Chapter 6

Furious, Scratch kicked an old metal trashcan down the alleyway.

"Hey, man. Cut that out. We don't want no cops."

A cold, hateful glare cowed the young, scarred man beside him.

"Shit!" Scratch picked up the metal can and threw it against the brick wall. "What the hell was that thing? And how could it pick up Kiol like… like he didn't weigh nothin' at all? It took him, man! It jumped right up on top of that building like there wasn't even a building there! How the hell did it do that?!"

"Maybe it…"

Scratch had to restrain himself from strangling the living shit out of his best friend, Fang. "OH SHUT THE FUCK UP! I didn't really expect you to answer that, moron!"

"Perhaps I could answer your question then," came the smooth-as-silk reply.

Scratch jerked to a halt, popping out his switchblade as he twirled to face the new voice. "What the fuck?!"

But the silken voice had already begun to work its magic on the unsuspecting leader of the Writhing Horde. "Oh, I beg your pardon. Dreadfully sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Who the fuck are you? Come out where I can see you, you bastard!" Blue eyes searching frantically for the source of the voice, Scratch fidgeted - moving the knife briskly from hand to hand. Who was this? And more importantly where was he? He could hear the smooth sounds but couldn't quite place where they were coming from. It was like the voice was a part of the air he was breathing…

Movement caught his eye. He wheeled to face it - knife in hand - and watched mesmerized as a shadow literally detached itself from the wall and slowly took human form.

By the time Scratch regained his senses enough to finally close his gaping mouth, the black mist was fully transformed into a tall, dark-skinned man dressed in elegant clothing and thigh-high black boots. Long, midnight hair was bound by a single red ribbon, and blood stained lips were curled into a feral smile.

A strange twinge shot through Scratch's groin. "What are you? Some kind of fag? You queer or something, man?"

Clean white teeth gleamed in the pale streetlight's glow. "You could say that."

"Back up, fag! You know who you're talkin' to?" The slow-witted and incredibly brave - or stupid - Fang moved to intercept the dark man's advance. Scratch wanted to reach out and stop him, tell him that this man was far more dangerous than he could handle, but those blood red lips moved and the leader of the Writhing Horde became mute from lust.

"I know I'm not speaking to you, varlet," the man snarled before grabbing Fang's throat and squeezing.

Scratch heard a sickening crunch, and Fang's brown eyes went white. The man threw Fang's body into the corner, his head crunching from the impact.

Long elegant hands rubbed together briefly, as if ridding themselves of filth, before the man turned back to face Scratch. "Now, I do believe you are Scratch of the Writhing Horde? Am I correct?"

The blonde punk found his voice, the temporary spell broken. "Who the fuck wants to know, huh? Who the fuck are you?!" He tried to keep the fear from staining his words.

"Who am I? Why, I'm here to help you, Scratch. I'm here to give you everything your heart desires… including Kiol."

Frightened blue eyes widened and a guilty blush tinged pale cheeks. "Kiol? How do you know about Kiol? You sick fuck!" Scratch lunged forward driving his knife blade into the man's chest and twisting it before yanking it free. He stared at the knife in shock before raising his eyes to the gaping hole. There was no blood. There should have been blood. But there was nothing except torn flesh. Torn flesh that mended before his shocked baby blues. "What the…? Who- What are you?"

"I'm Gideon and I've come for you, Scratch of the Writhing Horde. I've come to make you my servant. And my lover. Forever."