“Deanna!”

The sound of her name bellowed from the storage room forced her to grit her teeth and drop the dirty rag into her bucket. She lifted her head from her work, and with an annoyed sigh yelled back to her employer. “What, Mal?” The portly tavern owner leaned his bulky frame through the door way and eyed her suspiciously. “Still working on them floors? Didja clean those tables yet, woman? The benches? My customers don’t like sittin’in filth, y’know!” His rounded face was flushed red from stacking crates, nostrils flaring, beady eyes squinting at her from under heavy bushy brows. She slowly rose to her feet, her knees aching from time spent on the wood flooring, but at least it was clean. Once more Deanna was struck by the man’s ugliness, often comparing him to a particular suinae farm animal. It was little wonder the tavern was called The Red Boar.

She shoved damp tendrils of auburn hair from her sweaty brow and forced a smile to Mal which was nothing more than a baring of white teeth. “Your customers, if they can be called that Mal, come into this fine establishment of yours regularly and eat the filth you claim is food, your bitter wine and watered down ale, paying good coin for it I might add. Somehow I doubt they’ll notice a few crumbs scattered here and there.” Wiping wet palms on faded breeches, she took a moment to stretch, rolling aching shoulders. Hazel orbs darted towards the opened wood door. Barely mid-morning and the heat had intensified forcing Deanna to grimace at stack of work she had ahead of her before twilight. That was when The Boar came alive, drunken lecherous men with their loud voices, booming laughter and crude jokes, equally promiscuous hags who obviously looked better and better as the drinks flowed, and a smattering of fools who felt it necessary to use Mal’s tavern as a dueling arena in their drunken haze. No families paid a visit to The Boar for good food and a wholesome environment. Outside the city walls, The Boar was the place for the lowest of the low to convene. A special thanks was sent to the gods for leading her to this place.

Mal squeezed himself behind the bar and shook one meaty finger at her. “You’ll be losing that attitude with me, missy and be grateful I allow you to work here. Iffin it wasn’t for me, you’d still be sleeping in alleyways, and dontcha forget it. You were the one who came to me and ask me for this job in exchange for my generosity of feedin’ ya and givin’ ya a roof over yer head. So quit yer bitchin’ and clean those damn tables!” Turning, he spat a glob of brown ooze from overly ripened lips onto her newly cleaned floor, shuffling back into the store room, “And my ale ain’t watered down!” was his final parting shot before slamming the door behind him.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Deanna contemplated for the umpteenth time whether to snuff the life out of her boss, before deciding it would be far too much effort and returned to work. “Two lousy meals a day and a straw filled mattress in the back is hardly worth me killing myself for that fat bastard,” she muttered as she wiped up the brown glob Mal lovingly left behind for her to clean. Silently brooding, she began to wipe down tables and benches until they shone, moving on to the windows as she lost herself in thought. He was right though, no denying that. She had come to him a fortnight ago, homeless, without a coin to her name looking for work. At first the surly tavern owner thought she was offering a place in his bed at nights. One look at her stony features, the flash of amber in her eyes had the bar owner hastily backpedaling, claiming it was a joke. They had worked out a deal and soon enough, Deanna became the not-so proud employee at The Red Boar tavern.

The work was indeed backbreaking and left her spent by the end of her shift, but Deanna saw it as a small price to pay. The never ending duties she performed usually kept her from dwelling on the past. It was only during the nights, when she was too restless to sleep and her mind cluttered with endless chatter from her beast, that Deanna wished for a quick painless death. She often mused that she might not be deserving of such a kindness.


The presence of Alastair Bluefield, may he rot in hell for eternity, within the confines of her mind were far more taxing than her gypsy lifestyle. Her beast was always present and unfortunate for her, almost never silent, but pacing back and forth in her subconscious in her delightfully cruel and condescending manner. As far as her Bluefield beast was concerned, she was quite pleased that Deanna had separated herself from that damned family and their egomaniac leader, the self-described King of Kings. Her beast loathed the Redmonts and anyone that had anything to do with them, including Deanna herself. The beast, unconcerned if Deanna had any interest in hopping on the proverbial bandwagon with her, was on a mission. Though fully comprehending that Deanna’s wandering ways were her way of coping, her animalistic better half intended on locating other members of the Bluefield family. Simply put, her beast was beyond tired of Deanna’s self inflicted guilt and emotional detachment of the world, and wanted to return her wayward human counterpart back to the Bluefield fold where she belonged.

