In Search of a Goddess 07: Hope
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
Things that go bump in the night.


***** AUTHOR'S NOTE *****

I love hearing from you. I really do. Please e-mail me if you like this story, and even if 
you don't, tell me what you didn't like.

I apologize to the two readers I have kept waiting over the past few months. I hope you've 
enjoyed my other stories, and that you continue reading this series.

* * * * *

"Please," the pale, slender figure pleaded. "I only need a little bit, just to survive." 
Her bony hands were surprisingly strong. The man to whom this plea was directed shook off 
her grip and, with a disgusted glare, quickly walked away.

"Freak," he muttered.

Hope's tears had long since dried. She was a ghost walking through the dark polluted city 
night, feeling nothing but a great aching void. She walked aimlessly, begging for the 
blood she hadn't drunk in days, but the response was always the same. It was like her 
first days as a vampire, wandering the streets cold, lost and alone, feeding when she 
could, which wasn't often.

What had happened? Everything was going so well; Hope had begun to think that maybe, in 
spite of her hunger and nature, she could lead a normal life. Until she killed him.

It was a crime of passion, though she felt no passion now. He said he loved her. Love. She 
knew now that love could never be part of her world.

He had struggled, of course, but not begged, no, never begged, as she sank her teeth into 
his neck one final time, tears flowing down her cheeks onto his soft exposed throat. "No, 
not anymore, cut it out," he snapped, annoyed, surprised to find that he couldn't dislodge 
her. She had always hidden her true strength from him. She gripped him tightly while she 
sobbed and drained him. He had never intended to be with her, she who had pledged the rest 
of her life to him. The pain of being an entertainment, a passing fad, look here I'm 
dating a vampire isn't that cool? The pain of her real love welled up, and she killed him.

"I love you," the pale figure whispered to nobody. She knew those words would never be 
returned, not in truth, for who could love a soulless creature of the night?

The senator's son looked at her. "No, I don't love you, okay? Look, it's been fun for both 
of us, but let's face it, I have to get back to real life. I'm going off to Yale next 
year! Get real, I can't keep dating a vampire!" So ended three of the happiest years of 
her afterlife.

She hadn't meant to kill him, not really, she just couldn't stop, couldn't let go. When 
reason returned it was too late, she was holding a corpse. She stood up, shocked, not sure 
what to feel. She fled.

"Hey bitch, where you goin so late?" Hope was startled out of her sad remembrance by two 
young men grinning wolfishly at her. She looked from one to the other and sighed. She 
addressed the one holding a knife.

"Please don't do this," she said softly. "You'll only get hurt."

He laughed nervously. This wasn't the reaction he expected. "What's that bitch? I'm gonna 
get hurt? Uh-uh, I think it's you whose gonna be hurtin." He stepped forward, waving the 
knife threateningly.

Quicker than the human eye could follow, Hope's hand lashed out and twisted. The thug's 
arm snapped easily. The familiar, easy feeling of power rushed into her. She fought 
against it and lost. The blood rage filled her and her other hand smashed into his chest, 
hurling him against the brick wall, where he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

She turned to the second boy. He was shaking. Her face had transformed from melancholy to 
a predatory grin. "Run, boy," she growled. He hesitated too long. Hope again lost the 
battle against her hunger and pounced on him, easily brushing aside his hands and sinking 
her teeth into his jugular. She sucked eagerly on the life-giving blood. She could sense 
she was taking too much, but she needed it and couldn't stop herself from taking it. 
Warmth and strength flowed back into her with every mouthful. Soon she would drain him 
past his ability to recover, and he would die.

Through her hunger haze, Hope felt a strong hand grip her shoulder. "Easy, there," a soft 
voice whispered in her ear. "You're taking too much. You'll kill him soon." Hope's hunger 
won over her curiosity and she kept sucking. The grip on her shoulder tightened. "Stop," 
the voice commanded. Hope obeyed, slowly withdrawing her fangs from her victim's neck. She 
released him and he slumped to the ground, moaning and shaking.

Hope turned to the stranger and found a vein in the figure's huge forearm. She eagerly bit 
and drank. The blood was different somehow, richer and stronger. "There there," the 
mysterious figure crooned, stroking Hope's long black hair. After a few moments the voice 
chuckled. "Careful, I need some of that blood myself." Strong, thick fingers eased the 
vampire's jaw grip and Hope removed her fangs. She looked up and found her face was buried 
in a muscular chest. She was surprised to find that the mound her chin was resting on was, 
in fact, a breast. The figure looked down at her, grinning broadly. She was a huge Asian 
woman, the most muscular woman Hope had ever seen. Every inch of her emanated raw, easy 
power, much more than even Hope's supernaturally enhanced strength.

"Who are you?" Hope whispered before collapsing into the figure's strong arms. The Asian 
woman easily lifted the vampire's slight frame.

