Eye of the Tiger

and the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he's watching us all in the eye of the tiger.

The music beat like a caged beast against the walls and dancers alike, endeavoring to release itself into the scorching streets of Detroit. Loud, and pounding almost to the point of brutality, it had the ability to lure any person to the floor, with or without a partner. If dancing without, it considered itself the best matchmaker one could find. However, he simply refused to be moved, no matter how much energy the music presented"he simply made do with an occasional tap of his fingers or feet. Conquered, it turned its attention to the couple eyeing each other from across the room.

 

In relation to the music, obnoxious was the shortest, easiest description Damian’s smarting ears could conjure without permanent injury; however, his other five senses had more detailed reports. “See that alcove?” his eyes whispered as he reveled in the enhanced vision that penetrated dark and shadows as effortlessly as light. “Or across the floor"she’s good, look at her dance.” His mind agreed; she was good.

 

As he watched, she whirled into the light and a flash of blonde caught his eye. He tasted bitterness as he lifted his drink to his lips, pondering. Was it her? One last glance told him no, however, and the hand he had been about to use to push himself up dropped back to the bar. Patient, be patient. You’ll find her.

 

As much as the sights were interesting, the smell was ghastly, especially to one such as him. Seeking relief from the blistering summer stench, he had entered, and the smell of sweat and alcohol had answered with a blow to the face. When moving further into the bar, he’d discovered more superbly sordid smells. Urine and other ungodly odors combined to make a dung heap of stink.

 

He may have been overreacting, what with his shark-like senses, but even so.

 

He had been scanning the room for some time, and just as he finally found his someone, distraction came in the form of a hand tapping his shoulder. “Will you want another?” The bartender asked, motioning towards his empty glass. Damian glanced over his shoulder at her and shook his head. “No.” She seemed taken aback, but pleased, as he handed her a twenty. “Have a good weekend.”

 

He stood and caught another glimpse of the object of interest. Skirting the mass of writhing bodies, he arrived on the far side of the dance floor. He had found his mark.

 

Colette Gates was a loner. There only by friends’ requests, she frequented the shadowy alcoves and corners, and when at the bar, she held onto it like it was her lifeline. Though thin and frightened-looking, she had a personality that punched you in your face"if she let you come that close.

 

Damian had fooled himself into thinking he had chosen her for the challenge"but in some unacknowledged part of his mind, he knew the resemblance between her and Madeline was striking. He also knew it wasn’t accidental. Maybe it was the natural blonde-brown hair, or maybe it was her way of crossing her arms protectively when she was confused, but the more he had studied her, the less he saw her as Colette, and the more as Maddie.

 

He settled onto a stool, leaving one between his and hers, and retrieved his cellular phone. As he flipped it open, he noticed her attention shift to him. Good. Since it was held in his right hand and she was on his left side, there was no way for her to see that the small rectangular screen was blacked out; the phone wasn’t on.

 

The next part was difficult, but he had the requisite practice. It’s not every day one has a conversation with thin (or thick) air, and the performance was necessary, therefore it required a bit of rehearsal. As it was, Damian knew exactly what he had to say to prick her interest. Sympathy was what he needed from her.

 

Showtime.

 

He let loose a groan, just loud enough to be heard over the music, who had begun to take a bit more interest in him after he had moved. “No"of course I didn’t leave.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Colette was listening, though she appeared to be zoning out on the crowd. After weeks of observation, he knew her too well to fall for that.

 

The odds were in his favor actually; multiple people had told him multiple times that his voice was pleasant to hear. This helped immensely, for it gave her a reason to listen when there really was none"unless his good looks counted for anything.

 

His imaginary friend on the other line retorted with something akin to annoyance in the words, “Oh. Well, I didn’t see you.”

 

“I’m on the other side.” He countered, keeping a smile off his face. He was beginning to enjoy this. “Although I’d rather be at home.”

 

His fantastical friend responded with, “What do you mean?”

 

“Look. You know, I’m only here ‘cause you want me to be. Everyone here’s just interested in flirting, or worse, and you know I don’t like dancing.” He could almost hear the voice in his ear react with surprise, “What"come on man"”

 

“Bye.” He responded curtly, snapping the phone shut and slipping it into his pocket. The motion was fluid; she never had a chance to see the blackened screen.