From the moment Deanna had stepped through the gate from one world into this, her beast was on high alert. Finally, there might have been some headway in her search. Though she could not sense members of her clan, her beast felt that maybe, just maybe she was getting closer. Of course this whole process would have been far easier if her weaker human half had actually bothered to ask anyone for some useful information, but so far, Deanna had been steadfast in her refusal to mention those whom she deplored even more than herself.

You know, you could snap the fat man in half and we could feast on piggy tonight.

For a moment, Deanna was tempted, but she quickly dismissed the idea as soon as her beast suggested it. It was nature’s cruelest joke, Deanna often thought, to inflict a disease upon one who was a devout vegetarian to suddenly crave the taste of flesh. No. We hunted just last week, and I ended up picking deer meat from my molars for two days. Internal conversations with herself were surely a sign of mental illness, but Deanna reasoned that it was better than responding out loud to someone who wasn’t even there. People tended to notice such things and reacted badly.

Her beast prowled restlessly within and Deanna could feel the anger rising inside of her. It was moments like this that her beast would continue on an abusive mental tirade, knowing full well that Deanna was helpless to do anything about. Her animalistic thorn in her side amused herself using Deanna as a punching bag. For days now she had to contend with her beast’s ranting until she felt her head would explode. She supposed though she deserved the abuse, considering the guilt and despair that Deanna had subjugated her other half to for so long. Her hand moved with blurred speed as she continued scrubbing an already cleaned chair in annoyance.

“Deanna!”

Already on edge, the sudden sound of her name being yelled snapped Deanna back into reality. Without thinking, her hand clenched into a fist and one of the chair’s legs splintered as bits of wood went flying. Inwardly she groaned as she crouched over the now broken chair. She could only imagine what sort of freak her boss thought she was, if he hadn’t thought it already. Mal came across as piggish and crass, but was wise enough not to voice his opinion of his only employee.

The overweight man stood behind the bar, his mouth opened slightly, eyes wide with surprise as he regarded the younger woman warily. He cleared his throat before speaking. “I uh,” he hesitated, swallowing nervously as he set the bowl he was holding down upon the polished bar top. “I thought….maybe you were, y’know hungry? Been working, y‘know….all day. Anyways, here’s yer meal. So eat it because soon people will be comin’ in.” His eyes darted to the ruined chair. “Better clean that up,” he muttered before setting out metal tankards.

“Oh,” she murmured quietly to her boss. “Thanks.” Frowning, she turned to peer outside. The sun was already beginning to set, streaks of vibrant reds and purples graced the clear sky. Had time passed so quickly? Deanna looked over the tavern as she chewed on her lower lip. Everything had been cleaned, polished and swept. Already she could hear voices in the distance as people began coming up the path that led to The Red Boar. Once more her thoughts had consumed her so that she lost track of the time. It was unnerving to say the least.

She eyed her food longingly knowing she had to clean up the mess she made before anyone noticed. She picked up the broken bits and the remainder of the chair and brought them outside behind the tavern where the rest of the garbage was located,. For a moment, she stood in the fading light, allowing a brief but welcomed cool breeze to wash over her before rushing back inside behind the bar. Mal averted his eyes and was busily preparing for the evening to come as she managed to scoop a few bites of the stew that he had provided for her. A small group of men strolled in, chuckling and ribbing each other before taking their seats in the corner, and she quickly set out lit lanterns on table tops before making her way to the fireplace.

Mal began pouring ales for his customers, eyeing Deanna as she finished adding wood to the fire, a warm orange glow bathing the room. She grabbed the tankards of ale and headed over to the men as more people began filtering through the door. While the newest patrons sat themselves and began signaling for drinks, Deanna sent a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening that she would manage the night without any further incidents. Mal gestured to her for the rest of the drinks to serve, and as she reached for them, an unexplained sudden chill went through her and she could feel a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. A feeble attempt to ignore the sense of dread that began to gnaw at her was made as she began her work duties, fully aware that inside her mind, her beast prowled restlessly in anticipation of something to come.

