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Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

Summary:
She stalks. He runs. Faster, faster, now. Her white dress creates a figure of heaven, little do they really know. It's a full cycle, a complete circle of before. The night Royce King is brutally murdered by a figure in white, what does he think? Photobucket


Notes:
Alright, I know I've been doing TONS of one-shots lately, and it's mostly because I've had a lot of ideas I need to get down, but I can truthfully say I will be working a LOT on my chaptered stories this week, mostly Fate's Twisted Charm and then I Remember, since they both ended with cliffhangers. Then, hopefully, I can get some Blinded By Darkness in. :D Also, I got the title of this from the song Wolf In Sheep's Clothing by This Providence, which I think the lyrics fit perfectly. Also, I'm not 100% sure what song I used in this. I just kinda found the lyrics on Google.


1. Wind Is On My Side

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2176   Review this Chapter


A wraith with an angel's body
A demon with a smile of gold
You soul sucker
I won't become like you
A killer with the perfect weapons
Crystal eyes and a heart of coal
You soul sucker
I won't lose myself in you

Look how pretty she is
When she falls down
Now there is no beauty in
Bleeding mascara
Her lips are quivering
Like a withering rose
She's back again

"See ya tomorrow, John!" He yells back, joyously, to his friend in the back of the bar. His friend grins and waves as the bar door shuts with a bang that rattles the poorly built frame of O'Kennley's Bar and Pub on 31st street, known to all bachelors of the city. Royce King, the social owner of Rochester, steps down off of the stoop leading to his favorite place to get a drink. The frigid December air bites at him bitterly, stinging his youthful, arrogant face. He tightens his scarf around his scrawny neck and takes a deep breath before starting his long walk home. The wind picks up, snarling viciously in his ears as he walks zigzagged with a half empty beer bottle in his hand.

He whoops joyously, not noticing the almost inaudible steps behind him. It's a Friday night, and he plans to make the most of the weekend. The lights in the houses that line the street are dimmed, eerie candlelit shadows shape the walls inside as he peeks about. He skips along, merrily, and the beastly woman behind him can't help but think how childish he is. He knows nothing of the world, how it really works, the inner tunings, and is so immature it almost hurts to look at him and think of how she used to love him. He's just some spoiled, little brat to her who knows nothing of pain, of misery, of change.

He takes a swig of the beer bottle, alcohol tainting his swollen lips from necking the young woman inside the bar. He hears something behind him and turns around, eyes unfocused from the beverage in his hands. All he sees is the darkness around him, the shadows created by imaginary objects that he thinks he sees. He trips backwards over a tin can lying in the middle of the street, and catches himself before he falls. The can skitters along the street, making annoying clinking sounds along the way. The woman, hidden by darkness, smiles smugly. He's scared and that's good. He should be scared. She would be if the roles were reversed. He picks himself up off the ground, groaning as he learns he's lost his beer bottle.

She continues to follow, slowly and creeping up after him, her white train of satin flowing almost angelically behind her. Her golden curls are loosely blowing in the billowing air and the red lipstick greatly contrasts with her icy skin. She looks like the Snow Queen in living flesh, created by anger, avenge, and agony. Her lace veil flies back, revealing her sickeningly perfect face as she follows and stalks. She's waited for this moment for a long, long time now, and she's not about to give it up. She floats gracefully, almost like a ghost created by winter, her feet trail footprints in the pure snow as the luscious venom builds in her perfectly sculpted throat.

And that's when he remember. When the warning signal goes off in his head; threateningly red lights flash in brilliant shades and colors. A cold sweat breaks out across his forehead, a drop dribbles down his crooked nose, broken numerous times from bar fights. He remembers the murders, the killings of his friends and he curses himself.

"Fuck! You idiot!" He screams to himself in the chilling air of late December. He kicks violently at a small pebble, making it skid around the street. He yelps out, turning round quickly. He thinks he's moving faster than he really is, his reflexes and movements slowed by alcohol and drunkenness. He's panicking, knowing that she's out there. He smacks his forehead, he's so stupid! A blurry memory of this morning's newspaper flashes in his mind as he remembers the headline, Death Tole Reaches New High, and he remembers how he knew then that someone was killing in her name. But who? Who would possibly know what he and his friends had done?

He calls out, moronic enough to think his guards may come to his rescue. He knows he shouldn't have dismissed them tonight, but he just wanted some fun. Some beer, some sex, some fun. It's all the same to him. He hears a rustle in the breeze, and his head whips to look for the cause of it. He sees nothing. He gulps, the sound echoing around him. She watches from the shadows, a disgusted grimace forming on her face. She hates him, hates him with all her rotten, icy, monstrous heart. She decides to make her move, to finally achieve her goal. He's frenzied, frantically trying to find the source of his nightmarish fears.

She steps out of the shadows, her dress a trail of icy satin behind her. Her smile is menacing, a predatory look gleams in her eyes. They gleam with cruelness, with anticipation of the hunt reaching her crackled and dry veins. They pound fast, violently, wanting and needing the feeling of blood sinking through and through. Her teeth gleam, the moonlight glinting off their pearliness and perfection. Venom drips down from her front teeth, viciously startling as it glitters and trails a thin liquid down from her mouth. She's the vision of perfection, scarred and marred into a twisting mirage of cruelty and evil.

