8 Reviews? You guys rock. Hard. And all. Welcome to those of you who recently joined the circle of insanity, make sure to wear a seatbelt and I'd like to offer you a feral with hot chocolate. Speaking of, did Mr. Creed and his chocolate syrup arrive yet, LothirielSaerwen? If not… Well, I have to say the German postal service is about as quick as it can get. Measured by standards of early America. With ponies and all.

A few quick things. Thank you to those expressing their feral rage concerning the bunny issue. The guys that did it have been caught. They filmed themselves -.- A crowbar is drying as we speak, my accomplice could attest to the fact that this woman likes to hit people with style, so there has to be at least some purple glitter.

In regards to Lillith's senses… I feel like a word is needed. They have been coming on and off ever since our dear Mr. Creed has so skilfully surprise adopted her (kidnapping is such a harsh word) and as she has suspected, Victor has had stuff done to the house. I figured that even he would need a place to somewhat relax. I seem to be the only one thinking that senses like that in today's world can be extremely draining sometimes.

Yes. On with the show. This is officially my last chapter from the stash and I am praying that my muse will be obedient for once and be there for me in this time of need. I just might get stuck on youtube again. Looking for "inspiration", you know. Damn you, internet!

If I owned Victor Creed I wouldn't have the time to write this. If I owned Marvel, this would be turned into a movie and X1 wouldn't have happened. As well as… wait, there wasn't a third movie. So, I am just a poor, deranged woman who sits at home all day and fantasizes about this kind of stuff. Kind of weird if you put it that way, no.

Language, sexual content, ferals.

With a growl he lifts me up by my throat and throws me on the floor. Now while that hurts, a lot actually, I can't help but think that he would make such a good wrestler. I'm sure we could come up with a witty name and though I'm not the world's most talented seamstress I could whip up a snazzy costume… He is on top of me within about a fragment of a second, before I can react at all, train of thought be damned. And his teeth close over my throat? How… animalistic of him, what is he trying to do?

That question is just being answered by the new animal in me. It wants to wave a white flag and acknowledge the fact that he is boss. Oh come on, we can't be serious about this right? I will not call him boss as long as this sane part of me exist. We also need to team up to fight down that part of us that is currently grinding her hips against him because we do like neck biting in a completely different context. That's it, I have a split personality. Very good explanation. Let's stick with that for now. His teeth cut through my skin and my back arches, at the same time I snarl at him and my hands are trying to find some spot to hurt him. If my claws weren't so short and blunt I could hurt him more, now I'm barely scratching him and I lift one to scratch across his cheek. It heals right over, awesome. So he heals better than me, too. Is there anything I can do that he can't? And can he let go already? My skin feels awfully tight around his teeth god damn it.

Finally he lets go and, blood still on his fangs, grins down on me.

"That should help you to remember your place."

He looks down on my throat and frowns but that only lasts for a moment, then he is off and gone. Carefully picking myself up off the floor I try to remember what I was doing. Food. There was food. My fingers carefully brush over the spot where he just bit me, right under the larynx-on it there's the collar, don't know if that's why he picked that spot… Shouldn't this be healed already? My fingers prod a little more, this feels like an old injury… Like scars. What the fuck did he do now?

When he comes back a little while later, all dressed up in black, trenchcoat and all, probably from the creep mail order catalogue…I somehow doubt he will answer my question. Barely glancing at the plates I set out he points upstairs.

"Up, pet, to your room. I need to release your friend into the wild and I don't intend to pick you up outside again when I come back."

As much as I don't want to admit it, but outside is evil.

"I'm not going out there again, don't worry."

"Well, now I'm relieved. What is this strange feeling I got suddenly, could that be trust? Get off your ass and get upstairs before I rip your throat out!" He snarls. But that is not impressive, I can snarl too. Bare my teeth and all. See. But I obediently trudge upstairs, a plate with food I just made was graciously handed to me, and lie down on my bed. There are a few things I have to discuss with myself anyway. Like how the hell did all that happen? How can a part of me want to submit to him while the rest of me would rather watch a ten hour special on cardboard? Also need a word with my body. It can't respond to him that way, I simply won't have that. Almost as if my body likes what he does. Come on! He's not that hot, right? Right?

Oh damn it.

