Stella Cameron - Out of Body

The longer she slept, the better. Eventually her screams would excite him, but until he was ready, he preferred silence .

Breathing, sounds of the idle, automatic push and pull of air in unsuspecting human lungs raised bubbles of hysteria in his throat.

On it went, unaware that it would soon be silenced. Before long, the human woman would begin her final, endless sleep.

The itching began.

He opened his mouth wide, inhaled long and slow, to hold back the noise that wanted to erupt. His skin grew thicker and the thickening made his body larger. He felt himself swell, felt his spine grow supple and bend forward. Already he wore the loose, hooded black robe he could adjust to cover him completely, no matter how hulking his form became.

Power flooded his bulk and he swayed, reveled in the loose, heavy swing of his limbs.

Fingernails became talons, gradually lengthening, curving, hardening to points as capable of wounding as ice picks.

Beneath the cracked and crazed hide that was replacing skin, his raw flesh stung. Beautiful pain. Agony inflamed his muscles, his nerves, but his purpose only intensified.

Until yesterday, it had been more than two years since he fed his need for fresh death. Far too long. Ah, yes, where he came from, deep beneath this earth in Embran, they fought and killed for supremacy daily. Only the strongest survived and their number were replenished by the young—those of them considered worthy of a chance to live.

But it was here, not in Embran that he wished to remain, among the luscious flesh of humans where sex with them increased his power and destroying those he no longer wanted brought him the deepest satisfaction of all.

His kind were only allowed on earth one-by-one. The Supreme Council feared losing control of the pack if they didn’t keep them together. To earn passage to the surface, a man- or woman-Embran—for the only common element they shared with humans was their sex—the one who got to come had to defeat all who competed for the honor. Some, severely wounded, gave up. Many more ceased to exist.

He had won the prize thirty years earlier and lived among his beloved victims disguised as one of them—except when he needed to resume his rightful form to perform a kill.

Warnings had started to surface from below, telling him it was time to return and report what he had found out that might be useful. But he ignored the warnings. It was too soon to give up the wonder of all this.

The signs were there that he could be weakening and should return home for regeneration, but he was the strongest of them all and he would find a way to restore himself and stay where he was. How unfortunate that he was not a puppet prepared only to study the reasons for Embrans’ increasing difficulty in keeping deterioration of their bodies at bay. That’s what the Supreme Council wanted from him. He should find out what had happened all those years ago in Belgium, when a woman-Embran had returned below, taking with her some disease visited upon her by her ungrateful human husband.

He would get to all that—but not when he was finally enjoying himself again.

Two years ago bad luck had forced him to give up the ultimate pleasure of the kill. Before that he had savored countless delightful terminations until he had been unfortunate enough to come upon a series of seven victims who forced his temporary seclusion. Those seven had come to him willingly, as their kind did once they were promised money for their time. But all seven, each one in a row, had lied in saying they had no one who cared where they were and what they did. And so their disappearances were reported to the police by their wretched survivors and New Orleans became too dangerous a hunting ground for him.

But at last certain events had caused him to return to his natural ways and, in particular, the woman he left in the river earlier had reminded him of all he missed. He had perfected a new system to cover his tracks and that woman was only the beginning—a decoy to keep any attention away from what was really happening.

For as long as he stayed safe he would continue. Then he would retreat again, and watch the silly little humans scurry in search of what they would label a monster, while never knowing who he was and having no means of pursuing him.

How he had hugged himself with glee at the sight of the so important policeman trying to quiet the citizens of New Orleans from a television screen, even as his own fear showed in his eyes. They found the one in the river faster than he’d expected, that much he admitted.

“Who’s there?”

Damn, the captive woman was waking and he hadn’t completed his transformation. His head was always slow to resume its magnificent and rightful form. Quickly, he shuffled back into the shadows. His vision had changed and he saw her through a film of red. The slashes that were his pupils elongated her. This next prize was a gift from a fool who crossed him and broke his rules. But to be fair, the fool had also brought him renewed vigor.

Sounds broke from deep inside him, muffled, baying roars. He tossed his head. His mouth stretched open wider, and even more wide. A muffled snap and fiery spears darting into his brain warned him that his human jaw had dislocated. Not long now.

From his mouth, a broad, slime-coated nose and lipless jaws thrust out. They slid steadily forward and he rocked his human head, felt it fold back on itself to make way for the final, full exposure of his authentic self.

“Where are you?” the woman moaned. “Why am I here?”

As if he would tell her, the foolish creature. She had wanted too much, but she would get nothing. He would take everything away from her.

Slowly, he stepped toward her. She lay on a heap of cushions in a corner. The switch he flipped sent the cooling system into rapid mode. Icy mist curled upward and the woman shivered.

He needed to bite, but must contain himself. It was the bites that killed, not the scratches since only his teeth secreted poison.

Even if he’d been unable to see at all, he would still have known the instant when she saw him. Her breathing stopped, for a long time, before it started again, wheezing, high-pitched, punctuated with choking shrieks.

Don’t die before I can kill you, he thought .

I hate it when one of you dies from shock. I want to taste warm blood in my mouth. I want your heart to beat until the final strike.

“Oh, my God,” she whined .

Pale now, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth an ugly, stretched hole, she scarcely looked like the same woman who had come to him.

He tossed his head and bayed. And he parted the robe, let it fall.

Her scream convulsed her. Back and forth she scrambled, dragging hair from her face to search for escape. Then she was on her feet but staggering on the soft pillows. She pushed herself as far from him as she could, shoved into the wall as if she could make it open and swallow her.

She might be swallowed if the idea appealed to him, but if he ate her whole she was too large not to disrupt his digestion. He would only have to regurgitate her.

A button he pushed flooded pulsing pink light over him, and her. He knew that she would see his eyes as gouges filled with blood and his mouth, a cavern lined with great, slathering, needle-tipped teeth.

He hooked his talons beneath the neck of her dress and opened bloody gashes that stretched the length of her body by the time he had torn off her clothes.