Page 417 of Rage

Edwige

I had quite a collection now. The fangs, long and needle sharp, a perfect, brilliantly pure white, were my favorite. Even as the strange, massive orc spoke to me, I found it hard to focus. Not when I had all my new teeth.

They gleamed against the dainty, silver chain that hung from my neck. Each of my prizes were strung along it. They shone in the dim light. So, so perfect and precious and lovely. I stroked my finger along my newest set, the threads of flesh and speckles of gore still present, still marring the bright, smooth surface.

I held one up to examine it, spitting on the bone and rubbing it clean, the silver of my nails making the tiniest, musical little jangle as I touched my newest prize.

The teeth were getting heavy. I’d taken out five of the ones who’d wronged me, who’d hurt me so viciously, but there was still one more to end. The ropes of molars, incisors, and canines that were strung haphazardly hung around my neck like I was a sea queen with ropes upon ropes of moon-bright pearls.

I giggled, pressing the pads of my fingers together and peeling them apart, loving the tacky, sticky gooeyness of the semi-dry blood and spit coating them. Vampire blood decorated my neck and chest. It speckled my stomach and thighs, it painted my ankles and covered my feet like crimson silk slippers. I couldn’t even feel the cold when I was coated in gore like this. It was the warmest coat, the balm against my soul, a friend that I could always rely on.

“Blood for blood,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the collected teeth that hung around my neck. They kissed me back, little bites of pain mixed with the heady thrill of revenge. I giggled and couldn’t stop, the sound growing and growing until it filled my body and stole my breath, ripping at the sensitive membranes of my mouth and throat. I tasted my own blood now, and it just made me cackle harder.

Hargrave

She was beautiful, and terrible. She was perfect to behold.

I watched her as she crouched in the glow of the lone gas lamp, whispering nonsense words, swaying back and forth like a half-feral little goblin. Her pale skin decorated by the labors of her day, the blood nearly black, barely illuminated by what little light could penetrate the mist off the sea and smog from the ever-present miasma of smoke and soot that was pumped out by the factories and the boats that ferried their goods too and fro.

“Blood for blood,” her hissed epithet came to an abrupt halt as the wind shifted and brought my scent to her. She raised her head slowly, stretching her curled spine, squatting beside her kill.

Perfect and uncivilized and, I realized as her too large dark eyes caught mine,fucking mine.

I stared in awe at her slight form, wraithlike almost to the point of emaciation, skin pale as moonlight, eyes wide and glaring, her vicious silver claws and moon-bright metallic teeth shining, burnished by the faint light. A ragged chemise was all that covered her, barely keeping the growling little thing modest. Her scent, like death, yes, but there were also roses, wet stone, and the burning of funerary resin.

I would cover her in silk, I mused as she shifted into a crouch, looking like the gargoyles that lurked over the stone buildings all around, their twisted face and forms failing to frighten away the bad luck they’d been tasked with banishing.

“Come here, toothtaker,” I murmured.

Edwige

A single strand of his scent, a ribbon of something so intoxicating on the thick, salty night air, that it dragged me out of the wild mindset I’d sunk into. I needed more of it.

The scent belonged to me, the source of it was fucking mine. I owned it just as much as I owned my vengeance, as I owned my collection of teeth.

I turned my gaze from my newest acquisitions to the hulking figure that had waited so patiently at the top of the alley where I’d corned my panicked, gibbering prey. Vampires were all the same, proclaiming to be apex predators while they attacked the weak, the strays, torturing them in their nests. They alwayscrumbled when confronted with a true predator. This one had crumbled so sweetly, especially when I bit my silver teeth into his spine, crushing it like the wild cats that hid, shy and aloof, in their snowy mountains.

I didn’t think the orc watching me would fall as easily. I sniffed again, following the enticing aroma of winter, spice and pure masculinity to its source.Him.

“Mine,” I growled, prowling forward, rolling to my feet with a little hop, heedless of the mud and blood I smeared over my bare limbs and ruined scrap of a chemise. I approached the male, making out a hint of green skin and a bulk so massive he could only be an orc. He didn’t flinch as I came toe to toe with him and wrapped my iron claws around his thick throat. “You are mine,” I growled, staring up into his dark eyes, orange fire blazing in the pupils, an amused smirk curling his darker green lips, highlighting where his tusks, gilded, just like my teeth, rose proudly.

“Yours,” he assured me, wrapping a brawny arm around my slight, filthy form and lifting me off the ground, heedless of the threat in my silver teeth and of my claws tapping against the thin skin above his jugular. “All yours, little demon.”

Hargrave

She purred in delight, those dark, strange eyes widening and softening like a contented cat..

“Yours,” I assured her again. Feeling myself getting swept up in the possessiveness she was exuding, letting her will and her magic wrap around me as strongly as I wrapped my arms around her, heedless of the gore painting every inch of her slight form, the danger in her claws, or the icy hardness of her limbs.

She was mine; I was hers. It was settled.

A cry interrupted us.

The bellowed sound slowing our headlong fall.

She flinched, looking wildly over her shoulder, stiff, matted hair brushing my cheek as she sought the source of the noise.

Someone stood over her latest prize, a human, by the looks of them, swarthy and massive, with the thick mane of hair and beard. The onlooker yelled again, demanding help, crying out in horror at the sight of the mutilated corpse.

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