Round 1 // Challenge 8 - Entries
Story Title: Firewater
Character/Relationships: Jacob Black and Edward Cullen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None. Post Eclipse, pre Breaking Dawn.
"I got your note," I said. I didn't mention the wedding invitation.
"I meant it," he answered. "I owe you."
"True. You pretty much owe me everything. But you said thanks, so let's drop it."
My dad was at Charlie's, watching some game--baseball?--on the Swans' superior TV. It was a relief to have the house to myself, not to be scrutinized like something that might break any minute or more likely break into loud howls. My pain had subsided in the past week. My physical pain, that is.
But when Edward Cullen's car pulled up, I reluctantly kissed my solitude goodbye and went outside to meet him, wondering what the hell he could possibly want.
He nodded at me, looking grave. Funny. A guy who was one of the walking dead looking grave. The old Jacob could have had a career as a comedian, but the new one would rip the heart out of any hecklers.
It was starting to get dark, that amazing time of day when the sunlight shrinks away and the shadows take over and swallow everything, even the giant cedars. As a little kid I was scared of those shadows, imagining the monster Dask'iya hiding there, waiting to scoop me up in her big basket and take me up the Quileute River to broil me over the rocks in her blazing campfire. But now I welcomed the darkness, like a security blanket for my bruised soul. I hated the feel of sunshine on my skin, hated anything that smacked of false warmth. I wanted to be cold, as cold and unfeeling as he was.
"Carlisle told me you were better, so I thought I'd risk crossing the line to see for myself."
I started to make a reference to 'Dr. Fang' and thought better of it, inwardly congratulating myself on my impressive self-control just a half second before I remembered he could read my thoughts. I let the vilest words I could think of explode in my head, watching for a reaction on that frozen face.
"Your old man," I finally said, collecting myself, "hasn't cleared me for phasing yet, so what you see is what you get."
"Jacob--"
I was sick of the semi-guilty look in his semi-human eyes, eyes that looked dangerously dark. Had he been off his feed?
"Didn't we have enough male bonding in the tent?" I asked, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. "There's nothing left to say."
"I saw what one of my kind was able to do to you," he said, those thick eyebrows reaching for each other across the bridge of his nose. "I could feel your pain."
"It sucks being a mind-reader, huh?"
"I didn't have to read your thoughts to feel it. Your people saved my family, and you saved Bella. And I can't find a sufficient way to--"
"The Doc fixed me up," I said, cutting him off. "That makes us even." I shuddered, remembering the feel of his adopted father's cold hands wrapped around my ribcage, ready to correct the mistakes made by my own body's healing powers. I didn't want to relive that moment.
I could tell by the twisting of his dark lips that he understood. For some reason I decided to take pity on him.
"Look, Cullen. Before the rest of the pack shows up to make you a midnight snack, why don't you join me for a drink?"
"A drink?"
I grinned. "Come on in."
He stood awkwardly in the doorway as I hurried to my room for the forbidden treasure hidden there. "Meet my pal Jack," I said, displaying the fifth of whiskey as I searched the sink for two clean glasses. "This cost me twenty-five bucks, including the tip for the old alkie who bought it for me. I went all the way to Port Angeles to get it. You won't die if you drink it, will you?"
He didn't say anything, so I spoke for him. "You're worried about the redskin and his firewater? You gonna quote some grim statistics about alcoholism on the reservation, how it's 600 times the national average. Believe me, I've heard it my whole life."
I set the square bottle on the table. "Should I pour?"
"Jacob--"
"You don't have to drink much. But I'm gonna be pissed if you refuse."
I handed him a glass with about an inch of Old Number 7. "Let's drink to something," I said, my mood ominously elevated. "Let's drink to the Cold Ones, to taking a basically happy Indian kid and turning him into a killer."
"You're not a killer," he said, lifting the glass about a foot from his face. "You can't kill creatures that aren't alive."
"That's true," I agreed. "But it sure feels like killing."
"Would you have preferred to remain a 'basically happy Indian kid' facing a future of working at the fishery or selling souvenirs to tourists at the Tribal Store?"
I bolted my drink, fighting the urge to cough, the warmth bathing my throat and chest matching the heat of anger climbing my spine. "Fuck you," I managed to sputter. "Maybe I don't live in a glass palace or drive a forty-thousand dollar car, but I'm just as good as you are, Cullen! Better."
His lips curled into a smile. "I'll drink to that," he said, raising the glass and barely sipping. He struggled to swallow, his expression looking like he wanted to hurl. His voice sounded hoarse when he said, "You'll never know how noble I think you are."