"Oh Royce, sweetheart, what are you doing?" Her flawless voice takes on the disguise of a worrisome and scolding mother. She walks closer, closer, stalking her prey. A shiver runs up his spine, making the hairs stand straight on edge. He turns hesitantly around, almost too scared to look behind him and see who just called his name so seductively. He looks curiously, facing her equally and he gasps. It's her. It's her, it's her, it's her. It's all he can say in his mind, and out loud. She laughs, a bitter and humorless grim laugh that scares the living daylights out of him. The full moon shines brightly on him and he shakes. This isn't possible.

He runs. He can't help it. His reflexes take over, making him run faster than ever. It's funny to watch, a man screaming for his life as he runs in sloppy lines from all the beer he's drank. She laughs again, the vicious sound echoing around him. She picks up her skirt and skips to catch up. She knows she will, she just wants to draw out the pain and the chase as long as possible. As she skips, she hums a familiar nursery rhyme, twisting the silly tunes to hauntingly fearing ones. No one recognizes the tune of this song, only her.

He runs frantically, trying to get away. This isn't possible. How is she here? The wind whips behind him, snarling and growling almost like it wants to stop him and hand him over. He yelps, desperate to get away. He hears humming behind him and shivers. It's her humming, so fearfully and frighteningly. She stalks. He runs. Faster, faster, now. Her white dress creates a figure of heaven, little do they really know. It's a full cycle, a complete circle of before. He continues to run, his house is in sight. He breathes a heavy sigh of relief, he may make it. He may. His muscles move faster and harder than ever. He's running on pure adrenaline and fear, trying to get away. This is nothing to her, though. She slows her pace, wanting to make him think he's made it. He makes his way to the door and yanks it open. He shouts commands, calling for his guards. Her lips raises in disgust, can he truly not do anything on his own? Is he really that stupid? She peeks through the windows as the guards rush down and pile him into a steel room, no windows, and only one door. She giggles, like that will stop her? No way.

After he's in and locked away, she steps hesitantly forward. She will kill him. She will. And maybe the guards, too, since they're in the way. Her presence makes the guards stiffen and they know she's close. She comes into view, an avenging angel on the hunt, and her gold eyes gleam in the moonlight in an unnatural way. She's not human, and they soon know this as she moves as fast as lightning and appears in front of one. She's eye level with one, looking right into his blue eyes. She runs her slender fingers through his golden curls and then before he can react, his neck has been snapped. The one next to him gasps in horror, and before the gasp is finished, he's dead too. She snickers quietly, they were too easy.

She peels the door away eagerly, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. The door groans as it's pulled off, creating an achingly dark hole in its stead. He huddles in the corner, scared and frightened. Her silhouette fills in the doorway, flawless and glorious. She smiles venomously and snarls. His eyes widen, yes, she snarls. A fearful, inhuman snarl. He backs away, sobbing for someone to help him out of this nightmare he calls death. She creeps forward, moonlight making her glow subtly. He looks upon her flawless form. His beady eyes take in everything about her, her high heeled shoes, her flowing white dress, her exposed collarbone and glimmering neck, her full, luscious lips pulled into an aggressive smile, her angled features, her wide, evil eyes, and her silky hair. He's even disgusting enough to let his eyes linger on her curvy hips and bosom. She notices how he looks at her, like she's some prostitute on the side of the street. It angers her even more.

"Thought you could get away from it, Royce? That there'd be no justice? That I wouldn't come for you? Well guess what, I'm back. New and improved," She spits out. Her anger boils under her flesh. He quivers and weeps, begging for her to leave him be. She shakes her head, he'll never understand why she's doing this. He'll never understand how damaged, how broken, how useless he made her feel because of what him and his disgusting demons for friends did to her body. They broke her body, her heart, and her spirit. She may never recover.

"I'm so sorry, Rosie. I'm so sorry," He sniffles, leaving snot everywhere. Disgusting, she thinks. He's a pig, some disgusting, worthless pig. She kicks him, he's useless. She kneels down to him, making them eye level.

"You're not sorry, you beast. You're anything but," She says, venom seeping into her heavenly voice. She slaps him on the cheek, hard, and watches as blood rushes up and leaves his face a pinkish hue. He whimpers as she grabs his face too roughly, probably rebreaking his nose.

"What are you? What? A demon? An angel?" He whispers, mystified. He's never seen anything so glorious, or so hideous. He shivers at her icy touch, her skin leaving a snowy trail on his skin.

"A vampire," She hisses in his hear before she snaps and breaks his neck. He goes limp, finally dead. The relief feels so grand, so wondrous. Like a great weight has just been taken off. She sighs deeply before kicking his lifeless form. It feels so good, so justified. His life is over, just like hers. Her smile falters as blood seeps slowly out of a wound from a kick in his torso. She groans as she knows her fun is over. She leaps from the broken and twisted body, reveling in the feeling that she's free. She walks out of the house, feeling for the first time in so long like she's on top of the world. The power feels magnificent.

Outside, the wind heaves a great sigh, almost like it, too, is relieved. Like it was on her side all along.

But, before she left, she took a lighter and wrote in big, block letters on the wooden floor in front of the room containing Royce's body one single word. Rapist.

What do you think love means?
It's more than words and more than feelings
Sucking me dry
Is my marrow that sweet?
Your dead lovers have left a trail of
Broken hearts and misspent hopes
Sucking them dry
Does their marrow taste of sweetness?
I hope you choke

Look how pretty she is
When she falls down
Now there is no beauty in
Bleeding mascara
Her lips are quivering
Like a withering rose