was the usual quiet, insects chirping, frogs croaking and the mellow harmony of running water from a nearby stream, a pure rainforest ambience.

But there was something else out there, something dark and unforgiving and relentless in its pursuit, something like him. He gazed down abruptly, a glistening of pale wet skin caught in his peripheral, sharp, quick movement only Valarian eyes would see.

Rustling branches swayed gently below, eager to reveal its disturbances, while pockets of black velvet void taunted from behind. He ran a hand through his electric black curls, then reached behind to pull the handle of one of the many six inch daggers fitted in their compartment at his back; gripping the hilt tight, he lowered his stance… and waited.

It didn't take long for the Demen to reveal itself. A repeated “Tick, click, tick” of its jaw, a low and steady wet gurgle of the throat and slight c**k of its head opened its location below just perfectly, its skin glistening again as it moved low to the ground on all fours. At that very moment, all sound of anything less threatening in the forest ceased to speak and dead silence encompassed their radius. Its presence was sharply feared.

Earlier that afternoon he’d picked up a day old trail of the Demen that had led him to a small cave opening where rubble of white bones, flesh, torn blood stained clothing, and shoes had been found. Rather than heading back to the lodge, report his findings and return with back up, he’d took cover in the cave until nightfall had blanketed the sky.

Now here he was, in eager pursuit of a single Demen hunting not far from the cave. Silently, he’d made his way up the rocky path and perched himself directly over the beast. Casimiro’s grip tightened even more around the handle as he maneuvered the dagger, so the blade would point south, his thumb able to gently graze the small button on top.

A quick silent jump off the ledge and he would be right on top of the beast, able to sink the blade of his dagger deep into the back side of the Demen’s heart. Another quick push of the top button releasing a stream of Black Poison hidden inside, a lethal injection to anything Valarian.

He was often considered suicidal by other hunters for carrying multiple daggers stashed with doses of BP inside but, when dealing with the Demen, it was a necessity to be thorough. This wasn’t his first time hunting the blood sucking, marrow eating b******s. He knew exactly what to expect. A blade straight through the heart would kill most Valarians but not the Demen. No, not them. They had to be mutilated, head, arms and legs cut off, body burned in a sweltry fire, till nothing but hot ash was left.

The Demen had the ability to regenerate at an alarming rate, could contaminate blood with one infectious bit, turning their victim into one of their own, and were blind but had ears like a f*****g bat. Stealth and silence were the only ways to sneak up on a monster like them. Another “Tick, click, tick” of its jaw and wet echoing gurgle of the throat, once again bated any growing ambiance in the forest. The creature moved forward slightly, head still cocked to the side, back glistening, a usual hunting pattern for their kind, but something was off. What was it hunting and where was its prey?

Cass briefly shifted his gaze from the Demen to the blackened forest surrounding them. Scanning every bit of movement in the distance, inhaling the heady scent of humidity, dirt, and vegetation, before one thing struck him in odd accord…there was no favorable prey near this site. None, save himself.

“Merda!” A whispered curse. His gaze quickly reconnected with his target, posed below, as still as Christ the redeemer statue, as if waiting, knowing the attack were on the horizon. Brow creased in a furrow of confusion, a compilation of doubt, deception, and anger seeped into his consciousness. Rising quietly, Cass readied himself for the jump below before the rustling behind him forced his attention toward bouncy branches, confirming his intuition. His heart hammered against his chest, sweat ran cold over his skin, breaking goose bumps through the thick humidity.

No, couldn’t be. Not in his long years of hunting had he ever seen Demen’s hunt in pairs. Were these b******s double teaming him? He’d only seen the one, only been tracking the one. But was it possible that there had been"

“Tick, click, tick!”

‘F**k!’

As soon as the mental curse broke the barrier of his mind, the Demen popped its bald slimy head out from cover. It turned to the side listening as it gurgled in the back of its throat. Again, “Tick, click, tick,” followed by another gurgle of spit, this time from the Demen below, seemingly closer than before.