"The 'noble savage,' huh? That's me." I poured myself another drink.
"I think so. Yes."
"Okay. You said your peace. Now get the hell out of my house before the savage side of me disobeys my doctor's orders and tears you apart."
His eyes held mine as he lifted his glass and slowly finished his drink. "Cheers," he said.
After he left, I got drunk for the first time in my life.
Story Title: Chumming the Water
Character/Relationships: Edward/Bella
Rating: R for light lemon/NC-17 action
Warnings: Breaking Dawn honeymoon alt fic
There’s nothing graceful about Bella’s leap from the deck of the rented boat into the ocean, but she figures that‘s no surprise to either of them. Her arms slap against the surface upon entry, and her first few seconds after submersion involve a lot of flailing. The water’s warm, though, and Edward’s right there (as he’d better be...snorkeling off-shore was his bright idea) and when she finally settles into what passes for floating, she feels weightless in the salt water...coordinated, even. She takes a minute to enjoy the feeling before flipping her body downward, kicking her way toward the coral-lined bottom.
*****
He sees the potential danger before she does, but before even he can reach her, her leg kicks outward and the heel of her bare foot makes contact with a rough outcropping of coral.
“Ooouch!” He hears the vibration of her exclamation through three feet of solid ocean. She’s turning under the water again, reaching for her foot, he’s an arms-length away, then half that, his hand extended to grasp her--
And he freezes. Before him, her heel is cut open in a jagged slice that’s releasing a steady stream of blood into the water.
For a long moment, they simply stare at one another. It’s the most beautiful thing: the blood rises from Bella’s pale foot--nearly white under the water--in soft, pink tendrils that swirl and shift like the licking flames of a fire. He worries for her foot, he cares that she’s hurting, but can’t seem to move, can’t look away. Bella remains perfectly still as well, watching him like the proverbial deer caught in the beam of oncoming headlights. He reaches out one hand tentatively and lets his fingers float through the flow. The blood swishes away like a flirt, fanning out only to swirl back into a single current again to his right. He reaches again. It shifts. His hand follows. Under the water, it’s like heaven and earth have met in the middle: the burn at the back of his throat is gone.
He can’t smell a thing.
*****
Bella feels herself slowly sinking as she keeps her arms and legs perfectly still, but it would be a terrible idea to kick or swim, wouldn’t it? Her eyes lock on Edward’s under the water as her blood flows up between them. He’s staring at her as though unable to look away, his face hard and unknowable, and she’s thinking sorry, sorry, sorry but underneath that, she’s surprised to hear an unfamiliar rise of fear pushing at the edges of her mind and threatening release. Of course that’s ridiculous. Edward would never hurt her. Never.
Never.
*****
He acts suddenly and without forethought: one hand cupping her elbow, he locks a grip on Bella’s waist and pulls her abruptly to the surface. He feels her diaphragm rise with her first sharp inhalation, and then she’s biting back a stifled cry as he lifts her onto the fiberglass deck of the boat. She begins to shiver.
“Let me see, does it hurt?” Of course it hurts, she’s crying.
She doesn’t resist him, but her hands clench at her sides and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut as he bends her knee, bringing her injured heel up to the light of day.
*****
She’s still actively bleeding, and there‘s nothing she can do to fix it. He won’t be able to resist this, surely, but isn’t this what she wants anyway? He’s leaning over her, it’s going to happen, she braces, but then his hands inexplicably leave her body, and she blinks. She opens her eyes to the blinding sunlight: his back is dazzling at the bow of the boat. She can‘t imagine what he‘s doing.
When she asks, he looks at her strangely, then holds a red and white box aloft in an obvious sort of way. “First aid kit.”
The practicality of it makes her laugh abruptly, and she‘s glad he can‘t hear the relief in her thoughts.
*****
The burning is back. The scent of blood is ripe in the humid air; there‘s a smear at Bella’s ankle and a single trickle running down her calf. He swipes at it swiftly with an alcohol pad, then slaps the bandage in place on her heel with an harshness he’s not proud of. She flinches, but doesn’t complain. He holds his breath, but his throat is an incinerator; there’s still blood on his fingers, on the bandage wrapper, dripped on the deck, and she’s just lying there, looking at him like she’s his for the taking.
Will she never learn?