As the night drew on, the crowd that had inhabited The Boar began to thin out, only a few remaining stragglers who felt it their sworn duty to intake as much ale as humanly possible remained. Those said few would end up in a nearby alleyway in a puddle of their own vomit and urine until they woke and continued on with their meaningless lives before ending up at The Boar the following night. Such was the life of the lowlifes who found joy in the simple things that life had to offer - drinking and whoring.

Speaking of whores….

As Deanna piled dirty tankards waiting to be washed in a large wooden bucket of sudsy water, she spied Mal whispering his version of sweet nothings to one of the local trader’s daughters, who promptly giggled and slapped at the beefy man’s arm. She was hardly an attractive maid, her pleasantly rounded form straining the seams of her too small, worn dress. Her hair a lackluster shade of brown, her features plain with squinted eyes and sharp nose. Deanna knew the girl was younger than she, yet she appeared older due to her hardened lifestyle that seemed to have befallen most who lived outside the city walls in this particular area.

As she drew a rag across the bar top, Mal appeared next to her with the girl…Rose…Petunia…Petal? Deanna couldn’t recall her name, but she knew it was some ridiculous flower type name that didn’t suit the young woman at all. Drawing what’s her name in for a bone crushing hug, Mal winked at Deanna as he waddled with his new found lady-love behind the bar to his private office. “Me and this here fine little bit of a thing have matters to discuss, missy, and we have no want to be disturbed, understand?” The portly tavern owner flashed a leering grin at Deanna as he ushered the trader’s daughter through the doorway. “Think ya can clean up here, yerself, woman? There ain’t much left t’do. Shouldn’t be a problem for ya, right? Right Deanna?” Mal never bothered to find an answer from his employee as he shut the door firmly behind him.

Deanna rolled her hazel eyes as she swiped remains of food onto the floor to be swept up after the tavern had closed. “Sure thing, Mal. Anything for you,” she muttered to herself. She wiped her hands on her makeshift apron, occasionally glancing at the small group of men in the corner tying to top each other with crude jokes and wondered if they planned on leaving soon or if Deanna would have the high honor of tossing them out the door on their drunken rears.

This is an outrage! A disgrace! A humiliation of the worst kind! That tub of lard in human skin is getting a leg up with that fish smelling, diseased bit of strumpet, and once again…..nothing for me! You..us...mostly ME! Her beast raged from within, her hairy canine features twisted into a scowl of sheer disgust for Deanna. How long has it been, human? Hmmm? Eight months? A year? Wait…what year is this? Nevermind! I have needs you know! NEEDS that Alastair Bluefield could satisfy! Actually, who are we kidding, as long as they know where to stick it, who cares? But noooooo! Miss High and Moral, that would be YOU by the way, refuses to touch those she deems less than worthy of her oh, so pure body.

Deanna sighed heavily, refusing to even entertain an internal banter with her bestial half, fervently praying that silence would rub off on her animal. Wishful thinking on her part as her beast continued to rant and rave, the hyena’s hairy arms flailing back and forth wildly, her tone borderline hysterical. That one doesn’t have teeth. This one smells like a horse’s backside. The other one is so cockeyed I can’t tell if he’s looking at me or not. I’m DONE with your excuses human! It doesn’t matter if they can speak or not, if they can write their name or not! If they stink like shit or not! Diseases cannot hurt us, so let their members be covered in green fuzz and oozing something foul for all we care! You won’t let us hunt properly, won’t let us prey on the weak, or gods forbid KILL someone! You try to civilize us…well I’m done! HEAR ME! DONE! I want to get la….

“That’s enough!”

Deanna spat the words between clenched teeth, refusing to hear another word. The lone patron sitting at the bar, a skinny rail of an old man Deanna called Bean goggled his runny yellowed eyes at her outburst. The tankard of ale that he was about to bring to a toothless mouth froze an inch from his lips, shaking slightly as his wrinkled hand trembled. Deanna caught the geezer gawking at her in fear and shook her head impatiently. “Not you, Bean. Drink your ale.” The shifter muttered curses under her breath as she bent over to grab a crate filled with the night’s garbage to set it on the counter. “I’m taking this outside, need some air anyway.” Deanna narrowed her eyes at Bean before taking the crate outside behind the tavern. “I know how much coin was made tonight, old man,” she gestured behind the bar to a hammered metal bowl that contained the night’s earnings. “I better find it all here when I return, Bean. Understand.” Deanna lofted a dark brow at the frail old man, daring him to disobey her orders. Bean bobbed his wizened head, clutching the near empty tankard in hand.