Victor locks the door and I sigh. Of course he would but really, suddenly this house doesn't look too bad. Not going outside for half an eternity sounds really good. I close my eyes and drift off, just a little.

When I wake up again I hear sounds. Weird sounds. And there is blood in the air, I can smell it. It's not mine, it's not his. Then I hear a scream that makes me sick to my stomach. All right, now I know what's up. Victor brought someone home. How can I feel so… indifferent? I know what will most likely happen to that girl. I didn't even need the visual of that one open cell door with the scattered brains and all to figure that out. During those past… weeks it is by now I guess, I have seen enough of Victor, I know enough about him to know what makes him tick. And then there's that little bitch inside me that sympathizes with him.

There's also that little, microscopic part that doesn't like the thought of another female in the vicinity. Not in the vicinity of him but you know, in the house. I live here. This has nothing to do with him and touching her and all. Come on, he hurts her, she is probably dead by now, I'm not jealous. Psh.

A little later, I haven't heard much since that scream, he's coming upstairs. He took a shower in the basement, I can still smell her blood on him. And death. He killed her, doesn't surprise me much. Other things I refuse to even think about, though he doesn't smell like it, and I am not relieved, no… There's my door opening now.

"Get dressed, pet. We're leaving."

What the hell?

"I'm not leaving this house, no thank you."

A low, warning growl. How nice of him.

"Five minutes."

"Nope. You'll have to kill me. Doesn't matter much, you already killed that girl, I'll try and not add too much to the mess."

Now he grins at me that filthy old bastard.

"Jealous, pet?"

"You wish. I can't get dressed anyway. Kinda hard without clothes."

He throws a bundle at my head and I catch it before my beloved Dr. Martens can hit my head. Normally I wouldn't mind it so much, but on the night he caught me I wore the ones with steeltoes. It kinda hurts if you get hit with them. With a sigh I take a few moments to mourn all those lovely shoes waiting for me at home. I bet they miss their mommy. Anyway. How nice of him to keep my clothes. Quick nose check, he didn't do anything nasty with them. But the cashmere sweater is completely ruined, stained with dirt and blood and so are the jeans. They have huge holes in them. There is also no underwear, he probably cut through those. Any regular man can't handle a bra clasp, now imagine mister temper tantrum and his claws.

"Hey, I can't wear those clothes. They're wrecked."

I hear him grumble in his room and he walks back in to check. After a few moments of looking and eyebrow raising he stalks back out. Rummaging in his room, I hope he doesn't bring some other girl's clothes now, and he comes back with my leather jacket and a pair of green army style pants. Now don't get me wrong, I am not exactly tiny but those seem to be his. And he is fucking huge. Paired off with his undershirt I'm going to look like straight from a bad 90s music video. Early nineties. Kriss Kross.

In the end I have to roll up the legs about a quarter of their original length and pry my belt out of my jeans. The large skull belt buckle looks kind of ridiculous with that outfit, at least I got my leather jacket though. I would have been really sad if he'd thrown that away, it was a gift from this guy… I don't even know his name. Sorry, I was on drugs. He looked good though. Boy, I'm a slut.

"Do I have to come and get you?"

"Yes PLEASE Mistah Victor."

I stroll downstairs where he is leaning against the kitchen wall. He snorts when he sees me but turns around and heads towards a door in the hallway that definitely isn't the front door, but who am I to question this. It stinks and moments later I realize that it's gasoline. Of course. Smart guy like him has a garage attached to the house so nosy neighbors can't see him dragging his victims inside. He does think of everything, I have to give him credit for that. Of course that does nothing to the score, really. It is so far down below zero due to him kidnapping me and all the other things he has done so far.

"Where are we going?"

"To the garage."

He isn't the kind of person who'd use "DUH" on anyone, but he looks like he is tempted to do it. Either that or gut me, hard to say. After some fiddling with a hidden keypad-how does he do it? His claws should get stuck between the keys!-the door slides open and we're in a double garage, home to exactly one very nondescript van. Dodge Caravan, some dark blueish color, everybody has one, really. His blending in scheme is completely wrecked as soon as he gets out of the car but hey. I notice that he is putting on gloves and eyes my hands. My claws are short compared to his and I am a girl, I can get away with people thinking I have long nails, at least from a distance.

"Now what, do I get in the trunk? Backseat?"