 

“I get that, dude.” He shouldn’t have been able to hear her mutter, but with his heightened senses, even the quietest breath was a small gust of wind.

 

“Get what?” He stated the inquiry in a polite, but interested way. Inside, a cat’s grin was on his lips. Success.

 

“Oh.” Her eyebrows rose. “I just meant that… I understand that. My friends dragged me here.”

 

“Yeah. There’s nothing much to do but watch. And that gets boring after, oh, say, fifteen seconds?” Damian responded, rolling his eyes. She laughed. It wasn’t a light, airy giggle, but it sounded like it caught in her throat and tumbled over itself in a bundle of humor. An agreeable sound altogether"he hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing it many times.

 

“I’m Damian.” He offered his hand across the empty stool.

 

She gave it a small, polite shake. “Colette.”

 

“Who are your friends?” Noting her blank stare, he expanded on the statement, “The ones that dragged you here?” Comprehension dawned rays of illumination on her face. “Eh. Duh. Right, there’s one there…” She pointed to a mildly attractive brunette, whose risqué dancing and generous figure insisted on a second look. The subtle double take wasn’t lost on Colette, and she gave a rueful smile. “Yeah, that’s what most people think.”

 

Damian attention shifted back to his companion, shamefaced. “I"sorry, I just-”

 

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Eh. You’re a guy. You have eyes, you’re not blind"unless it’s that dark in here that I didn’t notice the glasses.” She glared peevishly at the expanse of the club. “It is that dark in here, actually…”

 

“No, I’m not blind.” He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Obviously.”

 

“Hah. And yeah, over there’s my twit of a friend, Martin… he’s the one who set this all up.” She pondered a moment before adding, in a mock-serious voice, “Curse him.” This was accompanied by a half-hearted shake of her fist.

 

“Is he Irish?”

 

“What?” Her tone was so bewildered that Damian had to laugh. He explained, “Martin. That’s an Irish name, right? I’m simply making conversation.”

 

“Making confusion is more like,” she chided, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, he’s Irish. Or should I say, ‘Aye-rish.’” She was musingly quiet for a couple seconds, before she gave a snort. “Eh, it’s okay. Don’t hold it back, just laugh. It was a horrible attempt.”

 

Valiantly, he held his laughter in. “No.” A chuckle escaped. “It was fine.” She studied him silently before frowning. “You’re laughing.” There was a slight accusation in her tone, although the entire situation was a jest. Outraged, Damian countered with, “You said, ‘don’t hold it in’!”

 

“Eh, details"who needs ‘em?”

 

“You say ‘eh’ quite a lot, are you Canadian?” Taken completely by surprise, she blinked silently at him for a protracted moment before her eyebrows shot up. “Where did that come from?”

 

Suddenly unsure, Damian’s tone reflected that. “Don’t Canadians say ‘eh’ a lot?”

 

It was another half-minute of prolonged silence later when she followed up his question with a slow, blank, “Eh?” She tried to hide the smile, but didn’t quite manage.

 

“Oh. I see, now. Making fun of me, are you?” Her smile expanded almost carnivorously into a playful smirk as she latched her teeth onto his next statement. “’Making fun of me, are you?’ What are you, British?”

 

“I’m deeply offended.”

 

“Well, you shouldn’t be. Everyone wants to be a Brit, from what I hear.”

 

“Well… still…” Damian’s tone was musing, as he stroked an imaginary goatee. “It’s still a bit insulting.”

 

“Fine. Be that way.”

 

“Want to get a drink?”

 

She hesitated, eyes flicking to his. Silence pounded in Damian’s ears. This was it. Make or break. The entire operation had been leading up to this…

 

Though her eyes ever so slightly narrowed, she nodded.

 

Success.

 

 

A lamp crashed to the ground, light bulb shattering in a burst of sparks, but neither person noticed. Damian’s mind had turned off, letting apathy take over, letting her direct their wild dance, letting the flow of actions take their course, waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment. Soon… but not too soon.

 

His lips grazed the hollow of her neck, and every single nerve in his body flared alight. Not… yet… the train of thought was slow and lazy, the reverse of their frenzy. It was something he did, seeing how long he could last before…

 

The movement was sudden"she didn’t have time to react. One second they were kissing, and the next his fangs were kissing her neck, feeding on her energy. He couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure that escaped as he felt the life force return to his silent heart, the first sick, addictive lurch as it began beat. His arms stiffened of their own accord, and she slipped, her legs weak and trembling. Regaining control of his body, Damian caught her as she fell, and lowered her gently to the ground, repositioning her arms to lie over her chest.