"My name is Hy Myu, my dear," the woman answered, quickly carrying her burden to some 
unknown destination. "And you are?"

Hope smiled and rubbed her face against Hy Myu's huge bicep. "Hope," she murmured.

Elsewhere in the city, Detective Barrage looked over the forensic report with mild 
puzzlement. The LAPD didn't have to believe in vampires to find and arrest them. This one 
had killed the senator's son. Her troubles were far from over.

* * * * *

Alyssa walked into Sam's office. Her employer was facing away from the door.

"Hello, Alyssa," the man in the chair said. The voice in the chair wasn't right. The man 
swiveled around.

"Dad?" Alyssa whispered incredulously.

Her father's expression was hard and merciless. "This is what happened to you? All the 
love your mother and I gave you, and this is how you return it? By becoming a common 
whore?"

"No, dad, please," Alyssa cried.

"A whore and a murderer," her mother said from behind her. "Murderer!"

"No, wait, you don't understand--"

"You're not my daughter! My daughter went to college! My daughter did not end up working 
the streets, selling her flesh to filthy perverts!" her father screamed at her.

"My daughter's not a killer," her mother said. "You dirty little whore!" The woman slapped 
Alyssa. The big redhead stumbled back, crying, pleading.

"She's not your daughter," Mallory said, approaching Alyssa from behind. He put his hand 
on her shoulder. "I know what you are." He shoved her. She sprawled onto the floor, 
looking tearfully up.

"I didn't mean to! Please, you have to believe me, I never wanted to kill anybody," she 
sobbed. Three pairs of hard eyes glared back at her.

Helen walked into her field of view. "You can make them all go away," the huge, muscular 
woman said softly. "Just kill him and they all go away." Alyssa looked down and realized 
she had a client between her legs, his skull wedged neatly in her thighs. Arthur Mueller 
smiled up at her.

"Kill me," he said.

"You disgusting little bitch!" her father screamed.

"You are such a disappointment. How could you have disgraced us so?" her mother demanded.

"Kill him," Helen whispered.

"I don't want to," Alyssa said, but she knew it wasn't true. She did, she wanted to kill 
him, to feel the rush of power and pleasure. She wanted to kill him and make the accusing 
voices leave her alone. Her thighs tightened.

Her father, mother, and Helen moved closer. "Kill him," they chanted.

"No," Alyssa said, but squeezed her legs together. Arthur started to moan in pain.

"Kill him." His skull creaked dangerously. "Kill him." The rush started. "Kill him." Power 
flowed through her, making her invincible, racking her body with orgasmic pleasure.

The voices stopped. Alyssa blinked. They were gone. She looked down. Ryan's lifeless eyes 
stared back at her.

Alyssa woke with a start, drenched with sweat, tears streaming down her pretty face. She 
looked up at Ryan's sleeping face. She trailed her long, graceful fingers over his skinny 
chest. She kissed him before slipping out of bed.

She padded silently to the bathroom, her movements graceful and silent despite her great 
height and dense musculature. She splashed water onto her face and looked in the mirror. 
An extraordinarily beautiful woman looked back at her, the same fiery hair, emerald eyes, 
high cheekbones, full red lips, pale skin, and light freckling that she saw every morning. 
The beautiful face she had come to despise.

She knew she would kill again. She knew, if it came down to it, she would destroy another 
human being to stay alive. Again and again. "I hate you," she said, looking into her own 
eyes. Arthur, an accident, fell victim to her lust, his skull smeared across her broad, 
over-muscled thighs. But the man in the alley, he was intentional, and it had been so easy 
to kill him with her bare hands, to simply snap his neck. The awesome pleasure that had 
accompanied those kills, the ecstasy greater than orgasm, was too powerful and pleasurable 
to ever forget.

She looked down at her hands and clenched them into fists. Her arms balled into tense 
knots of massive, rippling muscle. She gritted her teeth and slammed her fist forward. It 
easily crashed through the mirror and buried itself up to her forearm in cheap plaster. 
Glass tinkled down into the sink. She withdrew her arm and watched as the slashed skin 
repaired itself impossibly quickly. She washed off the blood and there were no marks to 
indicate that glass shards had just moments ago tore her flesh.

Alyssa stared at her smooth, pale, muscular arm. After a few moments she walked back into 
the hotel room, relieved to see that even the smashing glass hadn't woken the exhausted 
Ryan. She didn't want to have to face him. She knelt by the bed and reached up to his 
face, pushing away a wisp of hair over his eyes. He moaned softly and rubbed his cheek 
against her palm. She smiled sadly.

"Goodbye, Ryan," she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. He responded in 
his sleep, pursing his lips to hers. She broke off and a dreamy smile spread across his 
face. Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut to block the tears that threatened to flow.

