Morgan Rice - Craved

Now, at 35, Kyle was a hardened convict. He’d spent more of his life behind bars than outside them, and true to form, he was already dreaming of his next crime. The next store he could rob. The next cop he could beat down. The next girl he could attack. The next bar fight he could get into. His need for violence was insatiable – and the last five years had only hardened it.

The way Kyle saw it, he was only 35, and he still had at least another 30 good years ahead of him of causing hell. When he reached 65, he figured, if he wasn’t dead, he’d retire, or find a way to go out with a bang. Too bad there was no pension plan for criminals, he thought.

Kyle began to head down the gravel road, a new bounce to his step, kicking up dirt as he went. He got onto the busy Route 99, and walked along its shoulder. Cars whizzed by and as they did, he grinned and stuck out a thumb. Of course, as the headlights lit up his scarred face, reflected off his bald head, no one dared stop.

But that just made him grin wider. He wouldn’t have stopped for himself either. No one was that stupid.

Kyle didn’t really want a ride anyway. He just enjoyed scaring others. Maybe he’d strike just a little bit of panic in some driver’s heart, maybe in the heart of some mom or her kids. He grinned wider at the thought, sneering at a Volkswagen Beetle as it sped by.

His real destination was just down the road, a little dive bar that he remembered from years ago. It was the perfect spot to get a drink and kick off his hell raising. Maybe he could beat the hell out of a few unsuspecting locals – and maybe, if he got lucky, top it off by finding some girls to take advantage of.

Pete’s. That was its name.

Scarlet walked by herself down Route 99, cars whizzing past her, and never felt more alone. It had been the worst day she could remember.

She ran over and over in her mind what could have possibly happened to Sage. How could he have abandoned her like that? Had he changed his mind? Was it something she’d said? Had he realized that he was just not that into her all along? Had he decided to stay with his family instead? Had it all just been a lie? Had he really sent his cousin for the necklace?

The thought of him broke her heart completely. Sage was the last person in the world who she thought would let her down. Now, after the fights with her parents and her friends, she felt she had no one – absolutely no one – left to turn to. All the joy and optimism that had swelled her heart this morning now came crashing down, sending her lower than she had ever been. She truly felt she had nothing left to live for.

Scarlet walked with her head down, dejected, barely even noticing the cars. She felt, inside her, something slowly stirring, welling up. It was a slow, simmering rage, something unsatisfied, something that needed to be fulfilled. It was a desire to take revenge on something. On someone. A desire to feed. She felt her skin itching, all her senses on edge, like, she imagined, a drug addict probably felt when needing a hit. Previously, she had been able to keep it all in check. But now, she couldn’t hold it back anymore. More and more, she felt as if she were about to explode. She had a sinking feeling that once she found her next target, she’d be unable to control herself.

A part of her wanted to run, to get away, to avoid mankind. But another part of her was feeling this unquenchable desire that had to be sated. Her veins were alive, burning inside of her. She needed fresh blood to fill them.

Suddenly, a car screeched to a stop right in front of her, snapping her out of it. She looked up and saw a beat-up black pickup truck. In the cab sat two men, mid 30s. They backed up, until they were right beside her, slammed on the brakes, and peered out.

She saw beer cans in their hands, and could smell stale beer coming from inside the cab; she could see from their faces that they were drunk. They were unshaven, ugly men; their hands were covered in grease, and they looked like they hadn’t changed in weeks.

“Hey little girl,” came the slurred voice of the man in the passenger seat. “What ya doing on a road like this all by herself so late at night?”

“Jump in and we’ll give you a ride!” the driver yelled out.

“We’ll take you for a good time,” the other one added.

Scarlet felt her rage rising, nearly uncontrollable. She zoomed in on the pulses in their throats, watched their heartbeats.

With a supreme force of will, she forced herself to look away. She turned and continued walking down the highway, ignoring them.

“Hey girl I’m talking to you!” one of them shouted.

A second later, she heard the door to the truck open and close, heard boots on the gravel, and heard the sound of them both rushing up to her. She sensed that in just a moment, one of them would grab her, probably try to throw her into the car and take her who knows where.

But they picked the wrong girl, at the wrong time.

At the last second Scarlet spun, just as the first one was about to grab her. She snarled, her fangs protruding, and an unearthly noise filled the air.

The two men stopped cold in their tracks, shocked, eyes opened wide in fear.

In that moment, Scarlet felt she could easily plunge her fangs into their throats, feed – and she wanted to more than anything.

But with another supreme effort, she forced herself not to.

Instead, she grabbed the closest one by his plaid shirt, picked him up high over her head, and leaned back and threw him.

He went flying, smashing through the windshield, landing in the front seat, shattering glass all over the place.

The other man peed his pants. Eyes open wide in terror, he turned and sprinted and ran back into the truck. He jumped in and peeled out of there. Within moments, their red tail lights were a dot on the horizon.

Scarlet looked around, breathing hard, and took several deep breaths.

Slowly, she willed herself back to normal, and slowly, her fangs retracted. She was proud of her self-discipline.

But she felt like a starving animal. She didn’t know how much longer she could take it.

She scanned the horizon, and saw, not far from her, a roadside bar. It had a cheap, flashing neon sign, missing a letter. It blinked: Pete’s.

She was dying of thirst. Maybe if she had some water, some food – anything – it might taper off her craving. She had to try something. Anything.

Pete’s it was.

As Scarlet walked through the door of the small dive bar, she knew right away that it was a mistake. A dozen or so locals sat slumped over the bar, big burly men, and they all turned and stared as the door closed behind her.

The bartender looked up, too, as if wondering what a girl like her was doing in a place like this. It was a disgusting little place, fluorescent lights flashing, a broken pinball machine off to one side, a small pool table missing balls. The bar looked more like a living room than a bona fide establishment. It was late, she realized, and clearly these men were deep into their drinking. She could sense the dark energy, and a part of her wanted to turn and run.

But another part of her was desperate. She needed water, food – she didn’t know what. Something was happening to her body, and she could hardly think straight.

Scarlet rushed to the bar, breathing hard, and flagged down the bartender.

“Water,” she gasped. “I need water. Please.”

He warily filled a glass with tap water and handed it to her.

“You got ID to be in here?” he asked.

Without pausing, Scarlet chugged the entire 16 ounce glass of water. It felt so good going down her throat. She was parched, and didn’t know why.