Cass took a dangerous step back, one heel of his foot half off the ledge, the other firmly on rock. He steadied his stance ready for attack, dagger griped so tight that his white knuckle flared violently in the dark. He played with the idea of taking the one facing him out first, before glancing over his shoulder below where the other Demen was"no longer there.

‘B******s going to pay for setting me up.’ he thought dryly, giving another mental curse before turning back. Still, he didn’t understand how this could be happening. Demen’s had never work together like this before, never. They were mindless, blood driven creatures; the things mortals make up in movies for entertainment.

If any other Valarian hunter like him had come across this kind of activity, an immediate report would have been given to the Neutral Assistance Association (NAA) and distributed throughout the Hunters Division (HD). But this, this was unheard of.

He used his free hand to pull another dagger from behind his back, but the sound of steel chaffing steel drew the Demen to full attention, head snapping suddenly straight, as if it could see him. An open distorted mouth, gifted"not! " Cass with a full view of shark like teeth, as it belted a painful, fury pitched scream. His hands flew up to shield his ears from the gruesome sound, nearly dropping both daggers. The added sound of rocks falling from behind, below, signaled to him that the other Demen was making its’ was up. He would need to close the distance between the screaming Demen and him quickly, before he truly became out numbered.

Cass charged as the beast rose to its’ feet, whipping its' claws though the air, hoping to rip flesh and draw blood.

Whip.

Duck. Missed. While squatted, Cass shot a leg out sweeping it under the Demen, taking him down with a loud “thud” before popping back up. Dirt kicked up into the air as the beast tried to right itself, a victory short spent, the Demen was back on all fours within seconds, bolting forward with razor sharp claws and teeth aimed at his throat. He maneuvered himself to the side, pivoting right to stab the creature in the chest as it passed. He pushed the small button on the handle releasing the poison, then grabbed its miry head and introduced its face to Cass’s knee. Hard.

Bone broke, noise cracking through their battle, and the Demen staggered back. The creature howled, an ear piercing beseech of pure pain. Cass squinted, forcing himself not to cover his ears again. Thick red liquid spurted from the wound at its chest, before the beast went limp crashing to the damp forest floor, black poison doing its justice.

Another blood curdling scream ripped through the night from behind, a truly respectable move, giving Cass fair warning of an approaching attack. He spun on both heels, ready with the other dagger in hand just in time to see the Demen, he had originally been hunting, crawl up onto the ledge of the rock where he’d been standing earlier. Its skin just as pale as the other, its’ eyes a misty white, with muscle roped in cords over long arms and legs; A beast built like a man with a clammy built up over skin, but it had a distinct dark blob of some sort on the underside of its neck, along with other markings on the side of its torso.

The Demen opened its mouth, mucus dripped out in globs, and that all too familiar sound of a wet gurgle erupted in the back of its throat.

Rolling his eyes, Cass shifted the dagger from one hand to the other, and widened his stance eager for the fight. He signaled the Demen with the quick “Flick, flick,” of both hands. “Come on you piece of s**t. I still owe you.” It didn’t matter if it could see him or not, it heard him.

Another gut wrenching scream echoed through the blackened canopy, yet the creature didn’t advance. It just stood there, perched on the rock as if a tasty meal had not presented itself. What was it waiting for, a paper invite?

“Come on!” he repeated a bit louder. To his surprise the Demen silenced its usual tracking sounds, cocked its head to the side in what looked like the most uncomfortable position yet, and slowly lowered itself close to the ground. Quietly it started back down the steep rocks, retreating until it was completely out of view.

Cass stood there stunned.

It wasn’t like the Demen to retreat. It wasn’t like them to hunt in pairs either. It wasn’t even like them to turn down a meal. But in this one eventful night, in all of his years of hunting and experience with the Demen, all three had happened.