Claws
an excerpt

He dove to the left, moving forward with a roll, and deftly came up swinging the pipe. But, he missed completely, dropping the weapon suddenly as the first seven rounds pounded into his chest and stopped him cold. The bullets slammed into him, throwing him back onto his back, and he fell flat writhing under the withering attack and fell still.

The hail of plasti-steel rounds stopped. And all was quiet. Footsteps approached. A voice growled in the darknes, “We got him.”

Stepping close, the two Praetorian held their weapons tightly, barrels trained on the still figure on the ground. A voice squawked, slightly garbled, and was acknowledged. And one of the two black-clad men, leaned in close to inspect the body, his partner standing ready for trouble. Squatting, he lifted his weapon away and reached down to check the body…………his scream stifled when claws crushed his throat! Dropping his weapon, he grappled with the grip that held him, and tried to take a breath. But his throat was gone, his windpipe ripped cleanly from the flesh between his helmet and chest armor, and he slumped over the prone body, still held in the iron grip!

From behind the broken body, the discarded weapon came up and fired, bullets slamming against the other man’s chest. The rounds traced up, glancing harmlessly away from identical impact armor, and struck the helmet of the surprised Praetorian, his catapulted backward, his weapon triggered, rounds fired off into the distance.

And in a flash, he pushed off the dead body, stood and crossed the short distance to the second fallen man, determination and new, sudden desire welling in him. He kicked the man’s weapon away and stomped on his hand, snarling. Bones shattered audibly, and the man screamed as the heavy boot ground into his unprotected hand. He could feel it now, the blood coursing through him, that tingling in his fingers and jaws again. And as he knelt down, reaching to grab the black helmet almost shattered by the rounds fired moments ago, he could see the claws distinctly. They protruded only a couple of centimeters from the tips of his fingers, but they were unmistakable and slathered with fresh blood!

The sweet scent of it wafted into his nostrils, and he could see it almost gleaming on his fingertips like wet paint, the ghastly claws the artist’s paint brushes. He stared, mesmerized for a second, but there was something else that was already reaching up to capture his attention, and he dug his claws between the helmet and chest armor, prying them both back, exposing the man’s neck. It pulsed! The blood in his jugular nearly glowed through the skin, tracing a slim path from the edge of his jaw line down to his collarbone – tempting, inviting, seducing. He watched the tender, moist skin vibrate in the darkness.

Absentmindedly, he brushed away the one good hand of the stunned, fallen man, hearing the shoulder pop, drowned about by the cry of the man as his shoulder was violently separated. But none of this was a distraction, and his claws were pulling down the chest plate again in a flash, exposing the taut skin once again. It called out him, a lusty lullaby, a siren’s song in his ear that could not be ignored by any sailor. It sang to him words of pleasure and contentment and begged to be touched, to be tasted.

And he leaned in closely, his eyes glazing, welcoming the sensations that had captured him. The slick, sticky texture of blood on his fingers. The succulent aroma of it mixed with the salty sweetness of the man’s fleshy neck. The dulcet melody of his heartbeat resonating in the gloom. The rhythmic dance of the blood in his veins! It was the finest seduction! And he embraced it and opened his mouth, fangs extended top and bottom, and ferociously tore at the man’s throat, ending his scream, holding him open and still, the hunter now the prey.

Life poured forth onto the grimy floor below and spurted into his open mouth, his jaws clamped down over the wound, swallowing, tearing, crushing. In moments the struggling subsided. No cries escaped the gaping mouth, but it worked silently, impotently, desperately pleading for clemency, until the muscles could no longer function. The body fell limp and unmoving. Moments later, when the man’s heart stopped beating and the blood began to sour, he sat up, his face a crimson mask of satisfaction and confusion.

His breathing ragged, he looked at the ruined corpse, the chaos that had been the man’s throat, now just a torn and twisted mass of bloody flesh. And as he reached up, pulling his hands down over his face, wiping away the dripping blood and smearing it on his chest plate, he could feel it again, that burning sensation, that conflagration within his own body, a raging firestorm of energy. His body screamed in protest. And arching his back, he raised his fists skyward and clenched his teeth, fighting against the undeniable flood of power. The sensation was excruciating. Tensing his muscles throughout his body, he held himself together, fighting against the inferno, but there was no use. And he fell back on the ground, surrendering, arms falling at his sides, every muscle relaxed, exhausted, defeated from within. His eyes rolled up in his head, and all was quiet.