Red Awakening #4

Author's Note: Over a year later, it's time for the triumphant return of Red Awakening! The series left us with quite a cliffhanger, and a lot of loose ends left untied, so it's finally time to continue Zoey's dark journey!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! I'll be back soon with a new poll and, after that, a new story!

[story] [futa/futa] [vampire type stuff]

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‭I sense the subtle dampness under the tread of my sneakers as I take another step forward. The darkness is comforting, but the smell is foul – that of mold, metal, fetid water, and worse things I dare not contemplate. Predator’s senses bring the sound of dripping liquid to a cacophony in my ears, and my face makes my disgust visible. “Surely there is a more… convenient route,” I snarl under my breath.

Jack only chuckles, having taken point just ahead of me. After leaving The Corner, the Warmblood led me to the sewers beneath the city. It’s an unwelcome embarrassment to think my kind have been driven to a place like this, forced to live like rats rather than claim what is rightfully theirs – total domination, total power, not hiding away like vermin in the festering underbelly of our own feeding grounds. “There is, supposedly,” he finally says, “just not for me. Warmbloods don’t tend to do well in the hierarchy, so I use the main door with the rest of the riff-raff. Who knows, you manage to keep your shit on the down-low and you might manage to climb the ranks; wouldn’t be the first time a Feral’s made a name for themselves.”

I consider answering, but let out a low growl instead, continuing to follow behind and simply hoping we arrive sooner rather than later. My meeting with Jack gave me many of the answers I needed, but my mind swims with new questions, new possibilities. There’s a whole world I never knew existed, one that is now opening to me, but about which I understand nearly nothing.

As we descend deeper into the sewers, I begin to pick up new things, ill-fitting things. Metal railways worn smooth, a bit of the grime and muck wiped away, underlying scents of leathers, perfumes, blood. In the distance, the sound of dripping water gives way to the dull thump of music, so deep as to be nearly inaudible. We’re close.

Ever the disappointment, Jack echoes my sentiment, but doesn’t do so until about five minutes later. “I think we’re almost there,” he says, and I find myself rolling my eyes. It truly is bizarre that someone like him could have possibly sired a creature like me, but I have little choice but to accept his version of events. It’s not like my memory’s been doing me any favors, lately.

Nevertheless, while Jack’s assessment may be late, it is correct, and after a few more minutes of skulking through the sewers, that heavy thump of music grows louder. Streaks of blood along the walls provide ample warning to anyone who may have accidentally come this far without knowing their destination, and soon, we come face to face with a door, built into the grimy concrete of the sewer wall. It’s nearly nine feet in height and made of thick steel, colored a dark reddish-brown that evokes long-dried blood. Emblazoned in streaky white paint across its front is a symbol –a featureless humanoid figure, hanging upside-down from one ankle. Beneath the figure, also in white, is a goblet, and a single, solid streak of red paint connects the two.

Of more immediate note is the man in front of said door, and I find myself uncertain whether I should feel intimidated, or satisfied that one of my kin is a properly fierce specimen. Tan-skinned and sporting lanky black hair, he approaches seven feet in height, and likely outweighs Jack and I combined. Muscles bulge against a tightly-fit gray suit, a massive beard concealing the style or presence of a necktie. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes, and while he seems to carry no weapons, the way he folds his arms across his broad chest suggest none are necessary. Fingers end in thick, sharp claws, and his fangs seem permanently extended. I’ve been to enough bars to recognize this guy for what he is – a bouncer, however glorified. “Hey, Geno, how’re things?” Jack says sheepishly. I can tell he’s nervous, which amuses me.

“Why the fuck do you keep coming back here, vampling?” the man says with gruff voice, so deep it’s almost difficult to hear. “And who’s this redhead bitch?”

In an instant, my eyes flash blue, fangs extending – it happens before I can even think, before I can even attempt to control myself. Rather than try to interpose himself between me and Geno, Jack takes a quick sidestep, interjecting with a rushed “Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoa, easy, easy, she’s Feral!”

To my surprise, Geno visibly recoils, a look of slight surprise on his bestial features. “Shit, you shoulda said somethin’ up front,” he regards me warily, and for the moment, I restrain myself from lunging toward him. Somehow, this is more difficult than staying incognito at the hospital – these are peers, not prey, and I feel something dark set ablaze within me at the slightest insult. There’s a sense of superiority that’s hard for me to control. “Where the fuck d’you find her?”

“You won’t fuckin’ believe it,” Jack lets out a low chuckle, glancing back at me, but leaving a wide berth between himself and any potential conflict. “I sired her.”

“Good joke,” Geno cracks a fanged smile.

“He’s serious,” I snarl softly.

“You two gonna act like I don’t know Warmbloods don’t sire?” A dark brow arches up behind his shades. “Look, whatever you two’ve got goin’ on, you’re free to go in. Have fun, and…” he looks me up and down, “...try not to break anything.” He opens the door, and we head into an unlit antechamber; a short hallway littered with racks for hats and jackets, at the end of which is another, less… auspicious… door.

“What was he, then?” I murmur as the first door closes behind us.

“Huh? Oh, just the doorman.”