*****
Her swimsuit is off--shredded more like--in half a second. Edward’s hands are pushing her hair back roughly to press his mouth to her neck, and her shoulders are pressed hard into the deck of the boat, but she’ll care about that later, when he surveys the bruises. Edward is hungrier than she’s ever seen him; his tongue is cool, his hands hard, his body a rock as he bends her to him, against him, under him. She can still see his white fingers caressing the stream of her blood under the water, still smell it on the back of his hand as he cups her face. She bends her mouth to his pale fingers, tasting, and for the first time, she thinks she might actually get it, this communion between blood and thirst.
Afterward, her heel is throbbing, but he doesn‘t need to know. She opts for banter: “We’d better leave before the sharks start circling.” He’s still not breathing, but allows himself one snort. She frowns into the glare of his face in the sun. “What?”
“Nothing.” He‘s back at the stern, starting the boat. “But I’m clearly doing something wrong if you still think sharks are the most threatening predators out here.”
Story Title: I want you to want me
Character/Relationships: Bella/Jacob
Rating: R
Warnings: No (although I rated it R, but just to be on the safe side)
Just a kiss. A little kiss to find out what it feels like… Bella told herself and closed her eyes. Jacob put his hand on her cheek and slowly came closer. She could feel his hot breath in her face. Only lightly, his lips touched hers, then he drew back. But just for a second, then he was back and pressed his mouth onto hers.
Jacob’s lips were soft and warm, his hand tender on her skin. Bella found herself reaching out to him. Her hands moved up his chest and she could feel Jacob’s heart beating fast beneath her fingers.
She opened her mouth a bit and the kiss intensified. Bella gripped Jacob’s shirt and he leaned into her, pressing her against the kitchen counter.
Jacob was the first to break the kiss, but he didn’t move away. His lips wandered to Bella’s ear. Stroking her hair behind her ear, he whispered, “I want you, Bella.”
In that moment, Bella was sure she would have loved to return Jacob’s feelings; she could feel it. But when she couldn’t answer him, it was clear to both - Bella wasn’t ready to forget Edward Cullen.
Softly, she pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She couldn’t even look him in the eyes.
Jacob sighed. “Me too.”
And then he left quietly.
Story Title: The Spectacular Dragon-Man
Character/Relationships: Edward, circa 1928
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied violence
The small, simple, and quiet town became alive when the carnival arrived. The empty dirt lot was decorated with bright lights and tents of strange colors. Exotic characters like the bearded woman and the world’s strongest man caused jaws to drop. The minds of the town-folk have never been stimulated like that before. They were amazed and inspired.
However, with the strange new characters also came unfortunate and tragic events the town never experienced. A few young women had gone missing, only to be found a few days later. The things that had been done to the victims was unspeakable. The only way to identify the women was to compare the bodies with their dental records.
With no leads or suspects the police had no legal authority to shut down the carnival just yet. However, as fate or luck would have it, Edward Cullen had been passing through just at the right time.
Edward pushed through the noisy, congested crowd. He singled out the swarming activity: children crying on scary rides, greasy food frying, uptempo music playing, announcers getting the attention of their audience, and performers amazing the spectators with their freakish tricks. Somewhere in this madness was the vile monster he was looking for. The venom pooled in his mouth just thinking about his next meal.
A bright orange flash danced out of the corner of Edward’s eye. A large crowd gathered around to watch The Spectacular Dragon-Man.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man was tall, muscular, and wearing a loin cloth to show off his head to toe tattoos. He twirled and juggled lit torches faster than the human eye can see. Occasionally the performer would do his “dragon” trick and make it look like he was breathing fire from his mouth.
The audience expressed their awe and applauded. The Spectacular Dragon-Man raised up his hand asking for more praise and then encouraged them to continue their applause into a steady beat. Taking his torches he juggled them to the rhythm of the clapping. As it got faster The Spectacular Dragon-Man added another torch until he was up to nine total. Just when the audience thought he couldn’t get any more crazy, he lit the other ends of the torches on fire, without a break.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man kept the juggling act up for two minutes until he extinguished each end of the nine torches with his mouth.
His audience erupted in cheers and whistles. Except Edward who was studying the juggler’s quick moves and listening to his thoughts. The pyromaniac was arrogant, egotistical, and his language was as filthy as he looked. Edward was so disgusted he was losing his appetite, but the world would be a better place without this abominable creature. He would kill him without resorting to drinking his blood.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man bowed over and over to everyone in the circle. Every bow he took was low, and as he straightened up again he winked at a young woman right in front of him.
Edward sneered with disgust at the repulsive thoughts he had to hear. He vowed those women would be safe tonight. The Spectacular Dragon-Man played with fire long enough.
