I didn't make myself known as I watched her gather her wits, then retreating up the stairs; nor did I mean to scare her; I wanted Blayke (I mean, that's what my subconscious had manifested within this hella-beast) to be attacked not her – if that's what the dog was truly here for.

I scurried over to the pile; wary to keep discovery of my own self.

The pile swooned my nostrils with the freshness of chicken scraps left outside for weeks – not for the faint of heart.

The stench, I could have done without, but it was amazing at just the mere contemplating of killing the hound; it dissipated so quickly; it seemed so effortless – and with no gaum to clean – well, it was a festering pile of ash, but, no one with a salt of sanity would guess that – it could easily be freakin' dirt for all they know.

Muffled coos braided behind the polish white walls. I stood up in quick response to hearing murmurs coming from the staircase, just a skip down the hall, and to the left.

Quickly, I stepped through the now vacant glass door. Just as it was clear as to whom was coming along the hall; the smell wavered in advance to them stepping from the first-floor stair-well. They were getting too close for me to make any effort of a run for it; so out of stupidity; desperation; or for sheer panic, I flung myself over the cemented staircase and behind oversized-manicured hedges. Landing with a thudded oogff!

As with any none-logical thought to what the circumstances could turn out to be, this particular instance being in no way different - a splatter of some gutsy, wet sound had hissed up my torso; a taste sprung straight into my regrettably open mouth.

Dead meets sour iron blood.

I held tightly to my gagging sound.

Hoping my whimpers were covered enough by the over-compensating water fountain occupying the middle of the courtyard.

I could smell her even before she came out of the door.

"What the hell did this?" I heard him ask. Speaking of him – It incredulously wasn't the male that I had been horrid at it being.

I could have sworn the smell of him reeked across the courtyard and into my throbbing and sensible nostrils. It had to be him – I know it! Yet, standing here, right now – is this 'tea-bagging' lush.

How am I getting these two completely unrelated individuals mixed up? The only possible reason, this guy even remotely hints at any whiff of that 'cracker-shats', would be if he and said 'shats' had been quite close; like, the rabbit meets the black hole – close. And even more puzzling or to my inherit surprise was this same person housed a bit of the identical aroma from the apartment that unleashed such intensity within myself; was this guy number two with Jensen?

How is that even possible? Nothing could get to point A to point B in that less of time; unless you were some powerful... err... god. Then the tiniest idea thumped my brain – what if it was no god at all but a fallen angel; damned to an eternity far below the earth's core; orchestrating such a fantastically retaliation against the heavens above, and we were the unfortunate ones caught between?

I huffed at myself; surely my depression medication has worn off; even more, I was embarrassed for how ridiculous that sounded; utterly convinced that that mere thought alone should be a reason to be committed; of course, there is that dog-thing coming from the opened ground – well, suppose there are two incredibly convincing reasons to be locked up; come to think of it, perhaps there are several bizarre concepts that make myself more than the average monster slash humanoid thing should have.

The scent emanating slapped me back from every thought wanting to pound at my brain; seemingly, cascading a sensual touch up my thigh and around my crotch. He smelled of both worlds; and either one had dropped my senses into a crazy overdrive.

I may or may not have added an unbearably large addition to the growing 'uck' swelling up my gullet. How easy Blayke makes it seem to be open about sensual and eruptional hungers.

"...I'm not sure. It was fine when I came through." She smartly quipped back. Good. She's not wanting to gain any more attention about that heinous dog, than I do with her.

As sure as I am profusely breathing this toxic hound's left-over pieces of flesh, and invigorating waft of blood scattered about me, this dud is scanning the entire area as if he knows something is off; I just hope he is as bright as he looks to be alert enough as to what it (he) could be dealing with.

Of course, I shouldn't be too concerned of his questionable intelligence: (rumor has it) the boy once put a whole tube of cement clue down his gullet. How he managed to get out of that one, I assume was rather painful. Which gives me some bit of grim satisfaction from the hysterical memory of hearing the ridiculous gossip, and a pleasant comfort I much rather need at this very moment.

My thoughts switched instantly as I unmeaningly and fully gulped a few morsel droplets of carousal in. I'm ashamed to admit it; I'm aroused.

I can't gain any form of control over the impure thoughts, and the aches I'm having – for decadence; along with these utter ballistic urges stripping away any hidden morale to clinging to this – my beast.

How can I fathom being slightly near her, and that intoxicating aroma she's creating; without shredding any care I obviously am trying to maintain; while wanting to either tear into her fresh meat, or rip into the tenderness between those taught thighs?

Can we say 'ucked' is an appropriately named conception for this outrageously whirling-faster-by-the-minute shatstorm. If this should be a horrid 'dream', Now! would be an all-around divinity to send, to wake me up; If not, and this has fully morphed into an explosion of surreal festering reality – then I say, 'Way to kick my ass, you all devilish kind.'