Demetri (a vampire) and Dimitrix (a werewolf) have known each other for decades. They share histories of betrayal and lies by their families, and were broken down, only to be built up again in the ...
I steal a glance at Dimitrix, who to my surprise is still very human. She hasn't taken wolven form to fight the other rogue hunter of the pair. "Hey," she says over her shoulder. "There's a hole in your coat."
A growl starts in my chest. My calf-length leather duster is one of my favorite possessions. I took it after killing its owner back sometime around '76, and have kept it ever since. And now, there's a hole in it. "Goddamn it," I snarl as I turn to face my opponent. He's not anything I'm afraid-'5", stout, kinda' nerdy. Not a real threat to a vampire like me. More of an annoyance, really. And trust me-that hole in my duster is really annoying. "That is going to cost you, mate."
I lead and the young human and he dodges, yelling to his companion. She, unlike him, is very attractive with fiery hair and emerald eyes. I'd guess that she runs the show more often than not. "Fall back!" the boy yells. To my surprise, his companion complies and they both scamper off. If we really have the urge to do so, Dimi and I normally chase our attackers, but both of us label the two of them a waste of time.
Dimi turns to me, a grim look on her face. "Let me see,' she grumbles, tugging on my shirt. I shrug my duster off along with my shirt. I wince at the movement. The bullet that's lodged in my muscle is keeping the wound from closing immediately, and it hurts like a mother fucker. In my two centuries of un-life, I've almost forgotten what human pain feels like. Whether human or not, getting shot feels the same. The two major differences are that vampires don't go into shock and they don't bleed to death. "Idiots," I hear Dimi growl.
"Silver doesn't hurt a werewolf anymore that something else shot out of a gun." She shakes her head. "I'm surprised they weren't packing stakes." I chuckle. Stakes through the heart don't kill vampires. The only thing they've ever done is piss me off. A hunk of wood in the chest doesn't make for a hay-day down in Pleasantville.
My thoughts are broken by Dimi prying her fingers into my flesh and pulling the bullet out. I snarl, without really meaning to. She chuckles at me and produces the tiny piece of metal. "Idiots," I growl. Dimi only smirks,