Character/Relationships: Jacob Black and Edward Cullen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None. Post Eclipse, pre Breaking Dawn.
"I got your note," I said. I didn't mention the wedding invitation.
"I meant it," he answered. "I owe you."
"True. You pretty much owe me everything. But you said thanks, so let's drop it."
My dad was at Charlie's, watching some game--baseball?--on the Swans' superior TV. It was a relief to have the house to myself, not to be scrutinized like something that might break any minute or more likely break into loud howls. My pain had subsided in the past week. My physical pain, that is.
But when Edward Cullen's car pulled up, I reluctantly kissed my solitude goodbye and went outside to meet him, wondering what the hell he could possibly want.
He nodded at me, looking grave. Funny. A guy who was one of the walking dead looking grave. The old Jacob could have had a career as a comedian, but the new one would rip the heart out of any hecklers.
It was starting to get dark, that amazing time of day when the sunlight shrinks away and the shadows take over and swallow everything, even the giant cedars. As a little kid I was scared of those shadows, imagining the monster Dask'iya hiding there, waiting to scoop me up in her big basket and take me up the Quileute River to broil me over the rocks in her blazing campfire. But now I welcomed the darkness, like a security blanket for my bruised soul. I hated the feel of sunshine on my skin, hated anything that smacked of false warmth. I wanted to be cold, as cold and unfeeling as he was.
"Carlisle told me you were better, so I thought I'd risk crossing the line to see for myself."
I started to make a reference to 'Dr. Fang' and thought better of it, inwardly congratulating myself on my impressive self-control just a half second before I remembered he could read my thoughts. I let the vilest words I could think of explode in my head, watching for a reaction on that frozen face.
"Your old man," I finally said, collecting myself, "hasn't cleared me for phasing yet, so what you see is what you get."
"Jacob--"
I was sick of the semi-guilty look in his semi-human eyes, eyes that looked dangerously dark. Had he been off his feed?
"Didn't we have enough male bonding in the tent?" I asked, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. "There's nothing left to say."
"I saw what one of my kind was able to do to you," he said, those thick eyebrows reaching for each other across the bridge of his nose. "I could feel your pain."
"It sucks being a mind-reader, huh?"
"I didn't have to read your thoughts to feel it. Your people saved my family, and you saved Bella. And I can't find a sufficient way to--"
"The Doc fixed me up," I said, cutting him off. "That makes us even." I shuddered, remembering the feel of his adopted father's cold hands wrapped around my ribcage, ready to correct the mistakes made by my own body's healing powers. I didn't want to relive that moment.
I could tell by the twisting of his dark lips that he understood. For some reason I decided to take pity on him.
"Look, Cullen. Before the rest of the pack shows up to make you a midnight snack, why don't you join me for a drink?"
"A drink?"
I grinned. "Come on in."
He stood awkwardly in the doorway as I hurried to my room for the forbidden treasure hidden there. "Meet my pal Jack," I said, displaying the fifth of whiskey as I searched the sink for two clean glasses. "This cost me twenty-five bucks, including the tip for the old alkie who bought it for me. I went all the way to Port Angeles to get it. You won't die if you drink it, will you?"
He didn't say anything, so I spoke for him. "You're worried about the redskin and his firewater? You gonna quote some grim statistics about alcoholism on the reservation, how it's 600 times the national average. Believe me, I've heard it my whole life."
I set the square bottle on the table. "Should I pour?"
"Jacob--"
"You don't have to drink much. But I'm gonna be pissed if you refuse."
I handed him a glass with about an inch of Old Number 7. "Let's drink to something," I said, my mood ominously elevated. "Let's drink to the Cold Ones, to taking a basically happy Indian kid and turning him into a killer."
"You're not a killer," he said, lifting the glass about a foot from his face. "You can't kill creatures that aren't alive."
"That's true," I agreed. "But it sure feels like killing."
"Would you have preferred to remain a 'basically happy Indian kid' facing a future of working at the fishery or selling souvenirs to tourists at the Tribal Store?"
I bolted my drink, fighting the urge to cough, the warmth bathing my throat and chest matching the heat of anger climbing my spine. "Fuck you," I managed to sputter. "Maybe I don't live in a glass palace or drive a forty-thousand dollar car, but I'm just as good as you are, Cullen! Better."
His lips curled into a smile. "I'll drink to that," he said, raising the glass and barely sipping. He struggled to swallow, his expression looking like he wanted to hurl. His voice sounded hoarse when he said, "You'll never know how noble I think you are."