He probably won't let me sit behind him but I have to ask. And he will have to knock me out before I get in the trunk, I guess that's how I got here and how everyone else has ended up here. No, thank you.

"Just get in there and shut your fucking mouth already."

I open the door to the passenger side and am overwhelmed by the stink of fear, blood and terror that is wafting from the back and I wince. How can he stand this?

"How can you drive around in that thing? It stinks!"

The way he looks at me makes me believe that to him, it doesn't smell so bad. So either he's gotten used to it or my nose is way more sensitive than his. But I shut the door, buckle up and bury my nose in my leather jacket as deep as I can while Victor starts the car and backs out of the garage. I haven't even seen a remote but I very much doubt he's telekinetic too, the door closes behind us.

This is suburbia, picture book. A few people walk their dogs, women fuss around driveways, kids play. It's sickening, really. And some look up and wave, Victor waves back and I try my best to not laugh out loud. I'm so glad as we leave the area, the town, and are on the highway. The radio looks awfully tempting but I really don't feel like having my hand chewed off right now. I can smell a cattle farm that I can't even see and people that might have been around a few hours ago and I really, really don't want to go through all of this anymore.

"Stop thinking about every single scent pet. Don't want your brain to implode."

"Well, at least I have one." I growl and reach for the radio. To my surprise he doesn't object and as I turn it on it automatically switches to CD. Who knew that the hairy monster has such things. Maybe he likes Lady Gaga, or is he a little Miley fan? Maybe that's why he's so secretive, maybe his entire room is decked out with Hannah Montana merch. Oh god I'll have to puke if I suppress more laughter. He still smells angry, but it's mixed with… Shit I really need to figure those scents out.

The sound of an acoustic guitar is wafting through the van and I gawk at him.

"No shit. Big bad guy likes Led Zeppelin?"

"Maybe I should tie you to a picnic bench at the nearest rest stop and just leave you."

"What. I'm just interested in the person behind the asshole that's been holding me captive."

This song is so ridiculous in this situation, really. After all, "Over the Hills and Far Away" is about love and all. I cackle and draw my knees up, feet resting on the seat. Once the song speeds up it's a nice song for driving though. I bob my head and just look outside, I have no fucking idea where we are or where we are going, but it does look kind of cold out there. What month is it anyway? October, November? Something along that line, end of October, depends on how long I've been in the basement.

The next song has me in tears. Ted Nugent. I fucking love Ted Nugent. But… "My Baby Loves My Butter On Her Grits" is a little too much for me in this situation. Victor tries to look like the pissed off individual he usually is but I saw his lips twitch. They did, I didn't imagine this. So this is the stuff he listens to while he's stalking people and killing them? Somehow that makes him more human than I'd like him to be. He can't like music, books or watch movies. He can't, I don't allow him to.

AC DC are taking over and I stare out the window again. Please no more songs like that. Kicked In The Teeth is alright, it is what I want to do to him anyway. But I don't want this to shift any further. He fucked me and now he has a decent taste in music. Great, what next?

We stop about three hours later at a small motel. At some point Victor got out and switched the license plates, that guy is a redneck version of James Bond or something. Although Victor hasn't obtained the license to not kill yet I assume. I'm just the exception to the rule and I will die too, soon. Anyway. Motel. Not too shabby, actually, looks clean. They have an outdoor pool, it's drained and in the puddle are a few leaves and a condom floating around. I can't see it from over here, but I smell the latex. Is it too late to beg for my own room?

Victor throws some cash on the counter and the fat elderly lady perks up instantly. Do we want the honeymoon suite oh fuck no. Victor grins and books it. Great. The woman has hair that looks like a helmet, thinks flamingos are a splendid decoration and listens to Elvis. I am very, very afraid of what awaits us.

I watch him sign us in as Mr. And Mrs. Creed. He could have made more effort with that phoney name. But that's just the opinion of the bitch with the collar. The one nobody bothers to tell what we're doing here anyway.

Instead of to the car he walks straight across the lot and behind the building, which is just on the edge of the woods.

"Uh, Victor…"

"Shut up and hurry pet."

Alright then. My stomach growls and whatever he wants to do back there better not be physically demanding. My thoughts stray back to the incident in the kitchen and I shudder.

"Not now pet, but I appreciate the thought. I might get back to you on that, later."

"What now?"

He looks at me and grins.

"We hunt, pet."