Arabella and Cain had nestled themselves on the plush living room floor, surrounded by an array of tempting sweets that lay scattered across the coffee table before them. The assortment was a decadent mix of licorice, aniseed, and molasses-based confections, each variety beckoning them with its distinct aroma and texture. Some treats had already been eagerly unwrapped and partially consumed, and now they haphazardly scattered across the couch cushions.
Cain reached for the molasses syrup."Maybe try the source" he handed it to her.
Arabella poured molasses on her fingers, trembling as she dipped them into the murky substance. She hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowed in uncertainty, and allowing a single droplet to fall upon her fingertip. With a deep breath, she slowly brought the finger to her lips.
The moment the droplet touched her tongue, a wave of revulsion crashed over her, the acrid, metallic flavor eliciting an immediate gag reflex. Arabella's eyes went wide with horror and she hastily spat out the offensive liquid, wiping frantically at her tongue in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the lingering taste. Frantically, she reached for a nearby glass of blood, gulping it down greedily in a futile effort to wash away the foul, coppery residue that coated the inside of her mouth.
"Why is it burning?" Arabella said through the blood.
Cain chuckled softly. "Sorry," he whispered, drinking his coffee.
"Can we stop? my taste buds have been assaulted too much," Arabella said, stretching her toes.
Cain flickered to her toes. "How is your bite?" then back to her eyes.
"It has no color," Arabella said nervously. "I don't know how to explain it" She fidgeted with the hem of her tee.
"That's good, you will be able go home after we find your stable" He leaned against the couch. The last few days had been different. The loneliness was distant with her here. Cain looked down at his coffee. "You could have told me that you haven't traveled in years. We could have come up with a better lie"
Arabella shifted her attention to the packages laid out before her, her fingers deftly exploring their surfaces as she sought a distraction from his unexpected bluntness. The abruptness of his words caught her off guard, and she felt a surge of determination to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"Noah mentioned it" Cain leaned forward, watching her closely.
"Oh, it's been that long" she began to deflect from the conversation. "with the store becoming so viral and Jessica starting work there, I guess I lost track of time" Arabella began to ramble, she grabbed a hand full of licorice.
"Or something was keeping you from it" Cain could tell this topic was making her uncomfortable.
"Yeah." she paused, her memories setting in, it almost swallowing her. "the store really took my focus," she said, stuffing her mouth with the licorice.
As she paused in her chewing, the bold, tantalizing flavors of the licorice suddenly burst forth, flooding her senses with a symphony of taste. The initial burst of sweetness danced across her tongue, followed by the subtle undertones of anise and molasses that sent tingles down her spine.
She felt the craving, the overwhelming desire for more, begin to dissipate, replaced by a deep, primal satisfaction. Emboldened, she took another bite, then another, savoring each morsel as the flavors cascaded through her. Soft moans of delight escaped her lips as the licorice melted in her mouth, coating it in a rich, indulgent coating.
Cain watched her intently, his eyes burning with a barely restrained intensity as he observed the brightening of her eyes and the flush that crept across her cheeks. Each bite seemed to transform her, the licorice unlocking something primal and sensual within her.
Cain cleared his throat. "I guess you found your stable," he said, a little disappointed, she was leaving and he would be alone again.
….
Brock cautiously stepped into the shadowy, abandoned warehouse, a growing sense of pride swelling within him. After a painstaking search, he had finally located the elusive man they had been hunting for. Pushing open the heavy metal door, Brock's eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, allowing him to make out the silhouette of his boss, Dante, sitting motionless in the far corner. The air was thick with the pungent, metallic scent of fresh blood, which Brock found oddly invigorating, his primal instincts stirring at the familiar aroma.
As he approached Dante's position, Brock felt something mushy and slick underfoot, and without a moment's hesitation, he callously kicked the unidentifiable object aside, not sparing it a second thought. Driven by a singular focus, Brock pressed on, his boots squelching through the crimson-tinged puddles on the floor, until he stood towering over his seated superior.
Dante remained shrouded in the cloak of darkness, his features obscured, but Brock could feel the weight of his unwavering gaze upon him, the tension palpable in the stagnant air. This was the moment Brock had been waiting for, and he reveled in the power of their reunion, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and the thrill of the hunt.
"What happened here?" Brock asked his boss, trying to lighten the mood. He knew malice brought a smile to Dante's face.
"Shorty said they didn't want to take no for an answer" Dante's voice was bitter.
Brock knew exactly what that meant. "I found him," he said as he felt Dante's presence lighten up.
"Tell me," Dante's impersonal voice echoed through the room.
"Cain…" Brock tried to continue.
"Show me" Dante stood, his manner changing. Brock pulled out a picture and handed it to him. "How the fates play" Dante looked down at the familiar face.
"What now?" Brock asked, looking up at Dante.
"We see how this plays out" Dante sat down again, his mind of vengeance. "oh, get a clean-up crew," he raised his hand, pulling the string of the light in the warehouse.
The once pristine room was now a gruesome scene of carnage, the air thick with the metallic stench of spilled blood. Strewn about the floor were the broken, twisted forms of dozens of bodies - some bearing deep gashes, others with limbs bent at unnatural angles, all drained of life.
In the center of this macabre tableau sat Dante, his clothing stained crimson, an eerie calm upon his features as he surveyed the devastation he had wrought. Beside him, Brock's eyes gleamed with a savage hunger,
a feral grin spreading wide as he drank in the carnage surrounding them.
"Right away, sir." he nodded and walked away.