Blood-Born

Chapter VII - False Prophets

"Religions vary in their degree of idiocy, but I reject them all." – Gene Roddenberry

San Francisco, California

The great dining hall of the Milford was empty of its normal thick weekend crowd save for the small group that dined at its center.

Grace, the lone woman, sat with just a glass of what appeared to be red wine in front her as the men around the table laughed, smoked cigars or otherwise enjoyed their meals while almost completely having ignored her.

Waiters stood as dark sentinels in wait for summons while duck, lobster and perfectly prepared steak were devoured along with wine and other far more exotic spirits that flowed through each glass in quick succession.

"I believe the lovely lady has lost her appetite."

Their host, John Abraham Danvers mused darkly while he watched Grace as every head turned toward him except one.

"The depth of your loss has rewarded us with success and great appreciation for your sacrifice."

His tailed tuxedo was impeccable along with the fanciful jewels that adorned his neck and chest which served to signify his position as the newly appointed Grand Lycan Alpha for the North American continent.

Those that disagreed with his new position would quickly discover that they were now unwelcome and would be driven out of their country if not from the entire continental shelf itself.

Grace simply smiled in reply as she reached to take a quick sip before she set the glass back.

"I am fine, thank you ... my lord."

Her voice soft, the sadness was thickly evident as she failed in her attempt to mask it while greatly annoyed with how much this animal's chiseled features reminded her of Leviticus.

The Alpha's gentrified henchman Zachary Burgess smiled when he signaled one of the waiters over to her side with an arrogant snap of his fingers.

"On your knees and remove that shirt, can't you see that the undead amongst us is hungry." He commanded as the other men nervously turned to watch.

The waiter did as instructed; bared chest covered in light sweat of fear as he turned his tilted head away from her and closed his eyes while he waited in controlled fear.

Grace focused on the wine glass held in one hand as it sat on the table while with the index finger of the other gently traced the crystal lip as the man's pheromones assaulted her senses in ways far too carnal to even contemplate.

"I said ... that I was fine ... but thank you, just the same." She replied evenly as she turned to glare at Burgess. "Please tell your man to get dressed and return to his station."

The despicable lycan in a suit instead chose that particular moment to lean forward to put both elbows on the table while he licked his lips in unveiled anticipation.

"How sad and ... utterly disappointing. For I've found that watching whores like this savor the softer flesh of stronger men in their mouths to be rather ... enjoyable while out on the plains ..."

His eyes slowly rolled over her and back with a blatant yet insidious hint of delight.

"... Something about witnessing their ability to swallow a man whole in that way can be rather ... entertaining."

Uncomfortable silence descended as a soft cough challenged him.

"My dear sir, these are neither those cursed plains that you once defiled nor is this fine woman remotely to be considered a common whore, now apologize to her."