Chained in the basement scene goes awry --  

Yep, it didn't end all nicey, nicey originally.   Again, I changed this scene simply because it didn't forward the plot, and I had to cut words.   Glad I cut it.   But I did like Michael's proclamation to being a monster.  

Jane chains Michael up, then suggests she go find some music, to help keep him distracted...

         Having retrieved the CD player from the bathroom, Jane then skipped into the studio and scanned the array of mix boards in search of The Fallen's CD.   The title of the album was Pieces of Rapture .  

         How oddly appropriate.   Michael held all the pieces to obtaining the rapture.   The trouble was shuffling them into order.   Yes, he did have the rapture.   With his blood master dead, his soul had to be his own.   He just needed to rise out from the dark to see that.

         A flash from outside the studio prompted her to peek through the window overlooking the front yard.   A van sat in the driveway.   Headlights shone upon the garage door.  

           "Who's here?   Maybe Jesse?   I thought he'd flown back to California this morning with the rest of the band."

         CD player left behind, she strode toward the kitchen, her silk skirt sweeping her bare legs.   Michael would keep.   But how to explain to his best friend, should he ask, that Michael stood below, chained, in wait of some wild sex?

         But not too wild, she thought to herself as she crossed the cool kitchen tiles.   Nothing that would draw out the beast.  

         Was she afraid of being bitten by Michael?   No.

         Maybe.

         Well.

         The uncertainty bothered her.   If only she could know with absolute surety of her danger to him.   Never in her century-plus lifetime had she been bitten--save by her uncle--so she had no clue if the witch's blood her mother gave her at birth would prove a death cocktail to a vampire.

         And while she had come to learn, to be bitten by a vampire offered an extremely orgasmic experience, she'd do just fine with non-bite orgasms.

         "Who's there?   Jesse?   Oh!"

         The front door crashed inside.   Headlights flooded into the room.   Jane stumbled backward, catching herself against the refrigerator so hard her elbow tingled with pain.

         Two male figures clattered over the fallen door and into the kitchen, their bodies in silhouette from the beaming headlights.   Backed toward the sink, she eyed the utensil drawer near the fridge.   Could she grab a knife?          "What have we here?"

         Blinded by a flashlight beam, Jane felt her knees weaken.   But the part inside of her that had survived over one hundred years on this crazy world held her staunchly upright.

         One man moved around the kitchen table toward her left, the other remained by the fridge.   Her only escape.

         The one stalking toward her wore a black ski mask.   The other wore none, but the tangled dreadlocks on his head splayed over his face, so only flashes of flesh and eyes showed.   "Gorgeous!   This is going to rock!"

         "Are you Jane?" the dreadlocked one demanded.

         He knew her name?  

         "Who the hell are you?   This is a private home."   Jane kicked at the man approaching her.   Bare feet would do little, but if she could connect with groin or even the side of his knee...   "There's a security system on the property.   The police have already received a signal."

         "Right.   Nice try, sweetie.   Grab her."  

         The man in the mask grabbed her arm and wrenched it so hard, she let out a squeak.   "I get her first," he said.   "Move, bitch.   Down the hall."

         She stumbled, pushed along by the man, and behind the first.   "I don't know how you think you'll manage to take anything from the studio with you."

         "Take anything?   Oh, right.   Yep, stealing stuff.   That's why we brought a van," the first one called back to her.   "Anyone else in this house?   Your...boyfriend?"

         She thought briefly of Michael.   Could he hear what was going on?   There was nothing he could do.   Those chains could hold a man, no problem.

         But what about a monster?"

         Jane screamed as loud and long as her lungs would allow.

***

         He'd heard the crash of the door and then nothing.   Until Jane screamed.   Michael struggled against the thick manacles.

         Jane was in trouble.   He didn't even need to hear to know it.   He felt it in his veins.   Fear vibrated through his system.

         Fangs ripped down in his mouth and he growled at the impossible situation.

         "Blood," he hissed.   "You want it, man.   Just...don't stop...until...you get it."

         He held her by the crown of her head, hair ripping with her inability to keep a firm footing, for she couldn't see straight ahead, but instead, up and at an awkward angle.

         "Let's do this."   The leader unbuckled his belt.   "Out in the hall.   Move it, gorgeous!"

         Thrown to the floor, Jane landed her forehead against the wall.   It hurt, but she wasn't about to cry.   Her fingers slid over the loose baseboard.   A quick and scraping tug proved it was too long, and firmly fastened further down.  

