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Dead Bite: An Undead Story 34

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Dead Bite:  An Undead Story 34

Someone was shaking Jorel violently awake, and startled, the Italian fell out of bed.  Jorel banged his head against a table as he came down, and now lying on the floor, he felt his temple.  Red dripped from his fingers.  “What is wrong with you?” Jorel grumbled.

“I need your help,” George sputtered through sobs.  Jorel was instantly alert, ready to conjure up a demonic shadow against whatever George feared.  “No,” George responded, grabbing Jorel by the shouders, “I need you to turn Dylan.”

“What?”

It was a simple question, but Jorel could not register it.

With blank, downturned eyes, George repeated in a much lower voice, “I need you to turn Dylan.  I…I offered him the gift because Ardizzone was going to kill him.  And I couldn’t comprehend an existence…without him.”  Grief electrified those words.  “But I don’t know how to go through with it.  I was foolish and rushed in.”

Jorel looked at him with disappointment.

“But there was no time,” George hurriedly said.

God, Jorel loved George so much.  But every decision he had ever made for him was the wrong one.  He was going to do right by him this time.  Even if that meant sacrificing his own happiness.

Jorel pushed George out of the way and crawled over to Dylan’s body.  There was so much blood.  It would be a lucky chance if Dylan had any essences left in him.

The Italian traced a constellation map in the pooling blood and repositioned Dylan’s body under the Eridanus.  Jorel pointed to it and looked at George.  “The path of souls.”  Then the cambion hurried to the kitchen cabinet, and upon finding a fork, cut himself with the utensil.  Jorel knelt down next to Dylan and wrapped his hand around one of the Hispanic’s slit wrists.

“Let your soul wander the path back to your broken body; let you become one of us,” Jorel murmured.

He focused on the flow of their essences.  Connected, Jorel could feel Dylan’s life force spilling out around them, and the blood on the floor tingled with Dylan’s presence.  With the beating he had taken and the two slit wrists, Dylan’s essences were moving faster than Jorel could replenish them.

“Cut my other hand, George,” Jorel demanded.  George looked shocked at first, but soon enough he obeyed, slicing through the tender meat of the palm.  Jorel winced and immediately shoved his fresh wound into Dylan’s other wrist.

He squeezed his essences into Dylan; by the time Dylan weakly opened his eyes, Jorel was convulsing with determination.  With one last push, Dylan sat straight up, crying out in agonizing ecstasy, and he flung Jorel off of him.

George creeped over to the Latino and wrapped his hands around Dylan’s face.  The newly-made cambion breathed heavily, and his sweat trickled down his shirt until it was wet all over.  Dylan grabbed the back of George’s head and pulled him close so that their skins were touching.

“That was fucking amazing,” Dylan breathed.

Jorel knew exactly what he meant.  It was satisfying even in his exhaustion.  Jorel could feel Dylan’s sexual buildup as the essences flooded him, and then when Jorel reanimated him, the maker could feel his creation’s physical ejaculation.

George seemed at once ecstatic that Dylan had been turned but also downcast that he hadn’t been able to share the experience.  Jorel could clearly see it on his face.

***

Joseph Ardizzone got into his beautiful ride, a 1930 Ford Coupe, and stuffed his pistol into the cushion beside him.  The coupe purred as he turned it on, and then he was weaving through the hills of California to meet his cousin.

The headlights flickered a couple of seconds before they went completely black.  Now Ardizzone was skimming the road in total darkness.  He pumped the brakes to slow the vehicle down, but the coupe did not respond.

“Don’t worry.  I took care of those already.”

Ardizzone jerked his head to see a figure sitting next to him.  The man leaned towards the gangster, and a young Italian with a wicked smile materialized.

“Who the fuck are you?! And where did you come from?!”

Jorel smirked and studied his fingernails.  “I’m your worst nightmare.  You fucked with the wrong person.  Well, indirectly.  You hurt my boyfriend because you hurt someone he loved.  And guess what, Ardizzone, now I’m going to hurt you.”

When Ardizzone didn’t respond, Jorel said, “You know, it’s funny.  I saw what you did to Dylan Alvarez.  Kind of crude don’t you think?  Not very kingly.  If you plan to get rid of someone, you can’t leave any evidence.  And there was a whole lot of evidence…blood, brain matter, and what not.  And then the river.  That’s really an amateur move, don’t you think?  The body could easily turn up.”

“But I didn’t kill him.” Ardizzone’s voice faltered.

“But…you were going to,” Jorel replied calmly.

The don’s eyes filled with terror.  “What are you going to do to me?”

The moonlight glimmered in Jorel’s eyes.  “I’m going to show you how to do a real maffia hit.”
George and Dylan need Jorel's help, and Jorel takes matters into his own hands.
© 2013 - 2024 HUKissy
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hailgenocide's avatar
I can't wait to see what Jorel will do to Ardizzone~