Something filthy about Mr.Haynes

Shotgun

Chad's POV

There is too much pressure on me lately.

My men are doubting my authority and the only reason for me still being sane is a little blond girl, unconscious at the lab.

She had the Hemlock at the drawer all the way, but she never took it, even thought I tortured her in so many ways. Physically and even more worse-mentally, but she never took it.

And here I asked for sex and she cut her veins the same second, spilling all the blood she has.

She's still in coma and I had to shut the door and leave my warehouse for a while. I'm loosing my authority. And I have never experienced such hunger before. It's like each brain cell goes on strike, refusing to think about anything, but warm blood from someone's artery.

I close my eyes and lick my lower lip, as fantasies suddenly drifts into my mind.

Why would I deny myself anything, that makes me happy?

On the other hand, I don't wanna be the monster. Super powers that are now developing quickly, is the good part of all this mess, but honestly? I would do anything to be normal.

I lick my lip again and lunge down from the highest top of sequoia I ever saw.

Another benefit. I can't be harmed.

I run like crazy towards a tempting smell calling me from hundreds of miles. It's coming from somewhere from the mountains and it's distracting, I was sure no one lives this close to the warehouse.

I consider the fact it might be those gipsies from the village I slaughtered months ago, the ones who ran away, but who knows.

But smell of blood is overwhelming. It's not wounded animal, no. This is human.

I stop at the precipice right on time and look down, regaining my balance, as the rocks starts falling down from under my foot.

"Well I'd be damned!"-i mumble and shake my head. I'm immortal, but i'm not really stupid.

I yank to my right, where silent and both rhythmic thumping of someone's heart suddenly catches my attention.

I run faster and in a second i duck in on an instinct, as a heavy shot trembles the sky.

That's one of those deja vu thingies, I bet.

I look around.

Single shot it was. Royal Remington, could never mistake it with anything else.

I had such gun a while ago, was one of my favourites, but sadly, I had to put it aside, as it was too loud and there was no way I could attach the silencer to it.

I fasten my pace and in a minute a lonely figure drifts in front.

Sad old man, probably around his 70-ies and a little mess, to say the least. He has his forearm bruised badly and little drops of blood are now soaking his redneck shirt sleeve.

I thought I would see something more than just a little bruise, according all the smell, but yeah, whatever I guess. My senses are now quite heightened and I didn't really adjust to this yet.

"Well hello there!"-i lift my imaginary hat and he lowers the gun. "Chad Haynes I am. What is your name?"

He shakes his silver hair nervously and rubs the back of his head. "Frank Dorton".

"You were hunting, or something?"-i raise my eyebrow and nod at the double barrel shotgun.

"Um...no...it's the damn dog. Bitch bled very bad giving birth, I had to...she was...she bit my hand for a good-bye. She was just..."