 

As usual, a twinge of pity shot through him"regret and revulsion at the thought that he was taking a human life. He countered this feeling with the knowledge that he was helping her to become what she was intended to be. Of course, they hardly ever felt this way.

 

“Ice.” He whispered, feeling the well of magic inside of him flow through the word, lacing it like ivy. Already, he could see, her lips were colorless. Standing back, looking down on her, the moon shone on her pale, narrow face, and her arms crossed over her chest"she looked like a sleeping angel. The beat of his heat skipped as the resemblance between her and Maddie was at its strongest and most terrible. He could remember vividly the night when she lay, cold and numb.

 

The memories were discarded with practiced ease. There were times for recollection, but this was not one of them.

 

A flame curled its way up his hand, licking his fingers, questioning for release.

 

He let go.

 

 

Mona Lisa Worthington was just settling down on her porch swing. A steaming mug of tea was clasped in her frozen fingers, but her thin housecoat still let the chill in. She leaned back, glancing up at the stars in her usual ritual of astronomical appreciation.

 

That was when the house across the street exploded.

 

As her head jerked toward the source of the sound, three thoughts crossed her mind, all in quick succession, as thoughts usually are. The first, I’m going to die, wasn’t the truth. Though in most cases, an explosive force the size of a house would, logically, kill someone, this fire, this energy wasn’t ordinary.

 

The second thought was “why tonight?”

 

Her final thought, before she fainted, was, is that fire in the shape of a tiger?

 

 

The tiger danced from room to room, its roar snapping wood and shattering glass. It was the roar of a whirling inferno.

 

The fire blazed out the windows, catching the roof in its grasp. It was all-consuming"all but two things.

 

The firestorm didn’t inconvenience Damian in the slightest. Like an action hero, carrying the damsel to safety, his steps took him confidently and safely through the wall of fire and he arrived on the lawn of 1058 Willow St.

 

He laid his precious bundle on the grass and left, knowing the fire wouldn’t touch her, or harm any other house but hers.

 

 

“I don’t get it,” Nate was muttering shaking his head. “This is the second one… it doesn’t make sense"how is she okay? How is she alive?”

 

Dr. Ruther sighed. “I don’t know. Of course I don’t know"it’s supernatural.”

 

“Oh, come on. You don’t-” a gulp, “-believe… that stuff. Right?”

 

Silence.

 

 

“We have to catch him.” Chief Anderson thumped his fist on the desk.

 

“How can we? This guy obviously…” Officer Myers stopped just in time, casting a guilty glance at the Chief.

 

“Obviously what?”

 

“Obviously… knows what he’s doing.” Good save, Nate congratulated himself. James would kill him if he mentioned anything paranormal.

 

With a sigh, the anger left James Anderson. “Go, Myers. Wrap this up as best as possible.”

 

 

Damian waited. Days passed like seconds, and his first full-month in Detroit was marching closer, and so was the day of his departure. It was risky to stay more than a month in the same place.

 

He waited for her. Waited for the day she’d show up, looking for answers. She knew where to find him; he’d made sure of it. If, by some freak of nature, she came… it would signify the beginning of something new"he wouldn’t have to wander the world alone.

 

But he wouldn’t allow his hopes to rise. After all, how many times had he believed he had found someone who would stay with him, only to be let down?

 

 

She was there, standing outside his door.

 

The thought was still incredible to him.

 

As he checked the peephole, he could tell she was angry, but it didn’t really matter. That would change. What mattered was that she had found him, and he had found her.

 

Opening the door, he let a cat’s smirk flit across his lips.

 

“Colette.”

 

 

Author's Note

no, he is NOT a vampire. Damian Serrano is one of a particular breed of supernaturals I created. The Exsanguis feed on human life force and energy [either one at a time, or feeding off a general crowd, to the point where they as a group might not feel anything] the way that vampires feed on blood. While the Exsanguis do lack blood, it is restored after they feed on a person and their heart starts beating again. Their bodies are alive, while their hearts are usually dead.