“Oh and Bean, one more thing,” she turned and called to her bar patron before exiting outside. Glancing at the group of rowdy men in the corner briefly before returning her attention back to Bean. “Keep an eye on Mal’s bar and my money and I’ll reward you with another ale, on the house. Sounds good?” The old man offered Deanna a gummy grin. “Y’kin count on me, Miss De.” A faint smile graced the shifter’s full lips as she stepped outside into the evening air. Deanna took a deep breath, allowing the freshness to wash away the taste of grease, smoke and sweat that lingered in the back of her throat. Deanna dodged flies as big as the pad of her thumb as she dumped the waste into a larger pile that formed behind the tavern. Another day of the same garbage. Nothing changes. This is my life now. The shifter tried to muster up some self-pity, but none was forthcoming. Deanna had accepted her situation with little complaint, though it nearly killed her to admit that her beast was right. She was existing, not living.

Her jaw squared, Deanna headed back inside the tavern, the heavy wooden door forcefully slamming shut behind her. Her beast, for once silent but sullen, perked her ears up with interest as her human counterpart had one final thought to her before pouring the tankard of ale the old man had coming to him.

Tonight we hunt.

Really? Her beast cheered considerably. Anything? Anything I want?

Yes, Deanna thought as her gaze settled upon one of the men in the corner, a large lecherous brute who would gaze at Deanna from time to time, seemingly undressing her with his eyes. Yes, anything you want, my beast.
Deanna could feel the beast's excitement at the prospect of hunting that man, preying upon him in the darkness of night, feeling the gush of his warm life's blood as it filled her mouth.

Oh, joy.

Time marches on.

In reality, he wasn't entirely certain what had finally spurred a change in his point of view. Mortality has a limit; for every beginning, there is an end. But when that final hour is postponed indefinitely, anything can cause one to cease thinking in terms of mortal bounds, be it as subtle as a bitter epiphany on a cold winter's day... or something so brazen as the acceptance of defeat when victory was still a sunrise away. For all intents and purposes, he had shed every last link to his past, whether he was willing or otherwise. And yet there was renewed purpose to the stride of the black-clad marauder, stripped of every sigil save for the crimson triple bars of the Absolutioneers, prominently displayed across the right shoulder of his overcoat. At first, there were only rumors that surfaced for the first several months. His description eventually was linked to several of these reports, and might have been a cause of concern for some -- the Redmont was carrying full armaments again, backed yet again by the weapons of both a former life and a current desire. Stakes designed for killing not only his own kind, but other races as well. A revolver, customized and loaded with specialized ammunition. And the final mainstay -- the familiar, sleek blade that he had carried during his final days of mortality and his first foray against humanity.

Three nights had already passed, and the newest whisper of gossip had surfaced: that he was actively hunting once again, though it was made quite clear that his newest endeavor was... rather personal.

The therianthrope corpse that startled residents had found had been an avian breed, and the presence of human remains eventually revealed the beast had been feeding upon weaker prey, striking without warning.

And ever vicious, Maxim had given his foe the same treatment.

When they finally were able to extinguish the raging fire and discovered the beast's bones -- still in the form of a bird of prey -- they found it bound tightly with barbed silver wire, unable to escape its gruesome fate. Whatever Maxim had used to spark the fire had ended the creature somehow, though a silver stake was still found hours later, jutting awkwardly from the corpse as though it had been more of a minor annoyance. But it was the message carved into the stone of the shapeshifter's lair, that revealed the war that had sparked the return of Maxim Redmont.

Bluefield, your time is nigh.

Maxim Redmont had at last arrived in the city, and he was finally choosing to exact revenge upon those who bore the name Bluefield... or even the scent, mayhaps.

I have just killed a man and ate of his flesh.

Deanna stood naked in the forest clearing, illuminated by the light of the moon as it shone bright and clear down upon her. She appeared almost ethereal as she stared down at the corpse by her feet, her auburn hair hanging in a curtain down her back, the light shimmer of sweat on her body accentuated by the silvery light. An almost delicate fey-like creature she could have been, if not for the blood that ran in crimson rivulets down her chin and splattered across her chest and stomach, blood that coated her from fingertips to elbows. The blood was what marred her perfection, thick inky splotches splayed on the incandescent beauty.