"The 'noble savage,' huh? That's me." I poured myself another drink.
"I think so. Yes."
"Okay. You said your peace. Now get the hell out of my house before the savage side of me disobeys my doctor's orders and tears you apart."
His eyes held mine as he lifted his glass and slowly finished his drink. "Cheers," he said.
After he left, I got drunk for the first time in my life.
Story Title: Chumming the Water
Character/Relationships: Edward/Bella
Rating: R for light lemon/NC-17 action
Warnings: Breaking Dawn honeymoon alt fic
There’s nothing graceful about Bella’s leap from the deck of the rented boat into the ocean, but she figures that‘s no surprise to either of them. Her arms slap against the surface upon entry, and her first few seconds after submersion involve a lot of flailing. The water’s warm, though, and Edward’s right there (as he’d better be...snorkeling off-shore was his bright idea) and when she finally settles into what passes for floating, she feels weightless in the salt water...coordinated, even. She takes a minute to enjoy the feeling before flipping her body downward, kicking her way toward the coral-lined bottom.
*****
He sees the potential danger before she does, but before even he can reach her, her leg kicks outward and the heel of her bare foot makes contact with a rough outcropping of coral.
“Ooouch!” He hears the vibration of her exclamation through three feet of solid ocean. She’s turning under the water again, reaching for her foot, he’s an arms-length away, then half that, his hand extended to grasp her--
And he freezes. Before him, her heel is cut open in a jagged slice that’s releasing a steady stream of blood into the water.
For a long moment, they simply stare at one another. It’s the most beautiful thing: the blood rises from Bella’s pale foot--nearly white under the water--in soft, pink tendrils that swirl and shift like the licking flames of a fire. He worries for her foot, he cares that she’s hurting, but can’t seem to move, can’t look away. Bella remains perfectly still as well, watching him like the proverbial deer caught in the beam of oncoming headlights. He reaches out one hand tentatively and lets his fingers float through the flow. The blood swishes away like a flirt, fanning out only to swirl back into a single current again to his right. He reaches again. It shifts. His hand follows. Under the water, it’s like heaven and earth have met in the middle: the burn at the back of his throat is gone.
He can’t smell a thing.
*****
Bella feels herself slowly sinking as she keeps her arms and legs perfectly still, but it would be a terrible idea to kick or swim, wouldn’t it? Her eyes lock on Edward’s under the water as her blood flows up between them. He’s staring at her as though unable to look away, his face hard and unknowable, and she’s thinking sorry, sorry, sorry but underneath that, she’s surprised to hear an unfamiliar rise of fear pushing at the edges of her mind and threatening release. Of course that’s ridiculous. Edward would never hurt her. Never.
Never.
*****
He acts suddenly and without forethought: one hand cupping her elbow, he locks a grip on Bella’s waist and pulls her abruptly to the surface. He feels her diaphragm rise with her first sharp inhalation, and then she’s biting back a stifled cry as he lifts her onto the fiberglass deck of the boat. She begins to shiver.
“Let me see, does it hurt?” Of course it hurts, she’s crying.
She doesn’t resist him, but her hands clench at her sides and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut as he bends her knee, bringing her injured heel up to the light of day.
*****
She’s still actively bleeding, and there‘s nothing she can do to fix it. He won’t be able to resist this, surely, but isn’t this what she wants anyway? He’s leaning over her, it’s going to happen, she braces, but then his hands inexplicably leave her body, and she blinks. She opens her eyes to the blinding sunlight: his back is dazzling at the bow of the boat. She can‘t imagine what he‘s doing.
When she asks, he looks at her strangely, then holds a red and white box aloft in an obvious sort of way. “First aid kit.”
The practicality of it makes her laugh abruptly, and she‘s glad he can‘t hear the relief in her thoughts.
*****
The burning is back. The scent of blood is ripe in the humid air; there‘s a smear at Bella’s ankle and a single trickle running down her calf. He swipes at it swiftly with an alcohol pad, then slaps the bandage in place on her heel with an harshness he’s not proud of. She flinches, but doesn’t complain. He holds his breath, but his throat is an incinerator; there’s still blood on his fingers, on the bandage wrapper, dripped on the deck, and she’s just lying there, looking at him like she’s his for the taking.
Will she never learn?
