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A quick recon of the area showed the bodies of an older farmer and his daughter. He was face down but the red moist earth around his head told his throat had been cut. She was lying on her back, most of her clothing torn aside, her throat also slit. She had once been very pretty. Apparently, the Americans had agreed...and enjoyed themselves, with her...until perhaps ten minutes ago. Her blood had only just stopped flowing. They had left her lying in a manner that was depraved.
I circled back to look at the men, keeping above them. Two were well into their thirties, one very thin the other edging into obesity, maybe a dozen teeth between them. They were drinking most of the Takju. The lad tucking himself away was very young and very drunk, which was probably why he was having trouble. He had only a hint of a beard covering a wide, boyish face and would have been acceptable, if only he'd had more ass on him. Granted, those hulking uniforms were not conducive to revealing a man's general anatomy, but they didn't exactly hide it, either.
Fortunately, that is what helped me choose the fourth one as my diversion.
He strolled along, grinning ear to ear. His hat was hiding his face, but he was sturdy, not stocky, in a uniform that had probably been the right size for him when he joined the service and now was close to being a bit too tight. Also, his walk was casual and cool. Far too much so for a man who'd just helped murder two innocent people...but that stride helped reveal how nice the flow of his ass into his legs was. I checked his front. His jacket was open and the top three buttons of his shirt undone, showing his chest had an abundance of hair, was full and oh-so inviting. A bit more around the tummy than need be, but not too much. Minimal crotch filling, but my guess was he'd depleted himself in the dead girl.
Still...we'd see about that.
He had just fired up a second cigarette and, as he walked, was rolling another. Apparently, he did not like rice wine. This was good. I preferred unencumbered blood.
They were chattering in words that almost sounded English, but were so different from my ancient tongue I had difficulty understanding them. Considering how America was exploding in strength and purpose, it looked like I'd have to spend some time there to get an idea of the lingo. Boston or New York, perhaps. Large cities to shelter yourself in. But that was for later consideration.
I have to admit, the more I watched the fourth man walk and interact with his companions, the more I wanted to keep him for more than a single night. Then he took off his hat and wiped his brow, even though it was a cool evening, and I saw a strong face with dark eyes and a wide grin under an untrimmed beard.
Okay...first things first, the beard would have to go. I don't mind whiskers, but when they hide the impact of a man's neck and chin-line, they are a hinderance to appreciation...and can also interfere with the joy of feeding. Second, his hair was definitely in need of washing, but to my surprise, not trimming. Apparently they had a barber on board the ship to keep the lads neat.
Well...my course of action was now determined. I swooped in and snapped the necks of the two older men. Like my mother had once done with chickens who'd stopped laying. Quick and easy, killing both before they even knew they were dead.
The other two were so shocked, they just looked at me, eyes wide, then the one with no ass turned to run but I grabbed his jacket and yanked him back.
He screamed, "Clerik!" and the fourth one pulled a knife and jumped at me. I could smell the recent blood on it.
So...he was the one who did the killing.
Good.
I merely took hold of his hand and twisted his arm around to his back in a way that forced him to his knees. Then yanked the no-ass bastard to me, wrapped my other arm around his head to hold it in place, released my fangs...and fed on him.
He kept screaming, for a moment, thrashing and fighting as his buddy...Clerik, struggled to free himself. I won't say the no-ass bastard was the worst meal I'd ever had, but he was barely decent. His blood was blood, and that's all.
When he was dead, I dropped him and turned to Clerik, who was now in full panic mode. Screaming for help.
I noticed some Korean peasants hurrying over to where the bodies of the old man and girl were. They cast a glance at me and saw Clerik struggling in my arms. They were really too far away and the light was too low for them to truly see me, but I still shook my head...and it seems they understood. They turned away and coldly focused on their countrymen.
Good.
Clerik kept fighting and twisting and trying to shift his knife to his other hand so he could face me, still howling in his odd version of English. I made out the words bastard and slaughter and die, but the rest almost sounded like Gaelic, which was more a Saxon way of speaking. Being Norman, I never truly learned it, and now that I've spent more time in France, Germany and Italy, I had lost even that smattering. I could handle the Queen's English, but that was not his.
I wrapped my free arm around his neck then removed the knife from his hand...without breaking a single bone! I was very pleased with my restraint. I ferried Clerik to the shore of that nearby river but well-away from his ship, all in the blink of an eye. To say he was panicking now would be an incredible understatement. I could easily make out the words devil and demon and God as he pled for assistance.
Another beast begs God to help him after committing the devil's work. It was almost pathetic.
I removed his jacket, in shreds, adding to his terror. The joy I felt as his body twisted and pressed and jerked against mine added to my need for him. To own him.
His trousers were held up by braces, so I tore them off their buttons then pulled us both into the water. The shock of it made him stop struggling. When I lifted him back onto shore, his trousers were around his hips, caught in place by his nice round ass, and his shirt clung to him in ways that describe erotica. His belly was soft but not as much so as I had thought. His chest was firm and inviting. His nipples only barely pressed against the material but were noticeable. I was glad I'd fed on the other one.
I shifted him to face me, held his arms behind him, at the wrists. Used my teeth to pull the shirt away from his left breast as he howled and cursed and cried to the heavens...then I dove in to lick and kiss and suck on his nipples, one after the other. The hair around them tickled my lips and nose...and did that build a fire in my heart.
Yes, I would not soon be done with this beautiful beast. Not at all.
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