The night air was damp and there was a slight chill in the air, but the shifter did not appear to feel it. Quite the opposite, she radiated vitality, her skin flushed with heat, her normally somber hazel orbs glowing with an unearthly brightness. She could feel the energy vibrate off her form, her senses heightened to their fullest. The world around seemed so alive, and it was all due to the man who unwillingly donated not only his life’s blood but life force to her. She should have felt immense remorse, tremendous guilt for the heinous crime she committed tonight.

Truth be told, Deanna couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this good.

Her bare foot nudged what was once a robust and healthy, though now hardly recognizable, young male over onto his back. His body flopped over with a boneless thud. She crouched down beside him and ran a blood caked finger across the flayed skin of his cheek. “He didn’t even make a sound,” she murmured softly.

That’s not true. He did make a gurgling sound when you tore his throat out.

Deanna grimaced at the memory. She had cleaned and closed the tavern for the night less than a half hour after all had departed, then slipped away and strode purposefully into the direction of the forest. A glance backward at the lingering intoxicated men, a focused lingering stare at her singled out victim before continuing on her way. That was all it took. Predictably he followed her, a short jog to catch up with her long-legged gait. He was handsome, she supposed, but it wasn’t his looks she was interested. As she strode forward silently, she almost felt the pangs of guilt of the evil that she had planned to commit, but whatever regrets she had were swept away when the man opened his mouth.

Nothing but lewd and crude comments and suggestions passed those beautifully shaped lips of his. She hadn’t even made it to the clearing yet when he grabbed her, impatient to commence forth with his perverse intentions toward Deanna. She stood there in stony silence as he pinned her against a pine tree, large muscled hands tearing at her clothing, groping at whatever exposed flesh he could get his hands on. Deanna allowed him a few minutes of playtime before she attacked.

So involved in his sadistic abuse toward Deanna, that he hadn’t noticed the minor transformations in what he took as an easy mark. The fingers in her hands began to lengthen, her nails changing into curved long black claws. Her mandible lengthened as well, her mouth seemed to impossibly fill with sharpened canines. When he tried to force her legs open, she grabbed the back of his hair in one clawed hand, yanked his head backwards and with her free hand, slashed at his throat. His eyes, which she now reflected were blue, widened and nearly bulged out of their sockets as blood sprayed out like warm red rain onto Deanna’s face. She let him fall to his knees, grasping futilely at his throat to save himself before she threw herself on him and buried her head in his midsection to feed. He was still alive and thrashing when she ripped the first chunk of flesh in her maw.

For what seemed like hours she feasted, feeding her beast who blissfully tore, shredded, ripped and fed until his blood cooled and her hunger was sated. When the carnage was finished, she daintily lapped at the remaining bits of blood and flesh from her human fingers, amber rimmed hazel orbs never leaving the sight of the prey splayed out on the damp earth.

I have just killed a man and ate of his flesh.

She always hunted animals, small forest creatures, nothing larger than a deer, but never man. Never. Even entertaining the idea seemed horrific to her. An abomination. Wasn’t that what she was now? Wasn’t that what he had called her so long ago?

She rose in one slow graceful movement, wondering now what she should do with the remains. The lake wasn’t too particularly far away. I could drag him there and toss his body into the water, she mused.

Her beast, who had been basking in the afterglow finally spoke up. Why bother? Just leave him here. Surely some small creature will feed on whatever is left. Even if someone does find him, it will look like an animal attacked him. Her beast grinned then. Which, if you recall is true.

Deanna sighed. Once more her beast was right, and that annoyed Deanna more than anything. She bent over the man’s torn face and planted a soft kiss upon his lips before rising once more and sprinting off in the direction of the lake. She would quickly but thoroughly bathe then rush back to the tavern before Mal and his whore even noticed that she had returned, naked and wet.

She slipped inside the dark building and padded quietly to the smaller storage area where Mal had designated a sleeping area for her. She needn’t have concerned herself with waking Mal. As she donned her chemise, she could hear the burly owner and his companion snoring loudly from two rooms away. Deanna settled down upon her cot and stared into the blackness. I have committed the most grievous of sins tonight, and yet as I wish I could feel more repentant for my transgressions, I don’t.

She snuggled against her worn pillow and pulled her blanket tightly around her, yawning sleepily. As her eyes began to close, she thought of the impending consequences of her behavior, and wondered what shape and form they would take. Karma, as she knew all too well, had a way of biting you in the ass whether you wanted it to or not.

