@wolfmanheath
Gemma Cabello was the embodiment of both sin and savior shrouded in an angelic light as she ascended the rickety staircase. A rundown apartment building in Queens is where her current presence was being graced, right smack dab where high crime and neanderthals must’ve settled when society made its place in the new world. The smell of intense body odor, smoke, and a few other unmentionables made its way up her nose and into her core. Usually, she wouldn’t be caught dead south of the Brooklyn Bridge since it was home to more...eccentric supers and humans alike. Not everyone conformed to her and Leo’s rule once they established their new empire over a century ago. Though no one would be as stupid to form an open rebellion, not while they amassed such a following, it was still unknown just how deep-rooted the resistance was in the outer borough territories.
Today was different.
The petite queen dressed in her finest white, embroidered dress that had fine detailing in how it structured her figure and flowed an inch above her knees, same colored flats that were trimmed in silver, while her hair bounced with each step forward into dangerous territory. The beat of her heart thrummed with newly ingested blood-- a couple of street urchins were very generous donors to her cause. Not only did she want to limit the number of eyes around the territory, but the energy gained was needed for the amount of compulsion required. Everyone in the building needed to be rewired, forged anew. Their memories shaped, thoughts rearranged and erased for her benefit. And the benefit of another.
Gemma Cabello was bounty hunting. She’d followed a trail throughout the city, that eventually led to crossing territories. It was a particular...scent that left an impression; one she hadn’t come across in decades. Not without a price.
Wolves were a rare species. Rare in these lands at least. With no vast woodlands, swamps, or ruins for them to claim for their own, most packs were located in less populous cities. Ones where ‘animal attacks’ were easily passed as a regular occurrence. While New York already had a high crime rate, trying to pass off a bear or mountain lion roaming the streets would be a migraine in itself. Gemma would know; her and the coven she ruled kept a strict set of commandments about their feeding habits. No deaths. The humans had grown in their intelligence since the 19th century. And now with the ability to tell how, when, and practically why someone had died, the usual trail of bodies they’d leave had to be swept under the rug and locked away with the rest of their skeletons in the dark.
Humans finding out about their existence didn’t help either. While vampires could still hide their activities with compulsion and minor feedings, werewolves were a bit more...exposed. Strange gypsy families and unknown towns practically living off the grid were now hunting grounds for the moronically, ballsy humans who feel safe hiding behind guns. That’s why when she came across the scent a couple of weeks back ( one which lingered in Central Park, almost as if this pup visited regularly ) the vampire jumped at the opportunity. The opportunity to do something much more than eradicate. Than to add to the already growing pile of K-9′s across the country. But rather to obtain.
It was a ridiculous feat, her brother Leo had made that evidently clear when she’d done her first attempt almost 20 years back. Too dangerous to walk that fine line of training a mortal enemy. But Gemma had vision, and having a werewolf on her side would turn the tide in her favor no matter the opposition. They were strong, blood-thirsty beasts, with an undying sense of loyalty other immortals couldn’t obtain unless previously established before their turning. Gemma always held secret fantasies of having one to herself and molding them to her liking. A personal warrior at her beck and call ready to bend the world to her will-- the thought sent a thrill down her spine. It was more intoxicating than the high of a fresh kill.
While her first trial run failed ( let's just say trying to persuade a pack wolf only bred trouble; the kind that ended in mass murder ) she learned that maybe it was an omega, a lone wolf that she should be targeting. And thus-- here she was.
The queen’s cerulean eyes drifted over multi-stained carpeting to the yellow colored walls. She’d made it to the top floor, where she knew from brief interrogations ( which were immediately erased from their minds, just as her presence and the hidden wolf in the attic were moments afterward ) that it only held one room: the loft. The shallowed drunk who smelt of cheap beer and desperation on the first floor let her know the loft had remained vacant-- until a few weeks ago. A woman whose arms were marked with bruises and eyes were hazy and heavy let her know about the occupant: she didn’t see him much, Gemma’s eyes glowed at knowing it was a man, and that he was young, kept mostly to himself, and was rarely here. A hoodlum who loitered outside let her know that he stayed in the apartment directly under the tenant and that he swore he’d heard some work going on one day. Like hammering and drills going on day in and out; the sound of chains, heavy chains hitting the ground. She’d had an idea about that. The wolf was probably preparing for the full moon-- to the best of his ability at least. Wherever he came from, he’d probably been with a pack and had a more bulletproof plan to how he handled his transformation. Endless woods or underground cells of the strongest silver infused steel were usually their go to. But now, being in the big city surrounded by potential victims...he was panicking.
Which was why Gemma chose the day of the full moon to find him.
Sure, she could’ve sought him out the day she’d come across his scent. Threatened him, beaten him, the like. But no, she wanted to play a different hand. One where he needed her, more than she did him. She needed the wolf scared, desperate. Hopeless.
Her glides forward quickly changed from steps of ignited purpose to the soft, delicate steps of a small girl as she now stood in front of his door. The strong coyness of her eyes and the sly, fox’s smile shifted to innocence. Gemma became the unsuspecting sheep in the wolf’s den. If only he knew of the devil rotting her core.
Her dainty hand knocked on the hardwood, while her eyes skittered to the ground to feign nervousness. Brushing wet tendrils of hair behind her ear ( thank heavens for the recent rainfall, now her drenched form would only elevate her pathetic stance ), the enhanced gift of hearing let her know those previous brief movements stalled the moment she’d knocked. A few seconds passed before she heard the groaning of slow footsteps across the floorboards. The boy hesitated, she could hear his accelerated heartbeat, before she heard a muffled “who is it?” on the other side of the threshold.
“Your neighbor,” Gemma chimed back, her voice as clear as ringing bells.
A sigh was released ( of relief perhaps? ) and something thumped on the floor. Something heavy...probably a weapon. Big mistake, she thought. Because she was a weapon herself. Locks unturned and chains were released before the door cracked open. The first thing she noticed was the blue eyes. Her neck had to crane just to see them. The boy was tall, slightly disheveled dark hair and a 5 o’clock shadow were prominent against his tan skin. Smooth muscle wrapped around his neck, down to the beginning of his chest which poked out of a v-neck shirt. The only thing more prominent than his stench was his eyes. Blue, just as blue as hers, but...icier, by nature. While his form could’ve passed for a man, it was his eyes that still withheld the gullible sense of childhood. They raked her form, took in the dampness on her skin and the white dress that clung to her bones from the harsh rain outside. In the time it’d taken him to answer the door, she’d wrapped her arms around her torso almost as if she were holding herself together. His nose flared as he took in her scent. Another reason she’d taken time to interrogate fellow humans was to help mask her scent with that of their mortality. It rarely lasted, but Gemma only needed the aid to get her in the door.
Gemma ‘fake’ chattered her teeth as she rubbed her hands up and down her forearms. Her skin was icy as it had been since she’d turned. But he didn’t know that. “I-I didn’t mean to disturb you...” she stuttered a whisper. “I forgot my key..and my phone died. I’ve seen you around,” she gulped. “And you’re probably the only one in the building who isn’t a criminal or contagious.” Or both, she wanted to add. Humans were tricky and unpredictable like that. Doe-eyes were enhanced as she licked her lips. His eyes followed her tongue with that movement. Bingo. “Do you have a phone...I could borrow. Maybe a towel...? I’ll only take a minute, I swear.”