         "You need to get your pretty ass out of town as soon as we leave."   The masked one leered close near her head.   "It's not safe for a girl like you."

         "Yeah, and besides, you're in the way."

         "Whose way?   What's going on?   Who sent you?"   Filling her lungs with a breath of courage, Jane turned to sit on the floor, legs pulled up to her chest.   Face the dogs.   And don't cower.   Cowering wasn't her style.  

         "I should warn you, if you hurt me..."   She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed.   Then it burst out.   "The monster in the basement won't like it very much."

         "You've got a monster in your basement?   Ha!"

         Both men burst into laughter, and then bent over her, taunting.   "She got a monster?   Ooohh.   Can I see it?   Where you hiding it?   Must be under her skirt, eh?"

         The leader jerked upright suddenly and turned to the figure standing down the hallway.   "Who the fuck are you?"

         Michael grinned and clanked the manacles he held together.   "I'm the monster."

***

         "Don't kill him!"   Jane snapped upright from inspecting the dreadlocked intruder who Michael had punched with his manacled fist.   The edge of the steel bracelet must have been what dug the gouge into his cheek.   It was deep, so deep that it didn't immediately bleed.

         She pressed a palm to Michael's bare back.   "Careful."

         He'd grabbed the man with the mask, tore it off, and had dug his teeth into his neck.   Holding him as if a rag doll, Michael released the monster.   Blood drooled onto the floor.

         "Just enthrall him to forget," she said.   "We've got to keep them alive or we'll really be in trouble."

         "Enthrall?"   Michael flung the man to the floor next to the other.   He staggered.  

         Jane knew he rode the high of taking blood, the swoon.   It's something she'd only ever seen her Uncle Damien engaged in.   And while the act fascinated her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of voyeurism.

         Turning, Michael licked a bead of blood from his lower lip.   Eyes mirrored like a cat caught by a bright light, he grinned drunkenly.   The sight of his strange eyes startled Jane.   She'd never seen it before.

         "You're thinking ahead, sweet Jane.   What's the plan?"

         "Huh?   Oh.   You're going to have to enthrall the other as well, to forget."

         "Enthrall?"

         "What you just did to that one!" she snapped.

         "I call it masking."

         "Whatever, you strange unknowing bit of dark.   Just do it, please?"

         "No problem."   Licking away a stream of blood from his lips, Michael bent over the one he'd initially punched out.   A few shakes woke the man from his stupor.   "Who do you work for?   Who hired you?"

         "Some old dude!   No names.   We were just supposed to fuck up the girl, scare her away from you."  

         "Oh yeah?"   Michael shook him hard.

         The thief's eyes widened at sight of the blood drooling over Michael's lips.   "Lemmego!"

         "Quickly!" Jane hissed.

         The monster didn't need coaxing.   Michael latched onto the burglar's neck.

         "Their van is outside," Jane said.   "We'll load them up and drive them away.   They'll wake without memory of this night.   I hope."

         Dropping the man on the floor at his feet, Michael turned to Jane and stroked her cheek.   She winced.   "You're hurt," he said in a raspy voice.   He licked this thumb, and then smeared it across the open cut high upon her cheekbone.

         "I could hear your scream, Jane.   I didn't think I'd ever get to you.   I had to think of killing them.   It was the only thing that would release the monster."

         "But you didn't kill them."   She kissed his cheek, avoiding a spatter of blood.   "You saved me."   She looked away from his gaze.

         "What's wrong?"

         "Your eyes," she said.   "They're...different."

         "Sorry.   Comes with the job."   He lifted a fist and clanked the dangling manacles together.   "Get the key.   I'll carry them outside."

         Without another word, Jane scrambled up to her room and retrieved the key.   She operated on overdrive.   Madly rational thoughts zinged her brain.   They couldn't kill the men.   Michael would never be able to hide two deaths.   They couldn't let them go.   They'd run to the police, or worse, the press, with tales of a vampire living in the backwoods of a small Minnesota town.  

         The only choice had been to let Michael bite them and enthrall the memory from their minds.

         Michael waited outside the white van.   Jane quickly unlocked the manacles from his wrists and he tossed the chains through the splintered doorway where they landed the busted down door.  

         "Follow me in your car," he said.   "I'll find a place to dump the van closer to town, but far from here."

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