Coming soon licks

Interview with a Wolf

Ethan Radcliff

Prelude: A tasty Blonde

When he woke up the taste of stale blood lingered on his tongue. Visions of gore and blood whirled around in his mind. Beside him lay a buxom blonde and by the rise and fall of her well-endowed chest, she was still breathing. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

She didn’t have a scratch on her.

“Then why the hell do I still have the taste blood and the vision of a kill in my head,” he said trying to clear his mind. “And,” he paused “How the hell did I get here? Better yet,” he whispered moving from her, “How the hell did I wind up in bed with her?

The last he remembered, he was on his way to the village, to SoHo and to one of his favorite bistros. He wasn’t searching for a kill, no; he wanted a great vanilla latte from a small bistro on Bleecker Street. How he wound up in a sleazy hotel with a hooker, he couldn’t remember. Christ, he could afford the finest call girls in town, a street whore? It had to be his inner self taking control. As he turned and sat up he could feel the hunger raging inside.

“Control,” he said quietly. “You need to get your hunger under control. Tonight isn’t the night for hunting.”

As of late, he’d had a few blackouts. He wasn’t too concerned, because they only lasted a few seconds, however, tonight had been different.

A hand ran across his lips. The taste of blood lingered. He had blacked out again. He racked his brain for a memory and then it came flashing back.

The hunger began deep in his belly. For years he’d been able to fight the gnawing need, but for some reason the lure last night was too great. It took him off track and ruled his brain. The Brooklyn piers harbored a great deal of seedy characters and that’s where he found the unfortunate drunk. The way he hunted the poor soul was classic and when he’d gained his confidence, he tore him to pieces.  What was left of him he let fall into the East River. There the remnants would become food for whatever lurked in the murky waters.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he stared up at the dingy, dark, pealing ceiling in the room. His night vision lit up the room. He was alert and his need to remember raging in his mind.