For the better part of an hour she tossed and turned, unable to will herself to sleep. Heaving a sigh of resignation, Deanna sat up and tossed the blanket off her legs and onto the floor. The decision was made then to forgo sleep. She was restless, far too jazzed from the night’s hunt and far too plagued by the guilt that never showed. Though not one to partake in drink, she decided that one small tankard of ale to calm her might be in order.

She stood and stretched, raising her arms high above her head and rotating her neck, listening to her bones crack, her muscles stretching and expanding. Peering around the blackness, she searched a bit until she found her flint and tinderbox to light the beeswax candle she kept near her bedside. Not that the light was needed for her to see. Her eyes adjusted and saw as well in the darkness as they did in the light. Still, for some reason unknown to even her at the moment, the small source of light was a welcome sight.

Clutching the candle stuffed in its holder within her hand, she padded barefoot out of the storage room where she slept and made her way behind the bar area. She set the candle upon the worn but polished wood and began searching for a tankard. It was only then as she was set to bend did she notice the tavern door was fully opened, allowing small beams of the moonlight to enter the threshold. Deanna stilled her actions then, her gaze focused solely upon the opened door, her brow furrowing as she stared. I know damn well I shut and locked that door when I came in. She felt a strange prickling sensation, her internal warning system setting off alarms that she was all to ready to heed.

She considered for a moment returning to her room to gather her sword, the one item that she brought with her as she traveled from one land to another, but nixed the idea. Her ears prickled and she could hear the sounds of Mal and the girl snoring softly in their own quarters. Narrowing her hazel orbs to mere slits, she listened for any changes within the tavern itself, someone’s breathing, a heartbeat, perhaps the slightest of noise, but none came. Still, Deanna knew that she wasn’t alone. She could feel it. The candle was the only light source and did very little to illuminate the darkness in the tavern. Her eyes swept over the tavern, but nothing in particular stood out at that moment.

She straighten the laced bodice of her chemise and rubbed the goosebumps that adorned her bare arms. Making her way carefully around the bar, she headed toward the opened door, not wanting anything about her deliberate movements to appear out of the ordinary. It took every ounce of will to control her breathing, to force her heartbeat to continue a slow rhythmic thumping. She peered out into the night, turning her head left and right as if looking for someone. It was all for appearance’s sake, a woman in her nightgown concerned for prowlers or whatever other nasty beings lurked out there, all normal reactions. The reality was that Deanna knew that whoever opened the door still remained and in fact was more than likely lurking behind her, waiting to strike as soon as she turned around.

Feigning her outside search, her eyes swept to examine the door’s lock. The wooden door swung inward and at night a four inch thick metal bolt was slid into place. There was a gap no larger than perhaps two inches between the edge of the door and the bolt hole where the metal bar was encased. A man could slip their fingers through the narrow pass to touch the metal bar, but would be unable to slide it open to break in. There was no concern though for a burglar. The bar hadn’t been slid open, the metal was bent and snapped. An impossible feat for a human who lacked the strength and dexterity to do so. Her beast growled her warning mentally as Deanna gave one final look outside then quietly closed the door.

No mere mortal could have performed such a task. Deanna had deduced it was either a therianthrope such as her, or a vampire, and since she hadn’t scented any of her own kind…

Delicate nostrils flared once more in a final attempt to identify her intruder. Do you smell it? The musty scent of death. Vampire. There’s a vampire in the tavern. Hardly a fledgling, I would say or we would have sensed it before. The beast’s hackles rose, partly in fear, partly in anticipation of the fight to come. Be ready.

Deanna nodded once to herself as she lifted the broken latch in a wasted attempt to lock the door, allowing herself a moment to think. It wasn’t a surprise to know vampires were hunting in the area. She assumed that one had taken notice of possible meals within the walls and taken action. Briefly she thought of Mal and his slumbering companion. Though she harbored no love for either of them, she harbored even less love for vampires, and Deanna wasn’t about to let one of the undead feast upon them.

She turned away from the door, bare feet kissing the floor as she stepped further into the darkened room. “You are here without welcome, vampire,” her voice was soft, barely above a whisper yet she knew it would carry in the silence of the tavern. Her hands began to warp then, transforming from the elegant long fingered human hands into long tipped, black clawed weapons. She felt the air stirring around her, a slight breeze she felt upon bare legs. Her voice was tinged with a throaty growl when she spoke again, yet never rose above its gentle octave. “You chose the wrong place to feed, monster.”