*****
Her swimsuit is off--shredded more like--in half a second. Edward’s hands are pushing her hair back roughly to press his mouth to her neck, and her shoulders are pressed hard into the deck of the boat, but she’ll care about that later, when he surveys the bruises. Edward is hungrier than she’s ever seen him; his tongue is cool, his hands hard, his body a rock as he bends her to him, against him, under him. She can still see his white fingers caressing the stream of her blood under the water, still smell it on the back of his hand as he cups her face. She bends her mouth to his pale fingers, tasting, and for the first time, she thinks she might actually get it, this communion between blood and thirst.
Afterward, her heel is throbbing, but he doesn‘t need to know. She opts for banter: “We’d better leave before the sharks start circling.” He’s still not breathing, but allows himself one snort. She frowns into the glare of his face in the sun. “What?”
“Nothing.” He‘s back at the stern, starting the boat. “But I’m clearly doing something wrong if you still think sharks are the most threatening predators out here.”
Story Title: I want you to want me
Character/Relationships: Bella/Jacob
Rating: R
Warnings: No (although I rated it R, but just to be on the safe side)
Just a kiss. A little kiss to find out what it feels like… Bella told herself and closed her eyes. Jacob put his hand on her cheek and slowly came closer. She could feel his hot breath in her face. Only lightly, his lips touched hers, then he drew back. But just for a second, then he was back and pressed his mouth onto hers.
Jacob’s lips were soft and warm, his hand tender on her skin. Bella found herself reaching out to him. Her hands moved up his chest and she could feel Jacob’s heart beating fast beneath her fingers.
She opened her mouth a bit and the kiss intensified. Bella gripped Jacob’s shirt and he leaned into her, pressing her against the kitchen counter.
Jacob was the first to break the kiss, but he didn’t move away. His lips wandered to Bella’s ear. Stroking her hair behind her ear, he whispered, “I want you, Bella.”
In that moment, Bella was sure she would have loved to return Jacob’s feelings; she could feel it. But when she couldn’t answer him, it was clear to both - Bella wasn’t ready to forget Edward Cullen.
Softly, she pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She couldn’t even look him in the eyes.
Jacob sighed. “Me too.”
And then he left quietly.
Story Title: The Spectacular Dragon-Man
Character/Relationships: Edward, circa 1928
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied violence
The small, simple, and quiet town became alive when the carnival arrived. The empty dirt lot was decorated with bright lights and tents of strange colors. Exotic characters like the bearded woman and the world’s strongest man caused jaws to drop. The minds of the town-folk have never been stimulated like that before. They were amazed and inspired.
However, with the strange new characters also came unfortunate and tragic events the town never experienced. A few young women had gone missing, only to be found a few days later. The things that had been done to the victims was unspeakable. The only way to identify the women was to compare the bodies with their dental records.
With no leads or suspects the police had no legal authority to shut down the carnival just yet. However, as fate or luck would have it, Edward Cullen had been passing through just at the right time.
Edward pushed through the noisy, congested crowd. He singled out the swarming activity: children crying on scary rides, greasy food frying, uptempo music playing, announcers getting the attention of their audience, and performers amazing the spectators with their freakish tricks. Somewhere in this madness was the vile monster he was looking for. The venom pooled in his mouth just thinking about his next meal.
A bright orange flash danced out of the corner of Edward’s eye. A large crowd gathered around to watch The Spectacular Dragon-Man.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man was tall, muscular, and wearing a loin cloth to show off his head to toe tattoos. He twirled and juggled lit torches faster than the human eye can see. Occasionally the performer would do his “dragon” trick and make it look like he was breathing fire from his mouth.
The audience expressed their awe and applauded. The Spectacular Dragon-Man raised up his hand asking for more praise and then encouraged them to continue their applause into a steady beat. Taking his torches he juggled them to the rhythm of the clapping. As it got faster The Spectacular Dragon-Man added another torch until he was up to nine total. Just when the audience thought he couldn’t get any more crazy, he lit the other ends of the torches on fire, without a break.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man kept the juggling act up for two minutes until he extinguished each end of the nine torches with his mouth.
His audience erupted in cheers and whistles. Except Edward who was studying the juggler’s quick moves and listening to his thoughts. The pyromaniac was arrogant, egotistical, and his language was as filthy as he looked. Edward was so disgusted he was losing his appetite, but the world would be a better place without this abominable creature. He would kill him without resorting to drinking his blood.
The Spectacular Dragon-Man bowed over and over to everyone in the circle. Every bow he took was low, and as he straightened up again he winked at a young woman right in front of him.
Edward sneered with disgust at the repulsive thoughts he had to hear. He vowed those women would be safe tonight. The Spectacular Dragon-Man played with fire long enough.