I hold back a growl of frustration. “What kind of vampire?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Jack lets out a short laugh, a gesture that’s beginning to annoy me. “Geno’s old blood, we call them Totemics sometimes. Big, bestial – more subtle than Ferals, but not by a whole hell of a lot. Legends of wendigos and shit almost always trace back to a Totemic vampire’s hunting grounds.”

“Hrm.” It seems I have a lot left to learn, not that this surprises me.

“Anyway…” Jack approaches the next door, laying a pale hand on the knob and slowly turning it, “...welcome to Darkhaven.”

Like shadows dancing against sunset, dark figures shift and blur against dim, hungry lights, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the many hues and liquid shapes of this sanctuary. I’m unsure exactly what I had expected – the music had evoked a massive nightclub, but Darkhaven is closer to a small, enclosed city, or an enormous mall. Light, when it is present at all, is kept dim, letting the place’s many inhabitants blend together in the shadows. The smell of the sewer is gone, and I have no choice but to respect the amount of work that must have gone into not just building this place, but keeping it a secret – if the architecture is any indication, Darkhaven may well have been here for over a hundred years.

While there are far more of my kin here than I had anticipated ever being in one place, Darkhaven is more than spacious, offering plenty of room for the creatures of the night to wander, alone or in small groups. I find myself first distracted by the variety of other vampires here – as Jack had mentioned, there are many different kinds, and that becomes more clear to me as I rapidly take them in. I see a few others like Geno, big and savage, mostly solitary. A gaggle of Warmbloods sticks close to each other, likely relying on strength in numbers to avoid being buffaloed by the true predators here. Some are pale and lanky, hair falling out or missing entirely, clearly less able to blend in topside than others. For many of these ‘strains,’ though, the distinctions are less obvious. They look and dress like ordinary people, give or take a bit of dark mystique, and it is only their behavior that sets them apart. None, I sense, are… like me. Not quite.

“Okay, so, I know your kind can get twitchy, especially around other vamps,” Jack says, taking his first few steps inside, “but I’m gonna need you to stay chill while we’re here, alright? I’m just gonna show you around a bit, and I’d prefer you not step on anyone’s toes.”

I have no intention of issuing an apology, but let out a grunt of acknowledgement. “I… have not hunted in some time. I am somewhat on edge.”

“Like a Feral needs an excuse,” he sighs, “but wait, you said you haven’t hunted? Have you fed at all?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yester– Jesus, Zoey, it’s a wonder you’re lucid at all. Alright, it looks like there’s a very specific part of Darkhaven we’ll be visiting first.” He turns left and starts walking, moving with purpose now. With no other guidance, I begrudgingly follow.

“Do you have a… blood bar of some kind? It’s often simple enough to find bags of it at the hospital….”

“Blood bar?” Jack looks truly incredulous for a moment as the rest of my comment sinks in. “Bags of…? Okay, no, no bags. Fuck, even I wouldn’t be caught dead – eh, undead – drinking from a bag, it’d be like drinking single-malt from a sippy cup.” He makes his way down a flight of stairs, passing by a young, darkly-dressed couple, tangled in an intense public make-out session. Broad, mall-like hallways sport doors leading to different vamp-run businesses; not individual structures, but built into Darkhaven’s walls. We move past a clothing store (of all things), a little shop selling UV-blocking concoctions, and a place selling dental prosthetics for vampires less adept, or able, to hide their fangs. This place really has everything you could want, it seems, and I find myself wondering if this place uses its own sort of currency, or if I’ll need to start taking more than just blood from those I hunt.

Jack finally leads me to a pair of massive glass double-doors, with a red neon sign outside reading ‘Craving.’ Inside, the air reeks of fresh blood, more than a little intoxicating. It boasts an atmosphere of its own, with bland, soothing music, tile floor, a fishtank, and– is this a restaurant? “What the…?”

We’re greeted by a short, thin young man with pallid skin, slicked-back hair, and a pencil thin mustache, dressed in a dress shirt and black vest – every bit the maître d’. “Ah, Mr. Wood, pleasure to see you again so soon,” he says with a velvety voice and just a hint of a fake accent. “The usual, I presume?”

“Your name is Jack Wood?” I try to hold back a chuckle.

Jack waves me off, turning back towards the shorter man, “Not for me, this time, Zire. I’ve got a hungry Feral on board, and a newbie at that. Need to make sure she doesn’t get, uh…” he glances back at me, “...hangry, y’know.”

“A Feral? Hm,” the man in the vest, Zire, seems slightly taken aback. “Don’t see many at Craving, or in Darkhaven for that matter.” He looks at me, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “Very well. Man or woman, darling?”

My mind quickly takes me to thoughts of Nina. How she’d looked and smelled, the fear I sensed the last time I saw her. Beneath that, the strange undercurrent of an unfamiliar feeling, an attachment I can’t explain, echoes of memories that were buried in blood. “Woman,” I say after a moment.

“Understood. Rules are as usual – cash only, all you can drink in an hour. All volunteers are made aware of the risks, but killing a volunteer triples the price and results in a one-month ban, so I’d suggest you exercise a bit of restraint…” the host eyes me over, “...assuming you can.”