She scribbled a quick note on the hotel stationery pad. She rifled through his wallet and 
took the few twenties she found there.

At the door, she hesitated, turning around to look at him. She choked back her tears, 
squared her broad shoulders, and left the room.

* * * * *

Father Cohen looked up curiously to see who else could be in the rectory at this time of 
night. "Hello?" he called out to the large, shapeless shadow.

"Hello, Father," Helen said, stepping into the light. The front door's iron lock had been 
no obstacle for her.

Cohen felt a sudden chill of fear creep up his spine. What was she doing here? He looked 
left and right.

Helen laughed. "Most people are afraid of me. You're afraid, aren't you Father?"

"You do make me nervous," he answered truthfully.

She paused by a statue of Mary. "Idolatry," she said. "Hypocrites." She turned her 
attention back to the priest. "You hate me, don't you?" she asked.

"My faith teaches me there is some good in everybody. But in your case it's a little hard 
to find," he admitted.

Helen closed two fingers on a burning candle, putting it out. She nodded.

"Why are you here?" Cohen asked.

Helen took a moment before answering. "You were at a meeting of ours, but you don't hate 
us and you didn't bring a hunter. I want to know why."

"You're still a child of God, and I think the hunters are a holdover from Mother Church's 
less enlightened days. I don't approve," he answered. "But you already knew that. Why are 
you really here?"

Helen trailed her fingers along the wall, seeming to wander aimlessly around the room. 
Cohen rotated to face her.

"He died today," she said. She sounded sad.

"Who did?" Cohen asked.

Helen shook her head. "A Christian, Father." Cohen was confused, but he could sense that 
she was opening up to him. He tried desperately to think of something to keep her talking.

"Who died today, Helen?" he asked. "What happened?"

Helen closed her eyes and ran her hand across her thickly muscled abdomen. Smooth skin 
tightened over ridged muscle. "A long time ago today," she said.

"How long ago, Helen? More than a hundred years?" he asked.

She cracked open one eye and smiled slyly at him. "Oh aren't you the clever one?" she 
chuckled. "Yes, Father, much more than a hundred years."

"Who was he?"

Helen closed her eyes again. Her hands balled into fists. "The only one who might have 
saved me," she said softly.

Cohen could sense he wasn't going to get anything more out of her, but he was surprised he 
had already gotten so much. He felt they could almost connect. "Who are you really, 
Helen?" he asked. "What's your name?"

Helen slowly relaxed. Huge muscles stopped straining against her arms and legs, waiting 
under the skin like thick coiled pythons. "Would you believe me if I said Troy, Father?" 
she asked. His eyes widened. She laughed. "I can see you would. No, I'm not quite that 
old, Father. But I am old, so old..." her voice trailed off. "I was beautiful once," she 
said, looking down at her enormous, wide muscular body.

She looked up. "You're right, Father. I didn't come here for you at all. I came for him. I 
can't come during the day, a hunter is sure to see me. May I have some privacy, Father? 
Just for tonight?"

Her voice was strong and confident, but Cohen could see, deep in her eyes, that she was 
pleading. He was amazed and pleased; he had never heard of such behavior from her.

"Of course you may, Helen," he said, stepping closer. He put one hand on her bowling ball 
shoulder. "If you need to talk..." he said.

Suddenly her huge hand gripped him by the back of the throat and squeezed. He gagged and 
struggled to breath. She easily lifted him off the ground and his feet flailed uselessly.

"Don't think you can understand me, Father. Don't think you've found some sort of 
weakness. Now leave me!" she commanded before dropping him.

Cohen gasped and straightened his collar. He couldn't help the spark of anger that flared 
in his eyes. "Of course, Helen. You do what you need to do. Take as long as you like."

She nodded, dismissing him. He headed into the back of the church. Once she was out of 
sight he allowed himself a small smile. She had shown vulnerability, and they both knew 
it. One day, Cohen prayed, let her learn humility and humanity.

* * * * *

The voice in its head directed the creature to wait in line. It rocked impatiently, 
snorting quietly and pawing its foot at the floor. It ignored the stares its new form 
attracted.

"Calm down," the voice admonished. "You're attracting too much attention."

"I'm taller than everyone else here, and from what I gather extraordinarily beautiful to 
boot. How can I not attract attention?" the creature retorted. Irrelevant announcements 
chased each other through the cavernous echoing building. "Besides, I hate waiting. Why 
can't I just maim and intimidate?"

The voice gave a mental sigh. "It's a different time, Protector. Different time, different 
people."

The creature stepped up to the counter and smiled at the pretty airline clerk. She smiled 
back, jealousy flashing briefly in her large brown eyes. "One-way ticket to Los Angeles, 
please," the creature said in perfect modern Italian.

"Certainly, ma'am. Your name please?" the clerk asked.

"Alyssa Connor."


End of ISOG 07: Hope