“I am the hunter, not the prey.”

Deanna smiled then, her eyes lighting up with an inhuman glow, and if the vampire was watching, which she knew it was, the creature would it was a terrible sight to behold. Two kills in one night. How fortunate was she? “Come, my undead friend See if you can get past me, for that door is the only way out,” she taunted once more. She knew then that if the vampire was going to strike, it would be at that moment.

She was more than ready.

"Death is the only way out."

The words were issued with malevolence that was likely quite familiar to Deanna, but the direction from which it came would leave her with no time to reflect on her past. Even as she whirled around, the latch was bent in an awkward manner, jagged metal jammed into the frame to prevent both vampire and therianthrope from having even the slightest chance to leave. But the rays of moonlight provided only the barest hint of illumination, even for the two of them -- and with her assailant's identity obscured by some kind of mask, and her own visage twisted by her feral side, there was no time for logic or reason to come into play. She launched into her assault first, and ever the warrior, Deanna had been formidable even before her change. With the agility of an animal, she darted in, ignoring the fact that she had no idea what kind of weaponry he was carrying.

To her credit, he had no time to use any of his murderous tools -- as he was busy blocking the flurry of punches, and as her claws became more impressive, the various slashes she aimed at his throat and face. Even still, whereas one might have expected a cacophony of noise, their graceful exchange was eerily subdued, punctuated only by growls, the harsh thuds of her fists glancing off of the armor he wore, and the sound of claws across metal. "A Bluefield that doesn't resort to cowardice? It's a shame that you're the only one..." Even then, the insult only served to spur the woman into an even more aggressive stage, and the black-clad marauder actually went on the defensive.

Again, Deanna had a fleeting moment of clarity and likely had the nagging feeling that something was far too familiar about the intruder... but his words managed to anger both sides, human and beast alike, although for obviously different reasons. She moved forward even as he moved back, their entire exchange looking like some kind of eerie dance, as the brief flashes of moonlight flickered between them. When his back pressed against a wall, Maxim managed to step to the side and for a brief second, his opponent was vulnerable -- and the sudden look of surprise in her glowing eyes meant she recognized her mistake, and she instinctively tried to move back, lifting both arms.

The angle revealed a set of familiar scars across her shoulders, and his fist stopped an inch from her face. "It can't be-"

Unlike him, Deanna didn't spurn opportunity, not when she felt threatened. She immediately shoved his extended arm aside and moved in closer, where she could search for weak points in his armor -- and to buy herself some time, she launched straight into a second offensive while he was off-balance. Both feet connected with his stomach in a graceful kick, and she finally set her sights upon the mask he was wearing. With a low growl, and teeth bared, she first struck it with the full force of a therianthrope's fist, and then brought her claws across it to blind him. The impact ruined it, and had he not moved back with unnatural speed, she would've torn it away.

As it stood, he removed it so that he could get a better glimpse at her, and confirm what he already suspected.

The stakes she finally caught a glimpse of, upon his belt, were why she relented instead of pursuing the intruder.

The blade in his right hand was familiar as well.

But it was the brilliant scarlet hue of his eyes, that caused her to snap out of her fury and stare in disbelief at the Redmont.

At first, there were no words. The blade was held in a defensive posture to ward off any further attacks from her... as if she hadn't already seen him refrain from actually striking her on simple suspicion alone. If anything, she knew she had the advantage.

"And so your ties to me caused this. Another regret to add to an ever-growing list... but had I known it was you, I would've never come here in the first place," Maxim intoned quietly, with a shake of his head. The sword was sheathed once more, and he opted to ignore the ruined mask that he had dropped -- there was no point in hiding his identity from her. He fell silent for a moment longer, and then turned away, moving towards the door -- it showed how highly he regarded her.

But, nevertheless, the situation was still misunderstood. The broken latch was twisted open, and the door opened once more. "If I had known that this is what my presence in your life would push you to, joining forces with them..." The sentence was left unfinished, and he merely shook his head. Whatever words that had been forming, whatever silent apologies he was wishing to issue, were muted.

And in a moment, he was gone just as quickly as he had arrived.