“I’ll cover her tab,” Jack nods, “I think I owe her that much.”

“Excellent. Come with me, then.” Zire beckons me with one stiff hand, leading me to small room I suppose I’ll describe as a ‘dining area.’ There are many like it, each kept private with heavy red drapes, though I can hear the sounds of other patrons feeding all around me, a chorus of nourishment. Inside is a young woman, already completely naked, reclining on a midnight blue chaise lounge with her eyes closed. Mostly-healed bite marks riddle her soft, light skin, and waves of dark brown hair spill around her shoulders and back. She’s beautiful, almost venusian, with just enough meat on her bones to ensure that she’s able to survive what’s coming. Beside the half-couch she’s relaxing on is a half-full jug of orange juice, which is… admittedly, sort of funny.

“Is she glamoured?” I ask softly, licking my lips. Already I can hear the languid rush of the red in her veins, can smell her, almost taste her, and I feel my fangs extending.

“As I said, she is a volunteer,” the man smirks, then beckons me onward. “Enjoy yourself while I settle your tab with Jack.”

He leaves, and I drift inside, almost feeling like I’m floating as she curtains drift shut behind me. I approach her, falling to my knees in front of her, caressing one hand down her rosy cheek, feeling her warmth. Her eyes flicker open, nearly the same shade of dark, rich blue as the chaise lounge, and register fear for only an instant before softening. “Well hello, there,” she whispers, biting her lip. “My, you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same for you,” I whispered, bringing my face closer to hers, drowning myself in the thrum of her blood – the sound of it coursing through her veins grows louder, her heartrate picking up. No fear, just excitement, arousal. She knows what’s about to happen… and she wants it. Volunteer, indeed.

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips gently to hers, and let my hand stroke down from her cheek, to her throat, then shoulder, and finally along the soft curves of her side and hip. She returns the kiss, pulling into me, letting out a soft murmur of delight. With my every movement she shifts or arches, giving in, submitting to me with every little gesture. I brush my lips along her jaw, then move to her throat, fangs scraping tenderly across delicate skin before penetrating. Blood rushes to the spot, filling my mouth, hot and sweet – it’s the first time I’ve fed from someone who was conscious, willing, and not under my control, and there’s a very special shift in the flavor, a heady, inviting bouquet. Perhaps not so thrilling as a fresh hunt in the throes of fear, but an improvement over a glamoured victim, an incomparable to anything I’ve ever had out of a bag.

“Nnh… y-yes…” she whimpers, a shudder running through her as I drink, and as my hands explore her, I notice that her arousal has begun to manifest more… noticeably. Between those soft, bare thighs, her limp girlcock has started to stiffen and extend, gradually reaching its full length as I feed from her. A full length which is, well, actually pretty impressive. My hand makes its way from her hip, to her shaft, fingers winding around it and giving it a gentle squeeze, and her whimper heightens into a full moan of pleasure.

Despite my urge to drink more deeply from her, to drain her to the last drop, I do my best to keep some self-control – something I’ve been practicing ad nauseum at the hospital already. I pull back from her throat, nuzzling her nose… and decide to distract myself a little. Slipping my little black t-shirt off, I plant one knee up onto the chaise lounge, descending down her naked body and rolling her onto her back, spreading those thighs and dragging the tip of my tongue slowly along the underside of her gorgeous cock. Its almost hypnotic, the way her blood rushes through that smooth column of hard girlmeat, but I let my fangs do no more than graze it as I slide it into my mouth. The sound, taste, feel of her heat and life concentrating in one place is exhilarating, but so tempting – like sucking on a chocolate truffle without ever biting down.

Still, the music of her moans spurs me on, and I take her more deeply into my mouth, bobbing up and down on her throbbing shaft while my fingers caress up and down her body, fondling her soft breasts, caressing back down her hips to squeeze her plump rear. I let her cock slide out of my mouth, dipping down to sink my fangs into her inner thigh, taking another long, indulgent drink from her while my free hand pumps rapidly up and down her stiff, glistening member. “Mmmnnh…” I purr from between her legs, her moans drowning out the sounds of the other ‘customers’ in nearby rooms. I draw, swallow, draw, swallow, feeling the rush of life flooding me, nourishing and satisfying while I furiously jerk off my lovely young meal, her endorphin’s flavoring the experience and giving me a rush of chemical pleasure in turn.

So invested do I become, that I don’t notice the rush of her blood beginning to slow – what could have become a costly mistake had I not been brought back to reality by the sound of her orgasm. Her moan is weak, shuddering, but I can sense its intensity as she blasts shot after shot of her hot spunk across her own naked body, brought to the brink of hell but not stepping through the threshold. When I notice how much slower her flow has become, I tentative detach from her thigh, wiping my mouth and looking down on her beautiful, naked body, so much paler than it had been when I arrived.

I can still hear her heartbeat – good. Hopefully this will be an experience she remembers fondly. I give her one last soft kiss as she loses consciousness, and get my shirt back on. I still don’t know why Jack’s brought me to Darkhaven, but I suppose it shall soon be time to find out.